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
What do a ballot and a blank page have in common? Both require you to believe your voice matters. And both are absolutely useless if you never do anything with them.
This is my writing quarter.
Everything—and I mean everything—should be focused on writing.
My job during this season is simple: to encourage you, motivate you, and get you into those chairs. Whether you’re transcribing, dictating, punching keys on a keyboard, or riding around with a notebook tucked into your bag, I want you writing.
That’s my commitment to you.
But as always, we live in a world.
And this world has ups and downs. There are wars, political diatribes, disasters, and the everyday frustrations that make us want to scream into the void.
And then there’s The Cheesecake Factory.
Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: LPETTET / Getty (from the Atlantic asking to leave the Cheesecake Factory out of the fight)
Yes, it still exists. It’s gaudy and gold and over the top, like former President Obama alluded to this past weekend in Cleveland.
New York Times spent time on Cheesecake Factory!
We go for the spectacle, the oversized plates and, the cheesecake. It’s still delicious. And yes, sometimes a slice of cheesecake seems like the only reasonable response to the madness happening around us.
But since I would still like to fit into my wardrobe, I have to find another way to process my feelings.
For me, that way is writing.
And maybe it can be for you.
Writing Through the Madness
One of the reasons I talk to you every week is that I need a place to channel my emotions. Sometimes that emotion is joy. Sometimes it’s frustration. And sometimes, it’s rage—hot, burning lava.
I need a place to spew about my perspective on the world. Not because my perspective is more important than anyone else’s, but because I’m a writer.
And a writer has to write.
The emotions I experience need somewhere to go. If I don’t process them, they’ll occupy every corner of my brain until I feel like my head might explode.
So I write.
I write about what troubles me. I write about what inspires me. I write about the things I cannot change and the things I desperately wish I could.
Sometimes I pour those feelings onto the page. Other times, I consider pouring them into a cheesecake.
But again, the wardrobe must work.
So writing wins.
Now, you might be wondering what any of this has to do with today’s lesson.
That’s a fair question.
I know it sounds as though I’m rambling, but I promise I have a point.
You do not have to wait for the perfect moment to write.
You do not have to wait for the perfect words, the perfect atmosphere, the perfect inspiration, or the perfect alignment of the planets.
You simply need to write.
Free Your Mind by Filling the Page
I’m a tremendous proponent of journaling.
Take a notebook, a notepad, or even an artist’s sketchbook and put your feelings on those pages.
They don’t have to be beautiful.
They don’t have to be organized.
They don’t have to even make sense to anyone but you.
The point is to release the thoughts that have taken up residence in your mind without paying rent.
Think about how much mental energy we spend replaying conversations, worrying about current events, or imagining everything that might go wrong.
Those thoughts take up space.
Writing them down can help free that space.
And once you’ve released some of that emotional clutter, you may discover that you have more room for the creative work you actually want to do.
Your novel.
Your short story.
Your poem.
Your next great idea.
Sometimes, before you can create the world you imagine, you have to make peace with the world you’re living in.
And that brings me to something else that’s been on my mind.
Your Voice Matters Beyond the Page
We’re in an election season.
So I’m going to take this opportunity to say something important.
Make a plan. Get informed. Go vote.
Exercise your civic duty.
People have fought, suffered, bled, and died for the right to enter a voting booth and make their voices heard.
That is not an exaggeration.
Think about the generations of people who were denied the ballot because of their race or sex. Think about the suffragists who marched, protested, and endured imprisonment. Think about the civil rights activists who faced violence while demanding equal access to the polls.
Think about the people who marched across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma in 1965 and were beaten for demanding voting rights.
Think about Jimmie Lee Jackson, whose death helped inspire the Selma voting rights campaign. Think about Reverend James Reeb and Viola Liuzzo, who were killed during that struggle.
These were real people who paid extraordinary prices for the freedoms we exercise today.
And yet, I still hear people say, “My vote doesn’t matter.”
Really?
Look at your gas prices.
Look at the cost of beef.
Look at your grocery bills, your taxes, your schools, your roads, and the policies that shape your everyday life.
No single elected official controls all those prices or circumstances, but public policy influences our economy, our opportunities, and the communities in which we live.
