Merriam-Webster defines dissatisfaction simply as “a lack of satisfaction.” And yes—that’s accurate. But if you look a little deeper, you’ll find another definition, a lack of contentment, a restless aspiration.

Aspire means to breathe in or out, to draw something toward you or release something from within. So dissatisfaction becomes this restless desire to pull something in or push something out—and that restlessness can freeze you in place.

In the writing world, dissatisfaction usually means that I’m staring at the words on the page, and they’re not capturing the story I know I’m supposed to be telling. Something has failed. And now I must go back, line by line, analyzing the bones of the narrative and examine every part of the story structure.

And for my new writers out there, yes a story or novel should have structure, a framework that keeps the momentum and holds the theme together.

In this analysis, I look at each main character—and often the minor ones too. I check their goals. I review their belief systems. I trace the web of their relationships: who cares for whom, who fears them, who hates whom, and who is silently holding the line of loyalty. All of these connections form the living body of the world I’m creating.

And then there is the lie. Every character has one—the bit of disinformation they inherited or bought into, the wound that warped their worldview. It’s the thing they must confront and be healed of. If that lie isn’t strong enough, or the character has drifted too far from it, the story loses its heartbeat. In my process, that’s when the words feel stuck. I struggle with word count. And I must figure out why.

That’s Vanessa’s writing world.

But in the real world, dissatisfaction hits differently. When I feel that restless ache, I have to look at the characters I’m connected to—the real-life individuals doing life with me or choosing to let me do life with them. How are we connected? Are we missing something? Are there obvious signs of hurt or neglect we haven’t addressed?

Or is it the circumstances we’re all tangled in that’s causing problems?

Let’s be honest: the world is heavy right now. Yes, the government may be back to work, but people are still waiting to be reimbursed for the days they’ve labored without pay. Folks who need food assistance are facing real disruptions. And Thanksgiving is approaching—a time when people gather to share a meal, which becomes complicated if there are fractures sitting around the table. It’s hard to taste turkey if you’ve still got beef with somebody sitting across from you.

And yes, Thanksgiving is about turkey. But if you’re carrying beef, that’s another heavy protein to digest.

The truth is, if we don’t figure out why we are dissatisfied, it will take root. It will grow into bitterness—and bitterness is a treacherous ground to stand upon.

Bitterness wedges itself into the cracks of your soul, sets up spikes, and ensures that every movement hurts. Bitterness requires a sweet form of medicine or self-care to heal—or it spreads. Bitterness touches everything you make, everything you attempt, and everyone you care about.

Thanksgiving is my holiday. I inherited it from my mother. It’s a big deal for me. If you follow me on social media, you’ll start seeing the sample menus, the tablescapes, the design choices—all the details I pour myself into. It’s part of my self-care—the joy of gathering: the beauty and connection of family and friends around my table.

But as much as we gather, we all must admit the truth: Covid changed us. Elections bruised us. Hardness, fear, and callousness ruined how we move through the world.

As we head toward 2026, I believe it’s time to turn a new leaf. To be better than we were in 2025. The first step is breaking up the bitter ground and letting healing in.

So here are my steps to stop being bitter:

1. Admit you’re bitter. Say it outright. Bitterness can’t heal if you pretend it isn’t there.

2. Identify the source. What is making you bitter? Name it so you can face it.

3. Avoid the triggers. Just say no to people and actions that put you back into that headspace of vulnerability. And if you can’t avoid them, minimize them. If you can’t minimize them, prepare for them. Pray. You never know when they just might miss a flight.

4. Give up waiting for the apology. This is the hardest one.We hold on to bitterness because we want that moment—where the foul person, falls upon bended knees and says I was so wrong. In romance books, we wait for the grovel: the moment when the hero finally admits how deeply they messed up. And yes, that moment is sweet. But in real life? If you get it at all, it’s a gift. And this moment is not a guarantee, that the beef won’t happen again. Your life must continue either way. Your goals must continue. Your growth must continue.You cannot pause your wholeness on hold waiting for someone else to gain revelation.

And let me be clear: forgiving and moving on does not mean continuing in the harmful cycles. It means releasing the chain around your own ankle. If someone has shown you who they are, you don’t need further confirmation. You don’t need to go back to the well, testing the water again and again.

Vanessa, you are so mature. At my big age of 21+, no I am not. Do I feel trifling sometimes? Absolutely. Do I want to complain the whole way through of releasing bitterness? Yes. But staying in that cycle only deepens the pain. And when I stay connected to that system, the person, or the circumstance, it will hurt me again. I refuse to let it continue to win.

It’s better for me and my soul to forgive and move on.

In Fire Sword and Sea, Jacquotte Delahaye has every reason to be bitter. Life delivers blow after blow to this young woman’s life. But the evidence of that life—her legend, her accomplishments—tells me she never stayed stuck. She didn’t wait for an apology. She picked up a sword. She fought her way to the next moment, the next rung on the ladder, until she became a pirate captain. And she brought her crew—her chosen people—along with her.

If you read Fire Sword and Sea and take away nothing else, take this:Success, particularly shared success, is the way to defeat bitterness.

And for Jacquotte’s example, I am not bitter at all:

This week’s books to reflect upon are:

All About Love by bell hooksA profound meditation on how love—of self, community, and truth—becomes the antidote to bitterness and disconnection.

The Beautiful Struggle by Ta-Nehisi CoatesA lyrical coming-of-age memoir about healing, survival, family, and forging meaning from difficulty.

The Body Is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee TaylorInvites readers to embrace radical self-love as a path out of resentment, trauma, and social conditioning.

Rest Is Resistance by Tricia HerseyA manifesto urging us to reject grind culture and reconnect with rest, healing, and humanity.

And of course Fire Sword and Sea by Vanessa Riley. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. Fire Sword and Sea releases January 13th, 2026. If you’re a librarian, vote for this book now in Library Reads in Edelweiss and NetGalley. Indie Next is voting now too.

This week, I’m highlighting Book People through their website and Bookshop.org .

Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Book People or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.

We are less two months away the January 13th release. Come on my crew. Let’s get excited.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you’re on board my ship, press that like button, subscribe and share Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. And I need You.

Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

Hey fearless listeners. We’ve made it to another week. That accomplishment isn’t something I take lightly. Times feel perilous. Worries are rampant. I’ve had more conversations where I’ve been talked off the ledge—or where I’ve held up safety nets for others.

But let’s congratulate ourselves. We’ve made it through the fire. California has literally done that, with most of the wildfires now 100% contained. Let me repeat this: We will get through hard times. My faith is strong, my friendships are firm. I believe in doing life with us, helping each other along the way.

Subscribe for free. Get Vanessa’s take on current events, publishing drawing from her journey as an indie author turned traditionally published powerhouse: 25 novels and counting.

As your historically inclined friend, I thought deeply about writers and writing friendships this week. As a writer, I love studying other writers. I look for habits to incorporate or styles to dissect and admire. There is so much that can be learned from reading and studying the craft of other. While there’s nothing new under the sun, some writers have found ways to capture its light and change the world by focusing its heat and power back on to the earth—our neighborhoods, communities, countries—even for just a mere moment.

I draw a lot on images. In my own writing, I want you to feel like you’re in the room where it happens. In Sister Mother Warrior, I make you the warrior Gran Toya, sitting at the table where the boy she raised, Jean Jacques Dessalines converses with the commander of the armed forces, Toussaint L’Overture. They speak about strategies to prosecute the war, and I spend time on the tastes of the foods on the table from broth and its caramelized bits to the roasted pheasant with mushrooms. If this scene were painted or dared to be shown on screen, you should catch the meticulous details and comforts of where they’re sitting, the posturing, even the fumbling of fingers along the buttons of a waistcoat that has crowns or birds or women painted upon them.

Images tell us so much. They are testament to what has been and what could be. Remembering photos of writer friendships like Ralph Ellison (Invisible Man) & Albert Murray (The Omni-Americans) and noting the dapper and different styles of dress. Or photos of James Baldwin & Langston Hughes taking in jazz or supporting a civil rights march—all our precious moments. So for this week’s essay, I went down a rabbit hole searching for images of female writer friendships.

Ralph Ellison, Langston Huges, and James Baldwin

Source: Instagram: @neicyreedus

I started with the Brontë Sisters—Charlotte (1816–1855), Emily (1818–1848), and Anne (1820–1849). These literary powerhouses from Yorkshire, England, originally published under male pseudonyms, but their female forward works—Charlotte’s Jane Eyre, Emily’s Wuthering Heights, and Anne’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall became classics of English literature. I found myself looking at a painting of the sisters created in 1843 by their brother, Branwell Brontë. He originally painted himself into the portrait but seeing the sunshine, their luminous faces, he painted out his own image, leaving behind a ghostly outline.

Brontë Sisters—Charlotte (1816–1855), Emily (1818–1848), and Anne (1820–1849). Source: Wiki Commons.

Can you imagine Branwell’s humility and protective nature of his sisters and their genius. The portrait now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in London for all to see.

From there, I dove into Sylvia Plath (1932–1963) and Anne Sexton (1928–1974). The two revolutionized confessional poetry, tackling themes of mental illness, feminism, and personal suffering. They often attended poetry workshops and lectures together, but I couldn’t find any pictures of them side by side. They may exist, but what if they don’t. What does that mean to have a friendship so secretive and private? To not celebrate the unity publicly—what does that say about feminine unity?

In contrast, I did find images of Anne Sexton and poet Maxine Kumin.

Anne Sexton and Maxine Kumin. SOURCE: karenmoline.com

After meeting Sylvia Plath for drinks, Anne still craved company, so she joined a local writers’ group. This where she first heard Maxine Kumin—a quiet but powerful voice sharing a work in progress. They couldn’t have been more different: Maxine, prim and frumpy; Anne, wild and bold. But together, they were yin and yang. They edited each other’s work, co-wrote poems, and built a bond so deep that it became a true creative partnership. You know how rare it is to fully trust another writer with your words? That’s the kind of magic the two had.

One of my favorite modern writer friendships is the trio of Beatriz Williams, Lauren Willig, and Karen White. Their collaboration has produced, several books including The Lost Summers of Newport—one of my favorites. They’re often seen together at book events wearing pearls, sipping signature cocktails, and laughing with the kind of joy that only comes from shared secrets, success and sisterly love.

The Lost Summers of Newport: Beatriz Williams, Lauren Willig, Karen White

Another legendary literary sisterhood? Toni Morrison (1931–2019) & Maya Angelou (1928–2014). These two are iconic, two of the most important voices of the 20th century. I’ve seen photos of them young and free, standing tall in their brilliance. I’ve seen pictures of them in their later years, side by side in wheelchairs, dressed to the nines, radiating wisdom and grace. Their friendship was built on admiration, public support, and deep mutual respect.

Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou. Source: Virginia Tech News.

These images are so encouraging to me. As writers, we often work in solitude, wrestling with words and deadlines. But community matters. These friendships remind me of that.

There’s one more image I found in 2023. —It appeared in the LA Times article, touting a new book, The Sisterhood. The photo, which serves as the book’s cover, captures eight young, beautiful Black women gathered together, smiling for the camera. Let me set the scene…

The hostess, let’s call her June, was waiting for her collection of poems to be published in two months. Every author knows that feeling, the anxiety of waiting for pub day, the stomach-churning dread of the book’s reception, the early reviews. I can imagine June wanting her girls around her for support. She calls her writer friend Alice. Alice is a girl’s girl. She’s written a big exposé for Ms. Magazine and is so close to locating a literary treasure she can taste it. Tasting reminds of her spices. She picks up the rotary dial phone and calls the best cook she knows, Vertamae. Vertamae is a Brooklyn celebrity and a cultural anthropologist, but she brings a pot of gumbo with large shrimp, smoked sausage and proper Geechee rice.

More calls are made, and these writers and activists come to June’s apartment. One friend, I think Toni, who had a couple of books published and a little money in her pockets of her fine leather jacket brings the best champagne she can afford. Maybe one bottle of expensive Veuve Clicquot Brut with the Yellow Label to toast something real special. And then she purchases a few bottles of Moët & Chandon or maybe something sparkling and American like André or California Korbel.

Are you getting the picture? Glasses in hand, toasting each other. A 12-inch long-play album sings in the background Stevie Wonder’s “I Wish” or Rose Royce’s “Car Wash.” If June’s love for Bessie Smith wins out, she will make sure the Empress of the Blues’s “Downhearted Blues plays.” After the dishes were cleared, I can imagine them reciting poems, like Anne and Maxine. They might work on plot points or tweak a line or two, passing it amongst themselves, much like Beatriz, Lauren, and Karen.

And just as they ready to leave and tug on their jackets back to brave the February cold, someone suggests a picture. The ladies group together in the living room under June’s hanging picture of singer Bessie Smith. Click. Someone catches the moment. Much like Branwell Brontë, someone has gotten out of the way to commemorate this moment where the sun shined through and touched legends.

Let me formally introduce you to these women:

· June Jordan – A trailblazing poet, essayist, and activist whose work championed social justice, Black empowerment, and the experiences of marginalized communities. In the picture, she was two months away from publishing Things That I Do in the Dark (1977), a poetry collection reflecting on race, gender, and personal identity.

· Alice Walker – A Pulitzer Prize-winning author and activist, best known for her novel The Color Purple and her tireless efforts in preserving Zora Neale Hurston’s legacy, Alice was an established writer, having published Meridian (1976), a novel exploring the civil rights movement.

· Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor – A culinary anthropologist, writer, and Gullah culture advocate is known for her work blending storytelling with food traditions, including her groundbreaking book Vibration Cooking: Or, the Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl (1970).

· Toni Morrison – A Nobel Prize-winning author and Random House editor celebrated for her powerful novels like Beloved that illuminate the complexities of Black life, memory, and history stands, all cool, in her leather coat. At the time of this gathering, Toni had already gained literary acclaim with The Bluest Eye (1970) and Sula (1973). By February 1977, she was months away from publishing Song of Solomon, which would earn her the National Book Critics Circle Award.

· Nana Maynard – A newbie who would go on to become a scholar and cultural advocate for highlighting the contributions of Black artists and writers is there in the front row.

· Ntozake Shange (Toe-zaka chan-gay) – A poet, playwright, and novelist renowned for her choreopoem For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf, which helped redefined the portrayal of Black womanhood in art. She was a household name in the 70s and advanced Black feminist theater.

· Audreen Ballard – A gifted writer and thinker who worked for activism and celebrated Black culture, she became an active voice in literary feminist communities.

· Lori Sharpe – Lori was at the beginning of her career, but she went on to become an accomplished poet and writer whose works explore themes of identity, community, and Black womanhood.

Front Row (L to R): Audreen Ballard, Ntozake Shange, Nana Maynard

Back Row (L to R): Vertamae Smith- Grovenor, Alice Walker, Lori Sharpe, Toni Morrison, and June Jordan – Source LA Times.

This photo means the world to me–legends standing on business, celebrating and communing together. It shouts several things at once:

1. Because writing can be an isolated place, seek out friends.

2. Enjoy the best—whatever that may be—when you gather. Eat gumbo, drink the wine.

3. Differences in levels of talent, stages and stature in careers shouldn’t keep anyone from getting a bowl.

4. Toast every one and every accomplishment with good champagne

5. Record the moment. We need good memories.

When I go places, I’m often that one friend taking a hundred pictures. I try to be quick, and I’ve learned to snap photos in live mode. It’s the best way adjust things to make sure everyone looks their best—eyes open, expressions just right, etc. And sometimes static shots can be turned into video so I can relive the moment. It helps to feel not so isolated.

