Vanessa Riley's Research and Shopping Blog

I wrote this essay when I was angry.

I consider myself a rational, reasonable individual. My life has been one of success—working hard, pushing the envelope, and achieving. Deep down, though, I think I’m very guilty of believing that if you build it and honor it, they will come.

Maybe I internalized that 1989 movie, Field of Dreams, a little too much. Because the truth is, you can build it, plant the seeds, water it faithfully—and still, nothing grows. Sometimes you have to ask: is this the right garden? Do I have the right seeds. Or is this one of those seasons of famine, not feast?

Over the last 24 months, the stumbles in my journey have forced me to admit something, I’d rather not, that the missteps hurt. I’ve been pretending that they don’t hurt. But they do. Even when you turn the other cheek, the bruise on the other one is still there. When disappointment seeps into your bones, or you let circumstances get under your skin, or you start connecting dots—boy you begin to wonder if you’ve been blind. On those days, I ask myself: am I becoming a conspiracy theorist? Or did I just choose not to believe my own eyes?

Even a calm, levelheaded woman has to acknowledge when she is hurt and angry. My logical side tells me, “It’s just business. It’s politics. It’s economics. It’s not personal.” But every time I put pen to paper, it is personal. Part of me spills onto the page. When you meet my characters, you’re also meeting pieces of me—my wounds, my fears, my hopes, even some dreams. It sounds crazy, but that’s the life of an artist.

Perhaps, we are a little bit off. Who else would willingly put their words or their creations out there to be scrutinized by strangers? You might have to be a little crazy to face bloodthirsty reviews or accept the brunt of someone’s bad day, all because of something you were burning to create.

To be a writer or artist requires audacity—the belief that your story is worth telling, your song is worth hearing, you canvas is worth showing off. And even the humblest creators have to admit we are audacious.

Again, I say you have to be a little bit off because the road to creation is long, filled with danger, rejection, and the occasional spiral into bone crushing doubt.

So to my fellow writers who hit walls—whether self-inflicted, systemic, or circumstantial—own the pain. Then release it. My art is my statement to the world. Within the pages, one can find my zeal and my anger. I own it. I Vanessa Riley get angry sometimes.

I promise you that my anger is a mirror of my passion. It equates to all the research and translations and microfiche that I will search to gather fresh facts. I work hard.

I don’t intend to stop. As I write this essay for my podcast, I intend to keep making art. Because I believe, that I have a message the world needs to hear.

In the coming months, until Fire Sword and Sea releases, you’ll hear me talking about it, the hardest book I had to write. Yes, it’s about pirates in the Caribbean where you will have a diverse crew on the top of the boat working together, while chattel slavery exists within the bowls of the ship. So a meritocracy on top with White and Black and Brown pirates with enslaved people chained below. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s action filled. It’s true.

I will shout it from rooftops, fight to get it attention. The story matters. Because when we hide the past, we hide ourselves. And when we hide our anger, we hide our authenticity. And the fight to make it public hasn’t been easy. It’s made me angry.

It’s ok to be angry, but we can’t let anger fester. Then it turns into cynicism, inaction, and paralysis. I’m a work in progress and I’ve had to take my bottled-up feelings and release them through prayer and being able to hope for more. I gave up the noise to make room for healing.

So, you’re not crazy. You are not a conspiracy theorist. You are human. You are hurting. But the world still deserves to see your art.

Anger isn’t always productive. It doesn’t move the needle by itself. Acting while angry can cost you jobs, power, and peace. So yes—be angry but be wise. Be quick to release any sour heat churning in your soul. My advice is to do what must be done. Do your calling.

And as for me, I’ll live to play in my art another day and I ‘ll let God fight my present day and future battles.

This week’s reading list includes:

The Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner – A classic on understanding anger, especially for women, and how to use it as a tool for growth rather than destruction.

Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women’s Anger by Soraya Chemaly – Examines how women’s anger has been dismissed, and why it’s actually a powerful, transformative force.

Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou – Gentle but firm reflections on disappointment, resilience, and the courage to be authentic.

Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde – Essays and speeches on anger, identity, and transformation through truth-telling.

This week, I’m highlighting Bookmarks, NC through their website and Bookshop.org

The preorder campaign has begun, get the collector cards for characters in Fire Sword and Sea—Help me build momentum for this historical fiction. Please ask your library to carry this novel and spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about lady pirates in the 1600s. This saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers that are in on the campaign. Get the collector cards while supplies last.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you’re ready to move with purpose and power, hit that like button and subscribe to Write of Passage—be a part of my crew. Your journey deserves community.

Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

Originally posted 2025-09-09 13:10:00.

I don’t think Southern hospitality is just about sweet tea. I think it’s making sure everyone has a good time and gets home alive.

Southern hospitality is supposed to mean something.

Growing up, the Fourth of July meant my mother’s barbecue. It wasn’t just dinner. It became the neighborhood gathering, the family reunion you didn’t know you were having. Friends drifted in. A few cousins or uncles might show. No one brought anything because even Mama had already made it with at least three different options. You came because my mother cooked, and everyone knew that meant you were going to leave full, laughing. You were going to have a good time.

That was Southern hospitality on a 4th of July Weekend. It was exciting, even before the fireworks.

But this Fourth of July felt different.