Our choices have consequences.
And so does our silence.
Now, you might say, “Well, I have the right not to vote.”
Of course you do.
I also have the right to walk into the street blindfolded and hope a car doesn’t hit me.
But I have more sense than that.
And I hope you’ll recognize that having a voice means having an opportunity to use it.
You may feel discouraged. You may feel overwhelmed. You may believe that one person cannot make a difference.
But the answer to feeling powerless should not be to surrender.
Sometimes the answer is action.
And that brings us right back to writing.
The Ballot and the Blank Page
Voting and writing have something powerful in common.
Both require you to believe that your voice matters.
When you vote, you’re participating in a collective decision about the world you want to live in.
When you write, you’re exercising your imagination to create a world that doesn’t yet exist.
You’re declaring that your ideas deserve consideration.
You’re deciding what matters, what should be questioned, and what possibilities deserve exploration.
You’re giving shape to something that previously existed only in your mind.
That is a remarkable kind of freedom.
And I don’t want you taking it for granted.
I don’t want you sitting on your laurels.
I want you sitting in your chairs.
Because butt-in-chair is still one of the best ways to get things done.
If you’re discouraged by the direction of the country, get informed and vote.
If you’re discouraged by your writing life, sit down and write.
I know that sounds overly simplistic.
But sometimes we spend so much time in our heads that we make things far more complicated than they need to be.
We convince ourselves that we need another class, another notebook, another software program, or another three months of research.
We decide that we cannot possibly begin until we know exactly how everything will end.
And while we’re busy preparing to write, we aren’t actually writing.
Let’s change that.
Start Small. Write a Haiku.
When I was in school, I loved writing haiku.
Three little lines.
* Five syllables in the first.
* Seven in the second.
* In Five in the third.
Seventeen syllables to capture a thought, an observation, or a moment.
There’s something wonderfully freeing about a small assignment with clear boundaries.
You don’t have to write an entire novel today.
You don’t even have to write a chapter.
If you’re stuck, write a haiku.
Give your mind freedom.
Build a concept; let it grow.
Challenge yourself now.
See I’ve haiku’ed myself into expressing my idea within boundaries.
That’s writing, taking a formless notion and giving it shape.
We can turn an impulse into language. That’s freedom.
And please know, not everything will be brilliant.
Some of it will be junk.
Most of it will be a mess.
But there will be glimmers of beauty.
So write anyway.
Somewhere inside all the clutter will be ideas that become something extraordinary.
Why I Love a Fast Draft
I love dictating the first draft of a book.
Why?
Because it gets all the gobbledygook out of my head.
By the time I’m ready to draft, I’ve usually done a tremendous amount of research. I’ve thought about my characters, their relationships, their histories, and the worlds they inhabit.
There is a lot happening in the old noggin.
A lot.
And if I spend every moment worrying about perfect sentences, precise grammar and syntax, I’ll never get all those ideas onto the page.
Dictation helps me move past that.
Now, dictation isn’t perfect. Far from it.
Sometimes I go back and read a sentence and wonder whether I was speaking English.
But that’s okay.
The first draft isn’t supposed to be perfect.
It’s supposed to exist.
At that stage, I’m not obsessing about flowery flowing words .
I’m looking for narrative flow. I’m hunting for character arcs.
I’m looking for story movement.
I’m asking whether the characters are doing what I planned for them to do. Is this development better? What truth has the rambling unlocked.
And because I’ve already done much of my character work, I know what I’m looking for.
Know Your Characters, Then Let Them Move
Before I begin drafting, I want to understand the people who will inhabit my story.
I want to see purpose in action. What have I written that shows progress towards the goals, they are seeking.
I want to understand their perspectives. What beliefs guide them? What convictions serve as their North Star? There should be some evidence of it on the page. If not, that will be fixed in editing and revision.
I want to know their people, the relationships. Who matters to them? Who influences their decisions? Who challenges them, supports them, or stands in their way?
And I want to understand what I call the pseudofact, the lie.
What false belief has a character absorbed? What untruth has met them in childhood and refuses to let them go. The lie shapes how they interpret the world. Is it on the page?
If not, I’ll revisit and fix during revisions.
How I’ve learned to edit for this, that’s another lesson for another day.
The point is that when I understand these elements, I have enough information to begin writing. That’s freedom first draft shows gaps and what I need to revisit, think about, or change.
With words on the page, I have my beginning.
I’m learning or relearning how each character speaks.
I don’t need these scenes to be perfect.
But I need to sit down and write them.
You Cannot Edit a Blank Page
Once that fast draft exists, I can go back and ask the important questions:
Is this the world I want my characters to inhabit?
Are their actions consistent with their beliefs and motivations?
What is the narrative revealing about them that I didn’t recognize during the planning stage?
Where is the tension?
Where is the emotional truth?
Where have I missed an opportunity?
That’s when the real refining begins.
Editing.
I love editing because editing is where the magic happens.
It’s where motivations strengthen, conflicts sharpen, emotional connections deepen, and rough ideas become compelling stories.
American novelist, Frank Norris, author of The Octopus (1901) and The Pit (1903) progressive novels about Wheat and naturalism, said, “Don’t like to write, but like having written.”
In Haiku form:
I don’t like to write.
Nonetheless having written,
I do love that place.
A quick first draft gets me to happy faster.
It’s where I can recognize if a character arc needs work. I give myself grace knowing it will be several rounds of editing before these words, this story will sing.
You cannot join me in Nirvana with blank pages.
You don’t have a writing voice with blank pages.
You cannot improve something that doesn’t exist.
So stop demanding perfection from your first draft. Stop demanding instant change from one vote.
Give yourself permission to write badly, and still hold yourself and politicians accountable.
Give yourself permission to experiment or try something new.
The first draft is not the final judgment on your talent. Neither is one election.
It’s all raw material.
And raw material is something you can work with.
Your Assignment is to Take Action
This week, I want you to do two things.
First, think about the story you want to world. Then think about the world around you — is it currently a world that can hear your truth or does it feel like a fight?
Now write about it.
Take ten minutes with your journal. Write a page of observations. Create a haiku. Dictate a stream of consciousness into your phone.
Get those stories or world thoughts onto the page.
Find time today.
Not tomorrow.
Nothing has to be perfect. The House doesn’t even have to be quiet. You just need to dedicate a moment to put your ideas in print.
Today.
Because every time you choose to write, you’re choosing you, your power, your dreams. Don’t let fear, frustration, or perfectionism silence you.
The Bottom Line
We live in a complicated world. There will always be distractions, disappointments, arguments, crises, and circumstances beyond our control. There will always be reasons to postpone the things that matter.
But we still have choices.
We can choose to engage with our communities.
We can choose to make our voices heard.
We can choose to create something meaningful, even when the world feels chaotic.
And as writers, we have an extraordinary tool at our disposal.
The page.
Don’t wait for the world to become perfect before you begin writing.
Remember:
You cannot change your world by remaining silent.
You cannot hold elected leaders accountable if you never cast a ballot.
So get informed. Make your plan. Vote.
Then get back to your writing.
Put your butt in the chair.
Put your words on the page.
And for if you need a slice of cheesecake or a piece of chocolate or gaudy gold, or fancy journal, or dictation mic get it.
Don’t let anything become another excuse not to excercise your rights or your right to write.
This week’s book list includes:
The Pit: A Story of Chicago (1903) by Frank Norris –
A gripping novel about speculation in Chicago’s wheat market and an examination of how ambition, greed, and the pursuit of wealth can destroy relationships.
Teaches novelists how to transform emotional experiences into compelling character journeys.
This week’s indie bookstore spotlight is Reparations Club, a Black-owned, woman-owned bookstore and creative space in Los Angeles, California. Purchasing through this episode’s Bookshop.org links supports Reparations Club. If you’re ever in Los Angeles, stop by, browse the shelves, and give them some book love! In fact, check out my other partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches fighting for literacy.
Remember to check my Resources Center on my website for my writing downloads. Lots of free and low-cost tools that I’ve made available to help you on your writing journey.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.
If this podcast sparked something in you, show me some love—hit like, share the episode, and subscribe to Write of Passage!
Thank you for being here.