Lastly, it never hurts to be Branwell or the unknown one who snaps the picture. Don’t worry about hogging the light. Today more than ever, someone will catch you and your moment.

So, dear listeners, writers in the house, do something for me: Get with your friends—those soldiering in the same fields and include a few who are doing something different. Celebrate life. Stay hopeful about the things you’re expecting. You deserve delicious gumbo, champagne, and your best girls pouring life into you, just as you do the same for them.

More about information about sisterhoods and writing friendships can be found in the show notes, along with the reading list.

This week buy select books at Mahogany Books at Bookshop.Org.

Show Notes:

Literary Friendships:

Ellison, Ralph. Invisible Man. Random House, 1952.

Murray, Albert. The Omni-Americans: Some Alternatives to the Folklore of White Supremacy. Outerbridge & Dienstfrey, 1970.

Thorsson, Courtney. The Sisterhood: How a Network of Black Women Writers Changed American Culture. Columbia University Press, 2019.

Hamann, Jamie Lee. “Friendships: Maxine Kumin and Anne Sexton.” HubPages, updated December 2, 2017.

Smart-Grosvenor, Vertamae. Vibration Cooking: Or, the Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl. Doubleday, 1970.

Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1970.

Morrison, Toni. Song of Solomon. Alfred A. Knopf, 1977.

Walker, Alice. The Color Purple. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1982.

Jordan, June. Things That I Do in the Dark. Doubleday, 1977.

Walker, Alice. Meridian. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1976.

Williams, Beatriz, Lauren Willig, and Karen White. The Lost Summers of Newport. William Morrow, 2022.

Riley, Vanessa. Sister Mother Warrior, William Morrow 2022.

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

Originally posted 2025-02-04 14:10:00.

When I started researching pirates, everyone—and I mean everyone—immediately brought up Pirates of the Caribbean.

And why not? It’s cinematic, dashing, and full of swashbuckling flair. We love that world of yo-ho-ho and pirate speak. But when I dug deeper into the research, I found that most of what we imagine about pirates is more Hollywood fantasy than historical fact.

First all that lovely “pirate talk” we hear on screen? It never really existed. The real pirates of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries spoke with layers of accents and nuances—French, Portuguese, English, and dozens of African and Caribbean creoles mixed in the salty air. Pirates were polyglot survivors of empire, not parrots reciting “Arrr!”

And that infamous “walking the plank”? Another myth. No one was forced to tiptoe off a wooden board jutting out to the sea. Ships didn’t have planks sticking out like that for the purpose of punishment. If a captain wanted to get rid of you, he’d stab you on deck—or maroon you on a sandbar with nothing but a knife within reach. Death by tide, starvation, or suicide is far less cinematic than the plank scene, but it’s closer to the truth.

This gap between history and fantasy fascinates me. But it’s also dangerous. We live in a world where fact and fiction often blur—not just about pirates, but about our past, our identity, even our worth. People resist truth when it threatens nostalgia. And when it disturbs the myths that says your ancestors are heroes and mine are villains…well that’s heresy. Truth matters. I want truth. I seek the truth, the whole truth—the good, the bad, and the ugly—It grounds us. It teaches us both how to persevere and how to survive.

My hunt for truth has shaped my writing journey, too. I will go to the ends of the earth, translate, cross reference, consult with experts—everything to bring you the most authentic story.

But that’s also my Achilles’s heel. I’m a math nerd at heart. I love formulas and theorems, and those constants that prove a system and deliver the same results every time.

One plus one equals two.

One plus one should equal two.

There’s comfort in that. But like life—and like publishing—not everything follows the rules. You can do everything “right,” follow every formula, and still end up with goose eggs.

Publishing isn’t always about the story; sometimes it’s about timing. I’ve known brilliant inventors ahead of their time, missing the boon of the market because they were too early. I’ve seen wonderful ideas die on the vine and then become reborn because of renewed visibility.

Now to hit home. I’ve seen Black and marginalized authors face struggle after struggle—and do everything right and never find that soft place to land. When you’re writing stories that highlight the communities or historical figures that represent 13–20% of the reading public instead of the 80% reading addressable market, the math to visibility is simply harder math. It takes more effort to reach the readers who crave truth and value diversity and depth over myth and comfort.

We compete on a sloped playing field, but we are ridiculed if we acknowledge the reality. It’s not weakness to say the ground is not level. And the math odds say you will stumble, which leads to less support and systems that make the slope more dangerous.

So, to my fellow writers, especially those who are tired and discouraged: sometimes the math just doesn’t add up, and it’s not your fault. It’s not your imagination. And you are not weak for wanting to acknowledge the obvious. You’re navigating a system that wasn’t built for you. Your success relies on beating the odds. That’s tiring.

Does it hurt. Yes.

Do I have answers. No.

But here’s what I do know—you have a choice in how you respond to the system. Do the math. Count the costs. Decide what level of energy you will deliver to this system, and where you want to disrupt it. In the interim, tell your story. Tell them anyway. The 13% are in need of stories that humanize, that restore dignity, and that challenge what “history” has left out.

For Fire Sword and Sea–I had a different plan when I started researching. From the moment I stood in the pirate prison in Port Royal, Jamaica, Jacquotte Delahaye and her cohorts began telling me their lives. The research changed my novel. And it definitely changed me.

I had to write about women pirates who defied empires and expectations. Jacquotte and her sisters of the sea—the risk-takers, dream igniters, and steadfast shields of fiery grace—they deserve to be remembered. They fought for economic freedom for themselves and their families. They shattered boundaries and broke bones in pursuit of survival and the right to live as they chose.

I did the math. I’m doing everything I can to bring attention to their stories that I’ve captured in Fire Sword and Sea—talking about it, planning events, inviting you to join me. Because you, my listeners, my readers—you’re part of my crew.

So, if you’re feeling weary, wondering if your story matters, let me tell you: it does. Maybe now more than ever. Truth-telling, whether in history or art, is rebellion against erasure. It’s how we keep from drowning beneath the tides of comfort and myth.

Do the math. Do the work. And keep going.

This is week forty-seven of the Write of Passage podcast—now at fifteen thousand downloads and over hundred thousand Substack views. Thank you for sailing with me through both storm and calm. Let’s keep breaking the waves together.

This week’s books to reflect upon are:

Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell – Explores how success often depends less on individual talent and more on timing, opportunity, and winning the hidden systems around us.

The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson – A sweeping history that restores dignity and humanity to those whose stories were buried.

Thick: And Other Essays by Tressie McMillan Cottom – Reflects upon what it meant to live and create as a Black woman in systems designed to misunderstand you.

A Pirate’s Life for She: Swashbuckling Women Through the Ages by Laura Sook Duncombe -Spotlights women pirates who defied expectation and carved out economic and personal freedom.

And of course Fire Sword and Sea by Vanessa Riley. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. Fire Sword and Sea releases January 13th, 2026. If you’re a librarian, vote for this book now for Library Reads in Edelweiss and NetGalley.

This week, I’m highlighting Resist Book Sellers through their website and Bookshop.org .

Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Resist Book Sellers or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.

We are less two months away the January 13th release.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you’re on board my ship, press that like button, subscribe and share Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. And I need You.

Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

To the writers, the creatives: if you’re like me, you possess a deep curiosity about humanity and a desire to do good through your work. But creatives—are you struggling? Are deadlines slipping through your fingers? Is the blank page staring back at you, stubborn and bare?

Do you feel alone, like no will ride out to save you?

The truth is no one is coming, because we are all anxious and distracted. It’s hard not to be. Since our last episode, it feels like a million and one things have happened all at once.

