There comes a moment when the noise fades, the dust settles, and you look around and realize: this is a losing season. The signs are everywhere—opportunities dried up, allies silent or absent, and the very ground that once felt firm beneath your feet feels like it’s shifting. You blink and think, how did I get here?
Vanessa – Out of Coffee
I move through the world on a mission. It’s loud and clear in my heart: I’m here to tell stories that center encouragement and empowerment—especially for Black women. It’s personal. I am a Black woman. And being one raised at the crossroads of cultures—Caribbean roots, the Southern Baptist South, Irish threads in my lineage—I bring a perspective that’s richly textured. I’m a history and STEM girly, someone who gets giddy over tech and deeply moved by stories of women surviving and thriving from the 1300s to WWII. I love the research, the smells, the taste of a scene, the sound of a woman’s laughter echoing through centuries. And yet, in the middle of building, writing, pitching, and praying, I look up and realize I’m in a losing season.
The world right now is showing its cards. Political chaos runs rampant. Corporate agendas have eaten integrity for breakfast. The pressure to tell “acceptable history” rather than true history is real—and exhausting. The DEI moment has slipped into quotas and checkboxes, and alleged allies are revealing their true motivations. Let me be real: some folks were only in the room for the optics.
When someone shows you who they are, believe them.When a door closes, let it remain closed.If the house is on fire, get out and let it burn.
That’s not bitterness. That’s wisdom earned through fiery flames.
As a woman of faith, I know that even the losing seasons have purpose. There are times I ignored the signs and lost, getting smacked with fallout. And there are times I listened—and for a moment blessings flowed like a river. Then the river ran dry.
It’s not always going to be a winning season. Sometimes, you lose. Sometimes, life kicks you in the teeth. And when it does, you have to ask yourself: now what?
What Do You Do When You’re in a Losing Season?
You grieve. You breathe. You pray.
You let the rain come.
Ecclesiastes 3:4 reminds us: There’s a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.Nobody wants the weeping season. No one welcomes the mourning. But the rain is necessary—it releases what’s buried, nourishes what’s growing, and reminds us, we are alive.
Find Ways to Retain Joy – Vanessa with her 26th book taking Car Selfies.
Losing hurts. It hurts to see people you trusted only stand beside you when it’s trendy. It hurts to watch monuments scrub away Black contributions from the record, as if the Underground Railroad, War heroes erased from Arlington National Cemetery because of their sex or color or skin, and the countless other dark hands that built this country are inconveniences to a prettier story.
Let me be clear: this is all American history—Italian migrations, Haitians battling English troops for our freedom. All the Black, Brown, and White stories woven together belongs to all of us. Yet the only narratives being preserved are the ones that make people comfortable. The rest? We’re told to erase, edit, or hide them. And if you’re someone like me, someone who insists on telling the truth with love and power, you can find yourself cast out, put into a rough season where nothing sticks.
But even here—especially here—there’s still something to do. You regroup.
Hope and Regrouping
Losing doesn’t mean you stop. Losing is a pause. A reroute. A holy moment to reset.
Stop chasing folks who never believed in you.Stop shrinking your truth to make others feel taller.You remember your mission.
Yes, it’s a lonely road when only 6% of the room looks like you. Yes, like-minded folks are rare, and genuine support can feel even rarer. But they are out there. I know that because I have readers and listeners who hear me—who see me. That means the world.
And so, we regroup with intention.
We protect our joy.We sharpen our gifts.We build anyway.
We prepare for the next season by shedding the expectations that no longer serve us. We speak truth—the whole truth—because the stories we tell now will shape the world we’re leaving behind.
I don’t pretend to have it all figured out. I just know the losing season doesn’t get the final word. The bumps and the lows on my path are birthing clarity. Resilience is being shaped, and I fall back on my faith and it brings me out of darkness to the sunshine.
Vanessa Riley’s Write of Passage is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
And when the rain stops, and the mourning shifts, we will dance again.
A multigenerational epic that explores identity, belonging, and the burden and beauty of legacy.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Baldwin and Company through Bookshop.org. You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
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
“Her skin was very brown, but, from its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her features were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness which could hardly be seen without delight.” — That’s Jane Austen purply prose describing Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility. It’s a passage I repeat in A Wager at Midnight, where our Austen-loving hero sends these words to the woman he loves.
Vanessa on the set of Hallmark’s Sense and Sensibility in a period reconstructed gown.
This sentimental adoration of skin is an example of how, even in the olden days—the 1800s—it’s used to interpret Marianne’s style and good character, and another reason she’s considered qualified to be a good wife.
Where have we gone so wrong that the mere mention of skin makes everyone nervous? Why, when used in literature skin was once a symbol of beauty, in the present it seems linked to division? Why does its celebration feel shameful or wrong? Even those who claim to see no color are blind to the beauty that skin creates.
Did you know that your skin—the dermis—is the largest organ in your body? According to the National Institutes of Health, the average adult’s skin spans 16-22 square feet. That’s a quarter of an average bedroom. For me, that’s half the room on my floor filled with reference books—the ones I’m pouring through as I write. Skin serves as a shield. From freckles, scars, and pigmentation to wrinkles—it’s a storyteller, an archive of our rich history.
More Than Skin Deep
Skin is important. It’s one of the first things anyone notices when you walk into a room. It’s the reason people smile when it’s glowing and radiant. It’s also the reason I was followed around a store when I was young, Black, and in a place where those in power assumed the worst. I wasn’t given the benefit of my character. I was condemned in a glance.
And when people of like minds and shared ancestry congregate and uplift one another, some of those same forces rear their heads again. Now, they are uncomfortable. It makes me wonder—what is it they fear? It’s not 1865. It’s not 1617. Our skin is here to stay, adorned as we please, and present in all public spaces.
Yet, I’m not just talking about external forces. I’m talking about the harm we inflict upon ourselves—the moments we buy into the false narrative that our skin makes us not enough.
Skin as a Reflection of Trauma
Skin records our personal experiences and the imprints of ancestral resilience. It is more than just a covering; it is deeply connected to our emotions and environment. Studies show that trauma leaves a physical signature, not only in our nervous system but in our skin. Ever noticed your skin flaring up after extreme stress—whether it manifests as dryness, scarring, acne, or rosacea? You’ve experienced this connection firsthand.
According to the National Rosacea Society, emotional stress is one of the most common triggers for rosacea. Research in dermatology and psychiatry links post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) to various skin conditions, including psoriasis, eczema, and stress-induced inflammation. Scientists have found that those who experience chronic psychological stress have elevated inflammation levels, which can make skin conditions persistent and resistant to treatment.
A Poster for Healthy Skin – Source: Canva and Vanessa Riley
Our bodies hold trauma in tangible ways. People with alexithymia, a condition where emotions are difficult to identify or express, often experience physiological symptoms, including hyperactivated nerves, increased heart rate, and reduced oxygen flow to tissues. The skin itself becomes more electrically sensitive, reacting intensely to stress. These biological responses serve as reminders that our reactions to the world around us don’t simply disappear.
Trauma and the Legacy of Our Ancestors
Recent genetic research reveals that trauma is not just a singular present experience but one that echoes across generations. The concept of intergenerational trauma suggests that stressful events—war, famine, oppression, and internment—can shape gene expression and affect descendants. Studies of Holocaust survivors and Dutch famine victims show that their children exhibited altered stress responses and health patterns.
Throwing on my science minded writer’s hat for a moment, I must make it clear, trauma doesn’t change our DNA sequence, but it does influence which genes are activated or deactivated—like an editor making notes in the margins of a manuscript. These epigenetic markers can be passed down, creating a biological legacy of resilience or vulnerability. However, just as these changes can be inherited, they can also be rewritten, properly edited out of existence. Healing, self-care, and community can reprogram these genetic expressions, offering paths of restoration.