I don’t know many people who gathered with neighbors. Most stayed home. Even the celebrations in Washington, D.C. looked very quiet, quieter than I expected for America’s 250th birthday. Across the country, storms interrupted festivities, forcing some families to seek shelter—even inside the African American History Museum. Others didn’t feel the hospitality as they rode on buses with White Supremacists and Reuters photographers. I’d like to think that the photographers would’ve been neighborly and helped out, but they had a duty, I suppose, to capture the mask-wearing marchers.

Sometimes hospitality means making a safe environment. No one should be fearful on the 4th of July.

Again. This 4th felt different.

No amount of BBQ or sweet tea can make up for fear or anguish. What happened to checking on your neighbors, making sure everyone has a ride, or that they make it home to call their mother?

I thought about how my mother always wanted to know where I was, who I was with, and who the adults were. At the time, it felt overprotective.

Now it feels like another expression of hospitality.

Real hospitality isn’t simply welcoming people in.

It’s making sure they get home.

There are families who will never forget this holiday weekend because someone they loved didn’t make it home.

My heart especially goes out to the family of Nolan Wells, a young Black man who went to celebrate with friends and never came home. Amid the unimaginable grief, his mother publicly thanked the volunteers, the United Cajun Navy, local law enforcement, and neighbors who searched alongside her.

That, too, is Southern hospitality, showing up when someone else is hurting.

On Sunday, the 5th, I had the opportunity to be hospitable to my readers at a release party to celebrate the of A Deal at Dawn. I

I held a tea party.

What better way to celebrate a Regency romance?

Picture tablecloths, teacups, ceramic platters, cookies, flowers, and just enough balloons to make a corner of Barnes & Noble feel less like a bookstore and more like someone’s parlor. We were tucked into the music section, and honestly, what could be more neighborly than books and music sharing the same space?

Of course, I have a terrible habit of never doing anything halfway.

I love to cook. Left to my own devices, every gathering becomes a catered affair. But Barnes & Noble has a café, which meant there were limits on bringing in outside food.

Reality met Southern determination.

I had to get creative.

Normally, my backup plan is Cheryl’s Cookies. I always keep a stash in the freezer for emergencies. They’re delicious, dependable, and have rescued me on more than one gathering.

But this wasn’t an emergency.

This was a celebration.

I kept thinking about the afternoon my daughter and I spent at the Russian Tea Room in New York. The tiny pastries. The beautiful presentation. The sense that every bite had been chosen with care.

If I couldn’t recreate that menu, I could recreate the feeling.

Every Southern tea needs cake.

So I invented tea cake cupcakes.

The recipe grew out of the world of A Deal at Dawn. While writing the novel, I kept returning to preserved fruits and candies. In eighteenth-century Saint Petersburg, oranges were rare luxuries. When people had them, they treasured them, preserving every bit they could in marmalades and jams.

That became my inspiration.

I took my favorite pound cake recipe, whipped the butter until it was impossibly light, folded in rich orange marmalade, and added buttermilk because Southern baking practically demands it. The result tasted like sunshine tucked inside a cupcake.

Maybe it was over the top.

But it was neighborly.

That’s what Southern cooks do.

I get it from my mother.

I get it from the soil and the air that she raised me in.

I want to feed people.

I want them to slow down.

I want them to feel safe.

I want them to feel seen.

As joyful as Sunday was, the weekend as whole kept reminding me why those things matter. I’m often asked which book signing has been my favorite. Every signing is my favorite.

Whether one person comes or a hundred, someone has carved out space in their day to spend time with me and my stories. They’ve read my books, shared them with friends, recommended them to libraries, and welcomed my characters into their lives.

That’s hospitality, too. The best kind.

So thank you to everyone who joined me for tea, who picked up A Deal at Dawn, who recommended it to a friend or a book club, or who simply stopped by to say hello.

Southern hospitality isn’t just about the food. It’s the vibe and feeling safe. It’s about making people feel nurtured and nourished—in body, in spirit, and in hope. And that they make it home alive.

This week’s book list includes:

The Cooking Gene by Michael W. TwittyA remarkable exploration of Southern food, family, ancestry, and the complicated history behind what ends up on our tables.

High on the Hog by Jessica B. HarrisPart history, part celebration, this book traces the influence of African American cooks and traditions on American cuisine. The TV documentary of the same title, adapted by Stephen Satterfield, expands on Harris’s research by traveling to locations in West Africa and the United States to explore how African culinary traditions have shaped American food.

An Infinite Love Story by Chanel ClaytonI hope you’ll join me tonight, July 7, at Eagle Eye Book Shop in Decatur, Georgia, where I’ll be in conversation with my friend Chanel Clayton to celebrate the release of her stunning new novel.

This page-turner follows Vivian Mitchell, the wife of an astronaut, as she navigates the uncertainty and anxiety of waiting for her husband to return home from what is supposed to be his final mission. It’s a moving story about love, resilience, and hope. Since she’s visiting Georgia, let’s show her some Southern hospitality—the good kind.

A Deal at Dawn by Vanessa Riley — Jahleel and Katherine embrace devastating, unexpected turns, make difficult choices, and discover that the life they need is nothing they planned for.

Get these books from Eagle Eye Book Shop. They still have a few signed copies of Fire Sword and Sea.

You can also try one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches with me.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Let’s keep rising and creating together. I need you. Like, share, subscribe, and stay connected to Write of Passage.

It’s the neighborly thing to do. Thank you for being here.

I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe