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  • Don’t Believe Your Lying Eyes

    Don’t Believe Your Lying Eyes
    2025/07/08
    We’ve all been worrying—rightfully—about AI stealing the work of artists and authors. That’s a valid and growing concern. In March of this year, I found out that Meta’s engine, according to The Atlantic, scraped 27 of my 28 published books.The only reason it didn’t get March’s release A Wager at Midnight was because it hadn’t hit the shelves yet. Theft in broad daylight.But this goes deeper than just copyright violations. We’re seeing something more insidious: the rise of AI-generated scams, fakery, and lies. And I’m not talking about science fiction. I’m talking about now.On platforms like TikTok and X, faked videos are being created and/or shared with shocking ease—videos that can ruin reputations, twist narratives, and even make the UK tabloid press bite and republish the lies for a wider international audience. I’ve seen articles run in The Daily Mail that pose lies as questions, which gives dodgy accountability while still spreading misinformation. It’s manipulation masquerading as curiosity. Yet many look at lying headlines and accept them as true.A report by Upwind published in December says that 87% of Americans are worried about being scammed by AI. That is a lot of people. It’s a huge concern, especially when truth tellers are losing their jobs or seemingly capitulating because of fears of being sued, losing access, or targeted and harassed. The “other side” is not just lying but they are weaponizing the instruments that we are supposed to trust and inflicting consequences on anyone saying or writing something they disagree with.The Big Beautiful LiesI must say, the lies can be compelling. Let’s look at an easy topic, travel. I mean, who doesn’t want a travel guide? I buy them quite often for research on big cities or exotic locations.According to Axios, AI-generated travel guides, self-help books, and even mathematics are popular to scam. Now I have to say—math is hard enough. Why are you going to use a robot to put up something that can hurt a kid’s education. And please don’t have my characters walking down the wrong streets.Yet the boldness of the lying is getting worse. People are using AI to write books and then publish them under real authors’ names. Savannah Guthrie in 2024 was done so dirty. She wrote the book Mostly What God Does. Scammers using AI wrote workbooks, studies, and companion guides for her book and published them on Amazon under her name.Kara Swisher, the tech maven faced it too: fake “biographies” about her own life showed up ahead of her memoir’s release, Burn Book, in 2024. Jane Friedman details on her blog her own horror story, where a scammer used AI to write Friedman-like books, and then published those books under Friedman’s name. And the proceeds went to the bots.These AI scams confuse real readers. They have the potential to damage reputations and dilute the credibility of authors—an author’s brand can take decades to build.Imagine what happens to a debut author whose idea has become popular on TikTok, getting beat to her book launch by an AI scam. And because debuts aren’t yet industry names, they lose the credibility game.I used to think that AI scams were going to catch my grandma or folks not paying attention. Nope. AI is giving thieves the ability to put together more convincing emails and websites to ensnare everyone. It’s not just grandma and Social Security, or the foreign soldiers needing help to get a fortune out of a war zone—we’re talking sophisticated scams that use AI to reconstruct your habits. They may be scanning emails or even listening to conversations through AI upgrades on things that shouldn’t have AI at all.This is phishing on a whole new level. And we’re all set up to be scammed. It’s no longer going to be easy to tell a scam by bad grammar, doxing, or fraudulent websites. AI is making everything harder to detect. AI should be used to make things better, but in the hands of bots and scammers it is a nightmare.No Free Rides or ShadesI recently did a small brand deal for gummy vitamins. I choked on a cornflake as a kid—swallowing is hard. And please don’t even think of me taking anything that’s a horse pill. Anyway, now I’m getting little offers. Most of the offers that don’t come from a collaborator’s platform are probably scams. So there are no free sunglasses.How do we protect ourselves?You can’t trust your eyes anymore. Nor your ears—AI can clone a voice. It can fake a face. It can forge a whole book.But you can protect yourself:* Verify Every Fact – Before you repeat or share get several sources. I want to say reputable, but that’s hard to define right now.* Check Sources That Don’t Agree With You – Find several and verify dates, times, etc. If they match, you have a fact. If they don’t, you have a lie, a manipulation, or someone’s opinion.* Search Smart – Check authors’ websites, join their newsletter, and follow creatives on their...