The Power of Ancestral Survival
Every cell in your body is a testament to survival. Your ancestors endured hardships—some enslavement or forced migration, all subject to colonization. This legacy affects both the oppressed and the oppressor. Both absorb the hate and lies, whether through feelings of false superiority or the fallacy of expecting to be exploited.
Back to Our Skin
Research from Yale and the Mayo Clinic reveals that every human carries an ancestral roadmap at the cellular level. This means that the struggles and triumphs of those who came before us are not just stories—we carry them in our blood, our bones, and our skin.
In the year of our Lord 2025, it’s time to step back and see that we are wonderfully made. Even if our history or ancestry has endured the worst, and even if our ancestors have perpetrated the worst. Knowing true history isn’t about guilt; it’s about recognition—returning honor to those who were hung from the arc of injustice.
Legendary civil rights organizer Ella Baker often asked, “Who are your people?” It wasn’t just a rhetorical question; it was an invitation to recognize the power of lineage. It wasn’t a call for atonement but a call to do better by those upholding supremacy and to do right by our neighbors, all of our neighbors–the ones who don’t worship, love, socialize or believe like you. And especially those who don’t look like you, possessing your skin—the one thing on the list that’s impossible to change.
More Than Skin Deep: The Significance of Firsts
We live in a world where women, Black people, and people of color are still achieving “firsts”—the first to graduate from certain institutions, the first to hold specific leadership positions. I was one of the first, if not the first, Black woman to graduate from Stanford University with a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering. In 2001, only four Black women graduated with a doctorate in physics. I have the honor of knowing one of them.
Yet, despite how hard we work—how much harder we labored to gain our placements—someone will look at our brown skin and assume: affirmative action, lax standards, different (easier) tests. And, of course, we are counted as ‘Didn’t Earn It’ hires. Some believe DEI initiatives are keeping them from breaking into traditional publishing—without considering the possibility that their writing simply isn’t good enough. They don’t realize that calls for historically disenfranchised groups don’t mean the majority is ignored. When people realize that there are enough seats at the table, maybe they won’t be so insecure. Maybe then, they can relax.
For Becky or Karen, I can tell you two things can be true at the same time. When I started out, I remember being told by an agent—one with, let’s just say, racist tendencies—that I wasn’t good enough, and my only hope of publishing was as a co-author. She was wrong. But that manuscript she reviewed? While it had a unique style filled purply prose and uncontrolled flourishes, it was trash. A wise person learns, adapts, and tries not to make the same mistakes. That too is baked into my skin.
Don’t Hide Your Beauty
Maya Angelou once said, “The variety of our skin tones can confuse, bemuse, delight, brown and pink and beige and purple, tan and blue and white. I’ve sailed upon the seven seas and stopped in every land. I’ve seen the wonders of the world, not yet one common man.”
Our skin tells the story of survival, of fire refining gold, of bronzed DNA etched with both power and pain.
Ignore the noise. Your achievements are not anomalies; they are milestones on a journey paved by generations of sacrifice and resilience.
Psalm 139:14 reminds us, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” We are the work of His hand. Our skin—our very being—is a living archive of triumph. We are made not merely to survive, but to thrive in our circumstances, our skin. The legacy endowed in us qualifies us to dream and build and rest—with passion, compassion, and undeniable style.
If you wish to dive deeper into the wonders of skin and pride and human nature, I recommend the following:
And If you want to learn more about the powerhouse behind the scene activist Ella Baker, try Ella Baker and the Black Freedom Movement by Barbara Ransby about Baker’s pivotal role in the civil rights movement and her enduring legacy of grassroots leadership.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting M. Judson Booksellers through Bookshop.org. You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
Vanessa Riley’s Write of Passage is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
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
My mother was the first female entrepreneur I ever met. She started selling baked goods during tax season while my father prepared income taxes for clients in our home. I distinctly remember her brownies—one of my favorite treats—being sold right on our porch to delighted customers. But my mother wasn’t just an entrepreneur; she was a serial entrepreneur. She took that experience and built a bookstore—Goldenrod Christian Bookstore—in the booming metropolis of Aiken, South Carolina. And for those familiar with Aiken, you’ll catch the joke in that description.
Midnight Release Party of A Wager at Midnight at The Book Worm Bookstore
A love of books has always been deeply ingrained in my family, which made it all the more distressing when larger businesses noticed the niche my mother had carved out. Since there wasn’t another Christian bookstore for miles, these businesses began selling Bibles and offering similar services, cutting into her business. I suppose at any stage of success, there will always be competition, challenges, and obstacles that try to stop you. You just never know what each day will bring.
One of my fondest memories of Goldenrod was an item my mother kept by the register—a small, round coin. Some were blue, others red, and each had the words “To It” stamped on the top. It didn’t make sense to me at first. When I asked her about it, she gave me that knowing smile and said, “This is for everyone who delays their dreams, thinking they’ll get around to it.” Then she placed the coin in my hand and said, “See? Now you have a round to it. So go after what you want.”
The idea of “a round to it” is a powerful concept. It represents the ultimate form of procrastination—the assumption that we will always have another moment, another chance. But nothing in life is promised. We shouldn’t make plans assuming X, Y, or Z will happen down the line, nor should we sit still waiting for the perfect moment.
By the time you hear this podcast, I will have released my 26th book into the world, A Wager at Midnight. I will also, in all likelihood, be very tired because we celebrated with a midnight release party. (Side note: I probably should’ve named it A Wager at 10 PM—then I could have gotten a full night’s sleep! But I digress.)
The event was an incredible opportunity to celebrate this book, an indie bookstore that I love, and the readers who believe in my voice and mission—supporting women, female entrepreneurs, and female authors. Because despite what anyone may tell you, being an author is a business. Our product is our words, codified in a book. We have to market, advertise, reach new customers, and most importantly, appreciate every reader—whether they pick up a book from a library, buy it from a bookstore, or listen to it through headphones. Every reader is a valued customer.
At the midnight party, we celebrated in style. The menu featured chimichurri sauce with a range of crudité vegetables, Megan Sussex’s lemon honey olive oil cake with cream cheese frosting, baked donuts with chocolate ganache and floral sprinkles, holiday meatballs, and an array of cheeses—including a particularly tipsy drunk goat cheese. There was plenty of food, and even greater joy in watching people savor what had been created with love and care. Perhaps I’m a serial pleaser because I want people to enjoy my words, but if I throw a party, I want them to enjoy the food, too.
So consider this message your round to it. Wear that outfit you’ve been saving for a special day. Take the trip you’ve been thinking about. Start the business that’s been living in your head, even if the present situation feels uncertain. Celebrate everything—whether it’s a major victory or simply the fact that you’re still in the game.
And as we celebrate book number 26, A Wager at Midnight—Stephen and Scarlett’s story—we honor a narrative that intertwines a fight against the blood disease sickle cell anemia with a love story between a Duke and a Viscountess, who place a wager that will be settled at the end of A Wager at Midnight. At its heart, this book is about two people devoted to medicine and helping others, yet unsure if they can have both love and their dreams. But luckily, Stephen and Scarlett get a round to it.
Books that can help bolster the celebration now mindset:
So celebrate today. Party today. Because nothing is promised, and you deserve your flowers—or your holiday meatballs—even if it isn’t an official holiday. You deserve a celebration.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting “The Book Worm Bookstore” through Bookshop.org. You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
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
Sometimes, there are words and events designed to provoke, to get under your skin, to upset the balance of your peace. Over time, I have learned that I can’t react to everything. There’s just too much noise. But some things are too important to ignore.
