I consider myself a rational, reasonable individual. My life has been one of success—working hard, pushing the envelope, and achieving. Deep down, though, I think I’m very guilty of believing that if you build it and honor it, they will come.
Maybe I internalized that 1989 movie, Field of Dreams, a little too much. Because the truth is, you can build it, plant the seeds, water it faithfully—and still, nothing grows. Sometimes you have to ask: is this the right garden? Do I have the right seeds. Or is this one of those seasons of famine, not feast?
Over the last 24 months, the stumbles in my journey have forced me to admit something, I’d rather not, that the missteps hurt. I’ve been pretending that they don’t hurt. But they do. Even when you turn the other cheek, the bruise on the other one is still there. When disappointment seeps into your bones, or you let circumstances get under your skin, or you start connecting dots—boy you begin to wonder if you’ve been blind. On those days, I ask myself: am I becoming a conspiracy theorist? Or did I just choose not to believe my own eyes?
Even a calm, levelheaded woman has to acknowledge when she is hurt and angry. My logical side tells me, “It’s just business. It’s politics. It’s economics. It’s not personal.” But every time I put pen to paper, it is personal. Part of me spills onto the page. When you meet my characters, you’re also meeting pieces of me—my wounds, my fears, my hopes, even some dreams. It sounds crazy, but that’s the life of an artist.
Perhaps, we are a little bit off. Who else would willingly put their words or their creations out there to be scrutinized by strangers? You might have to be a little crazy to face bloodthirsty reviews or accept the brunt of someone’s bad day, all because of something you were burning to create.
To be a writer or artist requires audacity—the belief that your story is worth telling, your song is worth hearing, you canvas is worth showing off. And even the humblest creators have to admit we are audacious.
Again, I say you have to be a little bit off because the road to creation is long, filled with danger, rejection, and the occasional spiral into bone crushing doubt.
So to my fellow writers who hit walls—whether self-inflicted, systemic, or circumstantial—own the pain. Then release it. My art is my statement to the world. Within the pages, one can find my zeal and my anger. I own it. I Vanessa Riley get angry sometimes.
I promise you that my anger is a mirror of my passion. It equates to all the research and translations and microfiche that I will search to gather fresh facts. I work hard.
I don’t intend to stop. As I write this essay for my podcast, I intend to keep making art. Because I believe, that I have a message the world needs to hear.
In the coming months, until Fire Sword and Sea releases, you’ll hear me talking about it, the hardest book I had to write. Yes, it’s about pirates in the Caribbean where you will have a diverse crew on the top of the boat working together, while chattel slavery exists within the bowls of the ship. So a meritocracy on top with White and Black and Brown pirates with enslaved people chained below. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s action filled. It’s true.
I will shout it from rooftops, fight to get it attention. The story matters. Because when we hide the past, we hide ourselves. And when we hide our anger, we hide our authenticity. And the fight to make it public hasn’t been easy. It’s made me angry.
It’s ok to be angry, but we can’t let anger fester. Then it turns into cynicism, inaction, and paralysis. I’m a work in progress and I’ve had to take my bottled-up feelings and release them through prayer and being able to hope for more. I gave up the noise to make room for healing.
So, you’re not crazy. You are not a conspiracy theorist. You are human. You are hurting. But the world still deserves to see your art.
Anger isn’t always productive. It doesn’t move the needle by itself. Acting while angry can cost you jobs, power, and peace. So yes—be angry but be wise. Be quick to release any sour heat churning in your soul. My advice is to do what must be done. Do your calling.
And as for me, I’ll live to play in my art another day and I ‘ll let God fight my present day and future battles.
This week’s reading list includes:
The Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner– A classic on understanding anger, especially for women, and how to use it as a tool for growth rather than destruction.
The preorder campaign has begun, get the collector cards for characters in Fire Sword and Sea—Help me build momentum for this historical fiction. Please ask your library to carry this novel and spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about lady pirates in the 1600s. This saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers that are in on the campaign. Get the collector cards while supplies last.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
If you’re ready to move with purpose and power, hit that like button and subscribe to Write of Passage—be a part of my crew. Your journey deserves community.
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 don’t think Southern hospitality is just about sweet tea. I think it’s making sure everyone has a good time and gets home alive.
Southern hospitality is supposed to mean something.
Growing up, the Fourth of July meant my mother’s barbecue. It wasn’t just dinner. It became the neighborhood gathering, the family reunion you didn’t know you were having. Friends drifted in. A few cousins or uncles might show. No one brought anything because even Mama had already made it with at least three different options. You came because my mother cooked, and everyone knew that meant you were going to leave full, laughing. You were going to have a good time.
That was Southern hospitality on a 4th of July Weekend. It was exciting, even before the fireworks.
But this Fourth of July felt different.
I don’t know many people who gathered with neighbors. Most stayed home. Even the celebrations in Washington, D.C. looked very quiet, quieter than I expected for America’s 250th birthday. Across the country, storms interrupted festivities, forcing some families to seek shelter—even inside the African American History Museum. Others didn’t feel the hospitality as they rode on buses with White Supremacists and Reuters photographers. I’d like to think that the photographers would’ve been neighborly and helped out, but they had a duty, I suppose, to capture the mask-wearing marchers.
Sometimes hospitality means making a safe environment. No one should be fearful on the 4th of July.
Again. This 4th felt different.
No amount of BBQ or sweet tea can make up for fear or anguish. What happened to checking on your neighbors, making sure everyone has a ride, or that they make it home to call their mother?
I thought about how my mother always wanted to know where I was, who I was with, and who the adults were. At the time, it felt overprotective.
Now it feels like another expression of hospitality.
Real hospitality isn’t simply welcoming people in.
It’s making sure they get home.
There are families who will never forget this holiday weekend because someone they loved didn’t make it home.
My heart especially goes out to the family of Nolan Wells, a young Black man who went to celebrate with friends and never came home. Amid the unimaginable grief, his mother publicly thanked the volunteers, the United Cajun Navy, local law enforcement, and neighbors who searched alongside her.
That, too, is Southern hospitality, showing up when someone else is hurting.
On Sunday, the 5th, I had the opportunity to be hospitable to my readers at a release party to celebrate the of A Deal at Dawn. I
I held a tea party.
What better way to celebrate a Regency romance?
Picture tablecloths, teacups, ceramic platters, cookies, flowers, and just enough balloons to make a corner of Barnes & Noble feel less like a bookstore and more like someone’s parlor. We were tucked into the music section, and honestly, what could be more neighborly than books and music sharing the same space?