I want you to 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
Walter Mosley said it a month ago on a Zoom for The Center for Black Literature’s
Summer Series. And in his MasterClass. I say it all the time. To get your novel finished, you need to have your butt in a chair and write every day. Whom are you going to believe—us or your lying unfinished manuscript?
Putting Yourself and Your Words First
When you’ve written a lot of books, people want to know how you do it. They ask about plotting techniques. Are you a pantser? A planster? Do you bounce between scenes or write straight through? What craft books do you recommend? Are you a morning writer or an evening writer?
All valid questions. I enjoy talking about the work.
But the advice I give that seems to generate the most consternation is this: write every day.
“Now, Vanessa. When you say every day, do you mean every day? Don’t you take Sundays off? Don’t you go on vacation? What about Christmas? Surely you take off for Christmas.”
Some of you are already looking at your work calendars, making me your HR rep trying to get me to approve your days off.
Here’s what I mean by writing every day: take those words as literally as you need to take them to establish, in your own mind and spirit, that your writing matters.
You need to believe that writing deserves a respected place in your routine.
Your words don’t always have to wait until another month of research. Until you read another craft book. It doesn’t need to wait for a new, different notebook. You shouldn’t have to wait for a weekend when nobody needs anything from you.
If you’ve allowed your writing life to build up excuses, forgive yourself. Begin anew. But let’s begin with vigor and consistency.
But Write Every Day?
Yes, there are days when—clutch the pearls—I don’t work on a manuscript. But I’ve written something, probably an essay for a podcast. Hint, hint. Or a little reflection for social media. Or something in my journal.
Does that finish my novel?
No. And I have to be honest with myself about that. A beautifully written caption will not resolve the emotional conflict or lack of tension I left my characters in three chapters ago.
But every bit of writing keeps my writing muscles taut. Stringing coherent words together are like calisthenics. Arranging sentences are yogo. Any attempt at trying to get what’s in my head onto a page is a useful one. For me, daily writing makes returning to the manuscript easier.
I’m telling you that writing is a muscle. And I want mine limber and strong, ready to work when I need it.
Have you ever joined a gym or bought exercise equipment?
In the beginning, there’s so much excitement. You have plans. You have goals. You have sneakers.
Naturally, the sneakers need to be cute.
Maybe you buy athletic wear. A matching set. Something that announces you are a person who intends to take this exercise business seriously.
Then you do the workout.
And the next morning, your legs have questions. Parts of your body angrily ask what are you doing.
Eventually, the excitement of buying the equipment and icy heat lotion wear off, and you have to decide whether you’re going to keep at this.
Writing asks that question, too.
You bought the notebook. You downloaded the software. You found the perfect pen, the best journal. But, will you return to the work when the first burst of excitement wears off? How about when a scene is difficult? What about when you see words on a page and none of it comes out bearing any resemblance to the beautiful ones you imagined?
That’s where I believe many stop, when they need their muscles to push through.
This past week, I was at the Writing Sisters Summit, hosted by Nina Foxx, in Taos, New Mexico.
The air was fresh. The mountains were magnificent. The dirt roads were scary.
I want to be clear: I appreciated the scenery. I have lingering questions about the roads.
But the sisterhood at the treat was amazing.
Wanda Morris, Pamela Samuels Young, Sheila Williams, and I joined the faculty, bringing our experiences to a vibrant group of women writing across genres and at different stages of their careers. Some were working toward their first books. Others had been at this for years.
We had time to talk about the writing and industry challenges. To ask questions and stay for the answers. To hear someone describe a struggle and recognize a little of our own.
And yes, I got up early. I know. Another revelation.
I walked the trails outside, feeling the crisp morning air on my cheeks. There was a slight breeze that smelled of sage. I took pictures, lots of pictures. I want to remember and treasure this experience.
Then I switched from my camera to my Notes app and dictated thoughts about the project I’m working on.
A phrase. A possibility. Something I was beginning to understand about the next new book.
That counts, boys and girls.
Was it the most productive writing session of my life? Word count-wise, no.
But I was able to work out and articulate the premise of my next book. Something I’d been reaching for became clear. I captured it and brought it home.
That is useful work. That’s words in a Note.
