When I was in school, I once had a saying, “Sleep you can get any old time, but grades last forever.” At the time, I meant it. It wasn’t the best mindset, but it fueled my drive to maintain a near-perfect grades. As an overachiever, I found comfort in metrics—things that could be measured, quantified, and tracked. That’s how I knew I was doing well. They were the invisible pats to the shoulders. You did good. With working divorces parents who just always couldn’t be there, numbers were a great substitute. Numbers gave me a sense of security, a tangible way to validate my efforts, to validate me.
Vanessa literally on a treadmill.
Unfortunately, I’m not alone. I believe the validation race is everyone’s personal kryptonite and the obsession starts young. My last year in elementary school, I won everything—the Citizenship Award, honors in science and math, and a spot on the honor roll. It was an amazing experience to be recognized by my teachers and the principal. But I remember vividly that same day, being called to a third-grade classroom to encourage my younger brother. He was upset because he hadn’t won anything. I had to gently explain to him that awards like these were given in sixth grade because students were preparing to transition to middle school. It wasn’t his time.
Still, it was difficult to celebrate my accomplishments while knowing he was in pain. Even though he wasn’t eligible for the awards, he still felt the sting of being left out. That’s what the constant chase for validation does to us—we seek it even when we don’t need it, even when it’s not our time to be evaluated or recognized. We keep chasing the numbers, keep running on the validation treadmill.
But the problem with numbers is that when you focus on them too much, you can lose sight of the journey. This isn’t just an issue for young people and students—it follows us into adulthood, into our careers, and for those of us who write, into the publishing world. As an author, numbers are everywhere. It starts with the word count—how many words it takes to complete a manuscript; how many get cut during editing. Then comes the timeline—how long it takes to get through copyediting. A friend of mine showed me how to take a manuscript that has been copy-edited and put it into Pages to track the number of revisions. And while that was cool to learn, it was just another number to haunt me, to obsess over, and to try to get right—whatever that means.
More publishing numbers: how quickly the book needs to be turned around, how many months, days to pub. And then, the numbers shift to reception—the number of reviews, Goodreads ratings, NetGalley and Eidelweis requests. The numbers don’t stop. They just change shape.
Once the book is out, the chase continues: the number of posts on social media, the number of followers, the number of subscribers. The formula for success remains elusive, and the pressure builds. Writers aren’t alone in this. No matter your field, numbers are always chasing you—performance metrics, annual reviews, engagement rates, sales quotas. The cycle never ends. And after a while, this constant pursuit can overshadow the real goal: growth, creativity, and fulfillment.
This endless race can lead to burnout. And burnout looks different for everyone. Some people cry. Some people yell. Some people run miles to clear their heads. Me? I bake deep-dish apple pies. My husband knows I’m in trouble when I start making a pie crust from scratch for no particular reason. He can hear how hard I’m chopping those apples. He sees the intricate lattice work I’m designing on the crust—each crimped edge and delicate braid a sign I’m trying to regain control in a world that feels overwhelming. That’s when he knows to bring me a latte or a pile of chocolate, because his wife is spiraling.
The truth is, we all need people who can pull us out of the chase, who can remind us to stop counting and start living. Rest is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. And rest doesn’t always mean sleep. Just as praying without ceasing doesn’t mean sitting still, resting is an active practice. It can be stepping away from the numbers, engaging in something that feeds your soul, or simply taking a breath. Rest looks different for everyone, but without it, we suffer. Our bodies wear down, our creativity dims, and our minds stop firing in the ways they need to. For a writer, that means losing the very words we work so hard to find.
How do we heal? How do we stop the obsession? I don’t know. We all tick differently. Some books that might help are:
The Courage to Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi & Fumitake Koga – A thought-provoking book based on Adlerian psychology that challenges the need for external validation and encourages self-acceptance.
Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach – Explores the power of self-compassion and mindfulness to break free from the cycle of seeking approval.
The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown – A powerful read on embracing authenticity and letting go of the need for validation from others.
What Happened to You? by Oprah Winfrey & Dr. Bruce Perry – Looks at how past experiences shape our need for validation and how to heal from them.
Fiction provides great examples of validation in all stages. Before I Let Go by Kennedy Ryan deals with validation, self-worth, and healing for both main characters, Yasmen and Josiah, as they try to define their post-divorce evolving identities.
One of the reasons I loved writing Scarlet Wilcox in my upcoming novel A Wager at Midnight is because she has divorced that part of her brain that seeks judgment. She doesn’t care what others think unless it affects her family. Yet, as brave, bold, and daring as she is in seeking her path to bring medicine to those who cannot get it—those whom society deems ineligible or unworthy—she still slips into wanting validation from a physician, Stephen Carew. Scarlet is a good balance of all of us, and I loved writing those moments where she is free of cares and when she’s forced to face her fears.
So I am giving you permission to take a moment for yourself. If you take nothing else from this podcast, learn this: It’s okay to rest. It’s necessary to rest and not focus on numbers or being superhuman. If you don’t take care of you, your body, mind, and creative being, the world will chew you up body, dry up your spirit, and move on to the next overworked soul.
But you? You are the hero of your own story. And every hero needs rest. So take off your cape, stretch it into a hammock, and allow yourself a moment of peace.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Eagle Eye Bookshop through Bookshop.org.
Subscribe for free. Get Vanessa’s take on current events, publishing—challenges and opportunities—drawing from her journey as an indie author turned traditionally published powerhouse: 26 novels and counting.
Thank you for listening.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
I love nonfiction. It plays a needed role in our psyche. I hunt for it and use these tomes in my research.But fiction is as essential as the air we breathe.When lives were never fully recorded, storytellers do the remembering.
Still a Storyteller
Right before I sat down to finish this essay—and to record this podcast—I completed the copy edits on my thirtieth book.
Thirty books. Nine with traditional publisher, Kensington Books. I am proud of all the writing I’ve done, but I’m particularly proud of A Deal at Dawn, a novel I’ll be talking about more in 2026. I’m proud of it for a simple, powerful reason: I told a story, a complete story, one with a beginning middle, climax and end.
When I was growing up, being called a storyteller didn’t always carry a positive meaning. Sometimes it was a euphemism for someone who told lies. Years ago, I was interviewed on a podcast by a preacher who genuinely could not understand why fiction mattered. He kept circling back to the same question: Why are you writing lies? As if nonfiction were the only form of truth that could be wholesome or valuable.
I love nonfiction. It plays a needed role in our psyche. I hunt for it and use these tomes in my research.
Fiction has the ability to transform, to tell a message or moral, and to leave impact in ways nonfiction or true to life people can often miss. When lives were never fully recorded, storytellers do the remembering.
Historical Fiction is important for marginalized groups. We often don’t have cradle-to-grave records of most human lives. Especially before computers, there are gaps—vast ones. The Truman Show, was a 1998 movie where Jim Carrey played a man whose entire life was scripted, recorded, and broadcast on television. I found the concept terrifying. And now, in our real world, where our apps listen to us, ads stalk us, and algorithms search for the precise moment where we are most vulnerable to be persuaded the invasion of our privacy is true.
I merely wish that all the people watching and recording… that all this was for our good. Instead it shapes narratives—often not to preserve truth, but to exploit it.
When I wrote Fire Sword and Sea, I had to piece together the life of Jacquotte Delahaye using the records of her contemporaries—white Europeans like Anne Dieu-le-Veut and Michel Le Basque. These lives. Anne’s and Michel’s were deemed important by the chroniclers. Their records survived. Jacquotte’s did not. That absence does not mean her life was less meaningful or less extraordinary. It means the people left to tell her story were also label unimportant. They weren’t given the opportunity to record and make sense of history.
I am profoundly aware of how fortunate I am to be in a position to tell stories like hers, about bold women who dared to dream and live different lives.
In the absence of storytellers, we are surrounded by people presenting lies as nonfiction and weaponizing so-called “truth” to influence the next generation.
I call on the storytellers to step up and do their job—those who care deeply about history, those willing to tell the good and the bad and, yes, sometimes the ugly, alongside the beauty—need to come forward and write. And if you can’t write, share the stories that moved you. Talk to friends about the storytelling that matters.
I watch the news and see stories about modern- or present-day activities being suppressed. There are times in 2025, where I wonder if storytellers will survive. The number of writers particularly in marginalized communities who’ve been impacted, by layoffs, positions eliminated, and those just so tired that they quit—I wonder about those storytellers in the upcoming years. It seems scary.
Don’t believe me, track Publisher Weeklys deal announcements or the sections that announce firings.
Traditional publishing is hard, impacted by an unwillingness to support authors or that they don’t want the heat that can come by championing true facts in a world where truth is something people want to shut down. I don’t know what it means to exist in a nation where only certain truths are permitted, while others must be redacted, distorted, or denied. How can anyone claim strength if they shatter at the mere presence of truth, hard ones that you want suppress?