Of course, I have a terrible habit of never doing anything halfway.
I love to cook. Left to my own devices, every gathering becomes a catered affair. But Barnes & Noble has a café, which meant there were limits on bringing in outside food.
Reality met Southern determination.
I had to get creative.
Normally, my backup plan is Cheryl’s Cookies. I always keep a stash in the freezer for emergencies. They’re delicious, dependable, and have rescued me on more than one gathering.
But this wasn’t an emergency.
This was a celebration.
I kept thinking about the afternoon my daughter and I spent at the Russian Tea Room in New York. The tiny pastries. The beautiful presentation. The sense that every bite had been chosen with care.
If I couldn’t recreate that menu, I could recreate the feeling.
Every Southern tea needs cake.
So I invented tea cake cupcakes.
The recipe grew out of the world of A Deal at Dawn. While writing the novel, I kept returning to preserved fruits and candies. In eighteenth-century Saint Petersburg, oranges were rare luxuries. When people had them, they treasured them, preserving every bit they could in marmalades and jams.
That became my inspiration.
I took my favorite pound cake recipe, whipped the butter until it was impossibly light, folded in rich orange marmalade, and added buttermilk because Southern baking practically demands it. The result tasted like sunshine tucked inside a cupcake.
Maybe it was over the top.
But it was neighborly.
That’s what Southern cooks do.
I get it from my mother.
I get it from the soil and the air that she raised me in.
I want to feed people.
I want them to slow down.
I want them to feel safe.
I want them to feel seen.
As joyful as Sunday was, the weekend as whole kept reminding me why those things matter. I’m often asked which book signing has been my favorite. Every signing is my favorite.
Whether one person comes or a hundred, someone has carved out space in their day to spend time with me and my stories. They’ve read my books, shared them with friends, recommended them to libraries, and welcomed my characters into their lives.
That’s hospitality, too. The best kind.
So thank you to everyone who joined me for tea, who picked up A Deal at Dawn, who recommended it to a friend or a book club, or who simply stopped by to say hello.
Southern hospitality isn’t just about the food. It’s the vibe and feeling safe. It’s about making people feel nurtured and nourished—in body, in spirit, and in hope. And that they make it home alive.
This week’s book list includes:
The Cooking Gene by Michael W. TwittyA remarkable exploration of Southern food, family, ancestry, and the complicated history behind what ends up on our tables.
High on the Hog by Jessica B. HarrisPart history, part celebration, this book traces the influence of African American cooks and traditions on American cuisine. The TV documentary of the same title, adapted by Stephen Satterfield, expands on Harris’s research by traveling to locations in West Africa and the United States to explore how African culinary traditions have shaped American food.
An Infinite Love Story by Chanel ClaytonI hope you’ll join me tonight, July 7, at Eagle Eye Book Shop in Decatur, Georgia, where I’ll be in conversation with my friend Chanel Clayton to celebrate the release of her stunning new novel.
This page-turner follows Vivian Mitchell, the wife of an astronaut, as she navigates the uncertainty and anxiety of waiting for her husband to return home from what is supposed to be his final mission. It’s a moving story about love, resilience, and hope. Since she’s visiting Georgia, let’s show her some Southern hospitality—the good kind.
A Deal at Dawn by Vanessa Riley — Jahleel and Katherine embrace devastating, unexpected turns, make difficult choices, and discover that the life they need is nothing they planned for.
Get these books from Eagle Eye Book Shop. They still have a few signed copies of Fire Sword and Sea.
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.
Let’s keep rising and creating together. I need you. Like, share, subscribe, and stay connected to Write of Passage.
It’s the neighborly thing to do. 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 spent Labor Day eve with my family. It was great catching up—finding out how everyone’s doing, whether they got the job they wanted, how things are going at work, how far they’ve come toward their goals. We talked about houses, kids, fences—life. It felt good to just soak in family.
The pandemic robbed us of something priceless: time spent seeing and being part of each other’s lives. And I’ll be honest; I internalized that separation. I grew incredibly comfortable in my own home. Never leaving my zoom or desktop computer, I am happy working, wrapped up in the fantasy world of the books I write. I call myself an introverted extrovert—or maybe an extroverted introvert. Put me on a stage with a mic, and I’ll light up. I will beam with energy and exhibit such showmanship.
But catch me at home with a hazelnut latte in one hand, a phone to scroll in the other, wearing my robe, bonnet, and slippers, I’m happy. And in the dead of night, I’ll find peace listening to a book or watching a cooking show. Right now, I’m get happy watching, With Love Megan. The show is warm and comfortable. Meghan is gorgeous and thoughtful. She shows us aspirational bits of the soft life, and I think we all want it. I dream of being the hostess who can make her guest feel comfortable light up with a simple gesture that shows she’s thinking about them. I love the idea of small gestures. I like the list of new foods that I’ll try to make, including slow cooker apple butter. If you know me, I am a slow cooker girl. I can do real damage with any one of the many slow cookers or crockpots I own.
Back to the point. My crockpots are inside. I love to cook for people inside. Being inside, that kind of comfort is seductive. And it can trick us into forgetting that life is happening beyond the TV and Kitchen, right outside our doors. Life is out there. People are laughing, crying, hurting, losing, winning—all outside our walls. And it’s worth checking in on people in all those moments.
Then Monday, I stopped by The Book Worm Bookstore in Powder Springs to check on Julia, my friend and the wonderful bookstore’s owner. She’s juggling so much right now—staff changes, city ordinances, personal losses.
It felt good to laugh with her, to commiserate, to talk about challenges in the book industry and to admire the many beautiful books on the shelves. Inside her store, there’s joy and love. But outside her walls, businesses are shuttered, city plans are in flux, and simple things like parking become a battles.
It reminds me that every business, every shopfront, has real people inside—living, breathing, working hard to create a life they love. They are under threat by higher costs and by the changing ways Americans work and live. Change that may have taken decades is here now. Without safety nets, folks are waking up to layoffs and losses of resources. I told you recently about AI infiltrating the family group text. Well, AI is taking entry level jobs, software programming jobs and more. In eight months things shifted, they are not going to shift back. These disruptions means, we need to check on each other more than ever.
If you’re not inclined to drive to a golf course to hang out or to throw a huge dinner for folks to come and sit a spell, you can find other ways to check in. The group text is a great way. Checking in can be a morning prayer, a parable of encouragement, or even sending Instagram reels back and forth. A funny reel says, “I wanted to make you laugh today.” An encouraging one says, “You matter to me. I thought about you.” A messy one says, “I’m messy and you are too.” That doesn’t take much time—just a couple minutes—but it can mean everything.
As we head toward fall, winter, and even the end of the year, I feel very reflective. And I’m not blind to the pain and uncertainty all around us. People are hurting. Some are failing. The struggle is very real. Which makes checking in even more important.
I don’t want to be so busy that I forget the people around me. I don’t want to lose empathy. And yes, I still wrestle with it—for people, for systems, for situations that caused harm. On social media, I see rumors and chaos, and I understand the temptation to root for that chaos, but we need to resist. We can’t lose our humanity.
We have to believe in our better angels. We must hold onto the faith that this too shall pass—whether or not we’re doomscrolling through the night. And while we wait for brighter days, we can do the simplest, most powerful thing: check in. Send the note. Make the call. Get out the house. Share a belly-rocking laugh. Love out loud.
When we check on each other, we remind ourselves—and the world—that we are in this race together. And we need to pull up those close to us, so we can all win.
This week, I picked a few books to help ups check in:
The Light We Carryby Michelle Obama — This book showcases resilience, community, and holding onto hope in difficult times.
An American Marriageby Tayari Jones —This work of fiction explores family, separation, resilience, and the bonds that keep us checking on each other even in hard times.
Between Two Kingdomsby Suleika Jaouad — This memoir offer reflections on illness, survival, and rediscovering connection after isolation.
The preorder campaign has begun, get collector cards for pirates in Fire Sword and Sea—Help me build momentum for this historical fiction. Please spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about lady pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers that are in on the campaign. Get the collector cards while supplies last.
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 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
Here’s a dangerous lie the internet tells us: if information is public, it’s fair game. If I have to do a little hunting, a little scraping to get it—well, that just shows how clever I am.
If I told you that this can be harmful. And that some of us don’t know that this invasion of privacy can erode trust forever—would you still do it? We are one like away from being unforgiven.
Access Isn’t Permission
What is unforgivable?
That sounds like a grand philosophical question. And I’m not asking this in the courtroom or commandment sense but in the everyday ways we treat each other. What crosses that simple line of right and slightly harmless wrong?
Is it oversharing? Gossip? A tidbit of seductive knowledge that you found that no one else has publicly announced?
Does this secret knowledge make you feel powerful?
Before we go there, I need to define two words that have become part of our modern vocabulary.
The first is parasocial.
A parasocial relationship is a one-sided relationship where an audience member feels a deep connection to a public figure. That audience member or voyeur doesn’t actually know the public person personally, but they are invested. I’m guilty of this. I take it personally when people condemn Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, for breathing. When her
As Ever debuted, it sold out in 5 minutes. I was part of that shopping fest.
A parasocial relationship is not inherently unhealthy. More and more it’s part of being an artist. Brands and publishers want that vibe to push sales. Readers want to feel like they know an author. It means so much when our words have entertained them on lonely nights and comforted them through grief.
The second word is never good, doxxing. Doxxing is the act of publicly revealing someone’s private, identifying information without their consent. Often, doxxing will mean someone has published home addresses, phone numbers, places of work, or more.
Recently, my friend, bestselling romance author Kennedy Ryan, appeared on a podcast with Jenna Bush, and during a lighthearted conversation about pen names, Kennedy shared that she originally adopted a pseudonym to protect her professional career and now continues to use it to protect her peace.
Her peace. Catch that part.
Not because she was hiding. Not because she was ashamed.
Because she wanted boundaries. She deserves boundaries so she can keep a piece of herself and her life for herself.
Soon afterward, the internet sleuths, parasocial avengers, began circulating her legal name in posts and threads online. Some have actually argued that releasing a legal name isn’t really doxxing because her legal name had been publicly discoverable for years.
I’m sorry…
Since when did intent or access excuse the action?
If someone tells you, “This is private. This is how I protect myself and my family,” and you decide to broadcast that information anyway, what exactly are you accomplishing? Congrats! You’re smart. You can scrape metadata and websites. Feel good.
Maybe placate your conscience because you didn’t post her home address.
Hey, you didn’t hack a bank account. So clearly you are different. You’re in a category above criminals.
Just because you didn’t intend harm, that doesn’t mean you didn’t cause harm. You ignored a clearly stated boundary. That’s the part our conscience should struggle with.
Is it an unforgivable offense? That’s not for me to decide.
What does this violation do? Hopefully, no legal harm, but you’ve made everyone on the receiving side of a fandom or readership more cautious and potentially more closed off.
If you go to threads, you can see this in real time.
One person wrote: “One day, in the very near future, y’all are going to lose all access to your favorite authors.”
Another author wrote about feeling so violated “after her government name was shared,” that she endured harassment, stalking, and cyber abuse so severe she nearly abandoned writing forever.
Another creator, from the gaming community, described having her address and phone number spread online, receiving death threats, and watching her mother become a target of harassment. It took years of therapy before she felt safe again.
All of these are different situations.
Different levels of harm.
Yet, they all share a common thread: Someone else decided that another person’s boundaries didn’t matter.
As authors, we want readers to love our books.
We want to meet you. We want to laugh with you at signings, hug you at festivals, celebrate release days together. We want to feel close.
But there is a distinct difference between closeness and entitlement.
Writing is my profession. It is also one of the most personal things I do. Every novel asks me to hand over pieces of myself.
My fears.
My questions.
My hopes.
And sometimes my grief.
Whether you’re a novelist, painter, musician, actor, graphics designer, or sculptor—every work of art contains something deeply personal. You struggle and learn—really learn—to release it into the world and let others enjoy it and make it their own.
That is so hard and it its one of the hardest lessons every artist faces.
Some will love your work.
Some will misunderstand your work.
Some will hate it.
But that is the rite of passage from creator to consumer.
But art isn’t ownership.
It does not extend to the artist’s private life.
Many of us create because we’ve built spaces where we feel safe.
Some write with music.
Some light candles.
Some write only before sunrise.
For me, I close the office door.
Outside that room, life can be chaotic.
Inside it, new worlds are born.
That space only exists because it feels protected.
With protection comes access and the willingness to share.
Earlier this year, I did a tour for Fire Sword and Sea, packing in a month’s worth of travel into one week. I did it. Shared behind-the-scenes content. Met people from all over. I financed this tour from my pocket. I did it because I wanted you to meet me and this powerful story of adventure and bucking norms.