Right now, libraries are under threat. Institutions we’ve funded to preserve history, like Arlington National Cemetery, are erasing lesson plans that once provided a comprehensive view of our past. If you’re searching for biographies of heroic Americans who happen to be Black, who happen to be a woman or Spanish or Latin, they are no longer easily accessible. The only thing they haven’t done is dig up the graves. And honestly, I wouldn’t put it past them. Nothing seems too indecent or radical anymore. If you’re willing to close libraries or hinder children’s ability to learn about the sacrifices made to build this country, there’s no travesty or crime you won’t justify.
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Meanwhile, natural disasters rage across the country. Fires burn on both coasts, tornadoes tear through communities, and people are in pain. Leadership feels absent, leaving many confused and struggling to make sense of it all. And if you’re an author in the midst of this chaos, you’re still expected to go out there and promote your book.
Writers and artists often struggle with feeling that their work is inconsequential, that it can wait. But if the pandemic taught us anything, it’s that time is a gift, and there are no guarantees that we’ll see the next moment. The work we do now matters.
If you follow me on social media, you know I strive to keep my posts positive. I share stories that uplift fellow authors and women’s initiatives. I find joy in the simple things, like Megan Sussex gathering us all in a virtual group chat to bake cakes in beautiful pots or arrange flowers on our tables. I’ve seen people take that extra moment to make meals special, to nourish themselves, to create beauty in the everyday. And let me be clear—this kind of joy is a form of resistance. We should never stop embracing it.
But let’s get back to booking. Why is it that artists are expected to hold back from promoting their work in times of crisis? If a professional chef were asked to stop baking because wildfires were raging, we’d find it absurd. If a police officer were told to abandon their duty because of book bans, we’d question the logic. Yet authors are often made to feel guilty for marketing their work when the world is in turmoil.
I wish my job were just writing. But it’s not. Writing is only one piece. There’s also editing, revising, and—perhaps the most exhausting part—letting people know that my book exists. I wish I had an assistant to do it all. I wish we lived in the old days when publishers handled marketing, but that world no longer exists. Today, agents and editors look at an author’s social media presence as part of the package. That doesn’t mean you can’t get a contract without it, but having a strong online presence certainly helps. And maintaining that presence requires effort.
I gravitate toward the social media spaces that bring me joy. I’m active in many places because I have to be, not necessarily because I want to be. I use Facebook for recipe discussions, Instagram for visuals, and I pop into other platforms when necessary. Ideally, marketing wouldn’t be my primary strategy, but here we are.
For those struggling with promotion in the midst of chaos, know this: talking about your book is part of your job. Empathy and support for others are important, but so is your book. If you are traditionally published, sales determine future contracts. And sales won’t happen if people don’t know your book exists. Publishers won’t consider external factors when evaluating your performance. It’s on you to ensure your book gets noticed.
Even when the world is on fire, you have created something meaningful. You’ve brought characters to life, and they deserve to exist in the imaginations of readers. But that won’t happen if you don’t speak up. Your book, the product of months or even years of labor, deserves to be shared with the world.
I’ve said it before on this podcast: We write, we win. Your words matter. They might feel small in the grand scheme of things, but they provide escape and joy to readers. Someone out there needs the story you’ve crafted. But they won’t find it if you don’t tell them about it.
So, take a deep breath, lift your head, and shout from the rooftops: I have a book coming out! And speaking of books, I’m Vanessa Riley, and my next novel, A Wager at Midnight, the second book in the Betting Against the Duke series, is on its way. In this book, you’ll meet Scarlet, a bold young woman who dreams of studying medicine at a time when it is forbidden for women. She can’t even attend a lecture unless she disguises herself as a man. But Scarlet is determined, and she may just find an unexpected ally in a brilliant, slightly uptight physician from Trinidad who happens to love Jane Austen and cassava pone.
See what I did there? I told you about my book, even though the world is in chaos. I poured my heart into writing this story. I’ve included detailed historical notes for those who want to learn more. I hope A Wager at Midnight encourages readers to think deeper about sickle cell anemia, the importance of medical care, and, of course, the magic of falling in love—even when the world feels like it’s unraveling.
Authors and all artists, hear me. Let your art see daylight. Scream from the mountaintops. Walk on water shouting, Look what my hands have wrought with the talent given to me for a time such as this. Never be the servant who buried his talent in the ground because he was afraid of loss, of looking foolish, or of incurring some greater wrath. You are here. Now is the time. You’ve completed a project. Stand tall in your accomplishments and let the world know. Don’t bury your talent in the ground. Don’t waste a moment waiting for a better time. There is nothing better than now, for you don’t know who desperately needs to hear or see what you’ve done—to help them with their healing journey, to take the next step in their creative walk. Your words could be the fuel to propel them forward. What you do in creating changes the world to tilt a little more toward good.
And if you’re feeling stuck or unsure how to promote your own book, here’s a list of books that can help you step up your marketing game:
Platform: Get Noticed in a Noisy World by Michael Hyatt – A guide to building a strong personal brand and online presence, showing authors how to stand out and attract readers in an oversaturated market.
Black Boyby Richard Wright – A powerful memoir that can inspire writers to confront the harsh realities of life, self-doubt, and the struggle for personal truth and purpose. Wright’s story will resonate with anyone feeling like their work or life doesn’t matter.
And what you’ve been blessed to do as a writer or artist is to create. So, A Wager at Midnight– full of laughs, it’s a celebration of community told in a historical setting. Buy my book, she says proudly. As an artist, your book deserves to be seen, and your work deserves to be celebrated, even if the world’s burning.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting BookPeople through Bookshop.org. You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
Wright, R. (2004). Black Boy. Harper Perennial Modern Classics.
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
When I was in school, I once had a saying, “Sleep you can get any old time, but grades last forever.” At the time, I meant it. It wasn’t the best mindset, but it fueled my drive to maintain a near-perfect grades. As an overachiever, I found comfort in metrics—things that could be measured, quantified, and tracked. That’s how I knew I was doing well. They were the invisible pats to the shoulders. You did good. With working divorces parents who just always couldn’t be there, numbers were a great substitute. Numbers gave me a sense of security, a tangible way to validate my efforts, to validate me.
Vanessa literally on a treadmill.
Unfortunately, I’m not alone. I believe the validation race is everyone’s personal kryptonite and the obsession starts young. My last year in elementary school, I won everything—the Citizenship Award, honors in science and math, and a spot on the honor roll. It was an amazing experience to be recognized by my teachers and the principal. But I remember vividly that same day, being called to a third-grade classroom to encourage my younger brother. He was upset because he hadn’t won anything. I had to gently explain to him that awards like these were given in sixth grade because students were preparing to transition to middle school. It wasn’t his time.
Still, it was difficult to celebrate my accomplishments while knowing he was in pain. Even though he wasn’t eligible for the awards, he still felt the sting of being left out. That’s what the constant chase for validation does to us—we seek it even when we don’t need it, even when it’s not our time to be evaluated or recognized. We keep chasing the numbers, keep running on the validation treadmill.
But the problem with numbers is that when you focus on them too much, you can lose sight of the journey. This isn’t just an issue for young people and students—it follows us into adulthood, into our careers, and for those of us who write, into the publishing world. As an author, numbers are everywhere. It starts with the word count—how many words it takes to complete a manuscript; how many get cut during editing. Then comes the timeline—how long it takes to get through copyediting. A friend of mine showed me how to take a manuscript that has been copy-edited and put it into Pages to track the number of revisions. And while that was cool to learn, it was just another number to haunt me, to obsess over, and to try to get right—whatever that means.
More publishing numbers: how quickly the book needs to be turned around, how many months, days to pub. And then, the numbers shift to reception—the number of reviews, Goodreads ratings, NetGalley and Eidelweis requests. The numbers don’t stop. They just change shape.
Once the book is out, the chase continues: the number of posts on social media, the number of followers, the number of subscribers. The formula for success remains elusive, and the pressure builds. Writers aren’t alone in this. No matter your field, numbers are always chasing you—performance metrics, annual reviews, engagement rates, sales quotas. The cycle never ends. And after a while, this constant pursuit can overshadow the real goal: growth, creativity, and fulfillment.
This endless race can lead to burnout. And burnout looks different for everyone. Some people cry. Some people yell. Some people run miles to clear their heads. Me? I bake deep-dish apple pies. My husband knows I’m in trouble when I start making a pie crust from scratch for no particular reason. He can hear how hard I’m chopping those apples. He sees the intricate lattice work I’m designing on the crust—each crimped edge and delicate braid a sign I’m trying to regain control in a world that feels overwhelming. That’s when he knows to bring me a latte or a pile of chocolate, because his wife is spiraling.
The truth is, we all need people who can pull us out of the chase, who can remind us to stop counting and start living. Rest is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. And rest doesn’t always mean sleep. Just as praying without ceasing doesn’t mean sitting still, resting is an active practice. It can be stepping away from the numbers, engaging in something that feeds your soul, or simply taking a breath. Rest looks different for everyone, but without it, we suffer. Our bodies wear down, our creativity dims, and our minds stop firing in the ways they need to. For a writer, that means losing the very words we work so hard to find.
How do we heal? How do we stop the obsession? I don’t know. We all tick differently. Some books that might help are:
The Courage to Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi & Fumitake Koga – A thought-provoking book based on Adlerian psychology that challenges the need for external validation and encourages self-acceptance.
Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach – Explores the power of self-compassion and mindfulness to break free from the cycle of seeking approval.
The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown – A powerful read on embracing authenticity and letting go of the need for validation from others.
What Happened to You? by Oprah Winfrey & Dr. Bruce Perry – Looks at how past experiences shape our need for validation and how to heal from them.
Fiction provides great examples of validation in all stages. Before I Let Go by Kennedy Ryan deals with validation, self-worth, and healing for both main characters, Yasmen and Josiah, as they try to define their post-divorce evolving identities.
One of the reasons I loved writing Scarlet Wilcox in my upcoming novel A Wager at Midnight is because she has divorced that part of her brain that seeks judgment. She doesn’t care what others think unless it affects her family. Yet, as brave, bold, and daring as she is in seeking her path to bring medicine to those who cannot get it—those whom society deems ineligible or unworthy—she still slips into wanting validation from a physician, Stephen Carew. Scarlet is a good balance of all of us, and I loved writing those moments where she is free of cares and when she’s forced to face her fears.
So I am giving you permission to take a moment for yourself. If you take nothing else from this podcast, learn this: It’s okay to rest. It’s necessary to rest and not focus on numbers or being superhuman. If you don’t take care of you, your body, mind, and creative being, the world will chew you up body, dry up your spirit, and move on to the next overworked soul.
But you? You are the hero of your own story. And every hero needs rest. So take off your cape, stretch it into a hammock, and allow yourself a moment of peace.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Eagle Eye Bookshop through Bookshop.org.
Subscribe for free. Get Vanessa’s take on current events, publishing—challenges and opportunities—drawing from her journey as an indie author turned traditionally published powerhouse: 26 novels and counting.
Thank you for listening.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
One of my first essays on Substack, when I was testing out what I wanted to do, was about my editing process. Before I began podcasting, I was exploring my platform and had just gone through a brutal but necessary copyedit, and I wanted to talk about the lessons learned.
Write now in the ethos of publishing is a bit of a scandal about a writer when given feedback about an offensive bit of dialog in their novel, decided to keep it in to show the main character as “flawed.” Yes, racism is a flaw. Expressions of racism in a main character, a romantic hero is a flaw. I really do like my romance novels, well all novels without a side of microaggressions.
Some people argue that everyone is too sensitive or “too woke.” Others seem to long for a time when publishing was less scrutinized, less inclusive. You know, when inflammatory content could be published without consequence. Some long for the so-called “good old days” when most books catered to a dominant perspective reinforcing loud stereotypes, atmospheric patriarchal notions, or subtle supremacy.
Words are powerful. They can expand imaginations and help build better societies. When an author is not sensitive to the needs of others, that author will be found arguing with reviewers on social media, making faux apology videos, and getting publishers in trouble. If the scandal arising from publishing microaggressions, stereotypes, cultural appropriations, or racist and ableist sentiments is big enough, that author may face bans or delays in publication. If they have a fan base, they’ll be alright. I just don’t think it’s not worth it. No insensitive hill is worth dying on.
I’m 27 books into this process—twenty-five published, with number 26, A Wager at Midnight, set to release March 25. I value opinions, especially those different from mine or from perspectives and backgrounds unlike my own. I actually get nervous when an editor gives little to no feedback—I want it all. Iron sharpens iron. Critiques are how writers improve.
So let me pull back the curtain and share my process and how edits and sensitivity fit in the writing process.
First, I write the worst draft in the world. ➡ Revise ➡ Then Revise Some More ➡ Developmental Edits ➡ More Revision ➡ Sensitivity Review ➡ Copyediting ➡ Proofreading ➡ (And Pray—throughout!)
Worst Draft in the World
Every writer has to know how they write. I know my first draft needs to be between 25-30% of the final book’s word count. Any more than that and I’ll overwrite the book when I revise. That first draft is naked. I spend time, revising adding mood, colors, setting, historical touches, and emotional depth. I usually revise the awful-no-one-will-ever-see-it draft three times before going to the next stage.
Developmental Edits
Developmental editing tackles the big-picture elements: story structure, pacing, plot, character arcs, and themes. This stage addresses questions like: Does the story flow logically? Are the characters well-developed? Are there plot holes or inconsistencies? What’s the message? What’s the theme?
For every book I write, I hire a freelance editor. My Felicia gets the manuscript before my acquiring editor. Why? I want to turn in the best possible version of this book. So that editor won’t have to spend time plugging plot holes, catching redundancies, etc. One time, Felicia caught when I’ve changed character names mid-story. She knows me—and more importantly, she knows what I’m capable of delivering. I can confidently hit send to my acquiring editor knowing the manuscript is good. My editor gets it, and with their input, we can make a great book.
Back to Revisions
Back in my hot hands with my editor’s notes, it’s time to revise the manuscript again. This is my chance to refine it. I will rewrite sections and cut stuff. I’m rarely asked to expand—such is the happenstance of being a wordy, word-loving author. But I’m brutal at this stage. No word, storyline, or character is safe. I will cut. I will cut with abandon. In my next historical fiction coming January 2026, I cut 55,000 words. Let me say that again. Fifty-five thousand. Yes, it sucked. It hurt. It’s not like I can just put these words into another book but it was the best call. The book is better for. I believe in my editor’s feedback. I’ll do what’s necessary to send readers the best book.
At this point we’re in good shape. Let’s get back to being sensitivity.
The Sensitivity Touch
Sensitivity readers are supposed to review the manuscript to ensure your beautiful words doesn’t offend, get you sued, or put you on a watch list. Every one of my historical fictions—Island Queen, Sister Mother Warrior, Queen of Exiles– has been subjected to sensitivity reviews. My editor, publisher, and I want to make sure these books are accurate and respectfully represent cultures, identities, and historical events.
It’s a crucial step. It can’t be overlooked when tackling diverse characters or sensitive topics. Look, I am Black. I’m of Caribbean descent. Dad was Trini and Ma was Southern Baptist Black. I don’t get a pass to say I can automatically write about Haitian or Jamaican cultures. I do meticulous research about the most minute details, because I take my responsibility very seriously to represent these cultures and ancient peoples with respect. But I’m not perfect. I want the help. I need someone to kick my manuscript and put it through the emotional-cultural wringer before I get lit on fire by putting something out that’s wrong or, worse, offensive.
Sensitivity readers provide essential notes on areas that may inadvertently cause harm or perpetuate stereotypes. Writers, we are not supposed to do harm. Stories have power. They have a life and energy of their own. Authenticity and inclusivity elevate your writing. Don’t you want positive impact?
Copyediting and Proofreading
We’re not done. Copyediting and proofreading take our writing to the finish line. Copyediting hones in on the finer details and examines grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, consistency, and clarity. The previous edits have messed with the story a lot. A copyeditor should identify errors and flag inconsistencies. A good copyeditor will highlight blocking (the entering and exiting of characters from a scene) repetitive words or phrases—those dreaded echoes! A great copyeditor will teach you something. I recently learned that “hubris” wasn’t used until the mid-19th century—a fascinating tidbit for a proud historical fiction writer trying to write a 17th century novel.
Proofreading
A proofreader does a final pass before publication. They catch lingering typos, formatting issues, and minor errors that slipped through earlier stages. Even the most seasoned author can’t catch every mistake, not on their own. Proofreading ensures your book meets top quality standards.
My Mantra for Edits
All the hard work in crafting a story means nothing if you neglect editing or decide on a whim to leaving in something “flawed” for kicks. Welcome to my Ted talk:
* Absorb the critique: It’s not an attack—it’s insight. Sensitivity edits aren’t judgments on you, but your characters. Listen to the wisdom.
* Weigh the Critique: There’s a difference between personal preference and a flashing red light—know which you’re dealing with.
* Have Your Sources Ready: Have your references handy to support accuracy. Include them in your author’s note. Someone is bound to have the question. (PSA: Always add an author’s note.)
* Query, Don’t Assume: Never make a decision to revise—or not—based on assumptions. Challenge both your own and your editor’s perspectives. Make sure neither is rooted in a colonizer’s lens—unless you’re literally writing about Christopher Columbus. (Example: A copyeditor once tried to tell me the Khoe people were incorrectly addressed. That I shouldn’t call them by that name or “Khoesans” because it was created in 1928. The Khoe have existed since 2300 BC. My book was set in 1675. I think Khoe is good. Source documents are in the author’s note.
* Question Dialogue and POV: Read the editors notes. Sometimes they are right about things sounding “too formal or stilted.” Read actual correspondence from the period. It will surprise you about how informal things can be. Make sure you read James by Percival Everett or Lady Tan’s Circle of Women by Lisa See, two masterful uses of dialog entwined to tell ancient stories for the modern audience.
* Be Humble: Negative feedback stings, but it’s a tool for growth. Questions and queries are opportunities to clarify, refine, and strengthen your work.
* Avoid Harm: Represent cultures with authenticity and respect. Sensitivity edits help you sidestep pitfalls that could undermine your credibility.
* If someone flags an issue, fix it: Even if you don’t see it as a problem, take it seriously. If one reader finds something harmful or offensive, chances are others will too. If you are dealing with fictional characters, you can change stuff. If real people are jerks, that’s harder—see A People’s History of the United States” by Howard Zinn to learn or debunk ideas about the horrid exploits of Christopher Columbus. I don’t believe in whitewashing or hiding the truth. Dismissing concerns as “not a big deal” is a failure. It is a big deal. Rise to the moment.
Editing is an investment—not just for your benefit but for your readers. Every stage—developmental edits, revisions, sensitivity reviews, copyediting, and proofreading—are needed to make your novel the best it can be. Your story, your readers, and your publisher deserve that effort. Don’t be defensive. Do the right thing.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
I started writing essays because my mind battled deep disappointment over the state of division in my country. My consciousness is bias, tragically etched with memories of when character mattered. Remember when we all wanted to be president? I remember holding civic medals I’d won in elementary and high school. I recall lifting people up on pedestals and telling younger versions of ourselves, “That’s who I want to be. That’s who I want to emulate when we grow up.”
Heroes of the Haitian War —Empress Marie Claire, Warrior Gran Toya – Art by Tonya Engle for William Morrow—Sister Mother Warrior
That sentiment is gone. People in power are deeply flawed, or their flaws are more obvious. And it’s not just politicians. We look at sports heroes and entertainers and see waves of brokenness—people performing for show, lacking integrity, and becoming poster children of bad behavior. That is why authenticity feels so refreshing, why it can grip the zeitgeist of a nation and have us talking about it, creating YouTube videos and Subtacks on the subject, even spinning reels and threads—finding more ways to tap into our fount of creativity.
We are hungry for authenticity, for authentic creation.
Now, I’m not advocating for perfection. Every writer knows the pitfalls of striving for perfection. We wrestle with word choice, sentence structure, even the order of ideas. We can edit something so many times that our original vision becomes unrecognizable. Yet, we push forward because the act of creating is essential. It’s the breath in an artist’s lungs.
Our better angels—our novels of truth, our canvases of color, our songs of freedom, our quilts of existence, our visuals of life—are needed more than ever. We are hungry for authenticity, for authentic creation.
Our appetites are satiated in low-calorie burns. Scrolling for kicks, laughs, angry takes, and escape is common. But social media, the hellscape that it is, can be a respite or a drug. And I must say, I am confused about the self-induced stupor of tearful videos of people who voted against their own interests, now seeking the world’s sympathy as they grapple with consequences—lost jobs, lost funding, lost farms, and lost hopes. It’s painful to watch. It’s also jarring to see them admit that this consequence is only a problem now because they suffer. I did a podcast about the loss of empathy. I just didn’t expect an equivalent rise in blindness to FAFO.
I wish harm on no one, but these folks are putting themselves and their business out there and wonder why they are being mocked. Empathy and sympathy need to be learned and earned before they can be demanded from others.
And yet, here we are—still divided, still finding out. We could sulk. We could laugh. We could cry. But I believe the better thing to do is to keep moving forward. That’s how we—the collective, those of like minds, and even new converts to humanity—win. Everyone, we can win. We will win.
There’s a scene I wrote in Sister Mother Warrior—the lead-up to the Battle of Vertières, the drive to push the French out which ended the Haitian Revolution, this is a snippet of the audio performed by Adjoa Andoh and Robin Miles:
Staking the flagpole in the ground, he (Jean-Jacques Dessalines) stopped and looked out at his army. “They divide, but we are consolidated, one family. And this gives us victory…”
Then he gave the signal and pointed us to the hills. “Onward! We will win!” The battle cry of Nosakhere, “Mì nan du déji! We will win!” was music to my ears. Women and men cried out in all the mother tongues of the people born here and those stolen from Africa.
“Yebedi kunim,” Twi.
“A yoo ṣẹgun,” Yoruba.
“Nou pral genyen,” Kreyòl.
“Nous gagnerons,” French.
“Mì nan du déji,” blessed Fon.”
I love that scene—people of all races and nationalities gathering to defeat their common oppressors. Unified they drove the French from Haiti. It took everyone. In America, it will take all of us to win.
The True Fight
We’re not fighting with weapons of war—guns and tanks. We are fighting for minds. The power to unlock thought and passion is creation. How we got here doesn’t matter. Whether orderly or chaotic, it’s not about the process—it’s about the product. What are you making with the time you were given?
The battles can be as small as saving your money by avoiding fast fashion and shopping your closet. Eating and talking about life around the kitchen table instead of eating out. Supporting your library by using it and checking out books by your favorite authors is an act of resistance.
For those who harness their creative genes, making something, delivering art is the ultimate act of resistance. Creating ignites the brain, releasing endorphins and unlocking resilience. Instead of dwelling on despair, we must tap into our inner artist, writer, and creator to make magic in the medium of our choosing. I want this period of time to be a rebirth or renaissance for folk arts, for kitchen experimentation, for the novels we will talk about for the next seventy years.