There are days I look at the screen, I don’t know what to say.
Today, as I finish my thirtieth book—a novel that places sickle cell anemia, an ancient disease, at its center—I find myself asking: What is the truth of a “happily ever after” when forever is not guaranteed?
That may sound like heavy material for fiction. But that is exactly what storytellers do, make hard topics understandable and compelling. Storytellers want to sweep readers away from the status quo. Storytellers want to bolster a reader’s courage and humor. Sometimes, storytellers show paths where none seem to exist. Storytellers offer encouragement. And we, storytellers honor and tell the truth. All of it.
So even though the world feels shaky, I’m still here. I will still tell stories. Prepare to be sick of me.
Please stick around and join me on this journey. One of my goals for 2026 is to have bigger conversations with my heroes—people who ve dedicated their lives to storytelling that changes the world. I’m not just a reformed engineer. I was once a reporter for a college magazine. I’ve interviewed Desmond Tutu, Wynton Marsalis, and After 7. That doesn’t mean I’m a brilliant interviewer; it means I am lucky, persistent, and unafraid to put my mind to something and make it happen.
I plan on making a lot of things happen in 2026.
I need you with me in this upcoming year, in this season two of Write of Passage. I’ll continue to share essays about what I’m feeling, grounding them in history and context. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll also share conversations with heroes who are still faithfully putting pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, film to camera, who are telling the stories that shape and change our world and build up our resilience.
Books to make you a better storyteller or to make room for one In your life:
Languages of Truth: Essays 2003–2020 by Salman Rushdie — A collection of essays about literary creativity, storytelling, myth, culture, and the power of narrative in human life.
And go watch:
The Truman Show (1998) — A chilling meditation on surveillance and manufactured truth, where a man discovers his entire life has been scripted, sold, and watched.
We are twenty+ days away from the release of course Fire Sword and Sea on January 13th, 2026. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas in disguise. Imagine what their true is. Help me get folks talking about this novel.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from M. Judson Booksellers or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers, my listeners. Let’s get everyone excited for January reads.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Enjoying the vibe? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
One of my first essays on Substack, when I was testing out what I wanted to do, was about my editing process. Before I began podcasting, I was exploring my platform and had just gone through a brutal but necessary copyedit, and I wanted to talk about the lessons learned.
Write now in the ethos of publishing is a bit of a scandal about a writer when given feedback about an offensive bit of dialog in their novel, decided to keep it in to show the main character as “flawed.” Yes, racism is a flaw. Expressions of racism in a main character, a romantic hero is a flaw. I really do like my romance novels, well all novels without a side of microaggressions.
Some people argue that everyone is too sensitive or “too woke.” Others seem to long for a time when publishing was less scrutinized, less inclusive. You know, when inflammatory content could be published without consequence. Some long for the so-called “good old days” when most books catered to a dominant perspective reinforcing loud stereotypes, atmospheric patriarchal notions, or subtle supremacy.
Words are powerful. They can expand imaginations and help build better societies. When an author is not sensitive to the needs of others, that author will be found arguing with reviewers on social media, making faux apology videos, and getting publishers in trouble. If the scandal arising from publishing microaggressions, stereotypes, cultural appropriations, or racist and ableist sentiments is big enough, that author may face bans or delays in publication. If they have a fan base, they’ll be alright. I just don’t think it’s not worth it. No insensitive hill is worth dying on.
I’m 27 books into this process—twenty-five published, with number 26, A Wager at Midnight, set to release March 25. I value opinions, especially those different from mine or from perspectives and backgrounds unlike my own. I actually get nervous when an editor gives little to no feedback—I want it all. Iron sharpens iron. Critiques are how writers improve.
So let me pull back the curtain and share my process and how edits and sensitivity fit in the writing process.
First, I write the worst draft in the world. ➡ Revise ➡ Then Revise Some More ➡ Developmental Edits ➡ More Revision ➡ Sensitivity Review ➡ Copyediting ➡ Proofreading ➡ (And Pray—throughout!)
Worst Draft in the World
Every writer has to know how they write. I know my first draft needs to be between 25-30% of the final book’s word count. Any more than that and I’ll overwrite the book when I revise. That first draft is naked. I spend time, revising adding mood, colors, setting, historical touches, and emotional depth. I usually revise the awful-no-one-will-ever-see-it draft three times before going to the next stage.
Developmental Edits
Developmental editing tackles the big-picture elements: story structure, pacing, plot, character arcs, and themes. This stage addresses questions like: Does the story flow logically? Are the characters well-developed? Are there plot holes or inconsistencies? What’s the message? What’s the theme?
For every book I write, I hire a freelance editor. My Felicia gets the manuscript before my acquiring editor. Why? I want to turn in the best possible version of this book. So that editor won’t have to spend time plugging plot holes, catching redundancies, etc. One time, Felicia caught when I’ve changed character names mid-story. She knows me—and more importantly, she knows what I’m capable of delivering. I can confidently hit send to my acquiring editor knowing the manuscript is good. My editor gets it, and with their input, we can make a great book.
Back to Revisions
Back in my hot hands with my editor’s notes, it’s time to revise the manuscript again. This is my chance to refine it. I will rewrite sections and cut stuff. I’m rarely asked to expand—such is the happenstance of being a wordy, word-loving author. But I’m brutal at this stage. No word, storyline, or character is safe. I will cut. I will cut with abandon. In my next historical fiction coming January 2026, I cut 55,000 words. Let me say that again. Fifty-five thousand. Yes, it sucked. It hurt. It’s not like I can just put these words into another book but it was the best call. The book is better for. I believe in my editor’s feedback. I’ll do what’s necessary to send readers the best book.
At this point we’re in good shape. Let’s get back to being sensitivity.
The Sensitivity Touch
Sensitivity readers are supposed to review the manuscript to ensure your beautiful words doesn’t offend, get you sued, or put you on a watch list. Every one of my historical fictions—Island Queen, Sister Mother Warrior, Queen of Exiles– has been subjected to sensitivity reviews. My editor, publisher, and I want to make sure these books are accurate and respectfully represent cultures, identities, and historical events.
It’s a crucial step. It can’t be overlooked when tackling diverse characters or sensitive topics. Look, I am Black. I’m of Caribbean descent. Dad was Trini and Ma was Southern Baptist Black. I don’t get a pass to say I can automatically write about Haitian or Jamaican cultures. I do meticulous research about the most minute details, because I take my responsibility very seriously to represent these cultures and ancient peoples with respect. But I’m not perfect. I want the help. I need someone to kick my manuscript and put it through the emotional-cultural wringer before I get lit on fire by putting something out that’s wrong or, worse, offensive.
Sensitivity readers provide essential notes on areas that may inadvertently cause harm or perpetuate stereotypes. Writers, we are not supposed to do harm. Stories have power. They have a life and energy of their own. Authenticity and inclusivity elevate your writing. Don’t you want positive impact?
Copyediting and Proofreading
We’re not done. Copyediting and proofreading take our writing to the finish line. Copyediting hones in on the finer details and examines grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, consistency, and clarity. The previous edits have messed with the story a lot. A copyeditor should identify errors and flag inconsistencies. A good copyeditor will highlight blocking (the entering and exiting of characters from a scene) repetitive words or phrases—those dreaded echoes! A great copyeditor will teach you something. I recently learned that “hubris” wasn’t used until the mid-19th century—a fascinating tidbit for a proud historical fiction writer trying to write a 17th century novel.
Proofreading
A proofreader does a final pass before publication. They catch lingering typos, formatting issues, and minor errors that slipped through earlier stages. Even the most seasoned author can’t catch every mistake, not on their own. Proofreading ensures your book meets top quality standards.
My Mantra for Edits
All the hard work in crafting a story means nothing if you neglect editing or decide on a whim to leaving in something “flawed” for kicks. Welcome to my Ted talk:
* Absorb the critique: It’s not an attack—it’s insight. Sensitivity edits aren’t judgments on you, but your characters. Listen to the wisdom.
* Weigh the Critique: There’s a difference between personal preference and a flashing red light—know which you’re dealing with.
* Have Your Sources Ready: Have your references handy to support accuracy. Include them in your author’s note. Someone is bound to have the question. (PSA: Always add an author’s note.)
* Query, Don’t Assume: Never make a decision to revise—or not—based on assumptions. Challenge both your own and your editor’s perspectives. Make sure neither is rooted in a colonizer’s lens—unless you’re literally writing about Christopher Columbus. (Example: A copyeditor once tried to tell me the Khoe people were incorrectly addressed. That I shouldn’t call them by that name or “Khoesans” because it was created in 1928. The Khoe have existed since 2300 BC. My book was set in 1675. I think Khoe is good. Source documents are in the author’s note.