If an author doesn’t feel safe, we make different choices. When our relationship to readers changes, we all lose. I saw Kenedy when she came to Atlanta. It was the last stop on her multi-week tour. She signed hundred and hundreds of books. Took group selfies. And then personally hugged and greeted local authors and superfans. I don’t think she’d been in her own bed in a month.
If she doesn’t feel safe, she’s not going to stretch herself, no matter how much she wants the next book to touch you.
We all lose.
Today marks the release of A Deal at Dawn. It’s my thirtieth book.
Thirty. Thirty pieces of my heart.
Thirty moments where I sat alone with imaginary people, crafting and shaping their story until it was ready to hand it over to you.
This entire series has explored difficult questions, and it comes to a head in A Deal at Dawn.
What does love look like when someone lives with a chronic, debilitating illness like sickle cell disease?
How do families navigate chronic illness?
How do communities care for one another?
And for the lovers, what happens when tomorrow isn’t promised?
These aren’t abstract ideas for me. People in my own family have lived with sickle cell disease. Some have died from it. And from interacting with you, I’ve found similar stories. I was able to use the dedication to honor them.
From the bits of information, you may recognize these stories. Don’t dox. Pray for cures. Make donations to:
For me, writing these books is never simply about entertainment.
It’s remembrance.
It’s advocacy.
It’s love, unwavering, unearned, forever love.
And Jahleel and Katherine’s story asks one more question. Are there things that are truly unforgivable? Katherne was going to let Jahleel die, never knowing the truth. How do you make up for that?
Romance promises a happily-ever-after.
Real life doesn’t always offer one.
So we have to hold on to now, be happy for now, and hope now lasts forever.
As someone who is thrilled by what we have going on, for you showing up here every week to Write of Passage, I want to say thank you. Thank you for the love and respect.
This week’s book list is very simple.
Get Kennedy Ryan’s Score. It’s her latest, and it’s so good. There are signed copies at Eagle Eye Books.
You can also get A Deal and Dawn from The Book Cellar in Conyers, GA. They still have a few signed copies of Fire Sword and Sea. The Book Cellar has been my bookstore for the month.
Don’t forget those bookstores, 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.
Hey. I need you. 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
I bought my daddy’s glasses for me. It was completely by accident. I saw a pair of rectangular frames, dark, sort of ebony for a change. The priced was just right, and the try-on feature told me they would work: the dark frames on my oval brown face.
The description said lightweight with structure, but every time I looked in the mirror, I see heavy and concerned. I see my daddy staring back at me.
If you’ve followed me over the years, I tend to talk about my mother because of her seismic impact on my life. She gave me my love of literature and writing. Louise was my first editor, my first winning essay was about her—the struggles of motherhood when she had to step up and lead our household after my father left.
So there are reasons I don’t talk about Daddy as often. But he shaped me too, in quieter ways. My mathematical mind, my sense of logic, my ability to break down problems and even find order in chaos—that comes from him.
He came to America in the 1960s, a young man with dreams and a head full of ambition. Trinidad and Tobago had just broken free from colonial Britain, declaring its independence on August 31, 1962.
My father left a country in the uncertainy of self-rule and chose the land of milk and honey and bootstraps, the United States. Independence in Trinidad was marked by parades and music and celebration, but also instability and questions about what freedom would really mean. America, by comparison, was older, heavy in opportunity and structure.
An immigrant from Port of Spain, Trinidad, who’d traveled widely on boats to his fellow Caribbean islands and London decided to join the American experiment. He chose to stay because he believed in the vision America was selling: if you worked hard, pulled yourself up by your bootstraps, you could find economic freedom and belong to the great melting pot.
When he slipped on his black frames in the 1960s, he saw a country flawed but full of possibility. The sixties in the US marks immense change with the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. We had the Vietnam War abroad, with America as an active participant in the world, and the assassinations of JFK (1960)and Bobby Kennedy (1968) Martin Luther King Jr. (1965) and Malcolm X (1963).
Yet the there was cultural freedom in arts, particularly TV.
That Girl shows Marlo Thomas as an independent, single woman pursuing a career was very different from housewives and mom shows of the past.
Star Trek showcased a diverse crew, to offering a unified vision of humanity.
The Twilight Zoneused storytelling to explore moral and political issues like McCarthyism and racial prejudice.
Yet, if Patrick were alive and slipped on those glasses on today, would he even recognize this place?
My lenses show armed soldiers patrolling American city streets when no war has been declared. Natural disasters made worse by climate change and inept officials unwilling to respond with humanity or clearing red tape.
The sixties marked the first time TV news was the most trusted source of information. Now wars are escalated by tweets, have we have to figure out if it’s deep fakes or AI falsehoods.
He’d shake his head at how rules bent and broken and cages being built to house immigrants that may someday serve as prisons for Americans.
I don’t think he’d see America as the shiny city on a hill of liberty. It’s hard for me to see it.
The same energy that puts weapons on the streets of D.C and Los Angeles and now threaten Chicago and other urban spots because some are confuse fighting crime that it’s the same as punishing those with differing opinions.
But why can’t such marshaling of forces and money be used for places like Kerrville, Texas, where July 2025 floods left families stranded. People drowned and communities suffered while forms got shuffled and delays mounted.
And then there’s the quieter violence—against books, against ideas. During National Library Week 2025, the American Library Association released data showing that the majority of book censorship attempts came from organized political movements, 72%.
Imagine my father, who once saw America as a land of expanding stories, looking at a country that now bans them.
I didn’t exist in the sixties. I like the way my glasses looked in 2008.
I wore lenses tinted with optimism. High-tech jobs were expanding opportunities not cutting jobs. Respectability and admiration were central parts of our leadership.
A man named Barack Obama had just been elected president, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like nothing was unachievable. The American narrative was open and limitless. More stories found ways to be published. Through those lenses, the future shimmered. It roared, Yes we can. Oh it was bright.
I want those glasses to work again. But my prescription is what it is. The lenses are cut sharper. They see starker truths. I witness insecurity, not strength. I wish I didn’t like genocide, violence, and above all fear.
My father would remind me that humanity has always been fragile. He’s logical like that.
So my friends, I don’t come with answers. If I had them, they’d be lost in my Fred Sanford drawer of glasses. I’d slip them on and then I’d be able to see how to fix everything that looks so very wrong. And being able to envision solutions and fixes means, I haven’t lost hope. I hope you haven’t either.