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    12 分
  • Lessons from Indoctrination

    Lessons from Indoctrination
    2025/07/01
    Flying home from the Historical Novel Society conference, I learned a lesson in indoctrination. I’m on a fast-moving deadline for a special project, but I had to go. HNS holds a special place for me. My very first HNS conference changed the trajectory of my life.Before attending in 2019, I published lovely Regency romances. Sweet, comforting, polite novels—educating the world through fun, nonthreatening, history-filled reads.But HNS cracked something open. Meeting a tribe of fellow history nerds and selling the book I never thought I’d sell—Island Queen, the biographical fiction about Dorothy Kirwan Thomas, one of the richest Black women in the Georgian world, a woman who bought her freedom and defies every rule and obstacle to live freely—that gave me the courage to keep telling stories that tug at my heart and mind.Being free to create is a gift. One that’s hard to achieve. Black and brown creators, and women creators, have been indoctrinated, fed rules in the simplest of terms that challenge our freedom. Rules such as:* That more ethnic the cover, the more it can impact book sales—or determine where a book gets shelved.* That a pen name that sounds like a man’s carries more heft.* That “historical accuracy” will be weaponized to silence you if you make one mistake.* That if you fail, your failure will become the reason the next person who looks like you gets turned away.You’ll never know how much that last one haunted me. How it still probably drives me to go the extra mile.And I share all this to say: we’ve all been indoctrinated by our circumstances.Writers learn quickly by how we’ve been treated—and how we’ve seen others treated—in publishing. It’s hard to break the pattern. And it’s about logic. It’s 1 + 1 = 2 when one sees patterns repeating.And you, the listener—you’ve been indoctrinated.Certain patterns, behaviors, even thoughts have been ingrained through images and repetition. This was made clear to me on my flight home.Flying back from Vegas, Atlanta’s weather did not cooperate. Several delays and cancellations later, I was finally on my way but rerouted through Minneapolis. I’d arrived in Atlanta with just a four-hour delay and a bump up to first class. All was good.But I wasn’t prepared for the real lesson I’d take from that flight.An older gentleman sat beside me. The moment we took off, he flicked on his monitor and tuned into the news. He looked like a typical executive—loafers, golf watch, faint aftershave. He popped in his headphones, stared at the screen, and then drifted off to sleep.I was writing but I couldn’t help watching. Something about flickering images in my periphery always pulls me in. For ten minutes, I stared at his monitor. No sound—just headlines and smiling faces discussing stories that disturbed me.Ice raids with masked men capturing women on the street. The host smiled.Florida detention camps pop onto the screen. The smiling host makes it appear to be a pitch for a Disney vacation.And my neighbor slept. Peacefully. Whatever was being whispered in his ear lulled him into calm.I sat there gobsmacked.This is indoctrination.Indoctrination is subtle, yet powerful.It’s not about shouting.It’s about repeating.It’s about phrasing.It’s about making you feel safe while you’re being lulled into believing counterintuitive things.The TV’s formula was simple:* Repeat the same emotionally charged themes again and again.* Print aggressive words: sue, threaten, destroy, take back, fight for your children.* Paint the other side as monsters trying to take away your rights—your autonomy, your voice, your values.* Frame reasonable actions as extreme.* Show flags. Cue nostalgia. Stir something primal.* Smile while doing it.And the man next to me? He slept. Fully content. The world whispering in his ear made sense. That’s when I understood the terrifying genius of it.People aren’t being brainwashed. They’re being comforted—soothed by simple stories, a few buzzwords, and a familiar rhythm.In this whispering world, empathy is suspect.Fairness? A threat.Truth? Conditional.How else do you explain people cheering for a roofer—someone who rebuilt their home after a hurricane—being rounded up and sent to a detention camp being pictured as a theme park?What happened to questioning things?When did we decide that cruelty is an acceptable solution?Why is it okay to sleep through someone else’s pain?Be awake.Don’t let anyone tell you you’re overreacting.You’re not a sucker for caring. You’re human.And to my fellow protestors and change-makers: we can’t just fight with facts and five-point plans. Shame doesn’t move people. Complexity doesn’t sway them.If your message makes them feel stupid, they’ll dig in and side with the whisperers.So what can we do?We make the stakes as clear as possible.We must give up the five-dollar words.Because those words only land with the most liberal among us. And as ...