I’ve seen creatives grappling with the still-high price of eggs, building skits about boycotts—or debates about debating boycotts—and the resurrection of TikTok sparking discussions about zombie-like timelines.

Time burns.

Writers wrestle with their roles. We try to create worlds, worlds that feel diverse and welcoming while rage-watching unqualified individuals ascend to power due to the privilege of their bank accounts or honestly whiteness or white associations. I’ve seen a spectacle of posts from people with crosses in their bios making rage filled takes on what Jesus would or would not do.

How do we create, keep creating when everything around us is in flux and chaos? I usually have my act together. I plan and execute. This week I’ve let time get away from me. I’ve written and rewritten this very essay a multitude of times. I want to give you fresh mana every time I step to the microphone.

Then unexpectedly, clarity came during a celebration of life for a dear friend’s grandmother.

Watching a montage of Mrs. Dorothy’s life in photos, hearing testimonies of love, and, most poignantly, listening to the words of her longtime best friend moved me deeply. Her bestie described their years of shared laughter, prayer, and adventures—as missions of foolery at bars, late-night Thelma-and-Louise-style escapades, and their unshakable bond.

When the bestie shared a piece of wall art Mrs. Dorothy had made for her, I choked up. Hung in a gilded frame, the red and orange colors radiated joy. I felt the sisterly love and support. The bestie said that everything wasn’t always perfect between them, but they knew that either would ride to hell and back for the other.

At that moment, I knew what I had to write. The question that cut into my soul—are you someone’s ride or die? Are you someone’s safe harbor, their distraction from life’s destructive winds? Or are you a danger in disguise, someone who, by intent or accident, dims their light?

“Vanessa, why so serious?” We are living in serious times. Everything must be purposeful. We need to think before we speak. James 1:19-20, says something like, brothers and sisters, everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because anger does not produce righteousness.”

Why should we do this slow think? It doesn’t feel good. If I just post on social…

No. These social media streets are meaner than ever. And the consequences of a good jab, a quick retort, can have monstrous FAFO reactions. Let me tell you a few short stories to illustrate this.

There was once a phenomenal female painter whose work celebrated women and cultural pride with breathtaking power. At the height of her talent, she was mostly ignored. Society lauded her famous husband as the true genius. She was told to be quiet, to support him, to be lesser. I imagine, she often looked up at the sky and wondered why there wasn’t enough light for two.

There was a humble poet who burned to tell the stories of ordinary people. When she poured her heart into her writing, critics dismissed her. They wanted stories about the elite, not the impoverished. The fire in her soul left no room for compromise, but her enemies sought to bury her work. They succeeded. No one rode to save her. She died impoverished and in obscurity. She closed her eyes knowing her peers had deliberately dimmed her light.

There was once a collector who nurtured others’ prose. She gave so much of herself that her own work was overlooked. After publishing several novels with little acclaim, she gazed at the starry sky and wished there was enough light for her mentees and her too.

Imagine women dying spent of their energy and grace, dismissed, barely acknowledged. Unfortunately for a female creator, these are not anomalies.

Women Who Didn’t Live to See Their Due

Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1656): An Italian Baroque painter whose powerful depictions of women, such as Judith Slaying Holofernes, were overshadowed by her male contemporaries. Today, she is celebrated as one of the Baroque period’s greatest artists.

Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1651–1695): A Mexican nun and writer whose literary works were suppressed by church authorities. Forced to sell her library of collected books, she soon died. Her best known work Reply to Sister Filotea of the Cross is a defense of women’s education. Today, she’s a feminist icon.

Emily Dickinson (1830–1886): The American poet published fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1,800 poems during her lifetime. Today, she’s a legend.

Zora Neale Hurston (1891–1960): A giant of the Harlem Renaissance, Hurston’s work was erased from mainstream consciousness for decades. She died in poverty and was buried in an unmarked grave.

Frida Kahlo (1907–1954): Often overshadowed by her husband, Diego Rivera, Kahlo’s work is now recognized worldwide as a celebration of womanhood and Mexican culture.

There are more—always countless more women who are dismissed and their greatness only acknowledged posthumously. Death and decades of time shouldn’t be prerequisites for a creative to get their due.

Back to my earlier stories, I have some posthumous updates.

The Ignored Artist: Frida KahloAlways in the shadow of her husband, the famed 1920s painter Diego Rivera, Frida’s talents were noted and championed by art-world luminaries like socialite Lupe Marín (Diego’s first wife) and photographer Tina Modotti. Lupe introduced Frida to influential figures in the art world, while Tina captured stunning photographs that catapulted Frida’s reputation. These two women helped elevate Frida’s distinctive style and works, including her 1926 piece, Self-Portrait in a Velvet Dress. Their support was instrumental in promoting her art in Mexico and beyond, eventually earning Frida the global acclaim she deserved.

The Hobbled Writer: Zora Neale HurstonStory two was about the gifted Zora. During her lifetime, Zora was celebrated as a writer of the Harlem Renaissance. However, after the 1940s, her work fell out of favor. She was criticized by contemporaries for not explicitly addressing racism or aligning with the civil rights movement. Her focus was on everyday folk and folklore. This divergence caused the literary elites to push her into obscurity. Shunned and misunderstood, Zora died in poverty in 1960, and yes, buried in an unmarked grave.

Enter burgeoning writer Alice Walker (The Color Purple), who encountered Zora’s Their Eyes Were Watching God in graduate school around the 1970s, a decade after Zora’s death. Profoundly changed by the novel, Alice was shocked that Zora’s legacy had been erased. Determined to restore it, she feverishly researched Zora’s life, eventually writing an essay for Ms. Magazine titled “Looking for Zora.” Alice located Zora’s unmarked grave and purchased a headstone, inscribed with: “Zora Neale Hurston: A Genius of the South.”

The Dismissed Editor: Jessie Redmon FausetJessie (1882–1961) was a vital figure of the Harlem Renaissance, yet her work was undervalued in her lifetime and largely forgotten until the feminist and civil rights movements of the 70s. I recently read an advanced copy of Harlem Rhapsody by Victoria Christopher Murray, which chronicles Jessie’s life. Victoria beautifully highlights how the editor’s dreams were often sacrificed to nurture younger Harlem Renaissance writers like Langston Hughes. Her contributions to literature and her own novels deserve the same spotlight:

* There is Confusion (1924): Examines issues of race and ambition among Black professionals.

* Plum Bun (1928): Explores passing and the complexities of identity, a theme that may have influenced her friend Nella Larsen’s Passing.

* The Chinaberry Tree (1931): Focuses on family dynamics and societal expectations within Black communities.

* Comedy: American Style (1933): A biting critique of internalized racism and the pursuit of whiteness.

Thank you, Victoria, for returning Jessie to our lexicon.

That’s what I love about research and writing. Pen to paper, words forming sentences—we get to take readers back in time and restore women. In Sister Mother Warrior, I rediscovered Marie-Claire Bonheur, the first Empress of Haiti, and Gran Toya, a counselor and African military leader to Emperor Jacques I (Jean-Jacques Dessalines). These two women, connected to the man who liberated Haiti, were crucial to shaping the Haitian Revolution. Within the prose, I built the respect and friendship that developed between these two polar opposites. That’s right opposite can respect and ride for each other.

With fiction based loosely on historical events and people, I ride for the forgotten and amplify sisterly ideals. In A Gamble at Sunset and the forthcoming A Wager at Midnight, I deliberately showcase the Wilcox sisters’ relationship. These Black women are far from perfect. They won’t be painted or captured in a pristine sonnet. They’re messy and passionate. Their ability to listen and not judge is constantly tested, but they will ride at dawn for their sister.