My notes and journals are not a polished exhibit of perfect syntax and amazing grammar. There can be pages of disconnected phrases. Somethings will only make sense only to me. My daughter has license to destroy certain documents when I’m gone so your vision of me and being literate will be preserved.
I’m being humorous, but I want you to understand that my daily writing isn’t perfect writing, sometimes it’s not good writing.
A scene may begin as a few lines of dialogue. A character’s motivation may show up as something different than my outline. You may write a paragraph and realize the only sentence you need is the last one. It’s okay to write the paragraph to find it. That why editing and revision are powerful.
But every word and thought dump in my daily writing moves me closer to a completed project.
I think we struggle to write because we want prove that our writing is brilliant, and we’re setting up that moment to share with someone. That is too much pressure. And it’s unfair to you and your words.
Daily writing for me, has taken away that pressure. I’m asking for words. Brilliance will come with editing and revision. And truthfully, the word the end needs to come before I start editing.
Let me take a moment to say, sign up for word time. Find a writing retreat. If you can make it work, take the mini vacation. Plan the staycation. Find a local hotel with good room service—or reliable delivery—and give yourself some time with your words.
It’s OK to go alone or together with other writers. You can start today pencilling in time on your calendar.
The Writing Sisters Summit
There was something deeply nourishing about being in Taos with women who had made room for their words. We stepped away from our usual responsibilities long enough to hear ourselves think.
I came away feeling connected to the work and to the people doing it.
I hope the women who joined us carried that feeling home, along with the things they learned and the pages they began.
The retreat deepened my love for making room in my ordinary life for writing. I can’t wait for another mountain view or vineyard or rushing river or ocean.
Today, I’m back in my office, answering emails, looking at my obligations. There definitely a stack of laundry to do.
And there is the book, that I’m closer to finishing than I was yesterday, because my dedicated writing does this.
For a very long time, my writing time was between 10 PM and 2 AM. I worked a full-time engineering job, and still am a full-time wife and mother. So every day doesn’t mean hours of writing necessarily.
Every day doesn’t look the same. Some days I have the same hours. Some days I have small pockets of time. I use what I have.
Journaling and essays keep me writing, but eventually I have to return to the people waiting inside a manuscript. So the other non-book writing can’t take over. But I’ll take words any way I can get them on to the page.
Consider your writing life for a moment.
Are you giving it regular attention? Are you allowing it to lie to you. Are your writing muscles feeble from lack of exercise? Are you asking them to perform whenever you have a little free time and coming up with blank pages?
Maybe after this podcast spend a few minutes stringing together words or add a few thoughts about your latest idea to the page.
If I write 50-150 words a day, consistently, I can have a novella or short novel done in a year.
It’s doable. Take a moment and
work through one exchange between two characters. Maybe you dictate the thought that came to you on a walk. Then during tomorrow’s writing time develop it.
Then commit to coming back to the project the next day. Habits form by doing—not wishing and hoping.
Doing needs to happen.
Even when it’s awkward.
Even when I’m tired.
Even when there’s something on the TV…
Even when there’s a food fight in Book Social Media
In Walter Mosley’s MasterClass he say his Rule number one: Write every day. It’s nonnegotiable.
I agree.
Your unfinished manuscript agrees too. The chores and regular life say—“Naaaw. Writing can wait.”
Who are you going to believe, your word count or procrastination?
This week’s booklist includes:
* Hanging and Burning — Walter Mosley. A dying gangster hires investigator Joe King Oliver to find his missing granddaughter, drawing him into a family history of violence and buried secrets (Releases Oct. 20, 2026).
* This Never Happens Here — Wanda M. Morris. Two detectives investigate a disturbing pattern of murdered parents and missing children in Atlanta’s wealthy suburbs (Feb. 16, 2027).
* Sounds Like Trouble — Pamela Samuels Young and Dwayne Alexander Smith. Two private investigators juggle their simmering attraction and clashing personalities while tracking down a mysterious package for dangerous mobsters.
* Daughters of the Wind — Sheila Williams. A corporate executive who secretly commands the winds must gather powerful women across time to confront a looming climate catastrophe (Dec. 1, 2026).