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    12 分
  • When the Plan Falls Apart

    When the Plan Falls Apart
    2025/06/24
    It probably won’t surprise you—at least not once you’ve met me—that I’m a planner. My name is Vanessa Riley, and I’m a serial planner. There isn’t an outline I don’t love, nor a spreadsheet that doesn’t call my name. If I could design a map of a map of a map of systems accompanied by a flowchart—I’d consider it bliss. Come to one of my book events and ask what kind of person or writer I am, and I’ll often tell you: I’m a nerd’s nerd, a meticulous nerd. That’s right—pocket protector-level nerd. I love formulas and systems. I love figuring things out and then optimizing them.Why? Because we only get so much energy, so much time, and so many resources in this life. I want every ounce I give to have maximum effect. If you can show me how to reach more people, make more impact, or spark more meaningful change, I’m listening. I’m all in.But what happens when the plan doesn’t work?Devastation. Armageddon. World War 3. In other words, I don’t take it well.Yet I listened to Meghan Sussex, yes Meghan Markle on the Emma Grede’s podcast, Aspire, talking about failing as winning.It sounds crazy at first.I mean carefully charted course falls apart. How is it winning, when something completely unexpected hijacks your progress and leaves you scrambling? For those who “pants” their way through books—that is, write without plotting—this kind of disruption might just feel like a quirky detour. But for a planner? It’s devastating.Life is unpredictable and messy. You pour energy into structure and logic and find out the world has other ideas.And if the detour is because of people— you know the ones who don’t behave the way you think they should. Those people who’ve bought into that notion called free will, it can be devastating.You don’t know who to trust. Or if you should trust it all. If the past year has taught us anything, it’s that people often act in ways that defy their own interests. They cling to ideals or narratives that make sense only to them. And we have to let them. As a famous poet, Bobby Brown used to insist, that’s their prerogative.For those of you who know the chaos of watching a plan implode, I see you. I’ve lived that upheaval, and I want to offer a few steps I’ve found helpful:1. You did your best.Even if the outcome wasn’t what you expected, you gave it your all. The plan didn’t play out perfectly, but you showed up. You tried. And it’s OK to take a moment to lick your wounds.2. Mourn what was built and what was lost.It’s perfectly valid to grieve the work, the dream, or the strategy that didn’t survive. Tend to your mental health. Sometimes, starting over means burning what didn’t work to the ground. This can feel extreme, but it’s also freeing. When ego is stripped away, what’s left is humility, hunger, and a wide-open future.3. Learn the lessons.Every failure teaches us something. Maybe you trusted someone you shouldn’t have. Or maybe you missed an opportunity to include a partner who would have made all the difference. The lesson might be to trust more wisely. One of the best lessons is to pay attention not just to the bottom line, but to everyone on all sides.4. Stopping is not quit.Unless you’re physically in the grave, the game is not over. You might feel tired. You might feel lost. But you are not done. Separate the strategy from the strategist. It’s not a failure if you’ve learned to do better.5. It’s okay to begin again.Being brand new is not failure—it’s freedom. There’s a joy in learning, in discovering new spaces, in making new connections. Walking away and choosing the right season to begin again is a win.6. Accept that all spaces aren’t meant for you.When I look at that portrait of Ruby Bridges (The problem we all live with), as she’s being escorted by guards to integrate a classroom—people are screaming, writing nastiness on walls. But she and her parents decided that was the place for Ruby to be.Honestly, I don’t know if I’d make the same call. Ruby’s treatment was horrific. Adults who should be protecting children were monsters in plain sight.That’s hard. I’d question if that sacrifice is worth my peace?Sometimes, the brutal truth is that the path you planned wasn’t yours. Stopping doesn’t mean you lost. It might mean you’re closer to the path that you’re meant to take. And in this day and age, that place needs to be loving, edifying, and safe. You have to feel you can bring all of you, not just fragments. Not just 50% of your gifts. All or nothing.Writers know this well. Sometimes, we have to throw out what doesn’t work. I deleted 50,000 words from a manuscript that wasn’t working. That kind of heartbreak required ice cream and chocolate, and maybe a few deep sighs—but it made the book stronger. With my upcoming novel Fire Sword and Sea, the original plan didn’t hold. It took me two years, and several rewrites, to get it right.Because I’m writing ...
