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Write of Passage by Vanessa Riley
Hosted by Vanessa Riley · EN
Join bestselling author Vanessa Riley as she delves into untold histories, reflects on current events through a historical lens, shares behind-the-scenes writing insights, and offers exclusive updates on her groundbreaking novels.
vanessariley.substack.com
vanessariley.substack.com
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Not What They Voted For
Mar 1700:13:46Tap to summarizeMy husband, a retired military man, doesn’t talk much about his service.But when he does, he’s careful—measured—about the details and the conflicts he may have witnessed.I did get him to share a little about evacuating citizens during Hurricane Katrina.But then (Saturday) I got a call while I was on the road in Baltimore.A woman who had been his office mate…a navigator who became a pilot…someone he once flew with on a check ride to…She had a beautiful laugh—the kind that filled a room.Always encouraging. Always steady.She died this weekend.She—and her crew—became casualties of a U.S. war.I just came back from a quick dash to Baltimore.I spent time in a beautiful bookstore, wandered through a wonderful library system, and got to greet Maryland readers—people who love stories the way I do.I brought work with me.My next novel is brewing.But I didn’t touch it.Instead, I let myself be wrecked by Kin by Tayari Jones.Because I needed escape.Not distraction—escape. The kind that reminds you why stories matter when the real world feels like it’s unraveling.Right now, I’m living in a dichotomy.On one side, there’s the book world—my world.Deadlines. Promotion. Strategy. The constant push to get our stories into as many hands as possible.On the other side… there’s everything else.Every time I leave my house, gas costs more. It has jumped from $2.65 to nearly $3.90.Every headline feels heavier than the last.And now, we’re in a war I didn’t want—a war I didn’t vote for.Let me be clear—I support the troops. Always.But that does not mean I support everything that puts them in harm’s way.Because this isn’t abstract to me.My husband—retired military—flew with a young pilot.She sat at the desk next to his.She is now a casualty of this war.This isn’t policy.This is personal.When things get heavy, I put my feelings in a box. I believe in compartmentalization.Put your grief in one box.Your anger in another.Your ambition somewhere else.It’s how I’ve survived rooms where I knew I wasn’t valued.Rooms where people smiled politely while quietly wishing I’d disappear.And yes—sometimes you smile to keep from crying.Sometimes you grin and bear it because the future matters more than the discomfort of the present.I thought I was good at that.But this?This is harder.When things were impossible for Jacquotte Delahaye and Sarah Sayon in Fire, Sword, and Sea, they turned to fire. The wish to burn it all down and clear away the rubbish, that they were presented. That feeling must be universal. I am very tempted to point out to those who enabled this hellscape why they need fire. It might feel good to curse out the people who deserve it.You’ve watched the news. I’m sure some very choice words have come to mind.But that’s not me.I have faith, a moral compass, a soul that won’t be damned because of enablers.Which means I enter rooms—and exit them—with grace, poise, and dignity.I will not let anyone steal that from me.Racism will not stumble me.Misogyny will not humble me.And those who don’t value stories—especially stories about history, power, and women—will never shut me up.So I will not let them win by becoming something I’m not.Nonetheless, let’s not pretend. Let’s open the compartment where the rage is.The world feels like it’s on fire. Self-inflicted fire.There’s a part of me that wants to point fingers.To call out everyone who said, “both sides are the same.”Everyone who reduced complex decisions to a single issue.Everyone who believed nothing truly bad could happen.Because now we are here.We are off the guardrails.And maybe—just maybe—these are the consequences people needed to feel, and unfortunately, they must bear witness to the blood that has been spilled.“Vanessa, you are being hyperbolic. No one wanted this.”Are we sure?Many of us have been talking about book bans and hiding history. Yet must they see an executive order force the National Park Service to dismantle the panels depicting enslavement at the President’s House on Independence Mall?“Oh, that’s a one-off, and now the panels are back.” So a cleanup on aisle nine makes everything better?And let’s look at the rest of the cleanup items.People say they voted for lower gas prices.But prices in Atlanta climbed from $2.65 to $3.85.Some say they voted for no new wars.But now we have Operation Midnight Hammer in June 2025—striking nuclear facilities in Iran.And Operation Epic Fury, launched February 28, 2026—starting a war.And the cost?A strike hit Shajareh Tayyebeh, a girls’ elementary school, killing at least 175 people—the majority schoolgirls between the ages of 7 and 12.Thirteen U.S. service members are dead.At least 200 are wounded—many with traumatic brain injuries, burns, and shrapnel wounds.A nation’s leader—Ayatollah Ali Khamenei—was killed in a precision strike,along with generals, officials, and their families—hardening resolve against the U.S. We are less safe because of this.And for those who said they voted for a stronger economy—the numbers tell another story:92,000 jobs were lost in February 2026.Unemployment ticked up to 4.4%.GDP growth slowed to 0.7%.Inflation, now at 2.4%, is projected to rise toward 3 to 5%, and oil prices could surge past $110 a barrel.I could add the occupation of ICE in several U.S. cities—American citizens being unlawfully detained and unlawfully killed.So I ask again—what did they really vote for? Misery? The right to “own” the left? The ability to stew in misogyny and privilege? Or the foolhardy belief that the harm they saw aimed at others wouldn’t boomerang back and hurt them?Here I thought I was good at compartmentalization. It seems the majority of voters—and those who sat out the election and ushered in this hellscape—are masters at it.Exhale. Inhale.I guess it doesn’t matter. We are here.There are a lot of good books to read and escape into. Amy Barrett has a delightful one that will take us back to the safe ’90s.Everyone should be reading and writing. Put your insides onto paper. Read and build your empathy and comprehension. Escape to a magical library. Kate Quinn has a lovely one for you.But more than ever, everyone must create. Creating saves our souls.I have to believe that creating matters more now than ever. Creating stories helps us remember. We need to remember how things can go horribly wrong—as well as righteously right.When I write, my characters, rooted in history, show how to resist—how to imagine something better.So yes, I will keep writing.For everyone, I will compartmentalize my frustration and fears and keep showing up.I will be here with grace.With dignity.With truth.Even now, when it’s hard.Especially now, because it’s so needed.To the family of the military personnel lost, of all the love ones of the military men and women killed in this war, I pray for your peace.This week’s book list:If I Ruled the World by Amy DuBois Barnett – A fast-paced novel set in late-1990s New York, following a Black magazine editor navigating the cutthroat worlds of fashion and hip-hop while fighting to save a struggling publication.It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand by Megan Devine – A compassionate and validating guide that challenges how we think about grief, offering permission to mourn without rushing healing.Kin by Tayari Jones – A deeply moving and intimate novel that explores family, love, and the enduring bonds that shape identity and belonging.The Astral Library by Kate Quinn – A fantastical, immersive adventure about a hidden library where readers can step inside beloved books and live new lives.Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from Mahogany Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.Please keep spreading the word. Fire Sword and Sea is the vicarious adventure you didn’t know you needed and a guide to resistance.You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”Thank you for listening. 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
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The Vicarious Vicious Keyboard
Mar 1000:14:56Tap to summarizeWhat if I told you the most dangerous weapon most of us carry… isn’t a gun or a knife?It’s a keyboard.Millions of people every day wake up, pick up their phones, and step into a strange theater of human behavior—where cruelty spreads faster than truth, outrage travels farther than kindness, and strangers feel emboldened to destroy someone they’ve never met.And the worst part?For some people… it feels good.That rush. That attention. That viral moment.Today I want to talk about the dark side of something we all do.The Vicarious Vicious KeyboardHuman nature is something I study.It’s one of the tools I use to make my characters feel real—solid… and undeniably human.People aren’t perfect. So my characters aren’t either.Sometimes they want to do something selfish. Something indulgent. Something that brings them no real benefit at all.And that impulse? That foolishness?It speaks to the heart of all our pent-up reckless desires.After all, don’t we love reading about things we’d never do ourselves? Not in the real world.Things we lack the guts—the raw courage—to do?I remember the first time I learned the word vicarious. It was on one of those weekly vocabulary lists in school. You remember when we had homework, and Mom would drill you on the list, while she cooked.Vicarious—adjectiveAccording to the Britannica Dictionary, vicarious means experienced or felt by watching, hearing about, or reading about someone else rather than by doing something yourself.Light bulbs flashed. Thunder rolled.I understood this. My life changed a little. Suddenly I had a word for something I’d always felt but couldn’t name: and the dangerous desires of the human heart had a vehicle.That thrill of experiencing something through someone else.I can be an astronaut. I could be a Duke. I could be a NASA mathematician. I could be a hockey player. I could be a cowgirl riding backwards on a horse. Anything, even a serial killer.But like most things… we in the digital age take things too far.We don’t know when to stop.And the internet—well, the internet makes it easier for us to keep going.Yes, social media and endless scrolling. I’m look at you.Have you ever put up a post and suddenly—miraculously—it get clicks? I’m talking serious clicks.Once I made an IG post about the imagery in the Sinners movie poster; it reminded me of Ernie Barnes and his iconic painting The Sugar Shack—the same painting immortalized on Good Times and on Marvin Gaye’s I Want You album cover.“That swirl of limbs.That sense of joy, rhythm, resistance.The juke joint as sacred space.”Well, that post—that simple observation—went viral in April of 2025.Almost a million views.Over ninety-five thousand likes.And I’ll be honest… it felt good.It had me checking the app again and again like an addict. Refreshing. Watching the numbers climb. For a few moments I even wondered—what could I do to capture that magic again?I liked that rush. If I could do it again, I would. But that’s the magic of viral.A scroll through threads or a dash through Twitter will show you the posts with the most likes are often vile or viscous.Some of the most toxic posts go viral. The same feeling I had checking art comments must be the same for those who post hate or speech about harm.Are people willing to chase the clicks even if it means posting cruelty?Are these fiends, checking their toxic feeds for engagement? Does negative attention spur them to post something even crazier?Is there a craving for attention, so strong that negativity will do.Have we grown so safe behind a a keyboard that we lean in at a greater propensity to bully?Or is it something darker—something more insidious? Does the hurt inside bubble up until it spills out online?Do endorphins kick in when the crowd joins the pile-on.Let’s be honest—every nasty thread post or tweet can’t be a bot.I keep asking myself: what’s in it for someone to be that hurtful? That’s the part of the vicarious journey I don’t get.But I do see the consequences:Actors doing their jobs—playing fictional characters—suddenly have to issue statements condemning racist or homophobic harassment from so-called “fans.”Any given day on Twitter—and honestly, I don’t recommend it—you’ll see people wishing harm on others simply because they didn’t like a character… or because someone attended an award show.This newfound comfort with cruelty makes me wonder if our lives have become so hollow that we now live evil vicarious lives, victimizing others with a keyboard?When I was writing Jacquotte Delahaye (Fire Sword and Sea), I had to wrestle with her darkness.She’d endured terrible things, the cruel deaths of people she loved. Betrayal. Loss.And I had to walk a fine line. I don’t do trauma porn. I believe we write of violence without hurting or triggering readers, if at all possible.For Jacquotte, I wrestled with her resolve to survive and achieve her dreams with her thirst for vengeance.Jacquotte was angry.And if she hadn’t had people around her—people to talk her down—she could have become something far more violent.Yes, she’s a pirate. Violence is part of that world.But even pirates are human.I had to find her humanity. I had to lay it bare on the page.Even the most conflicted person must retain some trace of it. Rage and anger cannot pull you so far away from your essence that nothing remains but darkness.Today, I read Psalm 38:11–12My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,and my nearest kin stand far off.Those who seek my life lay their snares;those who seek my hurt speak of ruinand meditate treachery all day long.David wrote many of the Psalms while literally running for his life.But the line that stopped me was this:“Those who seek my hurt speak of ruin and meditate treachery all day long.”Meditate on treachery.Think about that.We have too much to do in this life to sit around meditating or posting on someone else’s downfall.Yes, the world feels chaotic right now. Politics alone can drive you crazy if you dwell on it. Believe me—I want to shout about how I warned …If I lived inside that frustration every hour, I’d lose my mind. No. I choose to vicariously teleport into a book, movie, or research. I know I will not meditate treachery all day long.So to the keyboard warriors, I’m asking something simple:Step up.If you see a friend posting or sharing nonsense—talk to them. Help them pull back before they become one of those treacherous people treachery.And if you yourself posted something that seemed funny in the moment but later you realized it caused harm…Apologize.A real apology.Not the fake kind that says, “I’m sorry if anyone was offended.”And read the Psalms, you will see David fully anguish in his sorrow. He names it. He owns it.That honesty matters.When I wrote Jacquotte, there were moments where she was unrepentant in her anger… and moments where she was broken by the consequences of her choices.I put all of it on the page so readers could see it, feel it, and understand it.I’m grateful for the technology that allows us to reach people all over the world in seconds.With that power comes responsibility. We never know what will go viral.Before you post ask yourself:Am I posting nonsense about someone I don’t know - delete.Am I posting something that could cause harm: reputational, self-harm, mobs—delete.Did I think not only about intent but possible impact—delete.In the meantime… I suggest we all touch a little grass.Get some air. Take your allergy meds. And read a good book. This week’s booklist will have some recommendations.<a target="_blank" href="...
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Shut Up and Write
Mar 300:11:46Tap to summarizeEvery time the world feels unstable, and an artist dares answer an interview question, we get the same memo: stay in your lane. Entertain. Distract. Don’t dare analyze what’s happening. Don’t name it. Don’t challenge it. Shut up.I’m sorry to inform you—I’m not your minstrel on demand. If you’re big mad about that, go sit in the corner and think about why.Art has always been political. Perhaps your outrage is the real performance. So maybe, you need to quiet and listen.Shut Up and WriteIn February 2018, Fox News host Laura Ingraham responded to comments made by NBA superstar LeBron James with a phrase that ricocheted across the culture: “Shut up and dribble.”She was reacting to an interview James gave alongside Kevin Durant, in which he spoke not only about basketball but about race, leadership, and the lived reality of being a Black man in America. Ingraham dismissed his words as “barely intelligible” and suggested that someone “paid $100 million a year to bounce a ball” should keep his political opinions to himself.But here’s the thing: the minute you ask a Black person about their experience in America, you are no longer asking about “just sports.” You are asking about history. You are asking about citizenship. You are asking about survival. And you are asking for our truth.When you tell him or her or them to shut up and dribble, what you are really saying is:Perform. Entertain. Produce. But do not speak.That phrasing doesn’t emerge in a vacuum. It echoes a long American tradition—of Black bodies celebrated for talent but silenced in intellect; commodified for labor but dismissed in leadership; applauded for artistry but censored in analysis. From minstrel stages to modern arenas, the script has too often been the same: dazzle us, but do not disrupt us.And yet, LeBron did not shut up.He went about his business—on and off the court. He used the moment to amplify conversations about injustice, education, and opportunity. He built schools. He funded scholarships. He made sure that his platform included not just athletic excellence but civic voice. When he was told to shrink, he expanded.I guess that is what unsettles people. Not that LeBron dribbles—but that he keeps speaking.So on Threads, Twitter, pretty much all your parasitical streets, I hear authors being told a version of that command:“Just shut up and write.”Don’t talk politics.Don’t analyze power.Don’t interrogate policy.Stick to romance.Stick to fiction.Tell us about dukes and wagers and stolen glances, but do not dare connect the past to the present. In my June release, A Deal at Dawn, some readers are dying to know if the Duke of Torrance survives a chronic illness Black communities still suffer from today, but many more want to hear about the hurt-comfort caregiving in his bathtub or his foot fetish.In Fire Sword and Sea, some want to hear about the hijinks of women cross-dressing as men but forget about the systems of government that oppress them and force them into piracy as their way to survive.And since I’ve been writing to you weekly, I’ve gotten those nasty little emails telling me that I should stick to writing historical fiction and leave politics alone.To those folks, what the heck do you think I have been writing all along?When I describe women rising up in hostile systems, about enslavement and trafficking, about corrupt leaders, white supremacy, about diseases neglected because they ravage Brown bodies—I am writing politics. I’m writing about policy. I am writing about power. Corsets and cravats and crowns never dilute the truth.You cannot celebrate the art and forbid analysis.You cannot applaud the talent and mute the testimony.You cannot consume the culture and silence the creator.The expectation that artists remain apolitical is itself political.It says:We want your labor, LeBron, not your leadership, JasmineYour imagination, Micheal B, not your insight—DelroyYou are for entertainment, forget the lived experiences that got you here.But identity is not something I can toggle off between chapters. When you ask me about my work, you are asking about my worldview. When you ask about my characters, you are asking about justice and injustice as much as you reading for love.And love is power, and it is always political.We are living in times that feel combustible. Many are waking up to realities they once refused to see.They don’t know who to trust. They want words of comfort. But where are you going to get that? You told me to shut up and write.Writers, creators—moments like this, it’s easier to retreat—to binge-watch comfort shows, to lose ourselves in manuscripts, to hide in deadlines and drafts. I, too, would love to stay in my rom-com era. I would love to focus solely on shenanigans and happily-ever-afters. But even I can only binge-watch MythBusters, hockey, and Bridgerton for so long.So no, I cannot just shut up and write.I must write. Writing is my blood laid bare on the page. I will not go quietly into the night.To my fellow writers, artists, thinkers—especially those who are tired, furious, heartsick:Don’t shut up.Do keep writing.Write your joy.Write your grief.Write your analysis.Write your satire.Write your fury.Take your rage and forge it into paragraphs that burn the soul of the nation clean. Take your voice and worldview and shape it into essays that clarify righteousness, that take it from the hands of the deceiver. Take your heartbreak and craft stories that remind us what humanity is supposed to be.Art is our last defense. So players play. Actors act. Legislators legislate. Activists be active.But writers? Remember. Record. Reimagine. Write.So speak.Write.Create.Refuse to politely disappear.This week’s booklist feature Women writers, sheroes:Sister Outsider — Audre Lorde“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Essays on identity, silence, anger, and the political necessity of speaking.Art on My Mind — bell hooksDirectly interrogates the idea that Black artists should be apolitical. She dismantles it completely.Assata — Assata ShakurMemoir as testimony. Voice as resistance.The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois — Honorée Fanonne Jeffers: A sweeping, multigenerational novel that braids Black love, scholarship, and history affirming—there is no separating the personal from the political.Fire Sword and Sea — Vanessa Riley: A sweeping historical novel that exposes pirates, sisterhood, and survival in the chaotic and diverse 17th-century (1600s) Caribbean.This week I’m highlighting Loyalty Bookstore.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Loyalty Bookstore or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s keep everyone excited about Fire Sword and Sea.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. Please like, subscribe, and share the podcast. And stay connected to Write of Passage.Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.Upcoming Events for Vanessa RileyVirtual FB chat on Fire Sword and Sea with the Personal Librarians.Book Lovers at Baltimore LibraryHerstory Author Salon: Tanya Time Book Club with host Tanya Sams featuring Sadeqa John...
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Fifteen Seconds and a Slur
Feb 2400:13:44Tap to summarizeFor any writer or creator, the edit is your best tool or best weapon. Every paragraph, article, headline, every broadcast, even every post is a choice—what stays in, what gets cut, who gets protected, and who gets exposed are choices. If you have the power to edit, you have the power to do better. Let’s talk about the superpower that comes with great responsibility.Fifteen Seconds and a SlurThe edit is intentional.The greatest tool any author carries is not talent, not inspiration, not even discipline. It is the edit. The edit is where intention meets responsibility. It is where raw creation becomes art.No one—no one—sits down and instantly produces a masterpiece. Manuscripts are not born polished. They are wrestled into being. They are drafted in confusion, in bursts of brilliance, in gaps of missing facts and half-remembered details. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve left myself placeholders—XXX—so I can go back and hunt down what I actually meant: the correct monetary value of a tavern meal in pirate haven Port Royal, the historical cut of a waistcoat or falls of breaches, the name of a street or rue in Hispaniola. It’s never right on the first go.Returning to it on the next pass, the next edit—that’s where the magic happens. The edit is the intentional power to clarify what you meant. The power to fix what you missed. The power to elevate what almost worked into what truly does.I’ve worked with brilliant editors and those who gave me brilliant headaches. I even hire my own. A good editor helps me see what I cannot see. They bring perspective, distance, and rigor. But even then, I choose. I decide what advice to accept, what to reconsider, and what to reshape. Editing is collaboration—but it is also stewardship. Before any manuscript moves to the next level—before submission or publication—it carries the weight of my choices. Another set of eyes will add more to the manuscript. Every perspective reveals something new. That’s how diligent writers reach the best version of a book earthly possible.Writers are not the only ones who wield this magic tool.Video editing is editing. What you choose to upload to your social feeds—what you trim, what you blur, what you cut out—matters. I am more conscious of accidentally revealing mailing addresses in the background of one of my post office runs. Everyone should hide vulnerable information that should not be public, and watch for angles that misrepresent.The edit shapes our experience. On TikTok, Threads, Bluesky, Instagram—even if you wander back to Twitter—you should be curating what we see. That curation, that social edit is power.Journalists edit, too. They decide:* Whose names appear?* Which details matter?* Which context is included?* And which bits of info are left out?That is why it unsettles me when journalists act as if they are powerless—when they behave as though they must show everything, or they both-sides-things normalizing crazy, and seem to be okay with pieces that distort or wound.When civil rights leader and Rainbow Coalition founder Jesse Jackson died peacefully at 84 on February 17, 2026, after long battles with Parkinson’s disease, the headline was clear: a giant of the civil rights movement had passed, noting Jackson was:* A key figure in the struggle after Martin Luther King Jr.* A two-time presidential candidate.* A successful hostage negotiator (over 100 returned to the US).* A man whose life reshaped American political possibility.Yet in a brief radio mention—a mere fifteen-second clip to commemorate his death—the spot highlighted not only Jackson’s death but his son’s past troubles. Fifteen seconds. In a moment meant for legacy, painful and tangential details were inserted. That is an edit. That is a choice.Editing is not neutral.The same lesson unfolded at the BAFTA Film Awards. During a broadcast on BBC, Tourette syndrome campaigner John Davidson shouted a racial slur while actors Delroy Lindo and Michael B. Jordan stood on stage presenting an award. Both men—accomplished, respected, peers among peers—were subjected to one of the most dehumanizing words in the English language, the N-word. The live moment was shocking enough. But the editing was worse.The slur remained in the BBC broadcast and was replayed worldwide three hours later. The corporation later apologized, saying producers in the truck had not heard it. Meanwhile, other moments—such as calls of “Free Palestine”—were edited out of the rebroadcast. Actor Alan Cumming, hosting the ceremony, initially offered an explanation centered on Tourette syndrome and apologized “if you are offended.” Later reactions grew sharper. Producer Hannah Beachler criticized what she described as a throwaway apology.Editing is a choice.The decision to leave a racial epithet while removing a political statement is not accidental neutrality. It reveals priority. It reveals what is deemed urgent to correct and what is allowed to linger. The reasoning behind the slur—whether involuntary or not—does not erase the harm of its broadcast. And apologies that focus first on explanation rather than impact misses the point.As writers, we should understand this. We need to understand that impact matters more than intent. That harm can occur even when harm was not planned. That’s why sensitivity reads exist. In my essay, The Sensitivity of Sensitivity Reads, I have told you the fun and pain of sensitivity readsI may have disagreed with a line or two of a sensitivity read, but I’ve never dismissed the feedback, especially without sitting with it. Editing with sensitivity returns us to the guiding principle: do no harm.Editing is how we live that principle.Where is the editing? It must be gone, and groupthink is in. Old guard systems become blind—or arrogant—about the damage they cause. They forget that every rebroadcast, every headline, every fifteen-second plug can cause curated chaos.Care about your words as fiercely as you care about being right. Care about your audience as much as you care about being provocative. If something slips through—if harm was done unintentionally—you can always edit—fix what you’ve done. You have a cure—meaningful apologies. Then use the delete button.If we refuse to edit thoughtfully—if we cling to ego over empathy—we deepen division. Instead of being our brother’s keeper, we are his judge. Why be a critic instead of a caretaker?Succumbing to editing is not a weakness. It is not censorship. It’s refinement. It’s responsibility. It’s good intention made visible through your craft.The edit is intentional.And so must we be.This week’s booklist comes from Tayari Jones. During her insightful book launch with Pearl Cleage, she shared her desert-island author picks.Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison-Song of Solomon: A young man embarks on a journey through family history and ancestral memory that leads him toward identity, liberation, and a deeper understanding of love and legacy.How to Carry Water: Selected Poems of Lucille Clifton by Lucille Clifton: This luminous collection gathers decades of Clifton’s spare, powerful poetry, honoring Black womanhood, survival, spirituality, and the quiet endurance of everyday life.Things I should’ve Told my Daughter by Pearl Cleage: Part memoir and part intimate counsel, Cleage reflects on love, art, activism, and motherhood, offering hard-won wisdom to the next generation of Black women.Congratulate Tayari Jones on the new release of Kin.And Denny S. Bryce for Where the False Gods Dwell. Can’t wait to dive into these books.This week I’m highlighting Eagle Eye Bookshop, one of Atlanta’s best bookstores.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Eagle Eye Bookshop (they have signed copies) or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s keep everyone excited about Fire Sword and Sea.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. Please like, subscribe, and share the podcast. And stay connected to Write of Passage.Thank you for listening. 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 <a href="https://vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&u...
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P&P – Persecution and Paranoid
Feb 1700:15:38Tap to summarizeHave you ever felt like the walls were closing in — like doors were shutting and you couldn’t figure out why?Today’s essay is about that season. The P & P season.Persecution… and the paranoia that follows.If you’ve ever wondered whether you deserved the storm you were in, this one is for you.Persecution is an odd thing.When everything starts going wrong, I feel myself shrink. I feel extremely small. Then every slight becomes magnified. A look. A tone. An unanswered email. And suddenly we’re dangerously close to the other P word — paranoia.Your once-hopeful persona begins to fade. You start waiting for the next blow.As a type A person, an engineer at heart, I look for cause and effect. I try to pinpoint the moment I FAed and FOed. While I search, I double down on hope, prayer, and producing. I can be one productive fool when I feel the walls closing in.Still, I will lie awake trying to figure out what I did to deserve this.And for the whole of last year, I couldn’t find the culprit. Did I cross a line? I would like to know. Did I cut somebody? Did I punch somebody really, really hard? Did I steal your chair or your parking space?No.I didn’t take anybody’s anything. Nope. I have my own.In our twisted parasocial world, I will wonder if I liked the wrong posts, which now give you beef.You can see how the paranoia can ramp. Deep down, I think many of us want to feel like we deserve this punishment. If I earned it, at least there’s logic. At least there’s control.But the painful lesson I’ve had to grapple with is this:Other than being overly eager and overly enthusiastic, I didn’t do anything wrong. Persecution is not necessarily earned.Somewhere in the strange karma of the cosmic universe, you were chosen. And we all want to be chosen, right? But just not like this.Congratulations, you were chosen to have doors slammed in your face. Sometimes your hand was still on the seal — so you get that extra sting. You were chosen to lose. You were chosen to have your integrity questioned. You were chosen to decide whether you were going to grow up, go high… or sink low. If you’ve contemplated being the villain and getting revenge, put it in the comments.Now I’ve said before — and if you’ve read Fire Sword and Sea, you know — I believe in something called holy anger. There is a righteous anger. As a woman, I was urged to hold it in. To not sin in my anger. Yet, you can be angry and still be whole.Nonetheless, that is the struggle. How do we keep ourselves together as we wait for relief?I won’t pretend I’ve mastered survival. I haven’t. But I can say I didn’t curse anybody out — at least not where it could be recorded. I kept my cool for the most part. And when it came time to fight the battle, I didn’t yell. I let other people stand in the gap. I brought my hurt to those who could counsel me. I found fellowship. I found sisterhood. I saw rapiers lifted to defeat an armada.I found in real time who was on your team, my crew, and who wasn’t.My blessed crew found the time to encourage me, and gave me grace to rise above every point of contention. The P&P season, it’s very shocking. It’s hurtful.When you find you’re in the P&P-season, hold yourself together even when you find traitors in your midst.Persecution shows you who’s pulling for you. You find out who will show up, and the ones who have your back, even when it costs them something.It’s priceless the perspective I now have. And let me say this clearly: persecution is momentary. It may feel fresh, but there is an expiration date.Despite the pain, I am grateful for the experience.Why?Because it has made me more appreciative of those who advocate for me. It has made me more discerning about praise and opportunity. It has made me double down on what connects me most to you.This podcast--I do this podcast every week because it allows me to express what I’m going through — not just as an author, but as a human being. And in putting a voice to thoughts and sharing, I feel closer to you. My books may move you, yes. But when I talk about the shared experiences we are all living through — just in different forms — something deeper happens.We bond. We may commiserate. And maybe I’ve given voice to shared pain, shared struggle.When I started writing weekly essays, I was angry at the world. Frankly, I was pissed off. Somewhere along the way, this became therapeutic. I often write about the past. This podcast became a bridge to our shared present. It’s our bridge. And this bridge energizes every facet of my heart and mind.Every week, I look forward to this space, to sharing a revelation. A story. Something that made me angry. Something that brought me joy. Something that might shift your perspective.Listen to me. I know some of you are hurting. Some of you are still in the storm. I wish you comfort and safety. When you get close to the other side of through, I want you to see the sunlight breaking through the clouds.I want you to be amazing.I want you to have clarity.I want you to be stronger than before.If you’re in the middle of the dark season, ask yourself:1. What are the facts versus your interpretation?2. What was said?3. What was done?4. What evidence do I truly have?Document everything. Emotion fades. Records protect you.5. Is this a “you” thing or a “we” thing?6. Have you conferred with trusted people? Not just those who validate you — those who will challenge you gently.7. Have I accounted for my own actions or inaction?8. What is within my control?You cannot control other people’s actions. You can control:Your documentation.Your tone.Your boundaries.Your next move.If you’ve done all these steps and sufficient brooding, stop and rest. Don’t spend another minute trying to figure out someone else’s motivations. It’s at best a waste of time. At worst, it becomes a list of things that keep you angry, that shift someone else’s bad attitude, poor behavior, or evil onto you.Who cares if the persecutor is motivated by fear, competition, bias, malice, or worse? If the response is from the system, higher-ups, etc., you will not change their minds.A few more tips:1. Seek grounded counsel. A mentor. A therapist. A minister. Legal advice if necessary. Someone who will steady you.2. Protect your mental and strategic position.3. Don’t react publicly in anger.4. Don’t overshare emotionally. I’m not saying not sharing your feelings or even asking for help in these social streets. I’m saying leave all the emojis and expletives behind.5. Don’t isolate.6. Self-preservation is a strategy.Direct confrontation doesn’t always work, especially in systemic situations. If a system knows you’ve identified it, it may escalate your demise — and by demise, I mean reputation, perception, and future references.If persecution is real and systemic, you may need an exit plan.A graceful exit is not defeat. It’s wisdom.I will say this with my whole chest. My P-season is over. There are big moves ahead, and I can’t wait to share them with you.So here we are. On this journey. Some of us are on the other side, some—finding a new normal. Some—waiting for daylight. Some—waiting for a breath with no pain, I see you and wish you love and endurance.And I am thankful, my listeners.Thankful for the clarity. Thankful for strength. And grateful that even in persecution, there is an end and a hope for a brighter tomorrow. Just know we are writing the future together.This week’s booklist includes titles like:The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah — A moving WWII novel about two sisters resisting oppression and finding courage in impossible circumstances.The Color Purple by Alice Walker — A classic of oppression and triumph, showing how relationships and community empower a woman to reclaim her life.The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood — A powerful dystopian story about identity and agency under systemic control.If I Ruled the World by Amy DuBois Barnett — A sharp, juicy coming-of-power novel about a young Black woman navigating misogynoir, ambition, and authenticity in 1990s New York media and hip-hop while fighting to keep her soul intact.And reposting last week’s:Keeper of Lost Children by Sadeqa JohnsonSet across postwar Germany and the United States, this novel explores abandoned mixed-race children, chosen family, and how love and responsibility can reshape lives history tried to discard.An American Marriage by Tayari JonesA novel that examines how love and trust are tested by systems that refuse to see certain Americans as fully human.Fire Sword and Sea — </str...
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Hands. Hands. Hands.
Feb 1000:13:02Tap to summarizeHands. Dozens—reaching up, hands high, reaching together—midair, mid-trust, mid-hope.At the Super Bowl, it wasn’t about the score. It wasn’t the teams. It was a moment during the halftime show when Bad Bunny turned his back, leapt into the unknown, and believed—without hesitation—that someone would catch him. I don’t have the faith that. Somehow, I’d love to find it again.Hands. Hands. HandsLike many of you, I got ready for Super Bowl Sunday. I wasn’t particularly invested in either team—though, fine, go Seattle. Super Bowl LX, played on February 8, 2026, at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, gave us a familiar matchup: a rematch of Super Bowl XLIX between the Seattle Seahawks and the New England Patriots. The Seahawks won decisively, 29–13. But I’m not here for the game.I’m here for the halftime show.In a previous essay, I talked about what I half-jokingly call the Kendrick Bowl (and the Beyoncé Bowl)—those halftime performances that feel less like entertainment and more like cultural moments, collective storytelling events we prepare ourselves to receive. We tune in expecting meaning. We expect to be told something about who we are.Bad Bunny delivered exactly that.As the solo headliner of the Super Bowl LX halftime show, Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio made history with an almost entirely Spanish-language set—the first of its kind on this stage. The 13-minute performance was unapologetically Latin, deeply Puerto Rican, and expansively American. With guest appearances from artists like Lady Gaga, Ricky Martin, Karol G, and Cardi B, the show pulsed with energy and intention. It honored elders and entrepreneurs, community and culture, sugarcane and sweat—the histories on which this nation, and particularly the Caribbean, were built. The theme might as well have been spelled out in lights: Together We Are America.But that’s not why I’m writing today.I’m writing because of a single image—a still photograph taken during the performance—that I will not soon forget.At one point, Bad Bunny turns his back to the stage and vaults into the air, committing fully to a trust fall. There is no visible harness. No safety net. Just the assumption—no, the certainty—that he will be caught. The photograph captures him midair, body arched, while dozens of hands reach up toward him. Many hands. Many skin tones. All extended in the same direction, united by purpose: we will not let you fall.It is a breathtaking image.Ishika Samant’s Getty photograph freezes that moment of collective trust and shared responsibility. It is not about celebrity. It is about belief. And when I saw it, I felt something click into place.At first, I thought of 2020—the flood of performative black squares, the hollow gestures of solidarity that required nothing and risked nothing. But no, this image goes further back. Much further.It took me to November 4, 2008.The New York Times ran a photograph by Doug Mills of supporters of Senator Barack Obama cheering at a rally in Chicago as news broke that he had won Pennsylvania. Hands raised. Faces lit with hope. That night, as Adam Nagourney wrote, Barack Hussein Obama was elected the 44th president of the United States, “sweeping away the last racial barrier in American politics.”Welp. That didn’t last.Yet, the photo still exists. The image of hands raised high—reaching, open, expectant. It’s hopeful.Hope, that’s what the Bad Bunny photograph reminded me of: that version of America, diverse and unfinished, but leaning forward together.That moment in 2008, or 2026, seems a distant dream.Leaders chuckle at racist cartoons. Organizations kill Americans because they dared to protect a brother or a sister. Young folks question the American dream and if they’ll be able to afford half the things their parents did. Millions of people don’t know if they will ever be able to retire, because the economy many voted for has stripped them of their dignity and security, and quietly tells us what many of us already suspected—that in the eyes of the state, you are disposable, especially if you are not part of the vaulted class chosen to run industries, sit on boards, or make lists.I don’t like that picture of America. It’s hollow. It’s performative. It’s as empty as a black square aka 2020 on Instagram.I want a hopeful America again. I want the shining city on a hill—not the slogan, but the promise behind it. I want to believe that yes we can find unity and forgive division.Lately, when I talk about Fire Sword and Sea, I use the metaphor of a pirate ship as a meritocracy. Stay with me. Yes, pirates stole other people’s things, and by today’s standards that’s somewhat illegal. In the 1600s, it was disturbingly legal.A pirate crew survived because . everyone worked toward a common goal. Picture it: Africans, Europeans, Indigenous people, people from across the Caribbean—the very nations Bad Bunny called out in his performance—thrown together with a dream to win. On that ship, you voted. You were equals. No one asked who you were or who you loved. They asked: Can you rig the sails? Can you scrub barnacles? When the fighting starts and you’ve got a rapier or a sword in your hand, can I trust you to strike the enemy and not stab me in the back?That’s it. Contribution. Trust. Shared survival.So when I look at that Super Bowl photograph—Bad Bunny suspended midair, many hands reaching up—I want that America again. I want the America of 2008, when people didn’t hate again, so openly or so loudly.Oh, what a time that was.And what we see now is how fragile those moments are—how quickly they can erode. Division waits patiently for fear, resentment, and weak thinking to give it an opening.Division takes root. It’s loathed to let go. It would never trust and dive into outstretched hands, diverse hands, hands with color.So I want to thank the Super Bowl. I want to thank everyone who stood up during Bad Bunny’s performance and danced, who took in the imagery of Puerto Rico and its rich history, as well as all our neighbors to the south, in the Caribbean—the Americas as a shared, complicated whole.For a brief moment, we saw unity on that stage, and it was beautiful. I don’t know how we get back there.I just hope, we do.This week’s booklist includes unify titles like:Keeper of Lost Children by Sadeqa JohnsonSet across postwar Germany and the United States, this novel explores abandoned mixed-race children, chosen family, and how love and responsibility can reshape lives history tried to discard.An American Marriage by Tayari JonesA novel that examines how love and trust are tested by systems that refuse to see certain Americans as fully human.There There by Tommy OrangeA powerful chorus of voices that explores Native identity, belonging, and what it means to gather, hope, and be seen in modern America.Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall KimmererA reflection on reciprocity, care, and collective survival, offering a vision of community rooted in responsibility rather than dominance.The House on Mango Street by Sandra CisnerosThrough lyrical vignettes, a young girl navigates identity, language, and belonging within a Latinx community shaped by migration and memory.Puerto Rico: A National History by Jorell Meléndez-BadilloA people-centered history that reframes Puerto Rico through resistance, labor, and collective struggle rather than colonial myth.Fire Sword and Sea — Vanessa RileyA sweeping historical novel that exposes pirates, sisterhood, and survival in the chaotic and diverse 17th-century (1600s) Caribbean.This week I’m highlighting East City Bookshop.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from East City Bookshop or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores...
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Block. Blockety Block.
Feb 300:12:05Tap to summarizeAs we head into February, Black History Month, remember that this month is short, intentional, and earned—created because Black contributions were systematically erased from American history. My that sort of sounds familiar. Like what’s happening now. Welp, for my part, I’m making a block list. That’s right for all asking performative questions, those too lazy to Google asking for labor or lists. So, if you show up confused, unprepared, or intentionally obtuse, don’t worry—you won’t be staying for long.Blocking SeasonAs we enter Black History Month, I find myself both excited and annoyed.I actually love this month. I hate that it’s only twenty-eight days—unless we luck into a leap year. February is the month my father was born, which establishes my own Black American cred: Caribbean immigrant roots on one side, and on the other, my mother’s people—Igbo transported, South Carolina born and bred. The family name Riley traces Irish roots, because everyone, at some point, was complicit in colonization and enslavement.But I digress. That’s not the purpose of this essay.Black History Month did not simply appear—it was fought for. In 1926, historian Carter G. Woodson established what was then called Negro History Week. His aim was simple and radical: to force a nation that had erased Black contributions from its textbooks and public memory to pause and acknowledge the truth. He deliberately chose February to coincide with the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln (February 12) and Frederick Douglass (February 14), dates many Black communities were already honoring.It was radical to demand national attention on Black contributions. Woodson understood something America still resists: history does not correct itself, nor does it acknowledge wrongdoing, unless it is confronted.Eventually, that week became a month. A complicated, necessary space to recognize Black history in America—and across the world.I remember the irony well: focusing the shortest month of the year on Black history, while the other eleven months continue doing what they always do—centering dominant or majority cultures.Still, I look forward to it. To revel in Blackness. To listen to our music. To laugh at our inside jokes. To not explain ourselves. To exist without translation.It’s my history month. It’s actually everyone’s history—but truth deniers don’t have the bandwidth for that.Which is why I am not doing this thing we do every year.If you have never thought about reading anything by a Black author before, do not log onto social media and ask those performative, empty questions. I saw one just yesterday: “I want to read about Black people, but I don’t want to read about slavery.”Here’s the thing: Black authors write about everything—just like everybody else. Romance. Science fiction. High-tech thrillers. Family sagas. Hollywood celebrity culture. I guarantee someone is writing about the Epstein saga as we speak.What we are not going to do is pretend Google or ChatGPT doesn’t exist.What we are not going to do is pretend libraries are inaccessible or that librarians are scary.What we are not going to do is ask for free labor from people you have spent your entire big age ignoring.If you have gotten this far in life without caring to learn about anyone who doesn’t look like you, stay in your lane. You simply don’t need to know. You lack the empathy gene—and that is information we need to know. In pirate terms, you are the person we watch closely when swords are handed out, because history suggests you’ll stab someone in the back.So go ahead. Self-identify.Ignore the culture. Remain blissfully clueless. No cookout invitations were coming anyway. You’ve missed nothing.But if you wander into my lane with lazy, antagonistic nonsense, I will block you. No explanation. No debate. You will simply find yourself gone.Let me say this clearly: do not play the few Black people who tolerate you with your performative curiosity. Do not ask questions designed to provoke eye-rolling. Do not demand emotional labor disguised as “learning.”Frankly, I assume half of these posts are bots engineered to raise my blood pressure. But just in case they aren’t—just in case a real person is typing these things—stay home. Stay in your zone. Keep your sheets on. Dust off the cone hats. We do not need you.Now, for those of us who are actually curious about culture: we read widely. We write widely. Yes, enslavement is a pervasive story—because colonization is a pervasive story. Across history, there has always been a dominant culture with better weapons and a willingness to exploit others for economic gain.Notice I did not say white people.Enslavement is humanity’s recurring sin.One of the most heartbreaking things I researched for Fire Sword and Sea was learning how French governors in the Caribbean actively stole poor French women from the streets of Paris—enslaving them and selling them as wives or brothel workers.Is it the same as chattel slavery? No.Could it be brutal? Absolutely.Accounts describe women shackled, thrown into the holds of ships, and transported across the ocean. Terror looks the same no matter who you are when you are chained below deck in a dark frigate.The Mughal Muslim empire enslaved infidels. Spanish, French, British, and Dutch colonizers enslaved Indigenous populations throughout Mexico, South America, and every island in the Caribbean. And in that same era, transatlantic slave trafficking—the most horrific form of generational enslavement—expanded and calcified. Power does what power does.Which is why books like Fire Sword and Sea matter. Not because they lecture, but because they show the choices, the complicity, the sisterhoods, the brutality, and the strange exhilaration of chaotic worlds that formed the foundations of the one we inhabit now. History is not clean. It is not simple. It exists to teach us how not to repeat our worst selves.But I cannot make you curious about a world you have decided you don’t want to understand.That choice is yours.So once again, as February arrives, do not make it your mission to post inflammatory nonsense. It’s Black History Month. Spare us. Spare me.Or meet the blocking season.This week’s booklist are books that center different facets of Black History:A Christmas to Remember— Beverly JenkinsA tender, contemporary based on a historic Black settled town of Henry Adams.The Personal Librarian — Marie Benedict & Victoria Christopher MurrayThe hidden true story of Belle da Costa Greene, a Black woman passing as white while shaping one of the most powerful libraries in the world.Black AF History — Michael HarriotA concise, accessible exploration of Black history that connects past struggles to present-day movements for justice.The Trial of Mrs. Rhinelander— Denny S. BryceA riveting historical novel about a Black woman passing as white whose marriage sparks a sensational 1920s court case that exposes America’s obsessions with race, class, and identity.People of Means — Nancy JohnsonA modern novel about class, ambition, and racial tension, following a Black woman navigating privilege, love, and betrayal in Chicago.Fire Sword and Sea — Vanessa RileyA sweeping historical novel that exposes pirates, sisterhood, and survival in the chaotic 17th-century (1600s) Caribbean.This week I’m highlighting The Book Cellar.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from The Book Cellar or from one of my partners in the fight<a target="_blank" href="https://vanessaril...
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Revenge, Regret, and a Lick
Jan 2700:12:07Tap to summarizeRevenge isn’t justice—it’s a dopamine hit with consequences.We love the fantasy of the lick back: the receipts, the public shaming, the Waiting to Exhale moment.But what happens after the fire dies out and you’re the one standing in the smoke? This essay asks an uncomfortable question: Is revenge power, or is it professional and spiritual suicide?Revenge, Regret, and a Lick Back I saw a viral clip from Oprah’s podcast about the science of revenge, and it mesmerized me. It’s a thought or a topic that I deal with when I write. Pro-tip: Real deep emotions that your characters embody resonate with readers.But back to Oprah.A woman in the podcast audience recounts a moment when she lost control. Consumed by suspicion, she triangulated her lover’s whereabouts using technology: combing through his laptop, pulling Uber receipts, matching dates to her calendar, and Googling addresses. The trail led straight to his ex-girlfriend. Proof in hand, she didn’t confront him quietly. She burned his clothes—Waiting to Exhale–style—posted flyers in the neighborhood with his photo stamped CHEATER, and I caught the vibe that maybe there was more she wouldn’t say on television.The anger was palatable. Right, in the United States, anger is rampant. We have more acts of government-sanctioned brutality and murder. Officials are lying. Some folks seeme outraged. Others are looking away, hoping for a reasonable explanation of murder. While the ones once told to be silent are questioning whether all lives really do matter.Back to Oprah again.Oprah responded with compassion and hard-earned wisdom. She admitted she’d had a similar moment in her twenties—and learned that instead of tracking someone down, sometimes the bravest act is to stop, to cool down, to get help, and to reclaim yourself before you do something that costs you far more than it costs them.Have you ever been there?So angry at how someone wronged you that you feel yourself tipping into something unrecognizable?I’ve written that moment. In Fire Sword and Sea, Jacquotte experiences a rage so pure and sharp it feels righteous. The pirate crew she serves is a meritocracy: everyone is equal as long as they do their job. But one pirate, eaten alive by jealousy, sabotages battle instructions and leaves the entire crew in mortal danger. I won’t spoil what happens—but terrible things follow.Jacquotte wants to kill him. Not metaphorically. She wants to drive her rapier through his heart, drag it up to his gullet and down into his gut. Based on what happens, her anger is justified. It’s righteous anger.And yet—she does nothing.She has to consider the crew. Her leadership. The sacrifices, she’s already made. The futures she fought for can be destroyed with one wrong move. In choosing restraint, something else breaks inside her. She almost loses her sanity.Revenge might have felt freeing, but it wouldn’t have solved the problem or undone the harm caused by one ignorant, jealous fool.James Kimmel Jr., author of The Science of Revenge, tells Oprah that revenge is a core emotion—an addictive one—that drives wars and conflicts. Or, as we say in the neighborhood: you can’t help but want to get your lick back.But revenge is often also professional suicide.Even when everything and a court of law is on your side, the world gets very small very fast. When word spreads about your clever act of vengeance, who will really trust you? You’re now the person who “crashed out.” Your stability and dependability are questioned. Team chemistry evaporates like smoke.I’ve had friends who didn’t care. For ten glorious minutes—right up until security escorted them out—they had their revenge.Before restraining orders are needed, I think we owe ourselves one hard question:Is it worth burning down your world just to set fire to theirs?The best villains say yes. But is that you? No? So, I’m advocating to turn the other cheek. Forgive. But I don’t know about that forgetting part. We’re not angels. We’re definitely not Christ. Forgetting that someone harmed you can put you right back in danger. They already stole your trust and your time—things you can’t get back.Yes, second-chance romances exist. But infidelity is a hard one to forgive, but so is belittling your dreams or gaslighting your pain. Refusing to admit wrongdoing while demanding your faith is wrong. When someone cannot acknowledge harm but insists they have your best interests at heart—that’s not a lesson to learn twice. That’s a situation to run from.So what is the ultimate revenge?Physical harm is wrong. Social harm is fleeting. The endorphin rush fades. The pain remains. And now you might also have a criminal record for trespassing. No thank you.At this stage of my life, I don’t actually want revenge.I want regret.I want a soul-stirring, chest-tightening, sleepless regret. I want them to know—deeply—that if they had only lived up to the values they preached, things could have been different. I want them to awake at night thinking about what could have been. I want my name to give them pause when it appears in lights.I wish them regret.I want people who believed themselves “the good guys”—the ones with liberal minds and Black friends—to reckon with how they’ve become tools of the state, how they uphold castes, patriarchy, and misogyny. I want them to rue how their misguided beliefs failed real people. I want them to remember every little lie, every weak excuse. I want them to sweat under the weight of their regrets.That is a better revenge than anything my small, angry mind could invent.No one torments the soul better than one’s own conscience.So no—I don’t want revenge.I wish my enemies regret.What about you? Do you need to get that lick back, or could you be satisfied with your own stellar success?As for me, in this house, that’s my choice. I’m pounding the pavement. I’m keeping my holy fire alive on the inside. I’m building a life so full—career, family, purpose—that those who discounted us, who cast us aside, who counted us out are stunned into silence. Maybe even repentance.To get there, I don’t have to destroy anyone. I have to succeed.I’m not wishing sickness or death or ruin on anybody. I’m wishing for my success to be so brilliant it can’t be ignored—and for the quiet, devastating realization that my hopes and dreams were the ones that got away.This week’s book list is about revenge:The Science of Revenge — James Kimmel Jr.A psychological and sociological examination of revenge as an addictive force that fuels conflict, cycles of violence, and self-destruction.Beloved — Toni MorrisonExplores how unresolved trauma and righteous anger haunt both the wronged and the wrongdoer long after the act itself.The Count of Monte Cristo — Alexandre DumasA masterclass in revenge as obsession, showing how total victory can still hollow out the soul.Their Eyes Were Watching God — Zora Neale HurstonA story of choosing self-fulfillment over vengeance, and how living well becomes its own quiet reckoning.Fire Sword and Sea — Vanessa RileyA meditation on righteous anger and restraint, where leadership demands sacrifice—and revenge costs more than blood. And it’s got pirates.This week I’m highlighting Mahogany Books.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Mahogany Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s keep everyone excited about Fire Sword and Sea.You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.Enjoying the essay? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.Special Event:On February 5 at 7:00 PM, I’ll be appearing virtually with libraries across the country as part of the Library Speakers Consortium, discussing Fire Sword and Sea.Check with your local library for access—and please join me. I’d love to see you there. This is a public episode. 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The Scars We Carry
Jan 2000:10:51Tap to summarizeBetrayal leaves no visible wound, only a hardened place in the heart—scabbed, protected, and difficult to penetrate. The question becomes, do we want to heal, or can we linger in hate and fire?Betrayal is one of the most disorienting experiences a person can endure. It does not arrive all at once; it sweeps through you in stages, much like grief. First comes shock, then self-doubt. Was I naïve? Was I fooled? Were there signs I ignored because I wanted to believe? You replay conversations, gestures, moments of connection, wondering which parts were real and which were carefully constructed illusions. There is a particular cruelty in realizing you were allowed—invited—into a false sense of security.What makes betrayal hurt the most is not just the deception, but the bond you believed you shared. Often, trust is built. Often values are mirrored: bonding on marginalization, feminism, activism, or other deeply held beliefs. You thought we saw the world the same way.And with this bond, one can say, I’m not alone, not alone in the mission, not alone in the place and time. Basically, I’m not alone or lonely anymore.Finding a like-minded person can feel like hope in an isolating world. And when that bond proves false, it shakes more than the relationship—it shakes your foundation, your sense of reality. You begin to question everything. What was authentic? What was performative? And inevitably, the most haunting question surfaces: If I can be misled, how do I trust again?This question lives at the heart of Fire Sword and Sea. Jacquotte Delahaye wrestles with trust at every stage of her life. As a cook in a tavern, she must decide who entering the building is safe, and who is not.When Jacquotte becomes a pirate, she’s surrounded by a crew whose survival depends on loyalty; that question becomes life-or-death. In love, it becomes even more perilous: who deserves her heart, and who should she flee from? We all recognize the trope of the “bad boy, bad girl”—and even then, there’s an understanding of risk.Hoping to expand our happiness, and unfortunately, to our detriment, we try. Then we fail, and every reason that seemed right masked all those wrong reasons.In Jacquotte’s story, betrayal cuts sharply when it comes from a friend, someone she would die for. The wound left behind is unforgettable. Her heart leans to be more guarded. As readers follow her journey, I wish for them to reflect on their own lives: and asking the tough questions:Where are they most vulnerable?Where does trust feel most fragile?How do they respond when someone they love or admire proves to be painfully human—or worse, willfully harmful?Recovery from betrayal is difficult, especially when it comes from someone you love. It hurts down deep when your admiration was for naught.Yet living with a grudge is harder. Holding on to ill will and being unable to forgive is terrible. These conditions are like living behind armor so heavy it prevents connection altogether. No one wants to become the person who’s constantly looking over their shoulder, questioning every kindness, every soft word. And yet, as a member of a marginalized community, I can say that this struggle is familiar. Betrayal is not theoretical; it is lived.President Reagan famously said, “Trust, but verify,” when referencing his mortal enemies. The word enemy implies intention, while mortal suggests an endgame. Jacquotte survives betrayal.Mostly.She carries with her a scar—a hardened scab over part of her heart.The scab is protective. It’s tender. Difficult to penetrate.One of the most personal and honest aspects of Jacquotte Delahaye’s character is how she navigates betrayal while balancing mercy, forgiveness, awareness, and pain. She is not idolized. She is real. A crew member betrays her profoundly, and yet she must decide how to move forward, because leadership demands clarity. If you are on her crew, she must be prepared to sacrifice everything for you.I’m not suggesting anyone make unwise sacrifices for those who’ve harmed them. Some acts are unforgivable.But we live in a moment that demands deeper conversations about accountability, justice, and grace. There’s a growing urge to harden our hearts—to refuse forgiveness entirely—especially when apologies arrive only after consequences. And yet, we must weigh these decisions carefully, as captains of our own ships.I do not claim to have the right answers. The Jacquotte I wrote doesn’t. She is flawed. She walks a delicate balance between forgiveness and holy anger.So I think about Jacquotte. As I went on a release week tour, she was on my heart. She lived an experience that left marks, taught her caution, and forced us to decide who she’d become in the aftermath.In life, the question is not whether we will be wounded, but when to choose healing—and what parts of ourselves we are willing to risk again.This week’s booklist:A book on recovering from betrayal:Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma by Peter A. Levine & Ann FrederickThis focuses on the body’s response to healing from psychological trauma and painful memories.Books centering betrayal in fiction:Gone Girl by Gillian FlynnA psychological thriller about marriage gone terribly wrong.A Little Life by Hanya YanagiharaExplores betrayal among friends and how certain ruptures change lives forever.Fire Sword and Sea by Vanessa Riley. This is a fast paced saga that illustrates betrayal and community.These are fictional accounts. We need good fiction to help us escape disappointments to learn to master forgiveness and fire.This week, I highlight Black Pearl Books. You guys are amazing. Thank you for the hospitality in Austin.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Black Pearl Books or fromone of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in hanging with me.Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s keep everyone excited about Fire Sword and Sea.You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.Enjoying the essay? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”Thank you for listening. 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
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Fire Sword and the Crime of Womanhood
Jan 1300:10:00Tap to summarizeBy the time you hear this, my twenty-ninth book will no longer be hidden, filtered, or quietly passed around behind publishing gates.It took two and a half years, a global history we were never taught, censorship, delays, stolen copies—yes, pirates—to bring this book into the world.Fire Sword and Sea is about women who refused to disappear, in a time when choosing your own life could get you exiled—or killed.And now, their story is yours.By the time you hear this, my twenty-ninth book will be live—released into the world, no longer hidden behind NetGalley or Edelweis or advanced reader copy structures.It took two and a half years of research, writing, revising, questioning myself, starting over, and fine-tuning every voice until each character could stand on their own feet and speak without apology. Fire Sword and Sea is now available everywhere books are sold—and, I hope, in your libraries. And if it’s not there yet, ask for it. Librarians listen.This book represents not just years of labor, but the weight of them—the questions I’ve been circling, the history I’ve been chasing, the fire I’ve been quietly tending while drumming up attention and conversations, wondering how the world would react when they finally got to see the finished product.And now, you can too.In Fire Sword and Sea, you’ll meet Jacquotte Delahaye—a Black woman of mixed heritage, French and African, who refuses to bend to authority that demands obedience. She wants freedom: the freedom to earn money and spend it as she chooses, the freedom to love whom she wants, not the man her father selects, or the love society deems “appropriate.” Jacquotte resists not because she is reckless, but because she understands that such rigid constructs for women have always been a cage.You’ll meet Bahati, a Black pirate of African descent, who resists every force that tries to dictate how she should labor, whom she should serve, and what she should endure. She chooses piracy not for glory, but for survival—for legacy. She wants a world where her nieces will never know poverty, never know enslavement, never have their lives narrowed by someone else’s greed.You’ll come to know Lizzôa, a spy in Petit-Goâve. If you have ever dreamed against the odds—if you’ve ever needed a guide who knows how to move quietly, how to gather information, how to turn whispers into strategy—Lizzôa is the person who will help you build what you were thought was impossible, what you were even told could never happen. Lizzôa doesn’t follow the orders of men or kings. No Lizzôa bends and reshapes everything with fire. Dreaming is living fire.And you’ll meet Sarah Sayon, a woman willing to do anything to escape a brutal relationship. Her resistance is not gentle. She uses fire to destroy evil and to cleanse the world that tried to break her.There are so many more on the crew in Fire Sword and Sea. You will find yourself and your role.This novel takes you back to a time to the 1600s, when women were given only two roles: wife or wench. Or as a friend said, a heaux or a housewife. This is the original respectability politics, where you fit in or were exiled or killed. Choice was a luxury that women were not meant to have.You may be thinking how can this be? My history books… Le Sigh. This was a time when the world had two true global powers—and they are not who you’ve been taught to expect. The gold belonged to Spain and to the Muslim Mughal Empire. That is why piracy was legal. Every European nation wanted what those empires possessed, and piracy became a sanctioned tool—a way to steal wealth while keeping hands clean and the crimes off your shores.Fire Sword and Sea is a muscular read.It’s a diverse read.It’s a powerful read.These stories and histories have been buried for far too long. With all that’s going one, reading about women who resisted, women who chose, women who refused to disappear quietly, is the book we need.And I’m taking this book on the road.I’ll be heading to Washington, D.C., Petersburg, Virginia, Severna Park, Maryland, St. Louis, Missouri, Austin, Texas, and several stops in Georgia, at Woodstock and Perimeter.Come out and join the tour. I would love to see you. I would love to talk with you about this book.We just kicked things off at the Gwinnett Library—and you readers and podcast listeners, you showed up. Registration sold out. The energy in that room was electric. My moderator, Jasmine Sinkfield, was amazing.And when you work this hard on a book—when you’ve shared many of the battles publicly, as I have—these moments matter.Fire Sword and Sea’s journey hasn’t been easy.There was censorship.Delays in shipping.Publishing slowdowns.Pirates stealing ARCs—yes, really. That happened.And a million other battles that drove me to my knees, again and again, in prayer.But we are here.I’m so excited for you to meet these women. To sit with their choices. To imagine what it meant, centuries ago, for women to resist when survival demanded it—when a better life required courage instead of permission.These women are phenomenal.And they chose their paths.Readers, podcast audience. The ability to choose shouldn’t belong only to pirates.May Fire Sword and Sea lead the way.This is release week for Fire Sword and Sea. She’s here, as of January 13th, 2026. Available where all books are sold. Get a copy and learn about Caribbean women pirates—That’s Black pirates, integrated crews, and tons of secrets. Read their truth. Get folks talking about this book.Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in this with me.Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s get everyone excited to read Fire Sword and Sea. And I hope that you will join me on the tour. I’d love to meet you.You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.Enjoying the vibe? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”Thank you for listening. 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
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