* Island Secrets: A Queens of Kiawah Story — Nina Foxx. On South Carolina’s exclusive Kiawah Island, a cozy mystery blends murder, romance, and closely guarded secrets.
* Murder in St. James’s Park — Vanessa Riley. When Lady Worthing discovers her husband murdered, her search for his killer exposes secrets that challenge her judgment and shake her family.
This week’s indie bookstore spotlight is Reparations Club, a Black-owned, woman-owned bookstore and creative space in Los Angeles, California. Purchasing through this episode’s Bookshop.org links supports Reparations Club. If you’re ever in Los Angeles, stop by, browse the shelves, and give them some book love! In fact, check out my other partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches fighting for literacy.
Remember to check my Resources Center on my website for my writing downloads. Lots of free and low-cost tools that I’ve made available to help you on your writing journey.
If this podcast sparked something in you, show some love—hit like, share the episode, and subscribe to Write of Passage!
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.
If this sparked something in you, show some love—hit like, share the episode, and subscribe to Write of Passage!
Thank you for being here.
I want you to 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
I believe in writing every day. Sometimes that means a hundred words. Sometimes 2500. Did you hear me say good or great words? No, I didn’t say that. Today, let’s talk about the actual writing life we should achieve.
A Writing Life You Can Actually Live
Three proposals, a Vermont retreat, and figuring out the writer I want to become.
Before I get started, this week’s download, the writing goals calculator, is available in my resource shop for free. Get the link at Substack or my website.
I just turned in three book proposals. One new idea. Two reimagined, tires kicked, engines inspected.
And absolutely no pages of an actual story.
I need my agents buy-in and I don’t know those people yet. We’re still being introduced. I’ve just stocked piled articles in Newspapers.com, Wikipedia and YouTube Rabbit holes, and the occasional ancient tome on my shelves.
But in Vermont—the writers who shared that retreat with me—gave me space to think about what I want my writing life to look like over the next three years. The answer kept coming back to multigenerational stories that tie our present to a vibrant, often hidden past. I want to focus on sisterhoods carrying love, ambition, secrets, and unfinished business across time.
Apparently, even after all these 31 books, I’m still asking: Who do I want to be when my writing life grows up?
Truthfully, that’s a question that all of us need to ask and keep asking. Heck, it’s the secret to staying young.
Everyone’s trying to figure themselves out. Writers do it on the page and in front of an audience.
As we figure ourselves out, we ask:
What do we want to do?
Whom do we want to become?
All while balancing the real world: Those other occupations that pay bills. And what about our relationships? Do we have them? Are we keeping them: Family, friendships, peers, romantic and platonic coexistence—all of this makes up our complicated and gloriously messy thing called our lives.
Did I mention the money? Most of us need it—unless we’re nepo babies, but sometimes that gift doesn’t work out. We all do need the money.
But I digress.
I’m not a writer who can sit still. You may have figured that out already. Yet every time I commit to a book idea, I need it to do more than sound interesting. It has to stir something inside me. It has to give me a reason to say: Yes. These are the people, the questions, the history I want to spend the next year or two researching, writing, revising, promoting, and talking about.
A proposal can be a few pages. The commitment behind it is considerably larger.
As authors, we spend a lot of time worrying about our brands. Some of us are still trying to figure out what that word means when applied to a human being who occasionally writes in pajamas and tiaras.
My slightly Type A personality has helped me think about the direction of my work from the beginning. I knew I wanted to tell historical stories. My first avenue was Christian fiction. Then came Regency romances. My work expanded into historical fiction that brings the Caribbean diaspora into view—a history my very Southern American education too often skipped or downplayed. Or obliterated—thanks to United Daughters of Confederacy.
What I like to write or read changes as my curiosity grows. Each book has helped me see more clearly what I want to explore in the next.
Vermont gave me time to listen to that curiosity without immediately demanding a word count from it.
Which brings me to this week’s lesson: Get comfortable in your own writing skin.
It’s tempting to want to be the writer who sits down and produces a 80,000-word book in three or four weeks. Sounds enviable, but often we miss the preparation that it took to get there. Some writers I know who work at the speed of light have already spent months deeply studying their subject, developing their characters, and figuring out the story—before sitting and writing.
