Episodes

  • Making Sure They Get Home

    Making Sure They Get Home
    Jul 7 2026
    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. II 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 ...
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    12 mins
  • Access Isn’t Permission

    Access Isn’t Permission
    Jun 30 2026
    Here’s a dangerous lie the internet tells us: if information is public, it’s fair game. If I have to do a little hunting, a little scraping to get it—well, that just shows how clever I am.If I told you that this can be harmful. And that some of us don’t know that this invasion of privacy can erode trust forever—would you still do it? We are one like away from being unforgiven.Access Isn’t PermissionWhat is unforgivable?That sounds like a grand philosophical question. And I’m not asking this in the courtroom or commandment sense but in the everyday ways we treat each other. What crosses that simple line of right and slightly harmless wrong?Is it oversharing? Gossip? A tidbit of seductive knowledge that you found that no one else has publicly announced?Does this secret knowledge make you feel powerful?Before we go there, I need to define two words that have become part of our modern vocabulary.The first is parasocial.A parasocial relationship is a one-sided relationship where an audience member feels a deep connection to a public figure. That audience member or voyeur doesn’t actually know the public person personally, but they are invested. I’m guilty of this. I take it personally when people condemn Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, for breathing. When herAs Ever debuted, it sold out in 5 minutes. I was part of that shopping fest.A parasocial relationship is not inherently unhealthy. More and more it’s part of being an artist. Brands and publishers want that vibe to push sales. Readers want to feel like they know an author. It means so much when our words have entertained them on lonely nights and comforted them through grief.The second word is never good, doxxing. Doxxing is the act of publicly revealing someone’s private, identifying information without their consent. Often, doxxing will mean someone has published home addresses, phone numbers, places of work, or more.Recently, my friend, bestselling romance author Kennedy Ryan, appeared on a podcast with Jenna Bush, and during a lighthearted conversation about pen names, Kennedy shared that she originally adopted a pseudonym to protect her professional career and now continues to use it to protect her peace.Her peace. Catch that part.Not because she was hiding. Not because she was ashamed.Because she wanted boundaries. She deserves boundaries so she can keep a piece of herself and her life for herself.Soon afterward, the internet sleuths, parasocial avengers, began circulating her legal name in posts and threads online. Some have actually argued that releasing a legal name isn’t really doxxing because her legal name had been publicly discoverable for years.I’m sorry…Since when did intent or access excuse the action?If someone tells you, “This is private. This is how I protect myself and my family,” and you decide to broadcast that information anyway, what exactly are you accomplishing? Congrats! You’re smart. You can scrape metadata and websites. Feel good.Maybe placate your conscience because you didn’t post her home address.Hey, you didn’t hack a bank account. So clearly you are different. You’re in a category above criminals.Just because you didn’t intend harm, that doesn’t mean you didn’t cause harm. You ignored a clearly stated boundary. That’s the part our conscience should struggle with.Is it an unforgivable offense? That’s not for me to decide.What does this violation do? Hopefully, no legal harm, but you’ve made everyone on the receiving side of a fandom or readership more cautious and potentially more closed off.If you go to threads, you can see this in real time.One person wrote: “One day, in the very near future, y’all are going to lose all access to your favorite authors.”Another author wrote about feeling so violated “after her government name was shared,” that she endured harassment, stalking, and cyber abuse so severe she nearly abandoned writing forever.Another creator, from the gaming community, described having her address and phone number spread online, receiving death threats, and watching her mother become a target of harassment. It took years of therapy before she felt safe again.All of these are different situations.Different levels of harm.Yet, they all share a common thread: Someone else decided that another person’s boundaries didn’t matter.As authors, we want readers to love our books.We want to meet you. We want to laugh with you at signings, hug you at festivals, celebrate release days together. We want to feel close.But there is a distinct difference between closeness and entitlement.Writing is my profession. It is also one of the most personal things I do. Every novel asks me to hand over pieces of myself.My fears.My questions.My hopes.And sometimes my grief.Whether you’re a novelist, painter, musician, actor, graphics designer, or sculptor—every work of art contains something deeply personal. You struggle and learn—really learn—to release ...
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    16 mins
  • Three Lessons About Joy and Messes