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    11 分
  • Sexual Chocolate Please

    Sexual Chocolate Please
    2025/06/17
    If you don’t recognize the phrase “Sexual Chocolate,” then you might be too young or too sheltered—or simply overdue for a viewing of Coming to America. The phrase hails from a hilarious moment in this 1988 cult classic when Prince Akeem (played by Eddie Murphy) attends a church service in Queens hoping to find a “good woman.”He does find one—but not before the audience is treated to a cringe-worthy performance by a band called Sexual Chocolate, fronted by the deluded Randy Watson (also played by Eddie Murphy in disguise). Randy sings off-key, struts like a super star, and owns the moment.He even drops the mic to a silent crowd. Except one diehard fan leaps to his feet, clapping and shouting, “That boy is good. That boy can sing!”It’s iconic, ridiculous, and strangely affirming. Because in a world that’s often silent—or even worse, critical—every writer, every artist needs their own version of that one fan in the crowd. Every writer needs a little Sexual Chocolate.In today’s publishing landscape, the pressure to produce, perfect, and promote your work can be overwhelming. The road is long, the milestones are often invisible, and the validation? It’s often non-existent.And even those at the top of their game need well wishes and love. I send some now to Ali, a real advocate who has people so pressed that find fault over ridiculous things. Ali, you are love and light. Signed, your Atlanta Hype woman.That’s where your hype person comes in. We need a cheerleader, someone who sees your potential even when your proses are shaky, your plot is flat, your characters are still finding their rhythm. These cheerleaders shout encouragement when you feel invisible. They believe in your words—even before they’re ready for the world.But this kind of fandom isn’t just blind praise. We have rules.Rule #1: Be Sensitive.A good hype person knows the difference between when a writer is ready to hear feedback and when they just need a boost. Some days are for critique; others are for comfort. Sometimes what we need most is for someone to say, “Keep going. I see you. You’ve got this.”Rule #2: Be Strategic.Cheering doesn’t mean enabling bad decisions. Don’t let your writer friend send out a draft that isn’t ready. Don’t let them self-sabotage by skipping the hard (but necessary) parts of the process—like working with an editor, developing a marketing plan, or cultivating industry relationships. Praise their progress, yes. But also give gentle nudges to help them remember to do the work that success requires.Rule #3: Know Their Creative Love Language.Every writer is fueled by different things. Some need words of affirmation. Some need gifts (like good chocolate, please and thank you). Some need a like or share of a post. Some need you telling one person or one library about their books.Others need quality time—just someone to sit with them in the mess and say, “You’re not alone.”The truth is, even the strongest voices waver. Even the most confident writers have moments of doubt. That’s why it’s more important than ever to be a person in someone else’s corner. Check in on your writer friends. Call up the creatives. Remind them they’re not crazy for chasing the dream, battling blank pages, or daring to tell a story that hasn’t been told before.So today, be someone’s fan. No matter how off-key they feel, your belief in them might be the thing that gets them through.Now say it with me: That writer can write.Some books to help us be better encouragers are:Keep Moving by Maggie Smith it’sa collection of affirmations and reflections that feel like encouragement from a friend.Untamed by Glennon Doyle is especially for women creatives, teaching how to step into your power—and to surround yourself with people who cheer for you, the fully realized version of yourself.The Light We Carry by Michelle Obama is not just for writers but this beautiful meditation offers hope and helps us navigating tough seasons.This week, I'm highlighting Kindred Stories through their website and Bookshop.orgHelp me build momentum for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers large and small who have set up preorder.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.You can guess my love language? Go ahead and like this episode and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
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    8 分
  • How to Let Go

    How to Let Go
    2025/06/10