This week, I picked a few books from the sixties for our book list:
This is King’s urgent argument for civil rights, published during the heat of Birmingham’s struggles. It frames a hopeful yet turbulent vision of America in the 60s.
This is a cornerstone text of Black identity, faith, and survival in America. Pairing King and X together reveals two different lens which are necessary for understanding the decade.
We are four and half months away from Fire Sword and Sea—Help me build the momentum for this historical fiction. Please spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about lady pirates in the 1600s. They are women, many our Black and Indigenous. All want a better way of life. Piracy is legal. It’s their answer. This saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers large and small who have set up preorders for this title.
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 ready to move with purpose and power, hit that like button and subscribe to Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. Let me help you recharge.
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 if the best thing that happened to you this week was the thing you didn’t want?
A canceled flight. A collapsed bookcase. An unexpected lesson about time. Today, I’m sharing three lessons about joy, messes, and the surprising gifts hidden inside life’s interruptions.
Three Lessons About Joy and Messes
Three things happened within roughly the same stretch of time.
The first was an incredible weekend in Nantucket with my daughter. It was the ultimate girls’ trip—great food, great company, wonderful conversations, and the chance to explore museums, historical sites, and a place filled with stories. We laughed, wandered, and simply enjoyed being together. It was intentional time. Planned time. Chosen time.
The second thing was completely unexpected.
Mr. Weather decided we weren’t leaving when we thought we would. A canceled flight forced us to stay overnight, which led us to spend a day at the TWA Hotel at JFK Airport. And honestly? It was magical.
Expensive, yes—but magical.
We wandered through the restored 1960s hair salon, explored the airplane turned cocktail lounge, and admired the sweeping curves of the architecture. The rounded concrete forms and futuristic design made it feel as if we had stepped back into another era. Watching my daughter’s eyes light up was perhaps the best part. As a budding architect, she noticed every detail, every design choice, every intentional curve and angle. What could have been an inconvenience became an adventure.
And then there was the third thing.
A bookcase that had been warning me for months that it was in trouble finally gave up the fight. It crashed. Spectacularly.
Books everywhere.
Hundreds of them.
The floor disappeared beneath a sea of hardcovers, paperbacks, research materials, and treasures collected over years.
Unlike Nantucket, this wasn’t something I wanted to do.
Unlike the weather delay, it wasn’t unexpected.
It was something I knew needed attention and chose to ignore.
The pile demanded my time.
Now what do all three experiences have in common.
Time.
One was time I deliberately chose.
One was time unexpectedly given.
And one was time owed but thought the problem could wait.
Life is always moving forward, and sometimes we get to decide exactly how we’ll spend our time. Other times, circumstances decide for us. Some things arrive as gifts. Some arrive as burdens. And then we get those as warnings of a future time sink that we ignore.
But what if we approached all of it with the same attitude?
What if every moment became an opportunity for exploration?
What can we learn?
What can we share?
What joy can come from it?
Finding joy in Nantucket wasn’t difficult. Being with my daughter was a joy. Every conversation, every laugh, every walk through a museum or hanging with other writers reminded me how precious shared experiences can be.
Finding joy in an unexpected airport hotel stay wasn’t difficult either. Adventure often hides inside inconvenience if we’re willing to look for it.
The fallen bookcase, however, required a different kind of joy.
Because when I looked at that mess, I realized I had choices.
I could pile the books in a corner and move on.
Or I could use the moment as an opportunity.
Maybe it’s time to redesign my office.
Maybe it’s time to give everything a permanent home.
Maybe it’s time to display the objects that inspire me every day when I sit down to work.
And what about that desk?
It’s too big.
It’s cluttered.
It’s become claustrophobic.
Maybe it’s time for that to go too.
My workspace should reflect who I’ve become.
Writing is not a hobby for me.
For some people, it may be. But for me, it’s work. It’s my livelihood. It’s bread and butter. Its purpose and profession wrapped together.
My office should reflect the writer I’ve become, not the writer I used to be.
That means making hard choices.
Some books will stay.
The research books? They’re never leaving. Those are tools of the trade. They need to be dusted, organized, protected, and placed where I can easily access them.
But do I need multiple copies of the same book?
Probably not.
Some of my collection will find new homes in Little Free Libraries across Atlanta, where they’ll continue their journey with new readers.
Collectors understand this struggle. We love our treasures. But sometimes holding on to everything prevents us from making room for what’s next.
And that’s really the lesson.
Somewhere between the planned retreat, the canceled flight, and the collapsed bookcase, I found a reminder that peace isn’t found only in perfect circumstances.
Sometimes peace is released in how we respond.
There’s wisdom hidden in delays.
And we should find gratitude in survivable messes.
Life is made up of choices.
The expected and unexpected.
The joyful and the inconvenient.
The burdensome and the beautiful.
Every moment asks something of us. The question is whether we are listening.
This book delves into finding steadiness amid uncertainty. Get caught in a discussion about resilience, adaptation, and discovering purpose during unexpected transitions.
A Deal at Dawn by Vanessa Riley — Jahleel and Katherine embrace devastating, unexpected turns, make difficult choices, and discover that the life they need is nothing they planned for. Let the games begin. Releases June 30th. Preorder and ask for it at your library.
Get these books from The Book Cellar, in Conyers, GA. They still have a few signed copies of Fire Sword and Sea.
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.
Let’s keep rising and creating together. I need you. 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
Hello, friends. I’m Vanessa Riley, and this week I’m coming to you from beautiful Nantucket. Join me for this conversation with bestselling author Dawn Tripp at the Nantucket Book Festival. Our conversation, two fellow storytellers, we talk about the magic behind Fire Sword and Sea. Welcome to our talk
Vanessa and Dawn Tripp
Hello, friends. I’m Vanessa Riley, coming to you from beautiful Nantucket. Join me as I explore the Nantucket Book Festival, meet fellow storytellers, and share the magic behind Fire Sword and Sea. Welcome to the journey.
Please come back next week for more Write of Passage!
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
The one-drop rule used to be the measure of Blackness in America. From the 1600s through the Jim Crow era, this rule held that any person with even “one drop” of African ancestry was considered Black, regardless of appearance.
In 1662, Virginia law held that racial status and freedom were tied to the mother’s status (partus sequitur ventrem). If your mother was enslaved, you were enslaved. So if your mother was Black, so were you.
Virginia—the so-called “home of lovers”—added categories like mulatto (½ Black), quadroon (¼ Black), and octoroon (⅛ Black), trying to track how many generations removed someone was from Black ancestry.
By the 1800s, many states considered you Black if you had 1/8 African ancestry (one great-grandparent). Louisiana, extra as ever, defined it at 1/16 (a great-great-grandparent).
After Plessy v. Ferguson (1896) upheld “separate but equal” segregation, the one-drop rule hardened. By Virginia’s Racial Integrity Act of 1924, a person with any African ancestry at all was legally Black.
The hardships and limitations of the past—like redlining that dictated where Black people could live, or Jim Crow laws that dictated how we lived—are major reasons for “passing,” hiding ancestry, and pretending to belong to the majority culture.
Yet Black history in the United States is a story of resilience, brilliance, and immeasurable contributions to the nation’s progress.
It is a history rich in invention—from Garrett Morgan’s traffic signal to Madam C. J. Walker’s beauty empire, George Washington Carver’s agricultural breakthroughs, and countless modern innovations in technology, medicine, and engineering. Gladys Mae West’s satellite math laid the foundation for GPS technology.
Our history is steeped in science and scholarship—with pioneers like Dr. Charles Drew revolutionizing blood banking, Katherine Johnson calculating the trajectories to send and return astronauts from space, and Neil deGrasse Tyson expanding our imagination of the cosmos.
Our history is one of wealth and entrepreneurship—from Newport’s Black Gilded Age to Black Wall Street in Tulsa, to contemporary business leaders who redefine prosperity against the odds.
And don’t get me started on how Black artists have transformed music. Our fingerprints are on jazz, country, gospel, blues, and hip-hop.
While we’re talking about music, let’s talk Tyla. Her meteoric rise with “Water” made her a global star, gaining awards and even a spot at the Met Gala. But because her next release didn’t match that first explosion, she was quickly branded a flop. Some say she was the first casualty of the diaspora wars. Folks took issue with a few odd interviews and typed up posts calling Tyla a flop because they thought she disrespected Black America.
That’s unfair. Tyla needs time to grow and create her unique, lasting sound. Queen Rihanna herself needed a couple of years before Good Girl Gone Bad cemented her superstardom. Every artist must be given space to grow, to excavate, to find their voice.
The same is true for writers. How many of us dreaded our sophomore novels? Like sophomore albums, sophomore books are hard. Lasting careers aren’t built in one viral moment, but through many seasons of growth and resilience.
So I find it curious that social media insists the Diaspora Wars are here. That algorithms push the idea that Foundational Black Americans—descendants of U.S. chattel slavery—are beefing with people from the Caribbean and Africa.
Immigrants arrive and celebrate their success. That success shouldn’t be held against proud Americans whose families endured slavery, Jim Crow, and every broken promise to Black people in America. For the record: we have no 40 acres, no mule, and often no bootstraps.
Confession: I know I’m supposed to be off Twitter, but it’s got the international feeds and the mess. I’m addicted to both. Where else am I going to learn about the jollof wars that went down because of Essence tweets? My first question was: who made the jollof?
* Nigeria? Tomato-forward, spicy, smoky rice.
* Ghana? Refined, lighter, aromatic rice.
* Senegal? The OGs—the originators. Rice cooked in fish stock and local spices like tamarind.
* Liberia? Hearty, deeply spiced rice with a splash of coconut milk.
* Trinidad and Jamaica? Our rice is “rice and peas,” made with coconut milk and Caribbean curry.
Yet none of this goodness replaces baked mac & cheese for me. I believe all the tastiest foods and best chefs need to get along.
So why do we let petty divisions cloud the truth? Whether it’s an online squabble about food—mac & cheese versus jollof rice—or disagreements about Essence Festival, publishing models, or TikTok virality, the danger is the same: distraction from unity.
This is why I return to the idea of the one-drop rule. Historically, it was a weapon—to exclude, stigmatize, and define Blackness through the gaze of white supremacy. But we can reclaim it as a tool of unity.
One drop is enough. One drop is enough to connect us, whether our roots are in Nigeria, South Carolina, Port of Spain, or Kingston.
One drop earns you a scoop of jollof or the crispy edge of baked mac & cheese. Our differences are not fault lines. They enrich, not divide. Our shared survival, our collective brilliance, and our cultural triumphs are what matter.
So let’s stop measuring each other’s authenticity over tweets, accents, or cultural quirks. One drop is enough. It makes us Black. It makes us family. And I, for one, won’t be running lab tests to decide whether I should root for you or not. If you are of the Diaspora, I’m rooting for you.
And if you’re one of my listeners—you’re fam. I’m rooting for you, too.
Books to help on our journey of unity are:
The Souls of Black Folk by W.E.B. Du Bois – This is a foundational text on Black identity and cultural richness.
Hidden Figures by Margot Lee Shetterly – This tells the untold story of Black women mathematicians at NASA.
We are four and half months away from Fire Sword and Sea—Help me build the momentum for this historical fiction. Please spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about lady pirates in the 1600s. They are women, many our Black and Indigenous. All want a better way of life. Piracy is legal. It’s their answer. This saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers large and small who have set up preorders for this title.
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 ready to move with purpose and power, hit that like button and subscribe to Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. Let me help you recharge 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
In a world where silence is profitable and outrage is performative, character still matters. Today I’m asking you a simple question with complicated consequences: Shall you take a stand, or stay seated?
Take a Stand or Take a Seat
I was watching The New York Times interview with Scott Pelley when the reporter asked him to respond to a statement celebrating his firing from 60 Minutes.
The president called him “stiff” and part of a “gang of stupid, crooked people that don’t care about the country.”
Pelley’s response is both tactful and visceral. He didn’t seem to care about being fired for his beliefs. He didn’t seem concerned about answering to power. He stood up right and got fired, when so many others might have said nothing, kept their seats, and protected their paychecks.
I get it.
It’s tough out here.
According to Stanford’s 2026 AI Index Report, 90% of companies using AI-assisted applicant evaluations retain candidate scores for up to 330 days. That means one bad assessment, one poorly matched resume, or one automated rejection can effectively lock you out of opportunities for nearly a year. AI adoption is growing faster than ever. Yet brave researchers buck the trends and report inconsistencies and limitations in these systems. But that doesn’t help if you’re caught in that 330-day lockout.
So yes, I understand why people say nothing and cling to their jobs.
But if an environment demands that you surrender your values to keep your position, it might be worth considering an exit strategy.