We need that energy now. Listen closely: I’m not interested in performative protests. I don’t want my exhausted sisters lifting a finger for something that’s not well thought out. I refuse to witness the front of a firing line, because the loudest folk dropped away and hid.

Moreover I don’t want to see sisters picking apart another sister or their art for clicks or because they disagree. We’re blessed that Lupe and Tina weren’t judgmental in their love for Frida. Alice didn’t care that Zora wrote differently from her. She didn’t question Zora’s identity or love for her people. Alice stood in the gap and worked to elevate Zora. She returned her to us and bought a headstone to honor a woman, she’d only met in reading the dismissed words of Their Eyes Were Watching God.

What I’m saying is: In these times of turmoil and distress, leave petty differences behind. Ride or die for the freedom, freedom to produce art. Don’t let your sisters die in poverty. Don’t let them leave this earth without tasting the fruit of the seeds they planted. In a world of chaos, be Lupe, Tina, or Alice—or any other writer who restore our ancestors to us.

My dear creatives, ride or die or get out the way.

If you want a deeper dive into some of the books mentioned here’s the list:

The Answer / La Respuesta (Expanded Edition): Including Sor Filotea’s Letter and New Selected Poems. Sor Juana Inez de la Cruz. The Feminist Press at CUNY, 2009. 2nd ed.

The Chinaberry Tree. Jessie Redmon Fauset. Dover Publications, 2013.

The Color Purple. Alice Walker. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1982.

Comedy: American Style. Jessie Redmon Fauset. Rutgers University Press, 1933.

A Gamble at Sunset. Vanessa Riley. Kensington, 2024.

Harlem Rhapsody. Victoria Christopher Murray. Berkeley, 2025.

Plum Bun. Jessie Redmon Fauset. Beacon Press, 1928.

Sister Mother Warrior. Vanessa Riley. William Morrow, 2022.

There Is Confusion. Jessie Redmon Fauset. Dover Publications, 1920.

Their Eyes Were Watching God. Zora Neale Hurston. J. B. Lippincott & Co., 1937.

A Wager at Midnight. Vanessa Riley. Kensington, 2025.

One additional resource, the additional essay Alice wrote, “Looking for Zora” is in this collection: Walker, Alice. In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983.

Thanks for reading Vanessa Riley’s Write of Passage! Subscribe for free. Get Vanessa’s take on publishing and the world, drawing from her journey as an indie author turned traditionally published powerhouse: 25 novels and counting..

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

Originally posted 2025-01-28 14:10:00.

About nine years ago, my husband, military man, went on several trips and took his camera.

He’s a wonderful amateur photographer — the kind who captures dozens and dozens of shots, each one filled with life and beauty… and then does absolutely nothing with them. Hence, the “amateur” part.

But I loved those photos. I was proud of him — of the way he saw the world through his lens. So one day, I picked three of my favorites, had them matted and framed, and was so excited to surprise him. I showed them to him, and he smiled, but somehow, we never found the right place to hang them.

And then, in 2016, our world turned upside down.

Within four months, I lost my mother and my aunt. My husband lost his grandfather, his uncle, and then his father. My mother and his father passed less than thirty days apart. Much of that year is a blur — a fog of grief and exhaustion. I remember canceling conferences, canceling plans, canceling everything.

At the time, I was still indie, and thankfully I didn’t have immediate deadlines. But I’d just signed a contract with Entangled, meaning books would be due the following year. I think having that distant goal — something on the horizon — kept me sane. Kept us sane.

But I never went back to hanging those pictures.

There’s something to be said about starting a project with the best intentions, only to have life — or death — interrupt it. Sometimes it’s loss, sometimes it’s chaos, and sometimes it’s just the price of eggs that knocks us off balance.

But at some point, we have to shake it all off and return to the dream.

We have to forgive ourselves for the delays, for the detours, for the times we needed to rest. Because rest matters. Detours matter. Reflection matters.

If you’re a Type A person like me, it’s hard to stop the world and say, “I’m hurting,” or “I can’t do this right now.” But we owe it to ourselves to take that pause — to grieve, to reflect, to forgive. Forgive the people who hurt us, forgive the ones who didn’t show up when we needed them, and forgive ourselves for stumbling.

And when we’re ready, we have to return. To the old normal. To the unfinished dream.

Today, I did that.

I cleaned the room I’ll forever call Grama’s Room — in honor of my mother — and I finally hung those pictures. After nine years.

And when my husband saw them, when he smiled with that quiet pride, I felt something shift. A bit of healing. A touch of restoration. The simple goodness of completion.

November is the month where many of us sit down to start something new — the next novel, memoir, self-help guide, or story that might bring hope and light to the world.

So, I say this: whatever dream you’ve set aside, whatever picture you’ve been meaning to hang, whatever story you’ve been dreaming of telling — go back to it.

It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. You still have another moment. Don’t waste it.

Look around. Find the dream that’s been waiting patiently for you. Get back to your first love — to the idea that once made you wake up smiling, that kept you up at night thinking, “What if I really could do this?”

Right now, I’m two months away from releasing Fire Sword and Sea. It took two years to write that book — two years of wrestling with story, of getting it right, of honoring the women who risked everything to chase a dream.

It’s brave. It’s daring. It’s a little bit crazy.

But sometimes, you have to be all three.

So I urge you: be a pirate. Command your own ship. Gather your crew. And finish your mission — whatever that may be.

This is Vanessa, giving you permission to forgive yourself, to pick up your sword, and to get going.

Oh — and hang those pictures, too.

This week’s booklist for the writers and the procrastinators:

Atomic Habits by James Clear — A practical guide to breaking bad habits and building consistent routines through tiny, incremental changes that compound into remarkable results.

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield — A powerful manifesto that exposes the internal “Resistance” keeping writers and creators from doing the work and shows how to overcome it with discipline and courage.

Finish: Give Yourself the Gift of Done by Jon Acuff — A witty, motivating look at why perfectionism kills progress and how embracing imperfection helps you actually complete what you start.

Living Forward by Michael Hyatt and Daniel Harkavy — A purposeful roadmap for designing a life plan that aligns daily actions with long-term vision, helping creatives reclaim time and focus.

Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes — A candid, joyful memoir about how saying “yes” to fear, opportunity, and authenticity transformed the creator of Grey’s Anatomy into a more confident and fulfilled version of herself.

This week, I’m highlighting Eagle Eye Book Shop through their website and Bookshop.org

Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Eagle Eye Eye or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.

We are two months away from the January 13th release. Please spread the word and preorder this adventure about Caribbean women pirates of the 1600s. Piracy is legal. It’s their escape, and answer to prayer. Thanks to shipping pirates—I’m out of physical arcs but Fire Sword and Sea is up on Edelweiss and NetGalley. So go get digital review copies.

And remember to get collector cards with your preorder. Then tell me, who’s on your crew?

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you’re part of my crew, hit that like button and join me by subscribing and sharing Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We need each other to get to the other side of hard together.

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

As a writer, I love giving readers something they didn’t expect. When plotting a murder mystery, I meticulously plant clues, red herrings, and unexpected connections, ensuring readers will turn the pages, eager for what’s next. The writer’s mind is a playground. It’s the world as we know it—the familiar, the structured, and the understood. Readers are conditioned for the norm. But when a writer disrupts the mundane, offering a twist, it intrigues and refreshes.

We’re curious beings. We crave learning and understanding. We seek order. Flipping gender roles or challenging leadership expectations is a surefire way to shake things up and offer a new perspective.

Last year, I wrote a scene I initially thought was humorous: an 1800s heroine, desperate to become a physician, disguises herself as a man to attend medical lectures. At the time, women were barred from pursuing careers as scientists or physicians, often resorting to extraordinary measures to follow their passions. In the scene, Scarlett, the determined heroine, is on the verge of being discovered. Her nemesis, an immigrant physician named Steven, steps in to save her by pretending she’s his male cousin. This clever ruse spares Scarlett from scandal but forces her to blend in with the men—including accompanying them to a brothel. Turning the tables, Scarlett ends up saving Steven. While he’s incapacitated during a narcoleptic episode, she kisses him, adding what I thought was a layer of comedic drama to the brothel scene.

Here’s the rub: that kiss happened without his consent. He was barely conscious. It doesn’t matter if it was funny, if readers were in on the joke, or if it showcased her autonomy. By giving her this power, I stripped his from him.

That moment had to change. I deleted the kiss. The scene in A Wager at Midnight is still funny, still scandalous, but it’s respectful. Some may say, “Vanessa, lighten up—it’s humor! And don’t we need more joy in the world?” All true. But here’s a greater truth: consent is not a double standard. It’s a rule. It’s a right. Everyone’s “no” should carry the same weight we modern women demand for ourselves.

A Wager at Midnight releases March 25.

The ability to say no is sacred. To paraphrase Matthew 5:37, “All you need to say is Yes or No; anything beyond this comes from the devil.”

Many of you might be nodding in agreement. Yet this week reminds us that some people still struggle with a woman’s no—especially when that woman is Black.

This week, a spokesman for the office of Barack and Michelle Obama announced that Mrs. Obama would not attend the 2025 inauguration. Unlike her absence from President Carter’s funeral, which was attributed to a scheduling conflict, this was a clear, definitive, unexplained no.

Reactions have been predictable. Some applaud her for setting boundaries, acknowledging the toll of public life and the personal risks she and her family have endured. Others clutch their pearls, lamenting political norms—those quaint phrases that, bless their hearts, weren’t universally applied when it mattered most.

Meanwhile, my people—oh, you know who you are—created a delicious meme that summed it all up: If I send you Michelle’s picture, I’m not coming.

From: @jennmjacksonphd

These memes reminded me of the ones sparked by Anita Baker when her concert, scheduled to start at 7 p.m. on May 11, 2024, at State Farm Arena in Atlanta, was canceled at 6:54 p.m. due to “unforeseen circumstances.”

@sweet.alpha.lady from TikTok

I’ll admit, these memes are funny. But looking at the popularity of these memes reveals something sobering: Are women the only ones who cancel? Why aren’t there memes like these for men who say no? Do they not have the agency to do so?

Of course, that’s sarcasm—because men cancel all the time. They just aren’t mocked as much.

Chris Rock, for instance, canceled hosting the 2022 Governor’s Award after his infamous Oscar slap. If humor is fair game, where’s the meme with his picture saying, “Naw. Sorry I can’t be there. Still recovering from saying the wrong thing.”

Or take James Franco, who “mentally didn’t show up” to co-host the 2011 Oscars. Sure, he was physically present, but he failed to fulfill his duties. Anne Hathaway, the other co-host, had to carry the night. A woman having to pick up the slack? That sounds familiar—and is definitely meme-worthy.

Nonetheless, people have a right to cancel, just as they have a right to say no. That includes celebrities. Saying no should be a human right. But for that to hold true, society must first recognize the humanity and autonomy of every person who withdraws their consent.

Historically, women have struggled with autonomy and consent. For much of US history, women were required to live under the authority of a father, husband, or male guardian. It wasn’t until 1974 that women were allowed to obtain credit cards in their own name. Equal pay legislation dates back only to the 1960s. The societal acknowledgment of a woman’s right to make her way in the world is lacking. It’s hard to understand that a woman’s ability to work for fair wages and to decide her own path is merely sixty-five years old. That’s not that old. It’s barely able to get social security.

Alas, the history is bleaker for Black women. For us, the ability to say no to the most egregious violations was often denied. Our consent was stolen by laws, society, and systems meant to promote and protect others.

A Timeline of Black Women and the Right to Say No

1662: Virginia Hereditary Slave LawChildren’s status (enslaved or free) followed their mother, stripping Black women of autonomy over their offspring. Sidenote: This came about because Elizabeth Key, born to an enslaved woman and a white Englishman, Thomas Key, legally gained her freedom in 1655 by arguing that she was baptized and freed by her father. The 1662 law was enacted to ensure such cases could never happen again.

1705: Virginia Slave CodesThese codes reduced enslaved people to property. This codifies sexual violence against all enslaved but particularly Black women.

1786: Tignon Laws (Louisiana)Black women were forced to cover their hair in public, erasing their self-expression and identity.

1857: Dred Scott v. SandfordThis decision denied Black people citizenship. This reaffirms that Black men and women are without legal rights to refuse exploitation or violence, nationwide.

1865–1866: Black CodesRestrictive laws curtailed freedwomen’s mobility and punished those who refused exploitative labor with vagrancy charges.

1927: Buck v. BellThis Supreme Court decision upheld forced sterilization laws targeting Black women under eugenics programs.

1944: The Rape Case of Recy TaylorRecy Taylor identified her six white attackers, but they were never brought to justice. Alabama apologized only in 2011.

1980s: Workplace Dress CodesBans on natural hairstyles like braids and afros forced Black women to conform to Eurocentric beauty standards.

1994: Violence Against Women Act (VAWA)While a step forward, this legislation didn’t fully address the unique barriers Black women face in seeking protection such as underreporting, racial profiling, mistrust in authority, and Access to Culturally Competent Services.

Of course there are some wins.

1967: Loving v. VirginiaThis landmark case struck down laws eliminating restrictions on who women could marry.

1973: Relf v. WeinbergerThis case exposed federally funded forced sterilizations of Black women, helping to end the practice.

2019–Present: The CROWN ActThis legislation prohibits discrimination based on natural hairstyles, affirming Black women’s autonomy over their appearance.

So, parity with others—being legally able to say yes to bodily autonomy and hairstyles—is less than a decade old for Black women. That should horrify you.

As a Black woman and a lover of history, I’m often told to forgive and forget—and there’s a heavy emphasis on forgiveness and a whole lot of forgetting. That notion is anathema to my soul. My lungs struggle to seize air under the weight of ongoing restrictions. There are new laws stripping away hard-fought rights. Fear and foolishness is trying to make hard-won victories DEI casualties. It’s book bans, whitewashed textbooks, tone policing, and countless microaggressions designed to smother.

Breathe.

Hear my heart: autonomy for me doesn’t mean taking from you. Equality for one group doesn’t mean making any other lesser. Checking on my sista doesn’t mean I wish ill on others—or the misters. We all gain when everyone’s yes and no are respected.

Writers, readers, citizens, hear me. Let us be wise with our words, speaking peace into existence. Let us remember and listen. Let us accept that no is a complete sentence, without the need for adjectives or explanations.

In times such as these when injustice still reigns, people have the right to step back, breathe, and find their peace.

Writers, I encourage you to take a more critical eye to your work. Let’s not ignore the forces trying to strip away consent—through laws, norms, even memes disguised as humor. We wield power with our words, and we should all consent to building up and renewing everyone who reads them.

If you want a deeper dive into the intersectionality of it all, as a book girly I have some recommendations for you:

Women, Race & Class by Angela Y. Davis explores the historical struggles of women, especially Black women, to claim autonomy and say no to oppression.

They Were Her Property by Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers, examines the role of white women in the American slave economy and highlights the systemic oppression of Black women.

Take My Hand by Dolen Perkins-Valdez, provides important connections between her novel and the case of Relf v. Weinberger and forced sterilizations.

Sister Citizen by Melissa V. Harris-Perry, analyzes how stereotypes affect Black women’s lives and their ability to assert agency.

Ain’t I a Woman? by bell hooks explores the intersections of race and gender and the marginalization of Black women.

Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women That a Movement Forgot by Mikki Kendall, highlights the importance of boundaries and self-advocacy, especially for marginalized communities.