For every creator out there, I know it feels difficult to make art right now. It feels worse when you know you did your part to keep the world from being set on fire. I often think of my farming grandparents, who lived in the Jim Crow South, educated eight children, and bought over 400 acres of land with mere pennies. If they could plant so many seeds in the face of lynchings, why are we letting fear of people who whine at the first moment of heat or being stoned by pea soup cause us despair? No one should keep us from doing what we must. No one.
History proves that perseverance defies expectations:
· Gran Toya led troops in hand-to-hand combat in her 60s during the Haitian Revolution.
· Fauja Singh began running marathons at 89, setting records in his 100s.
· Ray Kroc turned McDonald’s into a global empire in his 50s.
· Diana Nyad swam from Cuba to Florida at 64 after multiple failed attempts.
· Faith Ringgold gained major recognition for her story quilts in her 50s.
· Cicely Tyson was told she wouldn’t make it because of her dark skin; she won a Tony at 88 and worked until her passing at 96.
· Morgan Freeman became a household name in Driving Miss Daisy at nearly 50.
· Samuel L. Jackson landed Pulp Fiction at 46 after years of struggling with his career. Our Uncle Sam is now one of the highest grossing actors in Hollywood.
And, of course, there are the writers I’ve spoken about:
· Toni Morrison published The Bluest Eye at 39 and won the Nobel Prize in Literature at 62.
· Octavia Butler faced rejection for years before breaking through in sci-fi in her 40s.
To every creator, hear my voice: Grab your paper, pens, keyboards, fruits, spices, fabrics, glues, paints, resins, threads—whatever you have—and birth a miracle. Create. Art is the first and last sign of resistance.
The work isn’t done. We resist by creating. My art—my words—exist to empower Black women, foster sisterhood, and restore the world to a place where we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers. The ancestors say we will win. I believe them, and I believe in us.
· Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo“ by Zora Neale Hurston – A firsthand account of survival and resilience from one of the last known survivors of the transatlantic slave trade.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting The Book Worm Bookshop through Bookshop.org.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl LIX halftime performance during the game between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles has set the internet—and much of the world—abuzz. Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult is the most banned book in America for challenging the way people see the world. I’m sure those same folks will be coming for Kendrick’s thirteen minutes for challenging the way the world operates.
Less than a week later, scholars, pontificators and fools offered hot takes, deep dives, and debates about every minute of the performance. Those versed in Black scholarship loved it. Others criticized it. And, there were plenty of opinions and outright lies circulating. But here’s what’s undeniable: 133.5 million people watched the halftime show at Caesars Superdome, making it the most-watched in Super Bowl history. According to Roc Nation, Apple Music and the NFL, this number beats those who watched the Fox broadcast of the game which averaged 126 Million viewers. That 7.5 million more tuning into halftime than game time.
Context is King: History of the Halftime Show
Let’s talk about origins. The Super Bowl, the annual championship game of the NFL, has been played since 1967, with college marching bands providing halftime entertainment.
Grambling State University, a HBCU had its marching band perform at Super Bowl II (1968).
In 1972, the first halftime show featuring a Black performer, non-marching band member, was Ella Fitzgerald at Super Bowl VI in Miami where she sang Mack the Knife.
Super Bowl IX (1975) in New Orleans paid tribute to Duke Ellington with Grambling State’s Marching Band and the Mercer Ellington Orchestra.
When was the next Black moment? We have to skip a bunch of years to get to 1991, Super Bowl XXV where the incomparable Whitney Houston delivered a stirring rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner, but she wasn’t the halftime headliner—New Kids on the Block were. In 1993, Michael Jackson, the 1st Black performer to headline the halftime show dazzles the crowds at Super Bowl XXVII (27) and sets the standard for pop stars and the future of football’s biggest event. The King of Pop owned the stage and every moment of his performance. If 100,000 people had actually turned off their TVs like they claimed they did, Michael Jackson would still hold the record, with an audience of 133.4 million viewers.
Other notable performances featuring Black artists across the lengthy history of halftime shows include:
• Super Bowl XXII (22nd, 1988) – Chubby Checker appears with the Rockettes and 88 grand piano players.
• Super Bowl XXIX (29th, 1995) – Patti LaBelle & Teddy Pendergrass were featured along with Tony Bennett.
• Super Bowl XXX (30th, 1996) – Diana Ross dazzled in a red gown and even changed outfits mid-show.
• Super Bowl XXXI (31st, 1997) – A blend of James Brown appearing with ZZ Top and The Blues Brothers Band.
• Super Bowl XXXII (32nd, 1998) – A Motown tribute featured The Temptations, Smokey Robinson, Martha Reeves & The Vandellas, Queen Latifah, and Boyz II Men. Watching those young men of Boyz II Men sing about their mothers hits differently now, especially juxtaposed with Lamar’s solitary silhouette atop the GNX in New Orleans and his dancers, young men gathered under a street lamp.
• Super Bowl XXXIII (33rd, 1999) – Stevie Wonder joins Gloria Estefan and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.
• Super Bowl XXXIV (34th, 2000) – Toni Braxton is featured.
• Super Bowl XXXV (35th, 2001) – Featured Mary J. Blige and Nelly.
So, let’s be clear: Black performers at the Super Bowl are not new. Hip-hop and rap at the Super Bowl are not new. For those suddenly enraged—why weren’t you bothered during the 39 other years when Black artists weren’t featured or headlined? The selection process has always been based on merit—the most talented for the job, period. Right?
And with DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) now the new taboo, let me ask: Why do some get upset when things aren’t diverse—when people who look like them aren’t centered or given an extra slot or quota on stage? Do you want equity and inclusion or not?
Kendrick Lamar is highly qualified. He won the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music for his album DAMN. He’s a 27-time Grammy winner, and one cannot deny that his 2024 diss track, Not Like Us, has the world on fire. Please, show me someone with better credentials who’s willing to perform a 13-minute Super Bowl halftime show—for free.
Let’s Dive into the Performance
Lights flash. I see nine squares and glowing X’s and O’s. I wonder—are we about to get Tic-Tac-Toe or something else? In the background, a power bar, formed of stadium lights or drones, begins to load. I know we’re about to witness something special.
More lights flash. The bar is almost at 100%, and I sit on the edge of my seat, expecting a high level of storytelling artistry from Lamar. According to Britannica, art is a visual object or experience consciously created through an expression of skill or imagination—and right now, skill and imagination are exactly what we need.
In a flash, a “Start Here” sign and arrow appear, pointing to the lone figure on the hood of a Buick GNX. Kendrick Lamar, a young Black man, crouches on the car. The image evokes loneliness—it’s dramatic, and I’m locked in as the gleaming black Buick GNX (Grand National Experimental) transforms into a clown car, packed with dancers spilling out. So many exit the vehicle that I later learn the seating had to be removed to fit them all into that tight, cramped space—not unlike bodies crammed into the hulls of ships.
On Instagram, Lamar writes about authenticity: “In the moment of confusion, the best thing you can do is find a GNX. Make you realize the only thing that matters in life is that original paperwork. That TL2 code. 1 of 547.”
What does original paperwork mean when you’re the descendant of chattel slavery? Is it the slave ship’s manifest that documented the theft of ancestors? The bill of sale from massas in the States or Grand Blancs in the Caribbean, depending on where your roots were auctioned off? Or is it the manumission papers, declaring your freedom—bought at a price?
This leads me down another rabbit hole: authenticity—who is American and who is not? In a country that often forgets to be kind to the foreigner (Leviticus 19:33-34), or that it was founded by immigrants—many seeking religious freedom, a fresh economic start, or escape from oppression—this question cuts deep. It’s a scar that never fully heals.
Did you know that, in the past—like I wrote about in Island Queen—people with any tint to their skin have had to carry manumission papers or proof of their free status to avoid being accosted? Many around the nation feel this burden now. We’re still caught in this cycle because we’ve banned the books that teach history and empathy.
Back to Football—America’s Game
I highly recommend reading Moving the Chains: The Civil Rights Protest That Saved the Saints and Transformed New Orleans by Erin Grayson Sapp, which examines the 1965 AFL All-Star Game boycott, where players protested against racial discrimination in New Orleans.
Another must-read is Race and Football in America: The Life and Legacy of George Taliaferro by Dawn Knight, chronicling the journey of George Taliaferro, the first African American drafted by an NFL team, and the challenges he faced.
Red, White, & Blues of Uncle Sam
The visuals cut to Uncle Sam—portrayed by Academy Honorary Award winner Samuel L. Jackson. With a film career grossing over $27 billion worldwide, making him the highest-grossing actor of all time, Jackson embodies this iconic American figure. Some might be wondering, What in the DEI is going on with this Black version of a fictional Americana, but it soon becomes clear: Uncle Sam is here to keep Lamar in line.
Jackson plays Uncle Sam as Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s 1852 abolitionist novel, portrayed White men as morally bankrupt and Black individuals as either complicit in oppression or suffering under it. The book also depicted White women as the moral conscience of a system they benefited from, yet remained angelic through their Christian preaching. The novel ends with the enslaved Tom dying because he refuses to betray two Black women who have escaped. As he dies, he forgives his abusers.
The novel’s humane portrayal of enslaved people and its righteous female characters were said to have contributed to the start of the Civil War. Enraged Southerners banned the book. In the 1940s, Langston Hughes attempted to revive interest in it, but Richard Wright and James Baldwin criticized it, arguing that it promoted the image of an “Uncle Tom”—a Black person subservient to Whites or complicit in oppression.
In Lamar’s performance, Uncle Sam enforces the “party line” of American success. At times, he antagonizes Lamar, telling him, “You’re too loud, too reckless, too ghetto.” He dictates that since Lamar refuse to comply with the rules of the American game, he must be penalized: “Deduct one life.”
The death count is brutal—and so is American history, even without including the countless lives lost under enslavement:
• Fort Pillow Massacre (1864): Confederate soldiers slaughtered surrendering African American Federal troops stationed at Fort Pillow, Tennessee. Between 277 and 295 Union troops were killed.
• Memphis Massacre (1866): A White mob murdered 46 African Americans, most of whom were Union veterans.
• New Orleans Massacre (1866): A White mob killed 35 Black citizens and wounded 100 for peacefully gathering in support of a political meeting.
• Colfax Massacre (1873): A White militia massacred approximately 150 African American militia members who were attempting to surrender in Colfax, Louisiana.
• Wilmington Massacre (1898): A premeditated attack left 60 Black Americans dead as White supremacists sought to eliminate African American participation in government and permanently disenfranchise Black citizens.
• Atlanta Race Riot (1906): White mobs killed at least 12 African Americans and burned over 1,000 homes and businesses in Black neighborhoods.
• Springfield Race Riot (1908): The Illinois state militia was called to quell the chaos as a White mob shot innocent people, burned homes, looted stores, and mutilated and lynched Black residents.
• Chicago Race Riot (1919): The “Red Summer” began when a Black youth was stoned to death for swimming in an area reserved for Whites. Over 13 days of lawlessness, 23 African Americans were killed, 537 were injured, and 1,000 Black families were left homeless.
• Ocoee Massacre (1920): A massacre of Black residents in Ocoee, Florida, left approximately 30 dead.
• Tulsa Race Massacre (1921): Tulsa’s prosperous Black neighborhood of Greenwood, known as Black Wall Street, was destroyed—1,400 homes and businesses burned, nearly 10,000 people left homeless. Vanessa Miller’s The Filling Station is a poignant portrayal of the massacre and the resilient rebuilding that followed.
The sacrifice of Black lives makes Lamar’s imagery of tangled bodies forming the flag raw. It hit me in the pit of my stomach. I live knowing that the sacrifices and body counts will continue to rise, forming trending hashtags: #BreonnaTaylor #AhmaudArbery #TamirRice #TrayvonMartin #GeorgeFloyd
The Movement of Dancers
The visuals of Black dancers dressed in red, white, and blue moving around what is now clearly the game receiver mirror how many of us are on the X button—saying yes to conforming, to getting along, to advancing, to avoiding having our dreams burned up by a jealous or misinformed mob. When the dancers near the circle stage—the reject button—they enter a staircase that leads to a slope, which brings them back to where they started. Is that a metaphor suggesting we are better off right where we began before chasing conformance?
The Most Misunderstood Part: Serena Williams
Serena Williams, who once dated Drake, danced the Crip Walk on stage. Distraught commentators ground their teeth, calling it disrespectful for a forty-year-old mother to be dancing on the figurative grave of her ex.
The caucasity of this is the belief that this exhibition was about a man or a former relationship. Serena Williams is not just some “baby mother.” She was ranked No. 1 in the world in women’s singles by the Women’s Tennis Association (WTA) for 319 weeks—the third-most of all time. Williams has won 73 WTA Tour-level singles titles, including 23 major women’s singles titles. She is the only player to accomplish a career Golden Slam in both singles and doubles.
The Crip Walk is a celebration, notably adopted by her folks from her city of Compton, and it symbolizes the alliance of California street gangs, the Crips— as in Crips vs. Bloods. No, Serena is not part of a gang. But like the dance’s founder, Henry Crip—a Harlem dance legend who lost an arm and a leg in a car accident—she celebrates moving forward and achieving. Williams first did the Crip Walk in 2012 at Wimbledon, eliciting massive backlash for celebrating a huge win—for the girl from Compton.
Seeing her dance freely, hair flowing, I think of the Tignon Laws of New Orleans, which I mentioned in my podcast Consent in the Time When a Black Woman Can Say No, and the long history of policing Black women’s bodies. In Serena, I saw joy and celebration. If I am to think of Drake at all—a man who has used Serena’s name in diss songs—I see freedom from a toxic relationship. That’s cathartic.
Ok, Now the Hotep Or Too Deep to be Real Take
Lamar does say he is a stargazer, so maybe the 16 stars on Uncle Sam’s jacket resemble the Little Dipper. if I squint, I can see it. But the talk online about the design representing the 16 free states—states that prohibited slavery between 1850 and 1858—seems like a stretch. These arbitrary dates are supposedly tied to U.S. naval activities interrupting the slave trade.
I’m not buying this. The U.S. Navy’s role against stopping transport began in 1820 when warships deployed off West Africa tried to catch American slave ships, but enforcement was sporadic until the Navy deployed a permanent African Squadron in 1842. Last time I checked, 1850 and 1842 are different years. A rounding error won’t make them the same.
By 1858, there were 32 states in the Union, including Minnesota, which was admitted on May 11, 1858. California was the 31st state, admitted on September 9, 1850. If I count the list of free states—states that prohibited slavery—I get 17:
1. Pennsylvania – December 12, 1787
2. New Jersey – December 18, 1787
3. Connecticut – January 9, 1788
4. Massachusetts – February 6, 1788
5. New Hampshire – June 21, 1788
6. New York – July 26, 1788
7. Rhode Island – May 29, 1790
8. Vermont – March 4, 1791
9. Ohio – March 1, 1803
10. Indiana – December 11, 1816
11. Illinois – December 3, 1818
12. Maine – March 15, 1820
13. Michigan – January 26, 1837
14. Iowa – December 28, 1846
15. Wisconsin – May 29, 1848
16. California – September 9, 1850
17. Minnesota – May 11, 1858
So the math and the facts aren’t jiving. Kendrick Lamar is very precise in his lyrics. An arbitrary number or pattern doesn’t seem to be his M.O. I could stretch and say he mentions losing 16 friends in his song “wacced out murals,” but then I’m just spitballing.