    Three Lessons About Joy and Messes
    Jun 23 2026
    What if the best thing that happened to you this week was the thing you didn’t want?A canceled flight. A collapsed bookcase. An unexpected lesson about time. Today, I’m sharing three lessons about joy, messes, and the surprising gifts hidden inside life’s interruptions.Three Lessons About Joy and MessesThree things happened within roughly the same stretch of time.The first was an incredible weekend in Nantucket with my daughter. It was the ultimate girls’ trip—great food, great company, wonderful conversations, and the chance to explore museums, historical sites, and a place filled with stories. We laughed, wandered, and simply enjoyed being together. It was intentional time. Planned time. Chosen time.The second thing was completely unexpected.Mr. Weather decided we weren’t leaving when we thought we would. A canceled flight forced us to stay overnight, which led us to spend a day at the TWA Hotel at JFK Airport. And honestly? It was magical.Expensive, yes—but magical.We wandered through the restored 1960s hair salon, explored the airplane turned cocktail lounge, and admired the sweeping curves of the architecture. The rounded concrete forms and futuristic design made it feel as if we had stepped back into another era. Watching my daughter’s eyes light up was perhaps the best part. As a budding architect, she noticed every detail, every design choice, every intentional curve and angle. What could have been an inconvenience became an adventure.And then there was the third thing.A bookcase that had been warning me for months that it was in trouble finally gave up the fight. It crashed. Spectacularly.Books everywhere.Hundreds of them.The floor disappeared beneath a sea of hardcovers, paperbacks, research materials, and treasures collected over years.Unlike Nantucket, this wasn’t something I wanted to do.Unlike the weather delay, it wasn’t unexpected.It was something I knew needed attention and chose to ignore.The pile demanded my time.Now what do all three experiences have in common.Time.One was time I deliberately chose.One was time unexpectedly given.And one was time owed but thought the problem could wait.Life is always moving forward, and sometimes we get to decide exactly how we’ll spend our time. Other times, circumstances decide for us. Some things arrive as gifts. Some arrive as burdens. And then we get those as warnings of a future time sink that we ignore.But what if we approached all of it with the same attitude?What if every moment became an opportunity for exploration?What can we learn?What can we share?What joy can come from it?Finding joy in Nantucket wasn’t difficult. Being with my daughter was a joy. Every conversation, every laugh, every walk through a museum or hanging with other writers reminded me how precious shared experiences can be.Finding joy in an unexpected airport hotel stay wasn’t difficult either. Adventure often hides inside inconvenience if we’re willing to look for it.The fallen bookcase, however, required a different kind of joy.Because when I looked at that mess, I realized I had choices.I could pile the books in a corner and move on.Or I could use the moment as an opportunity.Maybe it’s time to redesign my office.Maybe it’s time to give everything a permanent home.Maybe it’s time to display the objects that inspire me every day when I sit down to work.And what about that desk?It’s too big.It’s cluttered.It’s become claustrophobic.Maybe it’s time for that to go too.My workspace should reflect who I’ve become.Writing is not a hobby for me.For some people, it may be. But for me, it’s work. It’s my livelihood. It’s bread and butter. Its purpose and profession wrapped together.My office should reflect the writer I’ve become, not the writer I used to be.That means making hard choices.Some books will stay.The research books? They’re never leaving. Those are tools of the trade. They need to be dusted, organized, protected, and placed where I can easily access them.But do I need multiple copies of the same book?Probably not.Some of my collection will find new homes in Little Free Libraries across Atlanta, where they’ll continue their journey with new readers.Collectors understand this struggle. We love our treasures. But sometimes holding on to everything prevents us from making room for what’s next.And that’s really the lesson.Somewhere between the planned retreat, the canceled flight, and the collapsed bookcase, I found a reminder that peace isn’t found only in perfect circumstances.Sometimes peace is released in how we respond.There’s wisdom hidden in delays.And we should find gratitude in survivable messes.Life is made up of choices.The expected and unexpected.The joyful and the inconvenient.The burdensome and the beautiful.Every moment asks something of us. The question is whether we are listening.This week’s book list:The Midnight Library by Matt HaigA beautiful meditation on choices, alternate paths, ...
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    11 mins
  • The Writer’s Greatest Gift

    The Writer’s Greatest Gift
    Jun 16 2026

    Hello, friends. I’m Vanessa Riley, and this week I’m coming to you from beautiful Nantucket. Join me for this conversation with bestselling author Dawn Tripp at the Nantucket Book Festival. Our conversation, two fellow storytellers, we talk about the magic behind Fire Sword and Sea. Welcome to our talk

    Vanessa and Dawn Tripp

    Hello, friends. I’m Vanessa Riley, coming to you from beautiful Nantucket. Join me as I explore the Nantucket Book Festival, meet fellow storytellers, and share the magic behind Fire Sword and Sea. Welcome to the journey.

    Please come back next week for more Write of Passage!



    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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    21 mins
  • Everybody Loves Justice Until It Costs Something

    Everybody Loves Justice Until It Costs Something
    Jun 9 2026
    In a world where silence is profitable and outrage is performative, character still matters. Today I’m asking you a simple question with complicated consequences: Shall you take a stand, or stay seated?Take a Stand or Take a SeatI was watching The New York Times interview with Scott Pelley when the reporter asked him to respond to a statement celebrating his firing from 60 Minutes.The president called him “stiff” and part of a “gang of stupid, crooked people that don’t care about the country.”Pelley’s response is both tactful and visceral. He didn’t seem to care about being fired for his beliefs. He didn’t seem concerned about answering to power. He stood up right and got fired, when so many others might have said nothing, kept their seats, and protected their paychecks.I get it.It’s tough out here.According to Stanford’s 2026 AI Index Report, 90% of companies using AI-assisted applicant evaluations retain candidate scores for up to 330 days. That means one bad assessment, one poorly matched resume, or one automated rejection can effectively lock you out of opportunities for nearly a year. AI adoption is growing faster than ever. Yet brave researchers buck the trends and report inconsistencies and limitations in these systems. But that doesn’t help if you’re caught in that 330-day lockout.So yes, I understand why people say nothing and cling to their jobs.But if an environment demands that you surrender your values to keep your position, it might be worth considering an exit strategy.Quiet quit.Update your résumé.Find another lane.Because an environment with no morals will eventually consume yours.Back to Scott.Accused of being crooked and seditious, he swallows and carefully chooses his words. There’s still more to lose because leadership is being weaponized.I remember a time when, regardless of party, there was at least an expectation that the occupants of the highest offices in the land would demonstrate empathy and respect for all Americans. Those days feel very far away.So hearing a journalist described as a “stiff” who “doesn’t care about the country” because he asked difficult questions- well, let’s just call it disappointing.Watching a news veteran like Scott Pelley visibly choke up when responding to the accusation was moving.In his interview, Pelley reminded viewers that while he never served in uniform, he spent years reporting from war zones.“I’ve been in combat for this country in Afghanistan and Iraq. I’ve spent nights in foxholes. You become a journalist because you love the First Amendment. There is no democracy without journalism.”Scott is someone who stood up and risked his life in pursuit of truth.It reminds me of people throughout history who believed in something enough to sacrifice for it.People who risked financial ruin. People who lost family members. People who gave up comfort, status, and sometimes their lives for truth or some big principle.In an age where everything feels transactional, people like Pelley or Ida B Wells show us that there are things worth fighting for.The current political and cultural climate sharply reveals the difference between true allyship and performative allyship.Sitting back, waiting for things to change, costs women—particularly Black women and women of color.But Vanessa, I’m scared.I get it. Some things are triggering. I understand that. Everyone must have their own standards and beliefs. But don’t expect others to help you when you are the one in the line of fire.For me, I believe in the dignity of the human experience. You see my pen write this experience in a Fire Sword and Sea. In the beginning, Jacquotte is a passionate screw-up, but she finds her calling, rises to her feet, and becomes a captain leading an integrated crew of men and women.I believe laughter is still the best medicine. You see that in A Deal at Dawn when enemies-to-lovers laugh about old times while dealing with the enemy, chronic illness.I believe hard work matters.I believe prayer matters.And I still believe that when you focus, work, and persist, you can move closer to the desires of your heart.But what troubles me is how often public virtue has become performance.In 2020 people in publishing sat at home posting black squares. These posts on Instagram cost them nothing. And when many of their Black and brown colleagues were fired in 22-24, they didn’t post anything.A black square requires no sacrifice. No difficult conversations. No risk. No courage at all.There’s nothing wrong with capitalism. Nothing wrong with protecting your peace and your pockets. Just don’t confuse me by making me think you care. I’d respect you more if you were openly scheming aka JR Ewing of Dallas not that backstabbing Iago from Othello. Please don’t be the deceiving Uriah Heep from David Copperfield—humble while plotting my doom.I don’t need that kind of disappointment and heartache in my life.But this is America.Companies can ...
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    19 mins
  • Move That Dang Rock

    Move That Dang Rock
    Jun 2 2026
    What’s holding you back?Is it what they did? Is it some failing from years ago? Or is it what somebody said that shook you?I am a cross between the “name it and claim it” generation and the put-a-root-and-an-evil-eye-on-it people. But somewhere between faith and magic, between action and waiting, there’s something we are doing wrong.Move That Dang Rock: What’s Really Holding You Back?This weekend, I found myself in a room with thousands of Black women readers. The ladies had traveled across the country to buy books from Black authors, meet their favorite writers, and celebrate stories that center Black love, Black joy, and Black hope.It was the second Black Romance Book Fest.What amazes me most is that this gathering started as the dream of one indie author, Lauren Lacey. She imagined a place that would become a pilgrimage site for readers seeking stories where melanated heroes and heroines got happy endings.The publishing industry told her it couldn’t be done.Some said no one would come.Others suggested this was a pipe dream. Still others questioned if this market existed.Many stayed quiet, sneering that she’d soon learn that Black readers didn’t matter enough to build something big.Lauren didn’t listen.She didn’t waste her energy arguing with people who couldn’t see her vision. She didn’t spend years waiting for permission. She simply started building.Today, the Black Romance Book Fest is one of the largest gatherings of Black readers in the country. Thousands of readers fill these rooms. Authors sold books. Friendships were formed or renewed. Community became stronger.All because one person refused to let doubt become destiny.Now, some people might ask, “Why create something separate? Aren’t there already plenty of book festivals?”Let me explain it this way.Have you ever ordered a burger and specifically asked for no onions and no pickles?The waiter brings out lunch, but the pickle and onions are still there.You’re hungry, so you try to make it work, ripping off the pickle and onions. The burger is good. The meat is flavorful. The cheese is perfect, but the juice of the pickle, the tang of the onion are still there. Every few bites, you hit a pickle. The taste of onion coats the tongue. You spend the whole meal navigating around something that wasn’t made with you in mind.That’s what many spaces can feel like.There are wonderful book events all over the country, and I love attending them. I love meeting all readers. I love introducing people to stories about powerful women and expansive histories.But at Black Romance Book Fest, I don’t have to navigate around the pickles.I don’t have to explain myself.I don’t have to wonder if I belong.I can simply exist.I can let my hair down. I code-switch for fun, not survival.I am fully seen.And that kind of belonging matters.One thing I love about the Laurens of the world. They don’t understand the word “impossible.”Tell them something has never been done, and they immediately start figuring out how to do it.They challenge systems.They move fast.They focus. They win.Can you focus? Are you so accustomed to disappointment that you can’t imagine success?Are you frozen by a past failure? Are you haunted by a dream that didn’t work out the first time?Have you convinced yourself that your best efforts will never be enough?Are you quietly quitting on yourself?Maybe you’ve wanted to write a book for years and just couldn’t pull it together.I meet people all the time who tell me they want to write a book. Then I see them years later, and they still want to write a book.Wanting is not writing.One hundred words a day—about ten sentences—creates more than 30,000 words in a year. That’s a novella.The problem isn’t always talent.Sometimes the problem is fear, fear wrapped up in perfectionism.What’s the rock sitting in the middle of your path? What’s the thing you’ve been walking around, staring at, complaining about, but never moved?Are you waiting for the perfect moment?Sometimes the problem is us.In my life, I’ve let fear silence me.I’ve kept my head down when I should have spoken up. I’ve worried about criticism instead of focusing on purpose.But there comes a point when you have to rise.There comes a point when you have to look fear in the eye and move anyway.And if you fail? At least you failed swinging.So here are three questions to ask yourself when you’re trying to figure out what’s holding you back.First: What do I truly want?· Not what other people want for me.· Not what looks practical.· What do I actually want?Second: What am I afraid of?· Failure?· Success?· Criticism?· Disappointment?Name it, but don’t claim it.Third: What’s one thing I can do today? Just one thing.Not next year.Not someday.Today.Dreams aren’t built in giant leaps but by daily steps taken. So start, start today.Along the way, encourage somebody else.Support people who are trying.Celebrate effort.Point ...
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    12 mins
  • Sorry for Slavery. Checks for Criminals.

    Sorry for Slavery. Checks for Criminals.
    May 26 2026
    While criminals get rich, a holy man said sorry. - The pope apologized for the Catholic Church’s role in slavery. Five hundred and seventy-four years after popes authorized the enslavement of Africans, the Vatican finally admits its complicity.So I’m asking. What does an apology mean when violent offenders and felons get reparations? I’m thinking this might be the first receipt in a long-overdue accounting.Today, Pope Leo XIV used his first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas — “Magnificent Humanity” — to apologize for the Catholic Church’s role in legitimizing slavery.I don’t know if y’all understand how big of a deal that is.According to the Associated Press, this is the first time a pope has publicly acknowledged and apologized for the role that past popes themselves played in giving European sovereigns authority to subjugate and enslave non-Christians.That is huge.But at the same time?It is still just words.So today, I’m going to give you a little history — and some math.In every book I write that involves the Caribbean, one of the most disconcerting things I find is that the Catholic Church was complicit in the moral sin of enslavement.I am a woman of faith (or, as Ellen, my daughter, says, Non-denominational with Baptist leanings).My faith grounds me. It’s my identity. It has sustained me in some of my darkest hours.But when I do research and see enslaved people working in horrible conditions for priests, ministers, missionaries, and all the Catholic orders, I have to sit with that contradiction.Can you imagine spreading the good news of a Savior while returning to camp to beat and punish someone because the law said you were allowed to own them? Can you imagine preaching salvation while denying someone else’s humanity?Today I ask: what matters more — the apology, or the 574-year delay?In 1452, Pope Nicholas V issued Dum Diversas, authorizing the Portuguese crown to conquer, subjugate, and enslave non-Christians in Africa. The AP reports that this gave permission to “reduce their persons to perpetual slavery.”That was 574 years ago.Five hundred and seventy-four years is a long time to wait for someone to say, “We were wrong.” So yes, give some credit to Pope Leo.He’s American. He is from Chicago. His family tree includes both enslaved people and enslavers. Maybe all of that matters. Maybe that’s why he could step up and say wrong is wrong, even if his own hands were never on the master’s whip.That means something.But it does not mean everything.Because apologies without repair are just public relations.So let’s talk numbers.In 1838, the Maryland Province of the Society of Jesus — the Jesuits — sold 272 enslaved people to two Louisiana planters for $115,000.That gives us a benchmark:$115,000 divided by 272 people equals $422.79 per enslaved person in 1838 dollars.Historian Andrew Dial estimates that they held more than 20,000 people in bondage by the mid-eighteenth century.So let’s calculate from there.If 20,000 enslaved people were valued at the Georgetown benchmark:20,000 × $422.79 = $8.46 million in 1838 dollars. $296–338 millionBut Jesuits are just one order of the Catholic Church, if you add the Franciscans, Dominicans, Capuchins, missions, universities, and the plantation systems throughout Brazil, Haiti, Cuba, Louisiana, and the French Caribbean, you can increase that number to 100,000 - 400,000 enslaved people.The value rises from $296 Million to as high as $5 billion in today’s dollars.That is the math.Now let’s widen the lens.The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database estimates about 12.5 million Africans were transported across the Atlantic slave trade.Using the same Georgetown benchmark:12.5 million × $422.79 = $5.285 billion in 1838 dollars.In today’s dollars, that is roughly: $185 billion to $211 billion.And that is still only the body-price.· Not labor.· Not land.· Not sugar.· Not cotton.· Not tobacco.· Not banks.· Not insurance.· Not universities.· Not inherited wealth.· Not compound interest.· Just the sale value of humans.Well, Vanessa, I’m not Catholic. I figured you’d remember that. Let’s bring this home to the United States.Historians generally estimate that about 388,000 Africans were directly imported into what became the United States. By 1860, the enslaved population had grown to nearly 4 million people through forced reproduction and hereditary slavery.Using the Georgetown benchmark:4,000,000 × $422.79 = $1.691 billion in 1838 dollars.Converted today: $59 billion to $68 billion.Now, if you divided that across roughly 49 million Black Americans today, that would be about: $1,200 to $1,388 per person.And somebody will say, “See, that’s not that much. Get over it.”They would be right about the number, because it is too small. It only values enslaved people as property. It does not include what was stolen from them and their descendants.It does not include:* 250 years of unpaid labor,* lost wages,*...
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    15 mins
  • They Photoshopped Her Black