    Whenever I finish writing a manuscript, there’s always this unexpected wave of sadness that hits me. It shouldn’t be unexpected. This is like my 27th or 28th book.But yes. You heard me right—sadness.Because now I’m done with these characters.Characters I’ve lived with for three, sometimes four months. Characters whose voices echoed in my head, who made me laugh, who made me cry, and made me question everything. And once I’ve typed “The End,” there’s a sudden stillness. And in the silence, creep doubts:“Could I’ve done this better?”“What if I’d added one more scene?”“Did I do them justice?”But here’s the truth—you need to let it sit.You need space. You need time.You need to send it off to your editor, beta reader, or mother, and let someone else hold the story for a while, because you’ve been holding it close for too long. And when it comes back—marked with notes, questions, maybe even a few praises—you’ll be ready. You’ll have distance. And perspective to guide you.Still… I get a little sad. Because I’ve grown attached.My brain still wants to write more scenes, dream up alternate endings, give side characters more airtime. But the book is done when it’s done. There’s no need to stretch a moment or linger more than necessary.⸻With A Deal at Dawn, I’ve wrapped up the Betting Against the Duke series.It’s been a journey.• A Gamble at Sunset was Georgina’s story—a fake courtship that turned into something real, when she found her voice.• A Wager at Midnight followed Scarlet, a woman fighting for public health alongside a handsome doctor and the complicated Duke we come to love.• But A Deal at Dawn… this one’s different.It’s a second chance romance, yes—but one that deals with what happens when forgiveness feels impossible. When tomorrow isn’t promised. It asks: what does happily ever after look like when you’re living with chronic, debilitating illness?Maybe that’s why this book lingered. Because it’s heavy. It’s real with my trademark foolishness thrown in.I want to be respectful of those finding themselves in this position. I want to tell a story that isn’t often told in historical romance. A story about two people—Jahleel and Katherine—who’ve made serious, tragic mistakes. Who are struggling. And yet… still worthy of love.It was hard to write.But I think you’re going to feel every bit of it.⸻Now that the manuscript is done, I ask myself:What comes next?The summer months are my time to dig into the “wish list” projects. Those ideas that won’t let go. Stories that whisper in the back of my mind. The ones I dream about while I’m supposed to be sleeping. Between conferences, revisions, and promo—it’s my time to play again.But also… it’s hard not to look around at the world and feel the weight of everything. We’re pretty cooked.The news? Bleak.Protests are erupting. People suffering from natural disasters are being ignored. Prices rise. Patience runs low.It’s like we’re all trapped in satan’s pressure cooker. I don’t want be chopped steak. I want off the menu. Please rewind the clock to a time when we were all filet mignon—delectable, tender by nature, and expensive by choice.But I watched a reel the other day—just a young woman speaking truth.She said:“If our ancestors survived war, enslavement, displacement, disease…If they survived laws written to break their spirits—Then so can we.”And she’s right. We have survived darker days.So I have faith that we’re going to get our acts together.That somehow, everything will shake out.That it’s going to be okay again.So take a deep breath with me—Everything is going to be all right.⸻But in the meantime, preserve your mental health.Hold close the things and people you cherish.And let yourself rest. You’ve done a lot.You are doing a lot.And then—when you’re ready—start asking:What’s next?What project is going to consume you for the next three or four months?Which story or idea wakes you wake up early?What is it that keeps tugging at your thoughts like a child in want of attention. It needs nurturing.It needs your love to be poured in to it. lt cries out for your energy, and clutches at your heart until it’s finally complete.That’s where I’m headed.That’s what I’m looking for right now.Even while revising, promoting, preparing for launch days—I’m dreaming of that next passion.And speaking of what’s next—I’ve been talking a lot about Fire Sword and Sea. We’re getting closer to a cover reveal, and I can’t wait for you to see how that story’s shaped up . It’s going to be a wild ride.⸻So, I’ll leave you with this:Don’t give up.Find that passion.Let it move you, stretch you, heal you.And when it shows up? Let it consume you—in the best possible ways.Books to help us let go are:Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life by Dani Shapiro. It’s a deeply personal ...
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    11 分
  • Fellowship and Flowers: A Weekend That Filled My Soul

    Fellowship and Flowers: A Weekend That Filled My Soul
    2025/06/03
    Have you ever not known how empty you were—until a weekend of feasting showed you just how hungry you really are?That was me, this weekend. I spent it in the company of 1,500 readers and fellow authors at the Black Romance Book Fest, and I left with my heart and spirit overflowing. Now, you might say, “Vanessa, I get your newsletter. I follow you on Instagram and Threads. I see the pictures. You go to a lot of events.” And yes, that’s true. I do. I’m the type who soaks everything in—the people, the place, the energy, the reason we gather.But this? This was different.When you're marginalized, stepping into spaces where you're one of only a handful can be daunting. I still remember sitting in a ballroom at an RWA conference, surrounded by people who wouldn’t meet my gaze—blue eyes turning away, avoiding eye contact as though acknowledgment might cost them something. In those moments, I’ve wished for a sign that read: Conversation is free. I don’t bite.And then back in my hotel room, I’d recite poet Gwendolyn Brooks’s work, To Black Women. She begins with:“Sisters,where there is cold silenceno hallelujahs, no hurrahs at all, no handshakes,no neon red or blue, no smiling faces prevail.”It’s as if Gwendolyn herself had walked the conference floors with me. You learn to prepare yourself, to build armor against the lack of hurrahs, the absence of handshakes. You remind yourself that rejection isn’t always personal—people read what they relate to. Unless they choose to diversify, most gravitate toward characters who look like them or have shared lived experience. Unless, of course, if we're talking werewolves or vampires—those stories get an all-access pass, while Black, brown, or queer stories are often left outside the gates.And then there was this weekend.At Black Romance Book Fest, no one turned away. People smiled. They hugged. They talked to everyone.You heard Nice boots, cute T-shirt, Girl!!! those nails, and cool—a pirate costume, etc.The halls were crowded with people, laughter, and cheer. Hallelujahs rang out online buddies met in real life. Hurrahs echoed down halls. It was a beautiful thing—to feel welcomed and seen in a space filled with so many faces who wanted to get you. There was a collective joy, an ease in being present, that’s hard to put into words, but you feel it. It vibrates across your skin and sinks into your soul.The breadth of representation moved me. Every genre and subgenre had a seat at the table—fantasy, paranormal, historical, contemporary, romantic suspense. I remember chatting with a fantasy author who was stunned, and delighted, to see how many Black readers were there for fantasy and speculative fiction. No genre was out of bounds. Everything—every moment—felt welcoming and grounded in sisterhood and solidarity.Of course, no event with 1,500 people and limited elevators can escape a little drama. But that’s every conference. I’ve experienced worse. I remember once, dressed in full Regency garb for a costume party, being stopped at the door because someone assumed—that I was in the wrong place. Apparently, I didn’t look like the kind of person who belonged in a Regency gown. That’s the kind of foolishness many of us with Black faces in literary spaces are familiar with. And unfortunately, it still happens, it just looks different—lack of support, lack of proper editing and marketing. Or simply turning the other way at a book signing. But that’s why I pour so deeply into my people, if you’ve made it this far, you are my people, but I especially want to bless the Black sisters who’ve supported me across every step of my career.They honor that I write something different. They honor everyone who does. They uplift the wide spectrum of Black storytelling—because at the core of it all is love: love of beauty, love of self, love of each other. And that love creates room for fantasy, horror, sci-fi, thrillers, historicals—genres long denied to us but reclaimed through our voices, our pens, and our varying visions.Gwendolyn Brooks ends her poem with these lines of quiet hope:“But there remain large countries in your eyes.Shrewd sun.The civil balance.The listening secrets.And you create and train your flowers still.”This weekend helped me remember my own gardens. That I can conquer large territories or conferences. Black Romance Book Fest refreshed my soul. It restored my balance. It reminded me that I’m still called to create and train my flowers. That even in the face of rejection or erasure, there are places for my stories—and yours.To my fellow authors: you’re not crazy. Your readers are out there. They are waiting, hungry for what only you can bring. And they’ll be (mostly) patient while you take the time you need to grow and train your flowers.Because they believe in the bloom that’s coming. And so do I.Books to help us to grow and train our minds are:To Black Women by Gwendolyn Brooks, it can be...
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    10 分
  • Nine Minutes, Five Years – Still Breathless

    Nine Minutes, Five Years – Still Breathless
    2025/05/27
    n 2020, America and the world were spiraling. COVID. COVID shutdowns, high COVID deaths, and the divisive uproar over wearing masks frayed nerves and divided communities. Then, in the middle of the chaos, we witnessed the killing of a man.George Floyd, a man who’d run afoul of the law in the past, was approached by police under the false suspicion of using a counterfeit $20 bill.At 8:20 p.m. on May 25, 2020, outside Cup Foods in Minneapolis, Officers Tou Thao, J. Alexander Kueng, and Thomas Lane encountered George. Kueng and Lane approached first, with blue lights twirling—maybe even a siren. George was visibly distressed and repeatedly said, “Please don’t shoot me,” referencing past traumatic experiences with the police.At 8:21, officers attempted to place him in a squad car. George, unwisely, resisted, expressing intense anxiety and claustrophobia. “I’m not a bad guy… I’m scared, man,” he said.By 8:25, Officer Derek Chauvin arrived. George was dragged out of the squad car and forced to the ground. Chauvin then placed his knee on George’s neck.George was already handcuffed. Already on the ground. Already submissive. But Chauvin kept his knee there, applying his full weight to George’s neck.Kneeling is supposed to be an act of humility—of reverence, of supplication, a gesture one might use to beg God for mercy.But Chauvin wasn’t begging God. No, it was George who begged for his life. He cried out in search of humanity—for his humanity. He said more than 20 times: “I can’t breathe.”Still, Chauvin didn’t move. George then cried out for his mother: “Mama, I’m about to die.”A grown man, pleading for a breath, for his mother. Yet Chauvin kept kneeling, confident that no one would care about this Black man. To some, a man with a record deserves no second chance. So Chauvin kept kneeling, submitting not to justice but to cruelty—for 9 minutes and 29 seconds—until George Floyd died.This moment shattered the stillness of a world already shaken. For a brief period, it seemed like nearly everyone agreed: This was wrong. This was murder.I vividly remember the black squares on Instagram. The companies racing to fire employees who lied on peaceful protestors or weaponized stereotypes to suggest somehow George deserved this.Companies finally acknowledged what many of us had known for years: that they had a diversity and inclusion problem. They made promises.Penguin Random House pledged to increase diverse representation in its workforce and publish more books by Black authors and authors of color.HarperCollins promised to amplify underrepresented voices in acquisitions, create fellowships, and increase donations to racial justice causes.Simon & Schuster announced a new imprint for social justice and pledged to acquire more BIPOC authors. They donated to We Need Diverse Books and Black Lives Matter.Macmillan acknowledged the lack of representation in its publishing and staff. They committed to more inclusive hiring, employee training, and outreach to BIPOC writers.Hachette created a Diversity & Inclusion Council and mentorship programs for BIPOC employees. They donated to civil rights organizations and promised to publish more Black and Brown voices.It wasn’t just publishing jumping to be counted in the righteous number. Target, Microsoft, Apple—major corporations pledged millions to diversity initiatives and underserved communities.But here we are, just five years later.Reports from The Washington Post, Reuters, and business analysts show a corporate backslide. Hachette has made notable progress in BIPOC hiring and acquisitions. But others—Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, and Macmillan—have not provided updated public reports on their commitments. There’s a lack of transparency.And when BIPOC authors speak up about their experiences with these opaque publishers—about the lack of marketing, the minimal support at launch, the inadequate investments in advertisements—it becomes clear that many of those 2020 commitments were performative. Empty, breathless gestures.The biggest offender? We all know—Target. After loudly promoting their DEI programs, they rolled them back—loudly and publicly. And sales have significantly declined. I doubt they’ll ever fully regain the trust of the loyal customers they betrayed.There’s been talk that Target’s retreat has caused some Black authors to miss major bestseller lists. That’s not the full story. The truth is: momentum makes the difference. Local bookstore buys matter count just as much—often more.Don’t get me wrong—I love walking into a big store and seeing my book face-out on the shelf. I’m deeply grateful to every bookseller, clerk, and sales rep who’s done that for any of my titles.But let’s be honest: many Black and BIPOC authors lack consistent support from publishers. A publisher can create magic. They can generate momentum—or they can smother it. And I’ve wondered,...