Subscribe for free. Get Vanessa’s take on publishing, challenges, and opportunities, drawing from her journey as an indie author turned traditionally published powerhouse: 25 novels and counting.

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

Originally posted 2025-01-21 14:10:00.

An image. A photograph. Sometimes we take them for granted. We snap our phones so quickly, only to scroll through them for social posts or store them for infinity in clouds.

Does anyone remember having to take a roll of film out of a camera with care—rolling it up, taking it to be developed? Anyone remember what it felt like to wait to pick up the prints? Now we have so many at our fingertips that many of these images will never be opened again.

Technology has advanced, and we all walk around with a digital lens to analyze the world. Everyone can capture history or life with a click. And especially in our constantly moving 24-hour news cycle, images can start to lose their meaning. Of course, we begin to feel their value again when something like—oh, I don’t know—authoritarianism creeps in and tries to keep us from seeing things and asking questions.

Pictures are meant to help us save our moments. I saw one this week, that I can’t get out of my head. It’s not traumatic; it’s not painful. It’s lovely, very heartwarming. It’s of a ballerina and a dancer turned choreographer and teacher.

On October 22, 2025, Misty Copeland took her final bow with the American Ballet Theatre in New York. Misty came on stage for applause, and Debbie Allen—the icon—embraced her.

The moment stopped me. To see a legend embracing another legend—it’s powerful. It’s the kind of image that reminds you what legacy looks like. It says: You’ve finished this part of your journey, and the next part will be even better. You’ll touch more people, like I have. And you can also take a moment to rest and enjoy what you’ve accomplished. You can feel that warmth, that love, that encouragement radiating through the hug.

And honestly, in these times—when the government has shut down, when benefits are threatened, when healthcare costs could skyrocket, and so many people are drowning in anxiety—that kind of reassurance, that quiet “I’ve been there, and you’re going to be all right,” means the world.

This week, I went to the 21st Cavalcade in Chicago, hosted by my dear friend, author Lissa Woodson. It was a reunion of sorts—people who were there at the very beginning of my writing journey came, as well as many new faces just starting theirs. It was a good time full of hugs and laughs. Dear author buddy and Fun Friday Girl, Pat Simmons, arrived and brought even more fun. I snapped a selfie of us.

Panya, one of my dear friends from college, came, and we shared dinner, more laughter, and stories about our children, husbands, and our global lives. Every small moment is to be savored and captured—not only on phones but in our hearts and minds. And I had the waiter snap a photo of us.

A big part of the Cavalcade is being at the convention center and interfacing with the public. All of us, regardless of the stage of our careers—indie, hybrid, or traditional—we all hustled. We all tried to get someone to listen and maybe make a sale.

Oh, the memories this brings back.

And I hope the new authors there felt welcomed and hugged upon. I want them to know: Hey, it may be rocky right now, but it’s going to be all right.

And let me just say this: Author MarZé Scott gives the best hugs known to humankind. I’m convinced she’s secretly a chiropractor because she hugs you just right. You don’t just feel safe—you feel loved, deeply loved, and spine-straightened—even if you’ve only just met. That’s a rare gift: to be medicinal, maternal, and downright cool. I hope she knows how special it is to receive her hug and the impression she leaves with everyone she embraces.

Lissa snapped our picture. I’m grateful for each picture, each moment captured now and forever. These stills remind me of the love, the connection, the humanity we share. We’re moving into the holiday season—Thanksgiving’s on the horizon. It’s time to donate hugs—give to food pantries, check in on people who might be lonely or forgotten. Share your time. Everyone’s going through something. And this season, we need to be a little kinder, a little more forgiving.

That’s the power of a hug. It wrings out the bitterness from the soul and leaves space for goodness.

Now, I’ve added to my phone those pictures of Debbie Allen and Misty Copeland hugging. I even went scrolling to see if Debbie hugged Shonda Rhimes—I’m pretty sure they did offstage at their recent Atlanta/Dekalb meet-up to celebrate The Year of Yes. If not for the Cavalcade, I would’ve been at Shonda’s tour stop.

My Year of Yes was 2019, which began my journey into writing historical fiction—finally taking the stories I’d grown up hearing or stumbled upon in research and actually writing them. Before my Year of Yes, I’d been told by agents and editors that there was no interest in historical novels that singularly focused on Black women—particularly of Caribbean descent—as the heroes of their own lives. I’m very proud to have birthed three such novels into the world (Island Queen, Sister Mother Warrior, Queen of Exiles) and to be about to birth a fourth: Fire Sword and Sea, coming January 13, 2026.

Yet, as I look out at the world, I think we need more hugs—more soft places to land—as the landscape keeps shifting and going backward, where the needle of what’s important or print-worthy is dictated by algorithms and viral images on social media.

So in this season, when patience runs thin, when anxiety is high and irritation is always just around the corner—find those huggers. Let them give you a good embrace. Let it cleanse your soul a little. And as always, hug your writer friends. Let them know that there is more good road ahead for their feet—and their keyboards—to follow.

Today List of books is for the huggers:

Year of Yes: 10th Anniversary Edition by Shonda Rhimes — In this expanded edition, the bestselling TV-creator reflects on how saying “yes” changed her life and invites readers to step into their own.

Stop in the Name of Love by Naleighna Kai and U.M. Hiram — An emotionally charged romance where passion collides with faith, family, and hard choices that test both heart and conscience.

King Of South Shore by MarZé Scott — A secretive millionaire real-estate mogul’s romance could end before things really get started.

Dancing in the Wings by Debbie Allen is a lovely children’s book that loosely is based on the actress’s own experiences as a young dancer.

Contempt by Pat Simmons — Grandma BB orchestrates a practice funeral for the Jamieson clan, but unexpected surprises and an uninvited guest turn the evening into a lively, unforgettable family gathering.

This week, I’m highlighting FoxTale Bookshoppe through their website and Bookshop.org

Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from FoxTale or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.

We are less three months away the January 13th release. Please spread the word and preorder this adventure about Caribbean women pirates of the 1600s. Piracy is legal. It’s their escape, and answer to prayer. And remember to get collector cards with your preorder. Then tell me, who’s on your crew?

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you’re on board this ship, hit that like button and subscribe and share Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. And I need You.

Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

As a writer, the greatest gift I can offer a reader is the ability to feel. Love, anger, or the powerful sense of being seen—my books come with an implicit promise. I intend to transport you, enlighten you, and to invite you to inhabit someone else’s shoes. You will tread in their footsteps, see through their eyes, and be consumed by their emotions. This is my gift, my bond with my readers.

I truly believe all writers are empaths at heart. That’s why last week was especially hard—a whirlwind of emotions and memories, crashing upon me at the same time.

In Atlanta, a rare snowstorm—an event last seen a decade ago—brought the city to a standstill. At the same time, the world paused to honor President Jimmy Carter, a man synonymous with empathy and kindness. He was my first president, well the first I can actually remember. The plain spoken, proud son of Georgia, gave the world a lifetime of service. His passing like his presidency, brought together people across political divides, reminding us of the compassion that once defined leadership.

On the other coast, in California, a cruel trifecta of fire, wind, and drought ignited devastating wildfires. Over 20,000 acres have burned in the Palisades Fire. You know the names—Malibu, Mandeville Canyon, Brentwood, and the hills of Encino and Tarzana. The Fires in Eaton which includes devasted generational communities of Pasadena and Altadena–have been hit with significant property damage. The Hurst, Kenneth, Archer and Lidia Fires still rage at the time of this recording.

We’ve Seen This All Before

Throughout history, natural disasters have tested human resilience:

* 1556: The Shaanxi Earthquake in China claimed 830,000 lives, the deadliest recorded.

* 1692: The Port Royal Earthquake and tsunami destroyed two-thirds of the “Wickedest City on Earth,” killing over 2,000. Neighboring islands sent organized looters.