Not everything has a direct meaning, but that’s the beauty of art—it can mean many different things to different people. Kendrick Lamar and his performance is art and it should be applauded for making us all stop and think.
Ending the American Game
As the last notes of “Not Like Us” finishes, Lamar and company launch into “TV Off.” When he finishes the rap, he holds up a virtual remote, turns it off, and forces the stage to go dark. In lights, we see the sign: Game Over. Does he mean the American game is over because we refuse to learn from the past or that he’s stop playing the game? Lights out—Is that symbolic of a Revolution being televised until it’s not? Is the American Game going to stop feeding on Black life, Black culture, and Black breath? What happens if every American, turns off the TV, the cellphone, social media, etc. and stops playing the game?
America is founded with the God-given right to have differences of opinions. Of being able to choose your path, to dream the biggest dreams, and to make them happen—on or off the field. Whether we play the game or not, movement, not standing still, is how we inch forward toward the goal posts. It’s how we will awaken and form a more perfect union.
Images are screenshots of ROC Nation and Apple Music feeds.
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It’s universally known that everyone who has a career or talent that intersects with the public must learn to deal with waiting. Everyone waits. Whether a king or a servant, a politician or a bank teller, time slows down while you wait to receive or give something. Even though the physical globe continues to rotate around the sun, our present circle will seem stopped or stuck. It’s an uneasy feeling that grows and can become unbearable the longer the wait time.
Creatives, especially writers know at some point in their career, will have to wait. Let’s dive into this world. Early on, it’s waiting for the right idea. Then, it’s waiting to find time to write. After that, we wait on edits or feedback from workshops, peers, or critique groups. If you are pursuing a traditional path, we wait for the magic call or Zoom with an agent announcing they love our voice and wish to sign us. Then, there’s the ultimate wait when, as a traditional author, one anguishes for a positive response from an editor at a publishing house. We want that “yes.” We crave that affirmation that we’ve written something that matters.
For indie authors, the struggles may look different, but waiting is still inevitable. You might be waiting on cover designers, layout artists, or formatters to deliver essential elements for book production. But no matter how we publish, all authors wait for early reviews and to see how fans and new readers react.
I’m reminded of a keynote I once heard Walter Mosley give. He was joking with his close friend, Gregory Hines, about how his world would change now that he had received his long-awaited “yes”. His risks were finally paying off, both literally and figuratively. But Hines, in his wisdom, simply told him, “Don’t worry, you’ll be broke again.” Mosley acknowledged that Hines was right and drew a big laugh from the National Book Club conference admitting that he was again and again.
Vanessa meets Walter Mosley at the 2024 National Bookclub Conference in Atlanta.
As authors, we will always be in a waiting game until we stop writing. We will be waiting on contracts, ad placements, book launches, or even the next words to come. But waiting doesn’t mean sitting around, worrying while we stave off dread. Waiting should be active.
Waiting involves an expectation that things will work together for our good (Romans 8:28). We must prepare for the next step (James 5:7). I want to act as if the answer is yes. I work in the present to be ready for the blessings. I never expect the worst. I try to be joyful until I have a reason to cry.
And let’s be real. Sometimes, the answer is no. Sometimes, it’s a kick in the gut—the realization that this good thing was not for you. It’s okay to grieve. We are human. We can be sad.
Yet, when we feel like we’ve blown it, we must remember that we are seen. We are not forgotten. I love how Psalmist puts it in Psalms 40:1-3:
“I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise.”
So rejoice in the good. Weep in the sadness. And know we are not alone.
The Waiting Winners Timeline.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I have a list of some of the great waits that eventually paid off. History is full of people who had to wait long periods for their dreams and recognition to come true:
• Sister Rosetta Tharpe (1915–1973) – The “Godmother of Rock and Roll” influenced Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley but wasn’t fully acknowledged until her induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2018.
• Cicely Tyson (1924–2021) – Though she acted for decades and delivered groundbreaking performances in Sounder (1972) and The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (1974), she never received her full due until 2018 when forty-six years later, Cicely was presented with an honorary Oscar for her lifetime achievements. She was in her 90s.• Zora Neale Hurston (1891–1960) – As I mentioned in earlier episodes, Ride or Die or Get Out of the Way and Grab Somerset Gumbo, Your Best Girl, and Go, Zora’s work during the Harlem Renaissance was intentionally buried by gatekeepers. She died in poverty and obscurity, and her work had to be rediscovered a full decade after her death. I will say this a thousand times: This is not the way. Death and poverty should never be requirements for a writer’s success.• Octavia Butler (1947–2006) – Octavia’s first published work was a short story called Crossover in 1971. Her first novel, published by Doubleday in 1976, was just the beginning. The visionary science fiction writer, who won Hugo (1984) and Nebula Awards (1985), struggled for mainstream success until she published Parable of the Sower in 1993 and won the MacArthur Fellowship in 1995. That’s more than 22 years of waiting. The world is forever grateful for Octavia’s perseverance
• Walter Mosley – Walter started writing in the 1980s, and his first novel, Devil in a Blue Dress, was published by WW Norton on June 19, 1990. He faced several years of difficulty in getting published because publishers didn’t think there was an audience for Black detective fiction. Once it sold, it became a classic, even being adapted into a movie starring Denzel Washington.
One could say it all paid off. Perhaps. But I’m sure that the waiting wasn’t easy or sweet. I am thankful that each persevered with their gifts and changed the world.
How to Productively Wait
Since waiting is inevitable, I made a list of practical ways to stay productive and engaged:
1. Don’t Obsess—Rest: Avoid refreshing your inbox constantly. Do chores. Volunteer. Don’t obsess on reels or social media, but do find ways to bless someone else.
2. Read Widely: Explore new releases, classics, nonfiction, and poetry to inspire new ideas. This is something I do. It’s one of the reasons I confidently write in three genres—historical fiction, romance, and mystery. My voice adapts. I give readers of these genres what they want, what they expect, because I learn from all good stories. Sister Mother Warrior, about the two women who shaped the Haitian Revolution, is my most literary work, but it’s also the most muscular novel I’ve published. Its heft comes from a lot of nonfiction, including books on war and diaspora poetry.
3. Take a Class: Study writing guides or attend workshops. Some great books to consider:
Writers realize that all competitions are not created equal. Some have implicit bias. Do your homework before submitting. I don’t want your work stolen or misrepresented or fumbled by hands that should never had touched your creation in the first place
8. Stay Informed on Industry Trends: Keep up with publishing news, avoid scams, and research new agents and publishers and marketplaces.
9. Plan Your Marketing Strategy: Work on your launch plan and outreach to bloggers and media, so you are ready when you get your yes.
10. Replenish Creativity: Step away when needed—travel, pick up a hobby, or simply rest.
11. (Bonus Point) Start a New Project: If you’re querying, don’t immediately start book two in your series. Instead, write something fresh that could be your breakthrough project.
Embrace the Wait
Waiting is hard, but it doesn’t have to be unproductive or soul-crushing. It’s part of our process. It’s formative to our seasons of growth. We have to be prepared, or we will not harvest and allow our fruit to rot. Remember, everything worthwhile takes time. Every success story has had its pauses. The key to getting through to the light is to fill the waiting with purpose. Whether you are a seasoned pro or just getting into the business (the publishing game), trust that waiting always comes before your journey unfolds.
Keep writing.Keep learning.Keep going.And when that long-awaited “yes” finally comes, enjoy it. Bask in the joy. And remember how it feels, because, as Brother Mosley indicated, you will go through it again.
The lists of books mentioned in the podcast are listed below. Included links support Loyalty Bookstore via Bookshop.org:
Butler, Octavia E. Crossover: Short Story: Fragments. Edited by Robin Scott Wilson, Clarion, June 1971, Signet / New American Library. OEB 337, ca. 1970.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
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.
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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.
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.
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