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    12 分
  • Fire, Frolic, and the Fragile Threads of Humanity

    Fire, Frolic, and the Fragile Threads of Humanity
    2025/05/20
    This week, I went through a whirlwind of emotions—yes, whirlwind. That’s the word. It captures the highs and lows, the unpredictable moments, the shared grief, reflection, and the surprising grace that shaped these past few days. All these feelings—they live in pictures.Picture this: an artist gifted in creating larger-than-life floral and celebratory installations-roses, sunflowers, and even huge gift boxes with perfect bows. I found one of her creations buried among the thousands of photos on my phone. I went searching for it after hearing she died—suddenly—of a heart attack. She was in her mid-forties. I’d only seen her two or three times, but every encounter was vibrant. She was joyful, always present, always tweaking one last detail so others would want to take a picture beside her work. Her name was Mary. She made an impact. I look at that photo and smile, remembering her smile.This loss was sudden. Mary was very close to a friend of mine. Mary was central to my friend’s community. When your friend grieves someone central to their world, you grieve with them. And in that shared sorrow, something happens. You become deeply grateful—not just for what you have, but for the very fact that your people are still here. You reflect. You look at your own life, and the things you were grumbling about five minutes ago suddenly don’t matter so much. Perspective shows up, kicks you in the pants—uninvited, but necessary.Then, another picture: a fire. Not just any fire—the one that consumed Nottoway Plantation, the largest antebellum plantation that was still standing in the United States. A place layered with contradictions, history, and pain. The blaze left it gutted. I studied the photos—before, during, and after. I watched the memes—because TikTok, Threads, and Instagram are unmatched when it comes to irony and reaction. Beyond the satire, there is truth.No one died in the fire. But that doesn’t erase the deaths that still haunt that land—the men, women, and children who lived, labored, and died under a brutal system of forced servitude. Some say Nottoway is haunted. It should be. The owners memorialized the slave drivers' quarters. I like to think the spirits of the enslaved were there, too, watching the flames, bearing witness as the restored “Massa’s house” turned to ash.Nottoway was a tourist site, a wedding venue, a workplace, a symbol. People will be out of work. The state will take an economic hit. These are facts. But there is a deeper truth that sits beside those facts: Nottoway was a sugar plantation. And sugar plantations were among the worst of all plantation systems.I know this because of the research I did for Sister Mother Warrior and Island Queen. The facts still haunt me:* The death rate on sugar plantations in the Caribbean and southern states was three to four times higher than on cotton plantations.* Enslaved people on U.S. cotton plantations had a life expectancy of 30–35 years. On sugar plantations, it was often 10 years or less.* The work was brutal—cutting cane, operating machinery, surviving the suffocating heat of the boiler houses.* If you were sentenced to work the boiling vats, it was basically a death sentence. Dehydration, exhaustion, and the relentless heat killed faster than the whip. And that doesn't count the beatings, the rapes, and the starvation.I made a post about the fire on Instagram. Most of the responses were respectful. But some fixated on the "grandeur" lost—as if it were Notre Dame. Others insisted I should “get over it.” That all the perpetrators are dead. That the world should move on. Let’s put in pin in this moving notion. I’ll circle back.Another disturbing image circulating came from still of Nottoway’s scripted tours praising the "humanity" of the plantation, claiming it trained a nurse and built a hospital for the enslaved. That is a lie. There was no formal training. They likely identified a woman who showed skill with herbs and healing and used her ancestorial knowledge. The hospital was not about care—it was about profit. It was cheaper to repair a broken body than to buy a new one. These “hospitals” weren’t acts of mercy. They were maintenance hubs for human chattel.One of the worst stories I came across still wakes me up at night. A method of execution used on some sugar plantations: the “sugar death.” An enslaved person would be buried up to the neck in sand. Then, boiling sugar syrup was poured over their exposed skin—usually the head. The syrup burned and blistered, but that wasn’t the end. The spilled sugar attracted the ants. The person would die slowly, in excruciating pain, as ants devoured them alive. It was sadism as spectacle. A warning. A lesson. A horror.How exactly do you “get over” that? How do you erase the knowledge that human beings chose to do that to others—and passed it on, generation after generation? How do you get over knowing that, given the chance, ...
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    13 分