* Question Dialogue and POV: Read the editors notes. Sometimes they are right about things sounding “too formal or stilted.” Read actual correspondence from the period. It will surprise you about how informal things can be. Make sure you read James by Percival Everett or Lady Tan’s Circle of Women by Lisa See, two masterful uses of dialog entwined to tell ancient stories for the modern audience.
* Be Humble: Negative feedback stings, but it’s a tool for growth. Questions and queries are opportunities to clarify, refine, and strengthen your work.
* Avoid Harm: Represent cultures with authenticity and respect. Sensitivity edits help you sidestep pitfalls that could undermine your credibility.
* If someone flags an issue, fix it: Even if you don’t see it as a problem, take it seriously. If one reader finds something harmful or offensive, chances are others will too. If you are dealing with fictional characters, you can change stuff. If real people are jerks, that’s harder—see A People’s History of the United States” by Howard Zinn to learn or debunk ideas about the horrid exploits of Christopher Columbus. I don’t believe in whitewashing or hiding the truth. Dismissing concerns as “not a big deal” is a failure. It is a big deal. Rise to the moment.
Editing is an investment—not just for your benefit but for your readers. Every stage—developmental edits, revisions, sensitivity reviews, copyediting, and proofreading—are needed to make your novel the best it can be. Your story, your readers, and your publisher deserve that effort. Don’t be defensive. Do the right thing.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
On December 6, 2024, I sat down to write my feelings after licking my wounds from the America I woke up to on November 5. 2024.
The country felt less kind. Definitely, less gentle. This America willingly choosing boisterous, noisy incompetence, and the awful idea that your neighbor stole your opportunity. This choice was madeover competence, compassion, and stable beef prices.
So I did what I know how to do.
I wrote my feelings. I put pen to paper—or more accurately, fingers to keyboard—and I put all my thoughts and my heart on to the page. This essay launched my Substack.
I wrote a quote:
“But mama, I’m in love with a criminal,
And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical.
Mama, please don’t cry, I will be alright,
All reason aside, I just can’t deny, I love the guy.”
– Britney Spears, “Criminal” (Femme Fatale, 2011)
This was my Luigi Mangione phase.
To be honest, I was confused about Substack. Is is a newsletter? Is it a social media? Is it something else. But once, I played with the format and tossed up a podcast post, and you guys downloaded it, I got bigger ideas and turned to you guys for accountability. I would write one podcast essay for a year.
So the first podcast episode/ essay was The Weight of “Diverse”. My take of what was happening in publishing. Thrilling. And you tuned in. We’re almost at 17,000 downloads and hundreds of thousands of Substack views.
This was a unique challenge. I’m glad I stuck with this form of writing.
But, people often say, Vanessa, you write books. You’re always writing your heart. And that’s true. But there’s also a distance when I write about other people’s lives. It’s not me. I’m not the main character. Writing good historical fiction, romance, or mystery requires analysis. It requires restraint. I don’t pass judgment on the lives I’m bringing back to you.
In Sister Mother Warrior, I could not fault a Dahomey Warrior from following her king’s orders to sell captives any more than I can pass judgement on a 2025 sailor following his naval chief’s commands to bomb a fishing vessel. It’s the commanders of US Forces in the Caribbean and its chain of command that bringing back pirates.
But I digress.
If I were Jacquotte Delahaye, I might’ve stayed in the kitchen in Tortuga making soup, not run away to live a dream as a pirate. As a writer, I have to make their chaos—make sense. Otherwise, I’m not doing you the reader any good. And I refuse to dishonor the lives I’ve been entrusted with.
Everything I write in those books is layered on hard-fought facts: databases, archival digging, obscure records, and I do whatever it takes to bring readers closer to secret history, closer than they’ve ever been before.
Why?
I’m tired of women, particularly Black women and women of color, being portrayed as only victims in history. As if they survived history only through endurance, servitude, or some narrow “mammy-fixation” lens. My work insists they were complex, capable, and human.
But writing these weekly essay—this space—was different.
The first essay I wrote here was messy. Conflicted. It carried my trademark style to walk readers into someone else’s shoes, even when that perspective is uncomfortable. It also came with a promise I made to myself: that here, I would be open. Vulnerable. That I would talk to you as friends—friends willing to sit with my essay and listen.
For 52 weeks—an entire year—I’ve shown up. Most Mondays, I record in the evening, setting everything up so that by Tuesday at 9:10 AM, you’d receive something new. A weekly offering. A kind of fresh manna. Each episode was labor but it’s also a small love letter from me to you.
I’m, unapologetically, a write-aholic. But keeping that pace hasn’t been easy. There were nights I wanted sleep more than words. Days when another book’s edits or word count loomed. But when I commit to something I believe matters, I show up. I do the work.
For 52 weeks, you’ve allowed me to stand on the proverbial rooftop and shout my thoughts into what could have been a void.
But it wasn’t a void. You were there—listening, encouraging, learning, reflecting. Thank you.
This work takes effort. Real effort. From shaping ideas to wrestling them into coherence, then editing and distributing across platforms. We won’t even get into the technical gymnastics of getting everything out into the world.
Still, I’m grateful. I’m grateful we’re on Substack. On Apple Podcasts. On Spotify, iHeartRadio, Amazon Music, Spreaker, and YouTube. Each platform grows at its own pace, each teaches me something new. And I’m especially grateful that you are here.
As we head into the final weeks of 2025, I want to be clear: I’m not going anywhere.
Season Two begins next week. For the most part, this new year will continue as a weekly offering—my thoughts, shaped into essays. Occasionally, I may invite a guest, someone I’m learning from, someone who stretches my thinking. But this is not an interview show. There are plenty of those already. This space remains what it has always been: a place for reflection, curiosity, and shared thought. And when something special comes along, I’ll bring it here first—to my friends.
So thank you. Truly. Thank you for tuning in every week. For commenting, sharing, downloading, and telling others about this podcast. In some dark moments this year, your presence mattered more than you know. To everyone who has paid a subscription, you have blessed me. If I don’t have your mailing address, please email it to me. I have a writing journal that I’ve designed that I want to send to you.
And finally as I close Season One, I’ll leave you with this encouragement: we all have a right of passage. But I don’t want us to sail past each other like ships in the night. I want us to sit together—to talk, to think about the bigger ideas and the higher places we might go, together.
This week’s booklist is last week’s spotlight. Books coming out in January that need a little more love:
With Love, Harlem by ReShonda Tate — This is a fictionalized version of Hazel Scott’s story.
The Seven Daughters of Dupree by Nikesha Elise Williams — A multi‑generational family epic following seven Dupree women.
Last First Kiss by Julian Winters — A second‑chance, slow‑burn romance about an Atlanta event planner.
Happy Habits for Successful Women by Valorie Burton — A practical, empowering guide that encourages women to adopt mindset and behavioral habits to become healthier, more resilient, and more aligned with their goals and values.
Behind These Walls by Yasmin Angoe — A twist‑driven psychological thriller in which a woman infiltrates a wealthy family’s mansion under false pretenses.
Murder From A to Z by V.M. Burns — A cozy‑mystery in which bookstore owner and and her sister uncover sinister dealings at a retirement village.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from The Book Worm Bookstore or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers. Let’s get everyone excited for January reads.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Enjoying the vibe? Ready for Season 2? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
I started writing essays because my mind battled deep disappointment over the state of division in my country. My consciousness is bias, tragically etched with memories of when character mattered. Remember when we all wanted to be president? I remember holding civic medals I’d won in elementary and high school. I recall lifting people up on pedestals and telling younger versions of ourselves, “That’s who I want to be. That’s who I want to emulate when we grow up.”
Heroes of the Haitian War —Empress Marie Claire, Warrior Gran Toya – Art by Tonya Engle for William Morrow—Sister Mother Warrior
That sentiment is gone. People in power are deeply flawed, or their flaws are more obvious. And it’s not just politicians. We look at sports heroes and entertainers and see waves of brokenness—people performing for show, lacking integrity, and becoming poster children of bad behavior. That is why authenticity feels so refreshing, why it can grip the zeitgeist of a nation and have us talking about it, creating YouTube videos and Subtacks on the subject, even spinning reels and threads—finding more ways to tap into our fount of creativity.
We are hungry for authenticity, for authentic creation.
Now, I’m not advocating for perfection. Every writer knows the pitfalls of striving for perfection. We wrestle with word choice, sentence structure, even the order of ideas. We can edit something so many times that our original vision becomes unrecognizable. Yet, we push forward because the act of creating is essential. It’s the breath in an artist’s lungs.