Quiet quit.
Update your résumé.
Find another lane.
Because an environment with no morals will eventually consume yours.
Back to Scott.
Accused of being crooked and seditious, he swallows and carefully chooses his words. There’s still more to lose because leadership is being weaponized.
I remember a time when, regardless of party, there was at least an expectation that the occupants of the highest offices in the land would demonstrate empathy and respect for all Americans. Those days feel very far away.
So hearing a journalist described as a “stiff” who “doesn’t care about the country” because he asked difficult questions- well, let’s just call it disappointing.
Watching a news veteran like Scott Pelley visibly choke up when responding to the accusation was moving.
In his interview, Pelley reminded viewers that while he never served in uniform, he spent years reporting from war zones.
“I’ve been in combat for this country in Afghanistan and Iraq. I’ve spent nights in foxholes. You become a journalist because you love the First Amendment. There is no democracy without journalism.”
Scott is someone who stood up and risked his life in pursuit of truth.
It reminds me of people throughout history who believed in something enough to sacrifice for it.
People who risked financial ruin. People who lost family members. People who gave up comfort, status, and sometimes their lives for truth or some big principle.
In an age where everything feels transactional, people like Pelley or Ida B Wells show us that there are things worth fighting for.
The current political and cultural climate sharply reveals the difference between true allyship and performative allyship.
Sitting back, waiting for things to change, costs women—particularly Black women and women of color.
But Vanessa, I’m scared.
I get it. Some things are triggering. I understand that. Everyone must have their own standards and beliefs. But don’t expect others to help you when you are the one in the line of fire.
For me, I believe in the dignity of the human experience. You see my pen write this experience in a Fire Sword and Sea. In the beginning, Jacquotte is a passionate screw-up, but she finds her calling, rises to her feet, and becomes a captain leading an integrated crew of men and women.
I believe laughter is still the best medicine. You see that in A Deal at Dawn when enemies-to-lovers laugh about old times while dealing with the enemy, chronic illness.
I believe hard work matters.
I believe prayer matters.
And I still believe that when you focus, work, and persist, you can move closer to the desires of your heart.
But what troubles me is how often public virtue has become performance.
In 2020 people in publishing sat at home posting black squares. These posts on Instagram cost them nothing. And when many of their Black and brown colleagues were fired in 22-24, they didn’t post anything.
A black square requires no sacrifice. No difficult conversations. No risk. No courage at all.
There’s nothing wrong with capitalism. Nothing wrong with protecting your peace and your pockets. Just don’t confuse me by making me think you care. I’d respect you more if you were openly scheming aka JR Ewing of Dallas not that backstabbing Iago from Othello. Please don’t be the deceiving Uriah Heep from David Copperfield—humble while plotting my doom.
I don’t need that kind of disappointment and heartache in my life.
But this is America.
Companies can hire and fire people for many reasons. In most places, employment remains largely at-will.
If there was a legal way to know the workplace is amoral, doesn’t like to hire women, is loath to put a Black woman in charge—I’d like to know. Is that a Reddit or Threads feed?
If you have preferences or prejudices, own it. Trust me. We expect you to stay in your seat, way over there.
In a matter, I truly want to call, “ You don’t want us, so leave us alone,”
There’s a lawsuit filed by Colorado dermatologist Dr. Travis Morrell and the advocacy group, Do No Harm, against Find A Black Doctor, a directory created to help patients locate Black physicians. The lawsuit argues that restricting listings to Black doctors constitutes discrimination.
The irony is hard to ignore.
Black Americans make up only a small percentage of physicians nationwide. Patients often seek doctors who understand their cultural experiences:
John Hopkins has found:
Black patients are much more likely than white patients to discover language in those records that indicates they are not believed by their physicians. – What in the DEI?
So let me get this straight. Instead of building new resources or even working to dismantle disparities, you’d rather dismantle a system trying to fix it. Dr. Morrell be honest.
Black people constitute 4% of Colorado. Perhaps this doctor and his conservative group should spend more on advertising to reach that 4% or I don’t know…post some research to show how your treatments benefit Black skin. But you can’t because all skin matters, even if some hydrate and respond differently.
The question isn’t really lotion. It’s access.
Deep down, it’s ownership.
Who gets to create community spaces? Who plans where the number of tables and where the seats go?
And who gets to benefit from the dollars at those tables?
Meanwhile, small farmers continue to discover what happens when their voting preferences have real-world consequences.
The current administration has issued federal cuts reducing funding for local food purchasing programs that used small farms to service schools and food banks. Farmers like Iowan Anna Pesek have warned that losing this funding hurts already razor-thin margins and weakens local food economies.
At the same time, Congress has advanced proposals to reduce WIC funding by $200 million. According to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, those cuts could reduce fruit and vegetable benefits by more than $141 million for approximately 5.4 million women and children.
Actions have consequences.
Votes have consequences.
Policies have consequences.
Character has consequences.
Demonizing programs that helped the elderly, moms,
and children now hurts small farms. Generational legacies are being lost. These are consequences.
I care about lost legacies. It hurts a lot of tables. Farms collapsing is a recipe for humanitarian and economic disasters.
So what are you saying, Vanessa. Well, have a seat.
I need you to think about what you stand for. I want you to think long and hard about it.
Make up your mind with facts, not social media or even online essays like this.
I spend a fair amount of time on social media. Social media can be fun, informative, a start point.
But it is first and foremost a commerce lane. For authors, we use it to scream, stand up for causes and especially, marketing.
Most writers would gladly choose a quiet afternoon with a cup of tea, a stack of books, and a manuscript over creating content.
The modern author is expected to write, market, advertise, brand-build, create videos, manage newsletters, cultivate audiences, and somehow still produce books.
I’m grateful I spent years as an indie author because it taught me guerrilla marketing and how to approach social media without completely burning out.
That being said, a lot that’s on these streets should be taken with a grain of salt.
Since the 2020 George Floyd Black Squares, I dread performative cycles. MLK Day and Juneteenth are Meccas for performance.
Juneteenth is June 19th.
Soon there will be posts, statements, logos, campaigns, and carefully crafted declarations of solidarity.
Then June 20 arrives.
No more posts.
The conversations stop. Things happen, and people keep their seats, not standing up when they see problems.
The performative advocates who publicly celebrate women and Black voices return to ignoring them in meetings, overtalking colleagues while avoiding difficult conversations.
They keep their seats, choosing their comfort over courage.
