When I think of Christmas Time, the lilt of bells and the memories I associate with them flood my mind. A warmth grips me, hugging me tighter than my best spencer. To me, bells always sound happy, giving an ethereal lightness and glow to the heart of the hearer. I prefer the sounds of cast bells. Their song is richer and more full-bodied than their thin sheet-metal cousins.
England is steeped in both, and bell-ringing is a part of the culture and history. The tradition of casting English bells predates the Middle Ages. Today, two of her best bellfounders survive, Taylors of Loughborough (1400) and Mears and Stainbank of Croydon (1570).
Moreover, bells and bell-ringing played a role in Regency life. Bells rang to announce a church service. This service would be on Christmas Day as oppose to the Christmas Eve masses we are accustomed to.
I can imagine hearing the peal (the loud prolonged ringing) of St. George’s eight hemispherical bells tolling on the morn of December 25. Maybe the bell ringers would perform a change ringing where they would display a festive pattern of bell tolls. It wouldn’t be a familiar holiday tune but an exquisite series of tones set to a rhythm indicative of the ringers’ skills. Change ringing is still popular today, in England and around the world.
Church bells would also ring for weddings. Although, it would probably be unusual (in my opinion), I couldn’t find any prohibitions to having a Christmas Day wedding. If Christmas fell on a Sunday after the banns have been successfully read, what cleric would stop the couple and delay the ringing of another successful match?
Amidst the joy, bells of London could also possess a seamy side. They are said to have been rung at Bethlehem Hospital (Bedlam) announcing to gawkers to come stare at the mentally unstable patients. I would hope that Christmas Day would be spared, but not the whole of December.
Perhaps after leaving St. George’s, if I were walking toward a coffee shop, a Morris dancer (or a troupe of Morris dancers) would perform in front of me. The bells strapped below their knees would tinkle with each of their merry steps. The Morris dancer tradition dates back to 15th Century in England. Its earliest notations suggests it was a dance that both men and women could partake in, but at the time of the Regency, it was mostly a male endeavor.
Walking a little farther, I might hear bells strapped to a horse team or the ringing of bells on residences which have not installed a doorknocker. Those households wouldn’t have the advance warning of the importance of their visitor, as a footman’s successive knocks would detail, just the egalitarian jingle for all who darken their thresholds. Well, hopefully these homes are prepared for all coming to sup for Christmas dinner.
Trudging a little farther, I hear a dull peal, one laced with sorrow. Bells were also used to announce deaths. Continuing a tradition started in the Middle Ages, church bells were rung to drive away evil spirits from the departed souls. My heart breaks for anyone losing a loved one, particularly during a season meant for love of family and friends. My continued prayer is for the families of Newtown, Connecticut. Here at Regency Reflections/ChristianRegency.com our hearts are broken, too. The ringing of twenty-six bells are too many.
References:
RWA’s Beau Monde Chapter
Oxford’s City Branch of Church Bell Ringers
Central Council of Church Bell Ringers
Forrest, John. The History of Morris Dancing, 1483–1750. Cambridge: James Clarke & Co Ltd, 1999.
Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl LIX halftime performance during the game between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles has set the internet—and much of the world—abuzz. Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult is the most banned book in America for challenging the way people see the world. I’m sure those same folks will be coming for Kendrick’s thirteen minutes for challenging the way the world operates.
Less than a week later, scholars, pontificators and fools offered hot takes, deep dives, and debates about every minute of the performance. Those versed in Black scholarship loved it. Others criticized it. And, there were plenty of opinions and outright lies circulating. But here’s what’s undeniable: 133.5 million people watched the halftime show at Caesars Superdome, making it the most-watched in Super Bowl history. According to Roc Nation, Apple Music and the NFL, this number beats those who watched the Fox broadcast of the game which averaged 126 Million viewers. That 7.5 million more tuning into halftime than game time.
Context is King: History of the Halftime Show
Let’s talk about origins. The Super Bowl, the annual championship game of the NFL, has been played since 1967, with college marching bands providing halftime entertainment.
Grambling State University, a HBCU had its marching band perform at Super Bowl II (1968).
In 1972, the first halftime show featuring a Black performer, non-marching band member, was Ella Fitzgerald at Super Bowl VI in Miami where she sang Mack the Knife.
Super Bowl IX (1975) in New Orleans paid tribute to Duke Ellington with Grambling State’s Marching Band and the Mercer Ellington Orchestra.
When was the next Black moment? We have to skip a bunch of years to get to 1991, Super Bowl XXV where the incomparable Whitney Houston delivered a stirring rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner, but she wasn’t the halftime headliner—New Kids on the Block were. In 1993, Michael Jackson, the 1st Black performer to headline the halftime show dazzles the crowds at Super Bowl XXVII (27) and sets the standard for pop stars and the future of football’s biggest event. The King of Pop owned the stage and every moment of his performance. If 100,000 people had actually turned off their TVs like they claimed they did, Michael Jackson would still hold the record, with an audience of 133.4 million viewers.
Other notable performances featuring Black artists across the lengthy history of halftime shows include:
• Super Bowl XXII (22nd, 1988) – Chubby Checker appears with the Rockettes and 88 grand piano players.
• Super Bowl XXIX (29th, 1995) – Patti LaBelle & Teddy Pendergrass were featured along with Tony Bennett.
• Super Bowl XXX (30th, 1996) – Diana Ross dazzled in a red gown and even changed outfits mid-show.
• Super Bowl XXXI (31st, 1997) – A blend of James Brown appearing with ZZ Top and The Blues Brothers Band.
• Super Bowl XXXII (32nd, 1998) – A Motown tribute featured The Temptations, Smokey Robinson, Martha Reeves & The Vandellas, Queen Latifah, and Boyz II Men. Watching those young men of Boyz II Men sing about their mothers hits differently now, especially juxtaposed with Lamar’s solitary silhouette atop the GNX in New Orleans and his dancers, young men gathered under a street lamp.