Our better angels—our novels of truth, our canvases of color, our songs of freedom, our quilts of existence, our visuals of life—are needed more than ever. We are hungry for authenticity, for authentic creation.
Our appetites are satiated in low-calorie burns. Scrolling for kicks, laughs, angry takes, and escape is common. But social media, the hellscape that it is, can be a respite or a drug. And I must say, I am confused about the self-induced stupor of tearful videos of people who voted against their own interests, now seeking the world’s sympathy as they grapple with consequences—lost jobs, lost funding, lost farms, and lost hopes. It’s painful to watch. It’s also jarring to see them admit that this consequence is only a problem now because they suffer. I did a podcast about the loss of empathy. I just didn’t expect an equivalent rise in blindness to FAFO.
I wish harm on no one, but these folks are putting themselves and their business out there and wonder why they are being mocked. Empathy and sympathy need to be learned and earned before they can be demanded from others.
And yet, here we are—still divided, still finding out. We could sulk. We could laugh. We could cry. But I believe the better thing to do is to keep moving forward. That’s how we—the collective, those of like minds, and even new converts to humanity—win. Everyone, we can win. We will win.
There’s a scene I wrote in Sister Mother Warrior—the lead-up to the Battle of Vertières, the drive to push the French out which ended the Haitian Revolution, this is a snippet of the audio performed by Adjoa Andoh and Robin Miles:
Staking the flagpole in the ground, he (Jean-Jacques Dessalines) stopped and looked out at his army. “They divide, but we are consolidated, one family. And this gives us victory…”
Then he gave the signal and pointed us to the hills. “Onward! We will win!” The battle cry of Nosakhere, “Mì nan du déji! We will win!” was music to my ears. Women and men cried out in all the mother tongues of the people born here and those stolen from Africa.
“Yebedi kunim,” Twi.
“A yoo ṣẹgun,” Yoruba.
“Nou pral genyen,” Kreyòl.
“Nous gagnerons,” French.
“Mì nan du déji,” blessed Fon.”
I love that scene—people of all races and nationalities gathering to defeat their common oppressors. Unified they drove the French from Haiti. It took everyone. In America, it will take all of us to win.
The True Fight
We’re not fighting with weapons of war—guns and tanks. We are fighting for minds. The power to unlock thought and passion is creation. How we got here doesn’t matter. Whether orderly or chaotic, it’s not about the process—it’s about the product. What are you making with the time you were given?
The battles can be as small as saving your money by avoiding fast fashion and shopping your closet. Eating and talking about life around the kitchen table instead of eating out. Supporting your library by using it and checking out books by your favorite authors is an act of resistance.
For those who harness their creative genes, making something, delivering art is the ultimate act of resistance. Creating ignites the brain, releasing endorphins and unlocking resilience. Instead of dwelling on despair, we must tap into our inner artist, writer, and creator to make magic in the medium of our choosing. I want this period of time to be a rebirth or renaissance for folk arts, for kitchen experimentation, for the novels we will talk about for the next seventy years.
For every creator out there, I know it feels difficult to make art right now. It feels worse when you know you did your part to keep the world from being set on fire. I often think of my farming grandparents, who lived in the Jim Crow South, educated eight children, and bought over 400 acres of land with mere pennies. If they could plant so many seeds in the face of lynchings, why are we letting fear of people who whine at the first moment of heat or being stoned by pea soup cause us despair? No one should keep us from doing what we must. No one.
History proves that perseverance defies expectations:
· Gran Toya led troops in hand-to-hand combat in her 60s during the Haitian Revolution.
· Fauja Singh began running marathons at 89, setting records in his 100s.
· Ray Kroc turned McDonald’s into a global empire in his 50s.
· Diana Nyad swam from Cuba to Florida at 64 after multiple failed attempts.
· Faith Ringgold gained major recognition for her story quilts in her 50s.
· Cicely Tyson was told she wouldn’t make it because of her dark skin; she won a Tony at 88 and worked until her passing at 96.
· Morgan Freeman became a household name in Driving Miss Daisy at nearly 50.
· Samuel L. Jackson landed Pulp Fiction at 46 after years of struggling with his career. Our Uncle Sam is now one of the highest grossing actors in Hollywood.
And, of course, there are the writers I’ve spoken about:
· Toni Morrison published The Bluest Eye at 39 and won the Nobel Prize in Literature at 62.
· Octavia Butler faced rejection for years before breaking through in sci-fi in her 40s.
To every creator, hear my voice: Grab your paper, pens, keyboards, fruits, spices, fabrics, glues, paints, resins, threads—whatever you have—and birth a miracle. Create. Art is the first and last sign of resistance.
The work isn’t done. We resist by creating. My art—my words—exist to empower Black women, foster sisterhood, and restore the world to a place where we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers. The ancestors say we will win. I believe them, and I believe in us.
· Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo“ by Zora Neale Hurston – A firsthand account of survival and resilience from one of the last known survivors of the transatlantic slave trade.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting The Book Worm Bookshop through Bookshop.org.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
Every writer, whether we want to admit it or not, is an entrepreneur. We create a product—a book—and then we turn around and sell it. Sometimes we sell part of our interest to a traditional publisher like Simon & Schuster or HarperCollins. Sometimes we go the indie route, selling directly to readers through a website or through a behemoth like Amazon. But no matter the path, one truth remains unshakable:
We are in business for ourselves.
We are the CEO, the marketing department, the shipping department, the PR team, and the person answering emails at 2 a.m.
We promote the product lines. We show up to the events. We handshake and livestream and book club ourselves into the good graces of the reading world.
I’m doing that now. As we gear up for the launch of Fire Sword and Sea, I’ll will be heading to D.C., Severna Park, Virginia, St. Louis, Mo, Austin, Texas, and of course Atlanta and all her glorious suburbs. Meeting readers is actually one of my favorite parts of the job. There’s nothing like seeing that gleam in a reader’s eye when they tell you what moved them, confused them, or delighted them.
There’s nothing like digging into the myths and the hidden histories that shaped a story.
And when I say hidden, I mean hidden. I will chase a fact to the end of the earth. I will travel to the places I’m writing about. I will battle through foreign language and archivists to get firsthand accounts. I want to return these people to you whole—the people who lived the stories I’m writing.
For Fire Sword and Sea, I boarded an old-time frigate—one that very easily could’ve been a pirate ship back in the day. I wanted to feel what it was like to sleep in a hammock practically touching tens of others, to understand how close the hull was to the crew cabin, to hear the groan of wood and water the same way they did.
There is no way you couldn’t hear the moans of the enslaved in the cargo hold. In the 1600s, human beings were the universal coin. People traded enslaved bodies like currency. That’s how they moved stolen property.
Moreover, the 1600s were wild. Theft was legal if you called it piracy. Danger was so normal it barely had a name. But it was also a time of reinvention. A time when you might have to disguise yourself—your gender, your class, your entire identity—to have the life you dreamed of.
And honestly? It doesn’t feel that far from being a small-business owner today. We change disguises, the various roles, to get our jobs done. And sometimes we forget why we got into this in the first place. We forget passion. And focus on market shifts. We ignore hunger to unleash something new into the world and get stuck in all the boxes that have to get checked—editing, research, marketing, PR, scheduling.
Recently I found people fight you or deprive you of resources when they don’t want your story told. In business, a Walmart will come and undercut you to price you out of the market. In the writing world, it will be the use of algorithms or the lack of oxygen to starve a book.
Sadly, some folks don’t want the truth. They don’t want to hear of a world where everyone could become a slave. They definitely don’t want to hear women who escaped and became pirates who led and commanded ships. I really think, some wanted me to write about a jolly old male crew singing sea shanties all day.
In Fire Sword and Sea, you’ll get adventure. You’ll get sailing crews. You might even get a spirit filled song asking for God’s vengeance. I wrote the truth. You’ll see the complicated leadership choices women in disguise had to make. You’ll see the danger of wanting something so badly that you risk everything to get it.
You’ll see the success, the heart break, and the compromises that may rot the soul.
Back to my small business.
Right now, I’m negotiating dates, confirming travel, juggling time zones, sorting release-week logistics—not to mention championing every other author whose book is coming out in January. It’s prime season. Prime real estate. Everyone wants and needs attention. I am no exception. If you preorder Fire Sword and Sea, I hope you feel the stories worth, believe the hassle, the grind, the late nights, and the tears.
But Lord… how many times have I said to myself, “I wish I had somebody else to do this”?
Let me bust a myth: even if you’re traditionally published, for the most part nobody is swooping in to handle your career or your new shiny book. You will still grind. You will still hustle. Traditional publishing gives glamorous promises—books everywhere, audiobooks, store distribution—but it does not give you a full marketing staff or sometimes the feeling that they give a damn.
Indies wear about 50,000 hats. Traditional authors wear about 32,000. Either way, your neck and back are still tired.
And that is why every writer—I don’t care which path you choose—has to ask:
What are you willing to do to have what you truly want?What are you willing to carry?How high are you willing to climb to make people hear your story?
Because at the end of the day, there is no one else. There’s no system. No machine. No cavalry.
There’s only you.You, shouting your story from every rooftop.You, standing on every chair.You, daring the world to listen.
We’re less than a month away now, and soon I’ll be taking Fire Sword and Sea across the country to talk about Jacquotte Delahaye, Lizzôa Erville, Michel Le Basque, Laurens de Graaf, and more: pirates who were—brave, reckless, brilliant. You will see them take to the took to the sea because no one else would do it for them.
Maybe that’s the lesson for all of us.
In the end, there is no one else.
There’s only the person who wants the dream badly enough to carry it forward.
And that person… is you.
This week’s booklist are books also coming out in January that need a little more love:
With Love, Harlem by ReShonda Tate — This is a fictionalized version of Hazel Scott’s story. She’s a jazz prodigy, a glamorous film star, a fierce advocate for civil rights, and she breaking barriers and rules.
The Seven Daughters of Dupree by Nikesha Elise Williams — A multi‑generational family epic following seven women of the Dupree lineage as they unearth dark secrets.
Burn Down the Master’s House by Clay Cane — A searing, urgent exploration of race, identity, and power in America.
Last First Kiss by Julian Winters — A second‑chance, slow‑burn romance about an Atlanta event planner reuniting with his first love when forced to cover a high-profile wedding.
Happy Habits for Successful Women by Valorie Burton — A practical, empowering guide that encourages women to adopt mindset and behavioral habits to become healthier, more resilient, and more aligned with their goals and values.
Behind These Walls by Yasmin Angoe — A twist‑driven psychological thriller in which a woman infiltrates a wealthy family’s mansion under false pretenses.
Murder From A to Z by V.M. Burns — A cozy‑mystery in which bookstore owner and amateur sleuth Samantha Washington and her sister uncover sinister dealings at a retirement village when a seemingly natural death turns suspicious.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Black Pearl Books or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers. Let’s get everyone excited for January reads.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
So Boss, Our stories matter—tap like, hit subscribe, share, and let’s keep this movement going with Write of Passage.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl LIX halftime performance during the game between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles has set the internet—and much of the world—abuzz. Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult is the most banned book in America for challenging the way people see the world. I’m sure those same folks will be coming for Kendrick’s thirteen minutes for challenging the way the world operates.
Less than a week later, scholars, pontificators and fools offered hot takes, deep dives, and debates about every minute of the performance. Those versed in Black scholarship loved it. Others criticized it. And, there were plenty of opinions and outright lies circulating. But here’s what’s undeniable: 133.5 million people watched the halftime show at Caesars Superdome, making it the most-watched in Super Bowl history. According to Roc Nation, Apple Music and the NFL, this number beats those who watched the Fox broadcast of the game which averaged 126 Million viewers. That 7.5 million more tuning into halftime than game time.
Context is King: History of the Halftime Show
Let’s talk about origins. The Super Bowl, the annual championship game of the NFL, has been played since 1967, with college marching bands providing halftime entertainment.
Grambling State University, a HBCU had its marching band perform at Super Bowl II (1968).
In 1972, the first halftime show featuring a Black performer, non-marching band member, was Ella Fitzgerald at Super Bowl VI in Miami where she sang Mack the Knife.
Super Bowl IX (1975) in New Orleans paid tribute to Duke Ellington with Grambling State’s Marching Band and the Mercer Ellington Orchestra.
When was the next Black moment? We have to skip a bunch of years to get to 1991, Super Bowl XXV where the incomparable Whitney Houston delivered a stirring rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner, but she wasn’t the halftime headliner—New Kids on the Block were. In 1993, Michael Jackson, the 1st Black performer to headline the halftime show dazzles the crowds at Super Bowl XXVII (27) and sets the standard for pop stars and the future of football’s biggest event. The King of Pop owned the stage and every moment of his performance. If 100,000 people had actually turned off their TVs like they claimed they did, Michael Jackson would still hold the record, with an audience of 133.4 million viewers.
Other notable performances featuring Black artists across the lengthy history of halftime shows include:
• Super Bowl XXII (22nd, 1988) – Chubby Checker appears with the Rockettes and 88 grand piano players.
• Super Bowl XXIX (29th, 1995) – Patti LaBelle & Teddy Pendergrass were featured along with Tony Bennett.
• Super Bowl XXX (30th, 1996) – Diana Ross dazzled in a red gown and even changed outfits mid-show.
• Super Bowl XXXI (31st, 1997) – A blend of James Brown appearing with ZZ Top and The Blues Brothers Band.
• Super Bowl XXXII (32nd, 1998) – A Motown tribute featured The Temptations, Smokey Robinson, Martha Reeves & The Vandellas, Queen Latifah, and Boyz II Men. Watching those young men of Boyz II Men sing about their mothers hits differently now, especially juxtaposed with Lamar’s solitary silhouette atop the GNX in New Orleans and his dancers, young men gathered under a street lamp.
• Super Bowl XXXIII (33rd, 1999) – Stevie Wonder joins Gloria Estefan and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.
• Super Bowl XXXIV (34th, 2000) – Toni Braxton is featured.
• Super Bowl XXXV (35th, 2001) – Featured Mary J. Blige and Nelly.
So, let’s be clear: Black performers at the Super Bowl are not new. Hip-hop and rap at the Super Bowl are not new. For those suddenly enraged—why weren’t you bothered during the 39 other years when Black artists weren’t featured or headlined? The selection process has always been based on merit—the most talented for the job, period. Right?
And with DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) now the new taboo, let me ask: Why do some get upset when things aren’t diverse—when people who look like them aren’t centered or given an extra slot or quota on stage? Do you want equity and inclusion or not?
Kendrick Lamar is highly qualified. He won the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music for his album DAMN. He’s a 27-time Grammy winner, and one cannot deny that his 2024 diss track, Not Like Us, has the world on fire. Please, show me someone with better credentials who’s willing to perform a 13-minute Super Bowl halftime show—for free.
Let’s Dive into the Performance
Lights flash. I see nine squares and glowing X’s and O’s. I wonder—are we about to get Tic-Tac-Toe or something else? In the background, a power bar, formed of stadium lights or drones, begins to load. I know we’re about to witness something special.
More lights flash. The bar is almost at 100%, and I sit on the edge of my seat, expecting a high level of storytelling artistry from Lamar. According to Britannica, art is a visual object or experience consciously created through an expression of skill or imagination—and right now, skill and imagination are exactly what we need.
In a flash, a “Start Here” sign and arrow appear, pointing to the lone figure on the hood of a Buick GNX. Kendrick Lamar, a young Black man, crouches on the car. The image evokes loneliness—it’s dramatic, and I’m locked in as the gleaming black Buick GNX (Grand National Experimental) transforms into a clown car, packed with dancers spilling out. So many exit the vehicle that I later learn the seating had to be removed to fit them all into that tight, cramped space—not unlike bodies crammed into the hulls of ships.
On Instagram, Lamar writes about authenticity: “In the moment of confusion, the best thing you can do is find a GNX. Make you realize the only thing that matters in life is that original paperwork. That TL2 code. 1 of 547.”
What does original paperwork mean when you’re the descendant of chattel slavery? Is it the slave ship’s manifest that documented the theft of ancestors? The bill of sale from massas in the States or Grand Blancs in the Caribbean, depending on where your roots were auctioned off? Or is it the manumission papers, declaring your freedom—bought at a price?
This leads me down another rabbit hole: authenticity—who is American and who is not? In a country that often forgets to be kind to the foreigner (Leviticus 19:33-34), or that it was founded by immigrants—many seeking religious freedom, a fresh economic start, or escape from oppression—this question cuts deep. It’s a scar that never fully heals.
Did you know that, in the past—like I wrote about in Island Queen—people with any tint to their skin have had to carry manumission papers or proof of their free status to avoid being accosted? Many around the nation feel this burden now. We’re still caught in this cycle because we’ve banned the books that teach history and empathy.
Back to Football—America’s Game
I highly recommend reading Moving the Chains: The Civil Rights Protest That Saved the Saints and Transformed New Orleans by Erin Grayson Sapp, which examines the 1965 AFL All-Star Game boycott, where players protested against racial discrimination in New Orleans.
Another must-read is Race and Football in America: The Life and Legacy of George Taliaferro by Dawn Knight, chronicling the journey of George Taliaferro, the first African American drafted by an NFL team, and the challenges he faced.
Red, White, & Blues of Uncle Sam
The visuals cut to Uncle Sam—portrayed by Academy Honorary Award winner Samuel L. Jackson. With a film career grossing over $27 billion worldwide, making him the highest-grossing actor of all time, Jackson embodies this iconic American figure. Some might be wondering, What in the DEI is going on with this Black version of a fictional Americana, but it soon becomes clear: Uncle Sam is here to keep Lamar in line.
Jackson plays Uncle Sam as Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s 1852 abolitionist novel, portrayed White men as morally bankrupt and Black individuals as either complicit in oppression or suffering under it. The book also depicted White women as the moral conscience of a system they benefited from, yet remained angelic through their Christian preaching. The novel ends with the enslaved Tom dying because he refuses to betray two Black women who have escaped. As he dies, he forgives his abusers.
The novel’s humane portrayal of enslaved people and its righteous female characters were said to have contributed to the start of the Civil War. Enraged Southerners banned the book. In the 1940s, Langston Hughes attempted to revive interest in it, but Richard Wright and James Baldwin criticized it, arguing that it promoted the image of an “Uncle Tom”—a Black person subservient to Whites or complicit in oppression.
In Lamar’s performance, Uncle Sam enforces the “party line” of American success. At times, he antagonizes Lamar, telling him, “You’re too loud, too reckless, too ghetto.” He dictates that since Lamar refuse to comply with the rules of the American game, he must be penalized: “Deduct one life.”
The death count is brutal—and so is American history, even without including the countless lives lost under enslavement:
• Fort Pillow Massacre (1864): Confederate soldiers slaughtered surrendering African American Federal troops stationed at Fort Pillow, Tennessee. Between 277 and 295 Union troops were killed.
• Memphis Massacre (1866): A White mob murdered 46 African Americans, most of whom were Union veterans.
• New Orleans Massacre (1866): A White mob killed 35 Black citizens and wounded 100 for peacefully gathering in support of a political meeting.
• Colfax Massacre (1873): A White militia massacred approximately 150 African American militia members who were attempting to surrender in Colfax, Louisiana.
• Wilmington Massacre (1898): A premeditated attack left 60 Black Americans dead as White supremacists sought to eliminate African American participation in government and permanently disenfranchise Black citizens.
• Atlanta Race Riot (1906): White mobs killed at least 12 African Americans and burned over 1,000 homes and businesses in Black neighborhoods.
• Springfield Race Riot (1908): The Illinois state militia was called to quell the chaos as a White mob shot innocent people, burned homes, looted stores, and mutilated and lynched Black residents.
• Chicago Race Riot (1919): The “Red Summer” began when a Black youth was stoned to death for swimming in an area reserved for Whites. Over 13 days of lawlessness, 23 African Americans were killed, 537 were injured, and 1,000 Black families were left homeless.
• Ocoee Massacre (1920): A massacre of Black residents in Ocoee, Florida, left approximately 30 dead.
• Tulsa Race Massacre (1921): Tulsa’s prosperous Black neighborhood of Greenwood, known as Black Wall Street, was destroyed—1,400 homes and businesses burned, nearly 10,000 people left homeless. Vanessa Miller’s The Filling Station is a poignant portrayal of the massacre and the resilient rebuilding that followed.
The sacrifice of Black lives makes Lamar’s imagery of tangled bodies forming the flag raw. It hit me in the pit of my stomach. I live knowing that the sacrifices and body counts will continue to rise, forming trending hashtags: #BreonnaTaylor #AhmaudArbery #TamirRice #TrayvonMartin #GeorgeFloyd
The Movement of Dancers
The visuals of Black dancers dressed in red, white, and blue moving around what is now clearly the game receiver mirror how many of us are on the X button—saying yes to conforming, to getting along, to advancing, to avoiding having our dreams burned up by a jealous or misinformed mob. When the dancers near the circle stage—the reject button—they enter a staircase that leads to a slope, which brings them back to where they started. Is that a metaphor suggesting we are better off right where we began before chasing conformance?
The Most Misunderstood Part: Serena Williams
Serena Williams, who once dated Drake, danced the Crip Walk on stage. Distraught commentators ground their teeth, calling it disrespectful for a forty-year-old mother to be dancing on the figurative grave of her ex.
The caucasity of this is the belief that this exhibition was about a man or a former relationship. Serena Williams is not just some “baby mother.” She was ranked No. 1 in the world in women’s singles by the Women’s Tennis Association (WTA) for 319 weeks—the third-most of all time. Williams has won 73 WTA Tour-level singles titles, including 23 major women’s singles titles. She is the only player to accomplish a career Golden Slam in both singles and doubles.
The Crip Walk is a celebration, notably adopted by her folks from her city of Compton, and it symbolizes the alliance of California street gangs, the Crips— as in Crips vs. Bloods. No, Serena is not part of a gang. But like the dance’s founder, Henry Crip—a Harlem dance legend who lost an arm and a leg in a car accident—she celebrates moving forward and achieving. Williams first did the Crip Walk in 2012 at Wimbledon, eliciting massive backlash for celebrating a huge win—for the girl from Compton.
Seeing her dance freely, hair flowing, I think of the Tignon Laws of New Orleans, which I mentioned in my podcast Consent in the Time When a Black Woman Can Say No, and the long history of policing Black women’s bodies. In Serena, I saw joy and celebration. If I am to think of Drake at all—a man who has used Serena’s name in diss songs—I see freedom from a toxic relationship. That’s cathartic.
Ok, Now the Hotep Or Too Deep to be Real Take
Lamar does say he is a stargazer, so maybe the 16 stars on Uncle Sam’s jacket resemble the Little Dipper. if I squint, I can see it. But the talk online about the design representing the 16 free states—states that prohibited slavery between 1850 and 1858—seems like a stretch. These arbitrary dates are supposedly tied to U.S. naval activities interrupting the slave trade.
I’m not buying this. The U.S. Navy’s role against stopping transport began in 1820 when warships deployed off West Africa tried to catch American slave ships, but enforcement was sporadic until the Navy deployed a permanent African Squadron in 1842. Last time I checked, 1850 and 1842 are different years. A rounding error won’t make them the same.
By 1858, there were 32 states in the Union, including Minnesota, which was admitted on May 11, 1858. California was the 31st state, admitted on September 9, 1850. If I count the list of free states—states that prohibited slavery—I get 17:
1. Pennsylvania – December 12, 1787
2. New Jersey – December 18, 1787
3. Connecticut – January 9, 1788
4. Massachusetts – February 6, 1788
5. New Hampshire – June 21, 1788
6. New York – July 26, 1788
7. Rhode Island – May 29, 1790
8. Vermont – March 4, 1791
9. Ohio – March 1, 1803
10. Indiana – December 11, 1816
11. Illinois – December 3, 1818
12. Maine – March 15, 1820
13. Michigan – January 26, 1837
14. Iowa – December 28, 1846
15. Wisconsin – May 29, 1848
16. California – September 9, 1850
17. Minnesota – May 11, 1858
So the math and the facts aren’t jiving. Kendrick Lamar is very precise in his lyrics. An arbitrary number or pattern doesn’t seem to be his M.O. I could stretch and say he mentions losing 16 friends in his song “wacced out murals,” but then I’m just spitballing.
Not everything has a direct meaning, but that’s the beauty of art—it can mean many different things to different people. Kendrick Lamar and his performance is art and it should be applauded for making us all stop and think.
Ending the American Game
As the last notes of “Not Like Us” finishes, Lamar and company launch into “TV Off.” When he finishes the rap, he holds up a virtual remote, turns it off, and forces the stage to go dark. In lights, we see the sign: Game Over. Does he mean the American game is over because we refuse to learn from the past or that he’s stop playing the game? Lights out—Is that symbolic of a Revolution being televised until it’s not? Is the American Game going to stop feeding on Black life, Black culture, and Black breath? What happens if every American, turns off the TV, the cellphone, social media, etc. and stops playing the game?
America is founded with the God-given right to have differences of opinions. Of being able to choose your path, to dream the biggest dreams, and to make them happen—on or off the field. Whether we play the game or not, movement, not standing still, is how we inch forward toward the goal posts. It’s how we will awaken and form a more perfect union.
Images are screenshots of ROC Nation and Apple Music feeds.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
For the women who burn it all down, find beauty in ashes.
For the dreamers left behind—keep sailing.”
That is the dedication of Fire Sword and Sea. Four lines that came to me as a battle cry. It’s a reminder that womanhood, especially when tied to leadership, has never been a straight line. It bends, curves, breaks, and rebuilds. It demands courage. It requires clarity. And sometimes, it lusts for fire.
Recently, a friend—someone who does not read much historical fiction—got an early look at Fire Sword and Sea. She’s a reader of self-help, of business strategy, of the occasional thriller you can sneak into her hands. But she said something that stopped me cold:
“Vanessa, you wrote a book about leadership—about women’s leadership.”
At first, I blinked. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Yes, my heroine Jacquotte Delahaye is a pirate captain. And yes, pirate captains are leaders by definition. But what my friend saw was something deeper—something I wasn’t consciously aiming for but had apparently woven into every scene, every strike of a sword.
On a pirate ship in the 1600s, leadership wasn’t inherited; it was earned. Pirate vessels operated like meritocracies—any race, any nationality could join, as long as they could pull their weight. Jacquotte rises the only way a woman in that era could: in disguise. Hidden behind lies, she relies on her skill with a rapier, her mastery of the sea, her stamina and grit, and her ability to steer a stolen ship through storms both literal and moral.
Pirates didn’t buy their ships. They took them. And Jacquotte climbs the ladder of command one impossible task at a time.
Through Fire Sword and Sea, we see her rise, her missteps, her victories, her bruises—physical and spiritual. And that, my friend said, is leadership.
But leadership—especially women’s leadership—is a complicated beast.
We often talk about the women who lead in boardrooms, in startups, in medicine, in politics. But historically—and even now—women occupy the caregiver role by default. According to the report released in March by US Healthcare Workforce, 87 percent of nurses are women. The Bureau of Labor Statistics says 80 percent of healthcare workers are women. We are the hospice nurses, the physician assistants, the physical therapists. The ones tending to the young, the old, the fading, the forgotten. And in the 1600s, this was even more pronounced. Before physicians, there were women who gathered herbs, mixed tinctures, whispered prayers, held hands, and ushered people into life and into death and sometimes back again.
To lead, sometimes that caregiving must be set aside. And that choice weighs heavy on nurturers.
Then there is modernity:
How does being a mother affect leadership?
How does being a wife?
How does being the one expected to build the home, nurture the family, care for the elders and in-laws?
I remember climbing the corporate ladder and watching women I admired—women who mentored me—delay motherhood until the last biologically viable second. One of my favorite bosses, a brilliant Irish PhD in physics, once had suits tailored specifically to hide her pregnancy. Because at that time, maternity leave and career advancement could not coexist in the same equation.
This is the landscape women navigate. A landscape Jacquotte would have known in a different form, in a different century—but it’s still hauntingly familiar.
My friend, though, wanted to talk about the dedication.
For the women who do right.
For the women who do wrong for the right reasons.
Because in leadership, there is always a moment—a crossroads—when doing the right thing may mean becoming complicit in something that isn’t right. Sometimes survival demands choices you would never make in a perfect world.
We see the consequences of hubris and hard choices in our real world today. Not to get too political, but right now there is a crisis in the Caribbean that breaks my heart. U.S. forces have fired on fishing vessels, claiming they carried drugs. But no proof has been given. Witness accounts suggest at least one boat was attacked without cause, leaving two people clinging for life. It seems a second strike was orders to kill defenseless victims.
If drugs were aboard, they now sit at the bottom of the sea—destroyed by the same guns that struck the fishermen. This needless killing violates the Geneva Convention, the rules of war and basic humanity.
And now investigations must happen to see how leadership failed and who was complicit in illegal orders. It is a horrible situation when the people in all levels of the chain of command fail. It’s horrid, that those below followed orders that were illegal. Leadership—good or bad—always has accomplices.
And that is part of the burden.
In Fire Sword and Sea, Jacquotte and her crew face their own moral storms. In the 1600s, the “currency” of the seas was not just gold or silver. It was people. African people. A horrid truth I confronted in my research was located in merchant records.
I saw 17 guinea for a pewter bowl.
At first, I thought they meant the coin minted for King Charles II with gold from the country Guinea. But the coin of popularity in the Caribbean. The Spanish silver pieces of eight were. It was upon further digging that these records were referring to people. Everyone from Africa are commonly called Guinea in the 1600s.
So a pewter vessel was valued at seventeen Guinea. Seventeen human lives.
Imagine a world where a pewter bowl was worth more than a child.
So yes—Fire Sword and Sea has action and saga and mystery. But beneath the adventure, it wrestles with leadership, complicity, survival, and the cost of chasing freedom in a world built on stolen bodies.
This book asks questions:
What does it take to lead?
What is the price of doing the right thing?
What happens when you must choose between your principles and your people?
And how do women—across eras—navigate these impossible intersections of duty, ambition, and care?
I cannot wait to have deeper conversations with you about these choices and about leadership.
And so I return to Fire Sword and Sea’s dedication:
For the women who do right.
For the women who do wrong for the right reasons.
For the women who burn it all down, find beauty in ashes.
For the dreamers left behind—keep sailing.”
Books to get us diving deeper into leadership are:
A reflective nonfiction exploration of feminism, aging, ambition, and the fight for autonomy across a lifetime.
Take Care of Them Like My Own — Dr. Ala Stanford: A powerful memoir of a Black woman surgeon who turned grief, racism, and systemic neglect into a movement that vaccinated and cared for thousands during COVID‑19. Soror Ala is running for congress to lead the 3rd congressional district of Philadelphia.
A bold, haunting retelling that gives Medusa her voice back, revealing the girl behind the myth and exploring power, wrath, injustice, and the cost of becoming the monster the world insists you are.
A sweeping tale of ambition, generational power, and the women who shape empires from the shadows, exploring the sacrifices, strategies, and emotional costs of building—and defending—a legacy.
We are six weeks away from the release of course Fire Sword and Sea on January 13th, 2026. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. Review this novel in Edelweiss and NetGalley. Vote for it on Goodreads. Help me get folks talking about this novel.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Baldwin and Company or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers. Let’s get everyone excited for truth.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Don’t let this be a one-time thing—like, share, and subscribe to join the growing family at Write of Passage. Welcome aboard this ship. I heart you.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
It’s universally known that everyone who has a career or talent that intersects with the public must learn to deal with waiting. Everyone waits. Whether a king or a servant, a politician or a bank teller, time slows down while you wait to receive or give something. Even though the physical globe continues to rotate around the sun, our present circle will seem stopped or stuck. It’s an uneasy feeling that grows and can become unbearable the longer the wait time.
Creatives, especially writers know at some point in their career, will have to wait. Let’s dive into this world. Early on, it’s waiting for the right idea. Then, it’s waiting to find time to write. After that, we wait on edits or feedback from workshops, peers, or critique groups. If you are pursuing a traditional path, we wait for the magic call or Zoom with an agent announcing they love our voice and wish to sign us. Then, there’s the ultimate wait when, as a traditional author, one anguishes for a positive response from an editor at a publishing house. We want that “yes.” We crave that affirmation that we’ve written something that matters.
For indie authors, the struggles may look different, but waiting is still inevitable. You might be waiting on cover designers, layout artists, or formatters to deliver essential elements for book production. But no matter how we publish, all authors wait for early reviews and to see how fans and new readers react.
I’m reminded of a keynote I once heard Walter Mosley give. He was joking with his close friend, Gregory Hines, about how his world would change now that he had received his long-awaited “yes”. His risks were finally paying off, both literally and figuratively. But Hines, in his wisdom, simply told him, “Don’t worry, you’ll be broke again.” Mosley acknowledged that Hines was right and drew a big laugh from the National Book Club conference admitting that he was again and again.
Vanessa meets Walter Mosley at the 2024 National Bookclub Conference in Atlanta.
As authors, we will always be in a waiting game until we stop writing. We will be waiting on contracts, ad placements, book launches, or even the next words to come. But waiting doesn’t mean sitting around, worrying while we stave off dread. Waiting should be active.
Waiting involves an expectation that things will work together for our good (Romans 8:28). We must prepare for the next step (James 5:7). I want to act as if the answer is yes. I work in the present to be ready for the blessings. I never expect the worst. I try to be joyful until I have a reason to cry.
And let’s be real. Sometimes, the answer is no. Sometimes, it’s a kick in the gut—the realization that this good thing was not for you. It’s okay to grieve. We are human. We can be sad.
Yet, when we feel like we’ve blown it, we must remember that we are seen. We are not forgotten. I love how Psalmist puts it in Psalms 40:1-3:
“I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise.”
So rejoice in the good. Weep in the sadness. And know we are not alone.
The Waiting Winners Timeline.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I have a list of some of the great waits that eventually paid off. History is full of people who had to wait long periods for their dreams and recognition to come true:
• Sister Rosetta Tharpe (1915–1973) – The “Godmother of Rock and Roll” influenced Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley but wasn’t fully acknowledged until her induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2018.
• Cicely Tyson (1924–2021) – Though she acted for decades and delivered groundbreaking performances in Sounder (1972) and The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (1974), she never received her full due until 2018 when forty-six years later, Cicely was presented with an honorary Oscar for her lifetime achievements. She was in her 90s.• Zora Neale Hurston (1891–1960) – As I mentioned in earlier episodes, Ride or Die or Get Out of the Way and Grab Somerset Gumbo, Your Best Girl, and Go, Zora’s work during the Harlem Renaissance was intentionally buried by gatekeepers. She died in poverty and obscurity, and her work had to be rediscovered a full decade after her death. I will say this a thousand times: This is not the way. Death and poverty should never be requirements for a writer’s success.• Octavia Butler (1947–2006) – Octavia’s first published work was a short story called Crossover in 1971. Her first novel, published by Doubleday in 1976, was just the beginning. The visionary science fiction writer, who won Hugo (1984) and Nebula Awards (1985), struggled for mainstream success until she published Parable of the Sower in 1993 and won the MacArthur Fellowship in 1995. That’s more than 22 years of waiting. The world is forever grateful for Octavia’s perseverance
• Walter Mosley – Walter started writing in the 1980s, and his first novel, Devil in a Blue Dress, was published by WW Norton on June 19, 1990. He faced several years of difficulty in getting published because publishers didn’t think there was an audience for Black detective fiction. Once it sold, it became a classic, even being adapted into a movie starring Denzel Washington.
One could say it all paid off. Perhaps. But I’m sure that the waiting wasn’t easy or sweet. I am thankful that each persevered with their gifts and changed the world.
How to Productively Wait
Since waiting is inevitable, I made a list of practical ways to stay productive and engaged:
1. Don’t Obsess—Rest: Avoid refreshing your inbox constantly. Do chores. Volunteer. Don’t obsess on reels or social media, but do find ways to bless someone else.
2. Read Widely: Explore new releases, classics, nonfiction, and poetry to inspire new ideas. This is something I do. It’s one of the reasons I confidently write in three genres—historical fiction, romance, and mystery. My voice adapts. I give readers of these genres what they want, what they expect, because I learn from all good stories. Sister Mother Warrior, about the two women who shaped the Haitian Revolution, is my most literary work, but it’s also the most muscular novel I’ve published. Its heft comes from a lot of nonfiction, including books on war and diaspora poetry.
3. Take a Class: Study writing guides or attend workshops. Some great books to consider:
Writers realize that all competitions are not created equal. Some have implicit bias. Do your homework before submitting. I don’t want your work stolen or misrepresented or fumbled by hands that should never had touched your creation in the first place
8. Stay Informed on Industry Trends: Keep up with publishing news, avoid scams, and research new agents and publishers and marketplaces.
9. Plan Your Marketing Strategy: Work on your launch plan and outreach to bloggers and media, so you are ready when you get your yes.
10. Replenish Creativity: Step away when needed—travel, pick up a hobby, or simply rest.
11. (Bonus Point) Start a New Project: If you’re querying, don’t immediately start book two in your series. Instead, write something fresh that could be your breakthrough project.
Embrace the Wait
Waiting is hard, but it doesn’t have to be unproductive or soul-crushing. It’s part of our process. It’s formative to our seasons of growth. We have to be prepared, or we will not harvest and allow our fruit to rot. Remember, everything worthwhile takes time. Every success story has had its pauses. The key to getting through to the light is to fill the waiting with purpose. Whether you are a seasoned pro or just getting into the business (the publishing game), trust that waiting always comes before your journey unfolds.
Keep writing.Keep learning.Keep going.And when that long-awaited “yes” finally comes, enjoy it. Bask in the joy. And remember how it feels, because, as Brother Mosley indicated, you will go through it again.
The lists of books mentioned in the podcast are listed below. Included links support Loyalty Bookstore via Bookshop.org:
Butler, Octavia E. Crossover: Short Story: Fragments. Edited by Robin Scott Wilson, Clarion, June 1971, Signet / New American Library. OEB 337, ca. 1970.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
The gift of hospitality shouldn’t be dead. But if I’m honest, I think in certain parts of the country, and in certain circles I’ve moved through, it might be on life-support. I’ve watched people forget how to say welcome to strangers.
I’ve seen other seem oblivious to making room at the table for others. This weekend while I was at Barnes and Nobles, I was handed an orange whistle and given instructions on how to blow it if I see an abduction happening. Because elections have consequences, brown people are not being treated with hospitality. They are literally under assault for being brown.
I want off this Ferris wheel of bad karma. I want humans to act with generosity instead of suspicion. I want the world I write about, the happy ever after, the place where victory comes for those who persevere.
You see, I am my mother’s daughter.I was raised in the gospel of killing them with kindness—and if you’re still hatefully breathing, I might go in for another round. If you’ve read any of my Lady Worthing mysteries, you know I believe in Columbo-type persistent. And in Jessica Fletcher style, I will stack a body count and keep digging until I find the truth. Determination is my love language. Stubbornness is too.
So when I run head-first into metaphorical walls—and Lord, have I met a few this year—it isn’t easy to step back and consider quitting.
While it’s natural for me to reflect on what I “might’ve, should’ve, could’ve” done differently, that level of introspection doesn’t just come with right and wrong. It adds farces and facts. Am I supposed to say the truth in a softer voice? Am I to ignore facts and write euphemisms like we don’t know that colonizers like Columbus came to kill and steal?
I suppose it would be easier to forget that pirates in the 1600s were Black women, that ships didn’t have an integrated crew, all while sailing with a cargo hold of chattel slaves.
Ooops. A company with a $65 Billion dollar market cap instructed me to say a cargo hold of chattel imprisonment.
Le Sigh.
And then we arrive at my favorite time of year: Thanksgiving, the holiday my mother owned. She held it close to her heart like the pride of a champion athlete. Forget the World Series or the Boston Marathon—Thanksgiving was her event. She trained for it all year. She curated pumpkin ornaments and gleaming charger plates in reds and deep oranges. She laid out gravy boats and soup tureens like treasured relics. And I fought—fiercely—to inherit the Fitz and Floyd pig that keeps the yeast rolls warm. Not just because it’s pretty, but because it symbolizes everything, she taught me: family gathering, long hours in the kitchen, bending over backward to make others feel warm and welcomed and in life pigs are allowed to be pretty.
Hospitality was one of my mother’s greatest legacies.I hope—truly hope—that I embody even a portion of that in my life and work. But I won’t lie: this year it has been hard.
Hard to be hospitable.
Hard to turn the other cheek when the other side of the equation seems intent on destruction.
Hard to smile when some would prefer you feel small, insignificant, or silenced.
Hard to create when your work is dismissed as nothing or there have been too many Caribbean books.
On social media, I may laugh and joke. I may sing polite praises of my enemies—and those who I no longer esteem as highly as I once did. There are exceptions, of course. And y’all know exactly who they are—65 Billion dollar company. But I digress.
In a few days, it will be Thanksgiving.And I am giving thanks.
I am thankful for my family.I am thankful for my friends.I am thankful for my colleagues—past and present.And I am deeply thankful for you, my listeners and my readers.
Without you, I wouldn’t have the hope I carry for the coming year.Without you, there would be no Write of Passage or stories reaching new tables.
No late-night messages about characters who’ve haunted me until I shared their story.
No shared laughter over inside jokes you’ve begun to catch—because you know me. And I love getting to know you.
Thank you for the letters, the comments.Thank you for the likes, the shares, and every conversation you sparked.Thank you for recommending this podcast, or my latest books Fire Sword and Sea, or old favorites like Island Queen or A Duke, the Lady, and A Baby. Your hospitality—your generosity—has lifted the low moments and made the high ones shine even brighter.
So as we gather around our Thanksgiving tables, I want you to know that I’m grateful for you. I’m hopeful for the new year—hopeful for the clearing away of old spaces, the opening of new ones. I am happy about the tables I sit at and the ones I walk away from with peace.
I am thankful for the power to know who I am.And the courage to become who I want to be.
I write about characters who make that choice every day—who decide, despite their flaws and wounds and circumstances, to grow into the person they long to become. My wish for you, for everyone within the sound of my voice, and for every reader who picks up one of my books is simple:
May you live your greatest adventure.May you become who you were always meant to be.And may that parent, that person who loved you so deeply—whether sitting across the Thanksgiving table or watching from above—look at you and see their brightest legacy shining.
This week’s books to reflect upon are:
Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara A powerful, modern meditation on the radical generosity that transforms people.
For a taste of fiction, food and healing, check out Bitter and Sweet by Christy Award winner Rhonda McKnight.
I can’t believe we are less than seven weeks away from the release of course Fire Sword and Sea on January 13th, 2026. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. If you’re a librarian, vote for this book now in Library Reads in Edelweiss and NetGalley. Indie Next is voting now too. Time is almost up.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from FoxTale or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers. Let’s get everyone excited for truth.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
If you’re on board, press that like button, subscribe, and share Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. And I need You.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