* 1815: Mount Tambora erupted in modern-day Indonesia, leading to the “Year Without a Summer” and a global death toll of 80,000–100,000.

* 1900: The Great Galveston Hurricane killed as many as 12,000.

* 1931: The China Flood led to approximately 4 million deaths from drowning, starvation, and disease.

* 1970: Cyclone Bhola in Bangladesh caused over 300,000 deaths.

* 2004: The Indian Ocean Tsunami killed over 230,000 people across 14 countries.

* 2005: Hurricane Katrina left 1,800 dead and caused $161 billion in damages, with long-term displacement of residents.

* 2010: The Haiti Earthquake caused over 222,000 deaths and displaced over 1.3 million people.

* 2011: The Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsunami in Japan triggers the Fukushima nuclear disaster and kills over 19,000 people.

* 2017: Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico caused 2975 deaths and massive infrastructure failures. Puerto Rico was left without power, water, or basic services for months.

* 2017: Hurricane Harvey in Texas wreaked havoc, leaving thousands dead and causing $125 billions in damages.

2024 Hurricane Helene

Hurricane Helene devastated six Southern states from September 24–29, 2024, claiming at least 236 lives. Entire towns in the far inland mountains of North Carolina—Chimney Rock Village, Marshall, and Hot Springs—were essentially washed away by floods.

Helene’s damage was personal. It struck my hometown of Aiken, South Carolina—a small town known for horse racing and Refrigerator Perry of the Chicago Bears. My aunt and cousins were without power for almost a week. The massive oak outside the 5-and-dime store where I had my first job was ripped from the concrete sidewalk by the storm’s ferocious winds. When I visited Aiken in December, two months after the hurricane, the town still bore the scars. Fallen trees littered the landscape, and many roads and houses remained in disrepair.

Miss me with the idea that this is what we deserved. Miss me with the craven spirit that left people frightened and hopeless, thinking no help was coming because this disaster unfolded during a contentious political season.

No place or community is immune to catastrophe. Each disaster brings grief, rebuilding, and, most importantly, a need for solidarity. But are we up to the task? Increasingly, a spirit of division and disdain seems to overshadow the empathy we once showed in times of tragedy. Have we lost our humanity?

Going Back to Cally

Over 180,000 people have been evacuated, and at least 10 lives have been lost in the fires ravaging California. Sadly, that number will likely rise once the flames are contained. But how do we contain the blaze consuming our humanity? Instead of unity, many are quick to condemn, point fingers, or dismiss the devastation as a plight of wealthy Malibu residents or Hollywood elites.

When disaster strikes the rich and famous, cynics are eager to believe they deserved it. But what about places like Chimney Rock or Aiken or other less affluent communities devastated by storms? Did they deserve it? Are you saying the God you believe in has condemned them as well? Tragedy doesn’t discriminate based on wealth, geography, or political allegiance.

Empathy isn’t about whether someone “deserves” to suffer. It’s about recognizing our shared humanity in the face of catastrophe.

Consider this: the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) is funded by taxes from both blue and red states. Blue states, often with liberal politics, contribute the most to federal aid, including FEMA dollars. Meanwhile, red states, more prone to natural disasters, tend to receive more federal funding relative to what they contribute. Could it be that we need each other?

If we let division overshadow compassion, we risk eroding the foundation that binds us as a nation. We are called to love our neighbors as ourselves. But here’s the question: when was the last time you chose to love someone as much as you love yourself?

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Atlanta’s and Texas’s Snowmageddon

Ten years ago, on January 28, 2014, Atlanta experienced a rare snowstorm—just two-and-a-half inches of snow turned interstates into parking lots. People were stranded for hours, some overnight. Weather advisories had warned of impending danger, but when the morning came with no snow on the ground and no sleet in the air, most assumed the storm had passed.

I remember leaving my house around 9 a.m. for a dental appointment. By 10 a.m., I had clean teeth but could barely drive home. Tragically, 13 people lost their lives. Life can change quickly, as that day reminded us. Eventually, we thawed out and survived being the butt of jokes for months.

Fast forward to 2022, during Winter Storm Uri in Texas. Extreme cold, snow, and power outages swept across the state, taking over 210 lives. While government officials argued and finger-pointed, neighbors stepped up. Families opened their homes, sharing warmth and shelter. I used Instacart to send water to friends who had no running supply.

In both of these “snowmageddons,” a profound truth emerged: empathy surged. People helped people. Compassion triumphed over adversity. These moments remind us of our capacity to care, even in the harshest conditions.

Back to Finger Pointing

The news has already shifted its focus in Los Angeles to looters, sidestepping the stories of everyday people who lost their homes or whose retirement facilities were reduced to ashes. Instead, we see blame placed on budget cuts and political decisions. Meanwhile, the unregulated cesspools of Facebook groups are busy mocking “Hollyweird” and spinning the tragedy into another divisive narrative.

I hope in my heart that for every negative story circulated, there are countless acts of kindness—neighbors helping neighbors, communities checking on the most vulnerable, and strangers opening their homes to those in need.

We still have power in these moments. We can step away from toxic conversations. We can amplify stories of love and solidarity instead of hatred and blame.

The goal isn’t to deepen division but to remind ourselves of what’s at stake. We need to care for one another, not because of where we live but because we all share this human experience.

It is possible—to mourn together, to heal together, and to rebuild together. If we can’t, can we at least choose silence—do the quiet “thoughts and prayers” thing we do when there’s a mass shooting?

What Should We Do?

If we choose to mourn and heal together, we must:

* Speak with empathy.

* Listen actively.

* Offer comfort to those in need.

As Proverbs 16:24 reminds us, “Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.” Listening is helping. Platitudes are cheap. Empathy heals.

What Books Can We Read

As a book girly, I’ll make some recommendations:

* A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis: A deeply personal account of loss and healing.

* God Will Carry You Through by Max Lucado: Reflections on God’s sustaining grace.

* Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward: A haunting exploration of grief and resilience.

* Breathe: A Letter to My Sons by IMANI PERRY: A lyrical exploration of life, love, resilience and grief and systematic loss.

* See You on the Other Side by Rachel Montez Minor: A children’s book that provides comfort to the little ones grieving or coming to terms with loss.

Places We Can Donate

Money is action. Every little bit helps.

For LA, choose:

* World Central Kitchen

* United Way of Greater Los Angeles: Wildfire Response

* American Red Cross-Wildfire Relief

For Hurricane Helene, choose:

* United Way

* The Salvation Army

* All Hands and Hearts

Back To The Man from Plains

On January 9, 2025, President Carter’s casket was welcomed at the snow-capped National Cathedral, a grand limestone church with arches, ribbed vaults, flying buttresses, and over 200 stained-glass windows, including one containing a moon rock from Apollo 11.

The Rt. Rev. Mariann Budde presided as Carter’s casket was ushered into the cathedral, observed by dignitaries and all living presidents. Her words echoed: “Let us also pray for all who mourn, that they may cast their care on God and know the consolation of his love.”

Later that day, the same casket would find its way into the humble pine wood church, Maranatha Baptist, in Plains, Georgia. There, a simpler service with familiar faces—friends and neighbors Carter had known all his life—would gather to say goodbye.

In both services, one grand and the other modest, there will likely be a shared refrain: Jimmy Carter’s faith mirrored American ideals, particularly the belief that “we are all created equal in the image of God.”

We are all created equally. We face suffering equally. Whether the wind howls, the rain menaces, the earth quakes, or fires rage, destruction and loneliness do not discriminate. To move closer to a more perfect union, we must embrace empathy. It is my hope that in places as different as rich limestone cathedrals and honest pinewood chapels, empathy and humanity can coexist.

I challenge all writers to help restore empathy in the world.

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Originally posted 2025-01-14 14:10:00.