• Super Bowl XXXIII (33rd, 1999) – Stevie Wonder joins Gloria Estefan and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.
• Super Bowl XXXIV (34th, 2000) – Toni Braxton is featured.
• Super Bowl XXXV (35th, 2001) – Featured Mary J. Blige and Nelly.
So, let’s be clear: Black performers at the Super Bowl are not new. Hip-hop and rap at the Super Bowl are not new. For those suddenly enraged—why weren’t you bothered during the 39 other years when Black artists weren’t featured or headlined? The selection process has always been based on merit—the most talented for the job, period. Right?
And with DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) now the new taboo, let me ask: Why do some get upset when things aren’t diverse—when people who look like them aren’t centered or given an extra slot or quota on stage? Do you want equity and inclusion or not?
Kendrick Lamar is highly qualified. He won the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music for his album DAMN. He’s a 27-time Grammy winner, and one cannot deny that his 2024 diss track, Not Like Us, has the world on fire. Please, show me someone with better credentials who’s willing to perform a 13-minute Super Bowl halftime show—for free.
Let’s Dive into the Performance
Lights flash. I see nine squares and glowing X’s and O’s. I wonder—are we about to get Tic-Tac-Toe or something else? In the background, a power bar, formed of stadium lights or drones, begins to load. I know we’re about to witness something special.
More lights flash. The bar is almost at 100%, and I sit on the edge of my seat, expecting a high level of storytelling artistry from Lamar. According to Britannica, art is a visual object or experience consciously created through an expression of skill or imagination—and right now, skill and imagination are exactly what we need.
In a flash, a “Start Here” sign and arrow appear, pointing to the lone figure on the hood of a Buick GNX. Kendrick Lamar, a young Black man, crouches on the car. The image evokes loneliness—it’s dramatic, and I’m locked in as the gleaming black Buick GNX (Grand National Experimental) transforms into a clown car, packed with dancers spilling out. So many exit the vehicle that I later learn the seating had to be removed to fit them all into that tight, cramped space—not unlike bodies crammed into the hulls of ships.
On Instagram, Lamar writes about authenticity: “In the moment of confusion, the best thing you can do is find a GNX. Make you realize the only thing that matters in life is that original paperwork. That TL2 code. 1 of 547.”
What does original paperwork mean when you’re the descendant of chattel slavery? Is it the slave ship’s manifest that documented the theft of ancestors? The bill of sale from massas in the States or Grand Blancs in the Caribbean, depending on where your roots were auctioned off? Or is it the manumission papers, declaring your freedom—bought at a price?
This leads me down another rabbit hole: authenticity—who is American and who is not? In a country that often forgets to be kind to the foreigner (Leviticus 19:33-34), or that it was founded by immigrants—many seeking religious freedom, a fresh economic start, or escape from oppression—this question cuts deep. It’s a scar that never fully heals.
Did you know that, in the past—like I wrote about in Island Queen—people with any tint to their skin have had to carry manumission papers or proof of their free status to avoid being accosted? Many around the nation feel this burden now. We’re still caught in this cycle because we’ve banned the books that teach history and empathy.
Back to Football—America’s Game
I highly recommend reading Moving the Chains: The Civil Rights Protest That Saved the Saints and Transformed New Orleans by Erin Grayson Sapp, which examines the 1965 AFL All-Star Game boycott, where players protested against racial discrimination in New Orleans.
Another must-read is Race and Football in America: The Life and Legacy of George Taliaferro by Dawn Knight, chronicling the journey of George Taliaferro, the first African American drafted by an NFL team, and the challenges he faced.
Red, White, & Blues of Uncle Sam
The visuals cut to Uncle Sam—portrayed by Academy Honorary Award winner Samuel L. Jackson. With a film career grossing over $27 billion worldwide, making him the highest-grossing actor of all time, Jackson embodies this iconic American figure. Some might be wondering, What in the DEI is going on with this Black version of a fictional Americana, but it soon becomes clear: Uncle Sam is here to keep Lamar in line.
Jackson plays Uncle Sam as Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s 1852 abolitionist novel, portrayed White men as morally bankrupt and Black individuals as either complicit in oppression or suffering under it. The book also depicted White women as the moral conscience of a system they benefited from, yet remained angelic through their Christian preaching. The novel ends with the enslaved Tom dying because he refuses to betray two Black women who have escaped. As he dies, he forgives his abusers.
The novel’s humane portrayal of enslaved people and its righteous female characters were said to have contributed to the start of the Civil War. Enraged Southerners banned the book. In the 1940s, Langston Hughes attempted to revive interest in it, but Richard Wright and James Baldwin criticized it, arguing that it promoted the image of an “Uncle Tom”—a Black person subservient to Whites or complicit in oppression.
In Lamar’s performance, Uncle Sam enforces the “party line” of American success. At times, he antagonizes Lamar, telling him, “You’re too loud, too reckless, too ghetto.” He dictates that since Lamar refuse to comply with the rules of the American game, he must be penalized: “Deduct one life.”
The death count is brutal—and so is American history, even without including the countless lives lost under enslavement:
• Fort Pillow Massacre (1864): Confederate soldiers slaughtered surrendering African American Federal troops stationed at Fort Pillow, Tennessee. Between 277 and 295 Union troops were killed.
• Memphis Massacre (1866): A White mob murdered 46 African Americans, most of whom were Union veterans.
• New Orleans Massacre (1866): A White mob killed 35 Black citizens and wounded 100 for peacefully gathering in support of a political meeting.
• Colfax Massacre (1873): A White militia massacred approximately 150 African American militia members who were attempting to surrender in Colfax, Louisiana.
• Wilmington Massacre (1898): A premeditated attack left 60 Black Americans dead as White supremacists sought to eliminate African American participation in government and permanently disenfranchise Black citizens.
• Atlanta Race Riot (1906): White mobs killed at least 12 African Americans and burned over 1,000 homes and businesses in Black neighborhoods.
• Springfield Race Riot (1908): The Illinois state militia was called to quell the chaos as a White mob shot innocent people, burned homes, looted stores, and mutilated and lynched Black residents.
• Chicago Race Riot (1919): The “Red Summer” began when a Black youth was stoned to death for swimming in an area reserved for Whites. Over 13 days of lawlessness, 23 African Americans were killed, 537 were injured, and 1,000 Black families were left homeless.
• Ocoee Massacre (1920): A massacre of Black residents in Ocoee, Florida, left approximately 30 dead.
• Tulsa Race Massacre (1921): Tulsa’s prosperous Black neighborhood of Greenwood, known as Black Wall Street, was destroyed—1,400 homes and businesses burned, nearly 10,000 people left homeless. Vanessa Miller’s The Filling Station is a poignant portrayal of the massacre and the resilient rebuilding that followed.
The sacrifice of Black lives makes Lamar’s imagery of tangled bodies forming the flag raw. It hit me in the pit of my stomach. I live knowing that the sacrifices and body counts will continue to rise, forming trending hashtags: #BreonnaTaylor #AhmaudArbery #TamirRice #TrayvonMartin #GeorgeFloyd
The Movement of Dancers
The visuals of Black dancers dressed in red, white, and blue moving around what is now clearly the game receiver mirror how many of us are on the X button—saying yes to conforming, to getting along, to advancing, to avoiding having our dreams burned up by a jealous or misinformed mob. When the dancers near the circle stage—the reject button—they enter a staircase that leads to a slope, which brings them back to where they started. Is that a metaphor suggesting we are better off right where we began before chasing conformance?
The Most Misunderstood Part: Serena Williams
Serena Williams, who once dated Drake, danced the Crip Walk on stage. Distraught commentators ground their teeth, calling it disrespectful for a forty-year-old mother to be dancing on the figurative grave of her ex.
The caucasity of this is the belief that this exhibition was about a man or a former relationship. Serena Williams is not just some “baby mother.” She was ranked No. 1 in the world in women’s singles by the Women’s Tennis Association (WTA) for 319 weeks—the third-most of all time. Williams has won 73 WTA Tour-level singles titles, including 23 major women’s singles titles. She is the only player to accomplish a career Golden Slam in both singles and doubles.
The Crip Walk is a celebration, notably adopted by her folks from her city of Compton, and it symbolizes the alliance of California street gangs, the Crips— as in Crips vs. Bloods. No, Serena is not part of a gang. But like the dance’s founder, Henry Crip—a Harlem dance legend who lost an arm and a leg in a car accident—she celebrates moving forward and achieving. Williams first did the Crip Walk in 2012 at Wimbledon, eliciting massive backlash for celebrating a huge win—for the girl from Compton.
Seeing her dance freely, hair flowing, I think of the Tignon Laws of New Orleans, which I mentioned in my podcast Consent in the Time When a Black Woman Can Say No, and the long history of policing Black women’s bodies. In Serena, I saw joy and celebration. If I am to think of Drake at all—a man who has used Serena’s name in diss songs—I see freedom from a toxic relationship. That’s cathartic.
Ok, Now the Hotep Or Too Deep to be Real Take
Lamar does say he is a stargazer, so maybe the 16 stars on Uncle Sam’s jacket resemble the Little Dipper. if I squint, I can see it. But the talk online about the design representing the 16 free states—states that prohibited slavery between 1850 and 1858—seems like a stretch. These arbitrary dates are supposedly tied to U.S. naval activities interrupting the slave trade.
I’m not buying this. The U.S. Navy’s role against stopping transport began in 1820 when warships deployed off West Africa tried to catch American slave ships, but enforcement was sporadic until the Navy deployed a permanent African Squadron in 1842. Last time I checked, 1850 and 1842 are different years. A rounding error won’t make them the same.
By 1858, there were 32 states in the Union, including Minnesota, which was admitted on May 11, 1858. California was the 31st state, admitted on September 9, 1850. If I count the list of free states—states that prohibited slavery—I get 17:
1. Pennsylvania – December 12, 1787
2. New Jersey – December 18, 1787
3. Connecticut – January 9, 1788
4. Massachusetts – February 6, 1788
5. New Hampshire – June 21, 1788
6. New York – July 26, 1788
7. Rhode Island – May 29, 1790
8. Vermont – March 4, 1791
9. Ohio – March 1, 1803
10. Indiana – December 11, 1816
11. Illinois – December 3, 1818
12. Maine – March 15, 1820
13. Michigan – January 26, 1837
14. Iowa – December 28, 1846
15. Wisconsin – May 29, 1848
16. California – September 9, 1850
17. Minnesota – May 11, 1858
So the math and the facts aren’t jiving. Kendrick Lamar is very precise in his lyrics. An arbitrary number or pattern doesn’t seem to be his M.O. I could stretch and say he mentions losing 16 friends in his song “wacced out murals,” but then I’m just spitballing.
Not everything has a direct meaning, but that’s the beauty of art—it can mean many different things to different people. Kendrick Lamar and his performance is art and it should be applauded for making us all stop and think.
Ending the American Game
As the last notes of “Not Like Us” finishes, Lamar and company launch into “TV Off.” When he finishes the rap, he holds up a virtual remote, turns it off, and forces the stage to go dark. In lights, we see the sign: Game Over. Does he mean the American game is over because we refuse to learn from the past or that he’s stop playing the game? Lights out—Is that symbolic of a Revolution being televised until it’s not? Is the American Game going to stop feeding on Black life, Black culture, and Black breath? What happens if every American, turns off the TV, the cellphone, social media, etc. and stops playing the game?
America is founded with the God-given right to have differences of opinions. Of being able to choose your path, to dream the biggest dreams, and to make them happen—on or off the field. Whether we play the game or not, movement, not standing still, is how we inch forward toward the goal posts. It’s how we will awaken and form a more perfect union.
Images are screenshots of ROC Nation and Apple Music feeds.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
For the women who burn it all down, find beauty in ashes.
For the dreamers left behind—keep sailing.”
That is the dedication of Fire Sword and Sea. Four lines that came to me as a battle cry. It’s a reminder that womanhood, especially when tied to leadership, has never been a straight line. It bends, curves, breaks, and rebuilds. It demands courage. It requires clarity. And sometimes, it lusts for fire.
Recently, a friend—someone who does not read much historical fiction—got an early look at Fire Sword and Sea. She’s a reader of self-help, of business strategy, of the occasional thriller you can sneak into her hands. But she said something that stopped me cold:
“Vanessa, you wrote a book about leadership—about women’s leadership.”
At first, I blinked. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Yes, my heroine Jacquotte Delahaye is a pirate captain. And yes, pirate captains are leaders by definition. But what my friend saw was something deeper—something I wasn’t consciously aiming for but had apparently woven into every scene, every strike of a sword.
On a pirate ship in the 1600s, leadership wasn’t inherited; it was earned. Pirate vessels operated like meritocracies—any race, any nationality could join, as long as they could pull their weight. Jacquotte rises the only way a woman in that era could: in disguise. Hidden behind lies, she relies on her skill with a rapier, her mastery of the sea, her stamina and grit, and her ability to steer a stolen ship through storms both literal and moral.
Pirates didn’t buy their ships. They took them. And Jacquotte climbs the ladder of command one impossible task at a time.
Through Fire Sword and Sea, we see her rise, her missteps, her victories, her bruises—physical and spiritual. And that, my friend said, is leadership.
But leadership—especially women’s leadership—is a complicated beast.
We often talk about the women who lead in boardrooms, in startups, in medicine, in politics. But historically—and even now—women occupy the caregiver role by default. According to the report released in March by US Healthcare Workforce, 87 percent of nurses are women. The Bureau of Labor Statistics says 80 percent of healthcare workers are women. We are the hospice nurses, the physician assistants, the physical therapists. The ones tending to the young, the old, the fading, the forgotten. And in the 1600s, this was even more pronounced. Before physicians, there were women who gathered herbs, mixed tinctures, whispered prayers, held hands, and ushered people into life and into death and sometimes back again.
To lead, sometimes that caregiving must be set aside. And that choice weighs heavy on nurturers.
Then there is modernity:
How does being a mother affect leadership?
How does being a wife?
How does being the one expected to build the home, nurture the family, care for the elders and in-laws?
I remember climbing the corporate ladder and watching women I admired—women who mentored me—delay motherhood until the last biologically viable second. One of my favorite bosses, a brilliant Irish PhD in physics, once had suits tailored specifically to hide her pregnancy. Because at that time, maternity leave and career advancement could not coexist in the same equation.
This is the landscape women navigate. A landscape Jacquotte would have known in a different form, in a different century—but it’s still hauntingly familiar.
My friend, though, wanted to talk about the dedication.
For the women who do right.
For the women who do wrong for the right reasons.
Because in leadership, there is always a moment—a crossroads—when doing the right thing may mean becoming complicit in something that isn’t right. Sometimes survival demands choices you would never make in a perfect world.
We see the consequences of hubris and hard choices in our real world today. Not to get too political, but right now there is a crisis in the Caribbean that breaks my heart. U.S. forces have fired on fishing vessels, claiming they carried drugs. But no proof has been given. Witness accounts suggest at least one boat was attacked without cause, leaving two people clinging for life. It seems a second strike was orders to kill defenseless victims.
If drugs were aboard, they now sit at the bottom of the sea—destroyed by the same guns that struck the fishermen. This needless killing violates the Geneva Convention, the rules of war and basic humanity.
And now investigations must happen to see how leadership failed and who was complicit in illegal orders. It is a horrible situation when the people in all levels of the chain of command fail. It’s horrid, that those below followed orders that were illegal. Leadership—good or bad—always has accomplices.
And that is part of the burden.
In Fire Sword and Sea, Jacquotte and her crew face their own moral storms. In the 1600s, the “currency” of the seas was not just gold or silver. It was people. African people. A horrid truth I confronted in my research was located in merchant records.
I saw 17 guinea for a pewter bowl.
At first, I thought they meant the coin minted for King Charles II with gold from the country Guinea. But the coin of popularity in the Caribbean. The Spanish silver pieces of eight were. It was upon further digging that these records were referring to people. Everyone from Africa are commonly called Guinea in the 1600s.
So a pewter vessel was valued at seventeen Guinea. Seventeen human lives.
Imagine a world where a pewter bowl was worth more than a child.
So yes—Fire Sword and Sea has action and saga and mystery. But beneath the adventure, it wrestles with leadership, complicity, survival, and the cost of chasing freedom in a world built on stolen bodies.
This book asks questions:
What does it take to lead?
What is the price of doing the right thing?
What happens when you must choose between your principles and your people?
And how do women—across eras—navigate these impossible intersections of duty, ambition, and care?
I cannot wait to have deeper conversations with you about these choices and about leadership.
And so I return to Fire Sword and Sea’s dedication:
For the women who do right.
For the women who do wrong for the right reasons.
For the women who burn it all down, find beauty in ashes.
For the dreamers left behind—keep sailing.”
Books to get us diving deeper into leadership are:
A reflective nonfiction exploration of feminism, aging, ambition, and the fight for autonomy across a lifetime.
Take Care of Them Like My Own — Dr. Ala Stanford: A powerful memoir of a Black woman surgeon who turned grief, racism, and systemic neglect into a movement that vaccinated and cared for thousands during COVID‑19. Soror Ala is running for congress to lead the 3rd congressional district of Philadelphia.
A bold, haunting retelling that gives Medusa her voice back, revealing the girl behind the myth and exploring power, wrath, injustice, and the cost of becoming the monster the world insists you are.
A sweeping tale of ambition, generational power, and the women who shape empires from the shadows, exploring the sacrifices, strategies, and emotional costs of building—and defending—a legacy.
We are six weeks away from the release of course Fire Sword and Sea on January 13th, 2026. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. Review this novel in Edelweiss and NetGalley. Vote for it on Goodreads. Help me get folks talking about this novel.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Baldwin and Company or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers. Let’s get everyone excited for truth.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Don’t let this be a one-time thing—like, share, and subscribe to join the growing family at Write of Passage. Welcome aboard this ship. I heart you.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
Tories, Whigs, Foxite-Whigs, oh my. What shall become of us, Lord?
The government is not stable, barely lasting two years. My fears of invasion, a total loss of the country I know and love, fills my heart.
How can Providence allow such upheavals?
Why change from Pitt, to Grenville, to Portland? Is the title of Prime Minister difficult to hold?
I know I am just a woman. I should contend myself to my needlework. Surely, there are enough ribbons to be added to little Mary’s gown to make my mind numb to fear.
Yet, how can I even think of my girl coming of age in times like these. My heart aches at seeing her cast into this society where dissension reigns. She cannot be a war bride. No! Not her.
My thumb has turned painful. I yank the needle freeing it from the swelling flesh. I’ve pricked finger and stained the satin hem.
Is this coursing of rouge a sign to come? Don’t our enemies in France lay in wait for our weakness? This turmoil is the proper time to strike.
I dispatch my maid for fresh muslin. I will not ruin anymore ribbons with my wringing of hands. Doubt will not save my country.
As I swaddle my hands in the soft cloth, my palms meet. A peace settles on my shoulders. The churning of my stomach quiets. I remember Your words.
Romans 13:1-4
1 Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.
2 Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.
3 For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same:
4 For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.
So Pitt, Grenville and now Portland… You ordained them to be Prime Minister, in such a time as these?
I slump in my chair. The very thought of this contention being God’s will disheartens me. Yet, the soft words of the passage sing in my soul.
Romans 13:5-7
5 Wherefore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake.
6 For this cause pay ye tribute also: for they are God’s ministers, attending continually upon this very thing.
7 Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honour to whom honour.
Now my heart is pricked. For I have not given tribute to the governing, just gossip and trepidation. I repent of that Lord. I uncover my hands, slapping flesh to flesh, and pay tribute. I pray for Providence’s guidance and mercy to fall upon my leaders. It is the best offering I can render.
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
The gift of hospitality shouldn’t be dead. But if I’m honest, I think in certain parts of the country, and in certain circles I’ve moved through, it might be on life-support. I’ve watched people forget how to say welcome to strangers.
I’ve seen other seem oblivious to making room at the table for others. This weekend while I was at Barnes and Nobles, I was handed an orange whistle and given instructions on how to blow it if I see an abduction happening. Because elections have consequences, brown people are not being treated with hospitality. They are literally under assault for being brown.
I want off this Ferris wheel of bad karma. I want humans to act with generosity instead of suspicion. I want the world I write about, the happy ever after, the place where victory comes for those who persevere.
You see, I am my mother’s daughter.I was raised in the gospel of killing them with kindness—and if you’re still hatefully breathing, I might go in for another round. If you’ve read any of my Lady Worthing mysteries, you know I believe in Columbo-type persistent. And in Jessica Fletcher style, I will stack a body count and keep digging until I find the truth. Determination is my love language. Stubbornness is too.
So when I run head-first into metaphorical walls—and Lord, have I met a few this year—it isn’t easy to step back and consider quitting.
While it’s natural for me to reflect on what I “might’ve, should’ve, could’ve” done differently, that level of introspection doesn’t just come with right and wrong. It adds farces and facts. Am I supposed to say the truth in a softer voice? Am I to ignore facts and write euphemisms like we don’t know that colonizers like Columbus came to kill and steal?
I suppose it would be easier to forget that pirates in the 1600s were Black women, that ships didn’t have an integrated crew, all while sailing with a cargo hold of chattel slaves.
Ooops. A company with a $65 Billion dollar market cap instructed me to say a cargo hold of chattel imprisonment.
Le Sigh.
And then we arrive at my favorite time of year: Thanksgiving, the holiday my mother owned. She held it close to her heart like the pride of a champion athlete. Forget the World Series or the Boston Marathon—Thanksgiving was her event. She trained for it all year. She curated pumpkin ornaments and gleaming charger plates in reds and deep oranges. She laid out gravy boats and soup tureens like treasured relics. And I fought—fiercely—to inherit the Fitz and Floyd pig that keeps the yeast rolls warm. Not just because it’s pretty, but because it symbolizes everything, she taught me: family gathering, long hours in the kitchen, bending over backward to make others feel warm and welcomed and in life pigs are allowed to be pretty.
Hospitality was one of my mother’s greatest legacies.I hope—truly hope—that I embody even a portion of that in my life and work. But I won’t lie: this year it has been hard.
Hard to be hospitable.
Hard to turn the other cheek when the other side of the equation seems intent on destruction.
Hard to smile when some would prefer you feel small, insignificant, or silenced.
Hard to create when your work is dismissed as nothing or there have been too many Caribbean books.
On social media, I may laugh and joke. I may sing polite praises of my enemies—and those who I no longer esteem as highly as I once did. There are exceptions, of course. And y’all know exactly who they are—65 Billion dollar company. But I digress.
In a few days, it will be Thanksgiving.And I am giving thanks.
I am thankful for my family.I am thankful for my friends.I am thankful for my colleagues—past and present.And I am deeply thankful for you, my listeners and my readers.
Without you, I wouldn’t have the hope I carry for the coming year.Without you, there would be no Write of Passage or stories reaching new tables.
No late-night messages about characters who’ve haunted me until I shared their story.
No shared laughter over inside jokes you’ve begun to catch—because you know me. And I love getting to know you.
Thank you for the letters, the comments.Thank you for the likes, the shares, and every conversation you sparked.Thank you for recommending this podcast, or my latest books Fire Sword and Sea, or old favorites like Island Queen or A Duke, the Lady, and A Baby. Your hospitality—your generosity—has lifted the low moments and made the high ones shine even brighter.
So as we gather around our Thanksgiving tables, I want you to know that I’m grateful for you. I’m hopeful for the new year—hopeful for the clearing away of old spaces, the opening of new ones. I am happy about the tables I sit at and the ones I walk away from with peace.
I am thankful for the power to know who I am.And the courage to become who I want to be.
I write about characters who make that choice every day—who decide, despite their flaws and wounds and circumstances, to grow into the person they long to become. My wish for you, for everyone within the sound of my voice, and for every reader who picks up one of my books is simple:
May you live your greatest adventure.May you become who you were always meant to be.And may that parent, that person who loved you so deeply—whether sitting across the Thanksgiving table or watching from above—look at you and see their brightest legacy shining.
This week’s books to reflect upon are:
Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara A powerful, modern meditation on the radical generosity that transforms people.
For a taste of fiction, food and healing, check out Bitter and Sweet by Christy Award winner Rhonda McKnight.
I can’t believe we are less than seven weeks away from the release of course Fire Sword and Sea on January 13th, 2026. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. If you’re a librarian, vote for this book now in Library Reads in Edelweiss and NetGalley. Indie Next is voting now too. Time is almost up.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from FoxTale or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
Come on my readers. Let’s get everyone excited for truth.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
If you’re on board, press that like button, subscribe, and share Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. And I need You.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
Do you have room in your heart for anything else? A new job to help with the bills, a fundraiser to feed the starving children, a sale at your favorite crowded shoe store.
Have you stacked your life with carpooling, lil’ Ellen’s ballet classes, and you’re-the-only-one-who-can ministry work, making a buck, oh and quality hubby time between 7:00 and 10:00 on Saturdays, that you’ve lost the meaning of having quality devotion?
I have.
This year seemed to be one in which many things had finally come to fruition: My novel, Madeline’s Protector is being published. My hubby stopped being deployed, at least for a little while. My firm just signed its biggest client.
Then reality came a knocking.
Revisions and more revisions to my master piece. (All the edits, including cuts were for the best.) So, now hubby wants me to go to bed at a decent hour. Doesn’t he know inspiration hits at 1:00 A.M. My client believes that they should be my only obligation. It get’s better. Their offices are an hour from my home, and they want this homeschooling principle partner to be onsite early in the morning, three days each week. I won’t mention their lack of understanding of how long something takes to develop and deploy software.
So I adjusted, code for reducing my devotion time and being less present with my family. Surely, they won’t mind. I began dropping off/out of my net circles. There was no time to twitter or follow cherished loop threads. Thus, when I needed spiritual refreshment, I pushed away from God and those needed friends offering words of encouragement.
Yet, as I seek to get handle on this new normal, tragedy strikes. My younger brother is prepped for open heart surgery in Florida. He lives in Georgia near the rest of the immediate kin. He just visited a client when he started experiencing chest pains. With a torn Aorta, the odds of his survival were less than 25%. The doctor told him without the surgery, he’d die in less than two days.
All the cards of my life fell off the table. My hands trembled, and I choked backed tears as I tried to convince our mother that everything was going to be fine. I don’t remember what I said or did next, except speeding away from my ‘not-understanding’ client. I have flashes of begging Delta to let me an oversold flight to be at his side when he comes out of the five hour surgery.
While I waited for positive signs of recovery, him waking up, etc., I slept on a hospital couch. My 16th anniversary passed with just phone calls. My child’s upcoming birthday party went unplanned. Nonetheless, my client learned to survive. My book galley edits… Well, I’m thankful for the editing team.
The only positive, other than seeing Marc open his eyes and squeeze my hand, was finding time to increase my prayer time. After crying out to God for days on end, I regained that sense of connection. I never felt His arms about me more.
Why must it take near tragedy to begin to re-prioritize? I know that others have even more on their plates. I can’t imagine the depths of the burdens each of you have weighing on your lives, the important demands nipping at your heels. All I know, is that you must run and fall at His feet, collapse your weight into God’s warm embrace.
Sleeping in the meat-locker cold air in the hospital, sniffing the wonderful bleach-laced alcohol scents in the air, gave me the opportunity to see my life, how much I’d isolated myself from friends and family with the myriad of pursuits I’d packed into my life.
First, I must apologize to my friends and family. I’ve been on the edges of your lives, only dipping my head and nodding to appear as if I’m present and involved. Every second that we breathe is precious. Every moment has worth, not just the accolades or project deliverables.
I repent for all “my busy time.” God made us to enjoy a Sabbath, every seven days. I’ve made it into a seven-day work week. How can I give my best to my clients or to hubby and my lil’ girl, if my batteries are never recharged?
I need to say no. You can’t serve two masters or promise to deliver something that is not humanly possible.We all want to be the good guy, the go-to girl. I am going to have to find joy in slacking. Miss Eager Beaver is now going to be, Mrs. let-me-check-my calendar. It won’t be easy. Maybe there’s a 12 step program for saying no.
Lastly, no matter how “important” some deadlines or tasks seem, it will never be more important than finding time to commune with the Lord. He is the lifter of my head when all seems lost. He is the city on hill giving guidance to those stuck in the valley. I don’t ever want to have my heart so full, that I push God and dependence upon him out of the ventricles.
My brother is now recovering at home in Georgia. He’s a walking miracle. God has used this circumstance for all our good.
Merriam-Webster defines dissatisfaction simply as “a lack of satisfaction.” And yes—that’s accurate. But if you look a little deeper, you’ll find another definition, a lack of contentment, a restless aspiration.
Aspire means to breathe in or out, to draw something toward you or release something from within. So dissatisfaction becomes this restless desire to pull something in or push something out—and that restlessness can freeze you in place.
In the writing world, dissatisfaction usually means that I’m staring at the words on the page, and they’re not capturing the story I know I’m supposed to be telling. Something has failed. And now I must go back, line by line, analyzing the bones of the narrative and examine every part of the story structure.
And for my new writers out there, yes a story or novel should have structure, a framework that keeps the momentum and holds the theme together.
In this analysis, I look at each main character—and often the minor ones too. I check their goals. I review their belief systems. I trace the web of their relationships: who cares for whom, who fears them, who hates whom, and who is silently holding the line of loyalty. All of these connections form the living body of the world I’m creating.
And then there is the lie. Every character has one—the bit of disinformation they inherited or bought into, the wound that warped their worldview. It’s the thing they must confront and be healed of. If that lie isn’t strong enough, or the character has drifted too far from it, the story loses its heartbeat. In my process, that’s when the words feel stuck. I struggle with word count. And I must figure out why.
That’s Vanessa’s writing world.
But in the real world, dissatisfaction hits differently. When I feel that restless ache, I have to look at the characters I’m connected to—the real-life individuals doing life with me or choosing to let me do life with them. How are we connected? Are we missing something? Are there obvious signs of hurt or neglect we haven’t addressed?
Or is it the circumstances we’re all tangled in that’s causing problems?
Let’s be honest: the world is heavy right now. Yes, the government may be back to work, but people are still waiting to be reimbursed for the days they’ve labored without pay. Folks who need food assistance are facing real disruptions. And Thanksgiving is approaching—a time when people gather to share a meal, which becomes complicated if there are fractures sitting around the table. It’s hard to taste turkey if you’ve still got beef with somebody sitting across from you.
And yes, Thanksgiving is about turkey. But if you’re carrying beef, that’s another heavy protein to digest.
The truth is, if we don’t figure out why we are dissatisfied, it will take root. It will grow into bitterness—and bitterness is a treacherous ground to stand upon.
Bitterness wedges itself into the cracks of your soul, sets up spikes, and ensures that every movement hurts. Bitterness requires a sweet form of medicine or self-care to heal—or it spreads. Bitterness touches everything you make, everything you attempt, and everyone you care about.
Thanksgiving is my holiday. I inherited it from my mother. It’s a big deal for me. If you follow me on social media, you’ll start seeing the sample menus, the tablescapes, the design choices—all the details I pour myself into. It’s part of my self-care—the joy of gathering: the beauty and connection of family and friends around my table.
But as much as we gather, we all must admit the truth: Covid changed us. Elections bruised us. Hardness, fear, and callousness ruined how we move through the world.
As we head toward 2026, I believe it’s time to turn a new leaf. To be better than we were in 2025. The first step is breaking up the bitter ground and letting healing in.
So here are my steps to stop being bitter:
1. Admit you’re bitter. Say it outright. Bitterness can’t heal if you pretend it isn’t there.
2. Identify the source. What is making you bitter? Name it so you can face it.
3. Avoid the triggers. Just say no to people and actions that put you back into that headspace of vulnerability. And if you can’t avoid them, minimize them. If you can’t minimize them, prepare for them. Pray. You never know when they just might miss a flight.
4. Give up waiting for the apology. This is the hardest one.We hold on to bitterness because we want that moment—where the foul person, falls upon bended knees and says I was so wrong. In romance books, we wait for the grovel: the moment when the hero finally admits how deeply they messed up. And yes, that moment is sweet. But in real life? If you get it at all, it’s a gift. And this moment is not a guarantee, that the beef won’t happen again. Your life must continue either way. Your goals must continue. Your growth must continue.You cannot pause your wholeness on hold waiting for someone else to gain revelation.
And let me be clear: forgiving and moving on does not mean continuing in the harmful cycles. It means releasing the chain around your own ankle. If someone has shown you who they are, you don’t need further confirmation. You don’t need to go back to the well, testing the water again and again.
Vanessa, you are so mature. At my big age of 21+, no I am not. Do I feel trifling sometimes? Absolutely. Do I want to complain the whole way through of releasing bitterness? Yes. But staying in that cycle only deepens the pain. And when I stay connected to that system, the person, or the circumstance, it will hurt me again. I refuse to let it continue to win.
It’s better for me and my soul to forgive and move on.
In Fire Sword and Sea, Jacquotte Delahaye has every reason to be bitter. Life delivers blow after blow to this young woman’s life. But the evidence of that life—her legend, her accomplishments—tells me she never stayed stuck. She didn’t wait for an apology. She picked up a sword. She fought her way to the next moment, the next rung on the ladder, until she became a pirate captain. And she brought her crew—her chosen people—along with her.
If you read Fire Sword and Sea and take away nothing else, take this:Success, particularly shared success, is the way to defeat bitterness.
And for Jacquotte’s example, I am not bitter at all:
This week’s books to reflect upon are:
All About Love by bell hooksA profound meditation on how love—of self, community, and truth—becomes the antidote to bitterness and disconnection.
The Beautiful Struggle by Ta-Nehisi CoatesA lyrical coming-of-age memoir about healing, survival, family, and forging meaning from difficulty.
The Body Is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee TaylorInvites readers to embrace radical self-love as a path out of resentment, trauma, and social conditioning.
Rest Is Resistance by Tricia HerseyA manifesto urging us to reject grind culture and reconnect with rest, healing, and humanity.
And of course Fire Sword and Sea by Vanessa Riley. Caribbean women pirates—Black women pirates join French and Indigenous women to sail the seas. Fire Sword and Sea releases January 13th, 2026. If you’re a librarian, vote for this book now in Library Reads in Edelweiss and NetGalley. Indie Next is voting now too.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from Book People or one of my partners in the fight, bookstore’s large and small who are in this with me.
We are less two months away the January 13th release. Come on my crew. Let’s get excited.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
If you’re on board my ship, press that like button, subscribe and share Write of Passage. Never miss a moment. We have work to do. And I need You.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
Hey fearless listeners. We’ve made it to another week. That accomplishment isn’t something I take lightly. Times feel perilous. Worries are rampant. I’ve had more conversations where I’ve been talked off the ledge—or where I’ve held up safety nets for others.
But let’s congratulate ourselves. We’ve made it through the fire. California has literally done that, with most of the wildfires now 100% contained. Let me repeat this: We will get through hard times. My faith is strong, my friendships are firm. I believe in doing life with us, helping each other along the way.
Subscribe for free. Get Vanessa’s take on current events, publishing drawing from her journey as an indie author turned traditionally published powerhouse: 25 novels and counting.
As your historically inclined friend, I thought deeply about writers and writing friendships this week. As a writer, I love studying other writers. I look for habits to incorporate or styles to dissect and admire. There is so much that can be learned from reading and studying the craft of other. While there’s nothing new under the sun, some writers have found ways to capture its light and change the world by focusing its heat and power back on to the earth—our neighborhoods, communities, countries—even for just a mere moment.
I draw a lot on images. In my own writing, I want you to feel like you’re in the room where it happens. In Sister Mother Warrior, I make you the warrior Gran Toya, sitting at the table where the boy she raised, Jean Jacques Dessalines converses with the commander of the armed forces, Toussaint L’Overture. They speak about strategies to prosecute the war, and I spend time on the tastes of the foods on the table from broth and its caramelized bits to the roasted pheasant with mushrooms. If this scene were painted or dared to be shown on screen, you should catch the meticulous details and comforts of where they’re sitting, the posturing, even the fumbling of fingers along the buttons of a waistcoat that has crowns or birds or women painted upon them.
Images tell us so much. They are testament to what has been and what could be. Remembering photos of writer friendships like Ralph Ellison (Invisible Man) & Albert Murray (The Omni-Americans) and noting the dapper and different styles of dress. Or photos of James Baldwin & Langston Hughes taking in jazz or supporting a civil rights march—all our precious moments. So for this week’s essay, I went down a rabbit hole searching for images of female writer friendships.
Ralph Ellison, Langston Huges, and James Baldwin
Source: Instagram: @neicyreedus
I started with the Brontë Sisters—Charlotte (1816–1855), Emily (1818–1848), and Anne (1820–1849). These literary powerhouses from Yorkshire, England, originally published under male pseudonyms, but their female forward works—Charlotte’s Jane Eyre, Emily’s Wuthering Heights, and Anne’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall became classics of English literature. I found myself looking at a painting of the sisters created in 1843 by their brother, Branwell Brontë. He originally painted himself into the portrait but seeing the sunshine, their luminous faces, he painted out his own image, leaving behind a ghostly outline.
Brontë Sisters—Charlotte (1816–1855), Emily (1818–1848), and Anne (1820–1849). Source: Wiki Commons.
Can you imagine Branwell’s humility and protective nature of his sisters and their genius. The portrait now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in London for all to see.
From there, I dove into Sylvia Plath (1932–1963) and Anne Sexton (1928–1974). The two revolutionized confessional poetry, tackling themes of mental illness, feminism, and personal suffering. They often attended poetry workshops and lectures together, but I couldn’t find any pictures of them side by side. They may exist, but what if they don’t. What does that mean to have a friendship so secretive and private? To not celebrate the unity publicly—what does that say about feminine unity?
In contrast, I did find images of Anne Sexton and poet Maxine Kumin.
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
As we settle in to enjoy Labor Day, I began to think of what the Regency times would think of such a holiday, a day off to celebrate the working man. In fact, they did have a day to celebrate not working. In fact, they did so every week, on the Sabbath.
Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your ox, nor your donkey, nor any of your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates, that your male servant and your female servant may rest as well as you. And remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day (Deuteronomy 5:12-15).
For Anglican Regency England, the Sabbath was Sunday. Typically, the only work allowed in keeping with the Sabbath would be the preparation of the food and dressing. If one considered writing letters, “creating.” The correspondence would have to wait. Cultivating your land (if you were lucky enough to inherit or purchase) would have to be delayed. Housework? Well, hopefully your home was clean the day before and would be sustained until Monday. Remember, you should only minimally use your servants (if you could afford the help) and servants needed time for church and Sabbath observation too.
Outings other than to the parish? If one could walk to a neighbors as opposed to engaging a coachman and carriage, it could be permitted, but don’t get too merry socializing. The Bow Street Runners or local magistrates might apprehend you, like they did many drinkers and gamblers placing them in stocks on the public ‘green’. Nothing like a little public humiliation to get you to uphold the Sabbath.
So on this day, like I did Sunday, I’ll take a moment to reflect then sneak back to my quill.