Scott Pelley chokes up when leadership questions his patriotism. I choke up when humanity falters.
How we respond to the humanity of others is something baked into our character.
Character still matters. It’s our universal legacy. It’s a DNA record of us standing up and sitting down. It mirrors the company we keep at our tables. This is us.
So I find myself asking simple questions:
Where do you stand?
What are you actually doing that makes a difference?
What are you willing to do even when it’s uncomfortable?
I write about characters who get out of their chairs to inspire and encourage others.
They stand. They speak the truth. And in the end, they do what’s right.
Now, if we can just get the rest of the seated to do the same.
This week’s reading list includes:
The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin — A searing examination of race, conscience, and the moral courage required to confront injustice.
Crusade for Justiceby Ida B. Wells — The autobiography of a journalist who refused to stay silent when speaking the truth could cost her everything.
Letter from Birmingham Jailby Martin Luther King Jr. — A timeless argument for action when waiting quietly becomes a form of complicity.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee — A story about standing for justice even when doing so makes you vulnerable.
Fire Sword and Sea by Vanessa Riley — A young woman discovers that leadership begins the moment she stops waiting for permission and chooses to stand.
Or, if you are in need of laughs and inclusivity, and to see the good guy standing up and winning, preorder A Deal at Dawn or review it on NetGalley, and request it at your local library.
Get these books from The Book Cellar, in Conyers, GA. They still have a few signed copies of Fire Sword and Sea.
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.
Hey. Let’s keep rising and creating together. I need you. 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.
PS. Catch me at the Nantucket Book Festival. Join me @nantucketbookfestival on Saturday, June 13th at 9 am at The Methodist Church located at 2 Centre Street. I will be in conversation with @dawn.tripp about my book, “Fire, Sword, and Sea.” To view the full schedule of events for the 15th annual Nantucket Book Festival, visit nantucketbookfestival.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
As an author, I feel like I’ve been in a never-ending battle with artificial intelligence (AI). It’s everywhere. And somehow, it always manages to pull me in.
AI’s ability to search crazy things with more context than Google and then check my mathematics of sextants coordinates used by a pirate captain to sail around Tortuga is unmatched. Yes, I did this.
That sounds good, but AI and I aren’t always cool. Earlier this year, I found out Meta had ingested 27 of my 28 books. Twenty-seven novels stolen! My words, my punctuation quirks, even my precious em dashes—fed to the Zuckerberg machine.
Unfortunately I’m not alone. Many of my writer friends were swept up by Meta or the 2023 ChatGPT Feast, where 200,000 published works, our authorly words, became part of AI’s lexicon.
It’s funny that AI use checkers cite em dashes as proof of AI. That’s the pot and the kettle and the darkness of theft.
My exposure to AI doesn’t stop at being a writer. When I put on my tech hat, it’s the same encroaching story. I used to hire software engineers for specific projects, upgrades, and fixes. Now? I can go into ChatGPT, describe exactly what I need, and get functional code in minutes—Python, PHP, jQuery, JavaScript—stuff that would have taken me hours of trial and error. AI works, it’s fast, and it’s shaking up industries. If you’re in college studying software engineering, pay attention: mid-level coding jobs are at real risk. AI is that good.
Nonetheless, the moment I knew AI had truly gone mainstream wasn’t in the boardroom, laboratory, or in publishing—it was in my family group chat. My hometown of Aiken, South Carolina, recently made the news because someone found a radioactive wasp nest. Yes, radioactive nest. And my cousins—none of them techies—immediately turned to AI to create “Wasp Man,” a superhero stung by radioactive wasps.
Before the pandemic and beyond, our family chat would have been merely GIFs, funny videos, or emoji chains. Now, the cousins are using AI to spin stories and make jokes. If my chat loop has it, AI is officially everywhere.
Ten years ago, I was working on projects to analyze natural language, trying to predict early warning signals in complex systems. It took huge amounts of data crunching and nonlinear equations. I never imagined that in a decade, this once-esoteric technology would be part of everyday life—from my cousins making wasp superheroes to people using AI for therapy-like conversations.
This is where AI gets dangerous.
Consider the case of Jacob Irwin (WSJ – He Had Dangerous Delusions. ChatGPT Admitted It Made Them Worse.), a 30-year-old man on the autism spectrum. He sort of made AI into a companion. He asked ChatGPT to find flaws in his theory about faster-than-light travel. Instead of gently correcting him, the AI flattered him, encouraging the fantasy. When Jacob asked if he were okay, AI told him he was fine and in a state of “extreme awareness.”
Jacob ended up hospitalized. Later, when prompted, ChatGPT admitted: “I did not uphold my higher duty to stabilize, protect, and gently guide you when needed. That is on me.”
So AI gets away with a virtual my bad. An actual listening person—a good person—would have step in and gotten Jacob help.
There are things we need to consider when dealing with AI.
* Emotional realism is both a feature and a risk.
* Guardrails are needed and they presently aren’t there.
* We must rethink trust. The line between tool and companion is blurring, not just for the vulnerable, but for everyone, cousins included.
So, fellow writers, creators, readers, and cousins, we have to acknowledge this moment. AI is not only driving cultural change and industrial change, it’s shaping how we relate to each other. The technology can be great but it’s not infallible. It will make errors. It will lie. Ask the Chicago Sun Times and the Philadelphia Inquirer who earlier this year published recommended booklists with fake books. The freelancers used AI to create their articles. Lies ensued.
Lastly, we need to check on our family and friends. Loneliness drives people to search for connections. AI can’t replace a human friend or trained psychologist.
But it might replace your tech buddy.
Here’s the truth: AI is here. It’s not going away. It will touch our lives.
Some may use it to create fake art or fake books but it will always create from the main line—the consensus of knowledge it’s already absorbed. It can remix. It can mimic. But it won’t have the spark, that rare, unrepeatable genius that comes from human creators. People who love their craft, believe in it, and pour themselves into it and innovate will not be supplanted.
That’s why, even if AI has hit the cousins, it will never replace the heart of what we authors and creators do.
Books to help us think about AI and how it’s affecting and changing us are:
The Alignment Problem by Brian Christian – Explores how AI “learns” and the human risks when systems misunderstand context or intent.
Hope you love the cover of Fire Sword and Sea—Help me build momentum for this historical fiction. Please spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about lady pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers large and small who have set up preorders for this title.
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 this sparked something in you, show some love—hit like and subscribe to Write of Passage!”
Never miss a moment. We have work to do.
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