We as voyeurs see the words arriving. We miss the months of work that made it possible.
My friends call me a fast writer. We’ll sort of. I can produce a lot of words when I’m sufficiently caffeinated, the research is done, the characters are clear, and I know where the story needs to go.
There have also been times when my Type A personality took the wheel and I checked myself into a hotel with room service to crank out ten or twenty thousand words in a day.
That habit can get expensive in more ways than hotel bills.
Sleep deprivation. Health. Family time. Isolation. Everything leaning out of alignment with that elusive word: balance.
Even if I can do this pace, I must consider what it costs me.
This week’s writing tool is the word-count chart. Download it. Keep it displayed. It shows how steady effort adds up and gives you a realistic sense of how long a draft might take at your current, realistic pace.
A hundred words a day.
A thousand words a week. Whatever fits the life you actually have—these numbers help you make a commitment and understand how long it will take before you can type “the end.”
I think some people become frustrated because writing a book “takes too long.” They have a wonderful idea, perhaps even a strong beginning. Then the middle stretches out ahead of them. Life gets busy. The ending seems impossibly far away.
The story goes quiet in a notebook or a forgotten Word document.
Writing a book—even writing a blog post—requires more than motivation. I believe you need fire in your belly. I want you to care deeply about what you’re putting on the page.
But you also need to know yourself well enough to help that fire survive an ordinary Tuesday.
How much time can you give this work? How quickly do you usually write? What preparation helps you move forward? What schedule can you return to when the initial excitement settles down?
I believe in writing every day. Sometimes that means five hundred words.
I didn’t say good words.
For me, much of the magic happens in editing, and I need something on the page to edit.
If you’re a weekend writer, that’s okay, too. Build the habit around the time you have. Make writing important enough that it gets a place in your life.
Be careful about repeatedly teaching yourself that your writing time is the first thing you can give away. An emergency is an emergency. But when every invitation, errand, or passing distraction takes precedence, you may find yourself waiting for time that never arrives.
Writing is a commitment.
I know. A scary word for some folks these days.
You can love it and fight with it. You can get frustrated, need a break, and come back wondering why these people in your head won’t behave. There will be highs and lows, rejections and wins, sentences you adore, and a whole chapter you would prefer never to discuss again.
That’s the love story of writing.
I want a writing life I can look back on and say: Yes, I probably should have gotten a little more sleep. But I love what we’ve done together.
So as I wait to get properly acquainted with the people in at least one of those three proposals, I’m focused on sustaining a life that will help me tell these stories—and still leave room to live my own.
You should too.
This week’s book list includes my Vermont crew’s books:
* The Inevitable Undoing of Zahara Douglass by Leslye Penelope — A woman searching for the missing twin sister no one else remembers uncovers family secrets and supernatural powers that could threaten the world.
* Private Bodyguard by Veronica Forand — A security operative must protect the tech billionaire she blames for her brother’s breakdown while confronting their tangled past and unexpected attraction.
* Where the False Gods Dwell by Denny S. Bryce — Three women accompanying Katherine Dunham’s 1935 research expedition to Jamaica forge an unlikely sisterhood as personal secrets and a deadly storm threaten their futures.
* Analiese Rising by Brenda Drake — A teenager investigating a mysterious list discovers she can raise the dead and becomes entangled in a dangerous war between gods.
* Southern Discomfort by Sharina Harris (Preorder)— After a scandal threatens her career, a vegan influencer returns home to repair her relationship with her mother and reconnect with her family’s magical heritage.
* Seasick by Kristin Cast and Pintip Dunn — Two former best friends must work together to unmask a killer when a celebratory yacht trip with their privileged classmates turns deadly.
* A Deal at Dawn by Vanessa Riley — A viscountess strikes a desperate bargain with the ailing duke she once loved to regain access to their daughter, confronting betrayal, rekindled passion, and threats to their child’s future.
And Mahogany Books is my Indie of the week. Check them out for these books or any of mine.
You can also try one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches with me.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.
Here’s the link for today’s free workbook download.
Let’s write together. I need you. That’s the truth. Like, share, subscribe, and stay connected to Write of Passage.
Thank you for being here.
I want you to 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.
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Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
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