    They Photoshopped Her Black
    May 19 2026
    I almost got canceled over a book cover I didn’t create and fought against. But strangely enough, that disaster became part of a much bigger conversation about who gets represented in historical romance.My first book was traditionally published. Books two through sixteen—independently published.And the reason for going Indie after landing an agent was simple: at the time, there was this deeply toxic idea in publishing that stories centered on Black women in history—especially in the Regency and Georgian eras—didn’t have an audience.Publishers didn’t understand the history and how diverse it is. And worse, they underestimated readers. They didn’t think you were interested.So my agent and I parted ways, and I decided to prove there was a market for these books.And y’all showed up.Especially those of you who’ve been here since the beginning. You built this career with me. You bought the books, reviewed the books, recommended the books, argued for these heroines and these histories before the industry ever wanted to them to exist.Eventually, traditional publishers circled back. They wanted proposals, manuscripts, meetings. And I ultimately signed with Entangled Publishing in 2017.The Bittersweet Bride was my return to traditional publishing after years away.Now, if you think authors have control over their covers, let me lovingly disillusion you.Unless you’re a massive bestseller or have enough marketplace leverage to force approvals, you often don’t have much say at all. And at that point—In traditional publishing’s eyes, I was basically starting over. I had independent success, but not traditional “credibility.”So the cover came in.And you guys…it was digital blackface.The art department had apparently searched the internet trying to find a Black woman in Regency clothing and decided the solution was to take a White model and darken her skin in Photoshop.That was the cover for my seventeenth book.I told them, people could tell and that she looked ashy. Everyone knows Black women use lotion. That is my humor in a difficult situation. But despite my objections, that was the direction they chose.Then the internet detectives got involved. Folks on what is now X found the original image of the model and placed it beside the published cover. The outrage exploded.People were furious—and rightfully so. But a lot of folks also assumed I had approved it. Some came directly for me. And because my name was on that book, I stood there and took it.But I didn’t make that cover. I protested it. I lost the fight. And in traditional publishing, sometimes that happens—you lose the fight.Now to the publisher’s credit, once they realized how serious the backlash was, things changed. Suddenly I was included in cover discussions. Eventually they started working with the graphic artists who had designed many of my indie covers.The one benefit was the larger conversation became:Why is there such a lack of diverse historical stock photography?Why were publishers struggling to find Black models in period dress? Why weren’t there archives, databases, and photo shoots representing different skin tones, body types, cultures, and histories?People pushed hard for change.And like many things in publishing and media… some progress happened, a lot did not.A few companies stepped up. A few photographers expanded their collections. But a lot of the industry stayed status quo because the demand for diverse historical imagery was still considered “niche.”Fast forward to today.I’m scrolling through Instagram and I get a comment from the actual model whose photos were used for the cover of A Deal at Dawn.And y’all—I screamed for joy.This is book number thirty. Thirty.And this time, there’s a real Black woman on the cover portraying Katherine Wilcox, the eldest Wilcox sister, Lady Hampton. She’s elegant, beautiful, luminous—everything Katherine should be.And for me, it felt like a full-circle moment.My reentry into traditional publishing came with a cover disaster and now, years later, I have a cover miracle. My publisher Kensington Publishing Corp. found authentic imagery featuring a real Black model for my historical romance cover.That matters.Recently, I went on Threads and asked other authors how they’re navigating this issue now. Some shared resources for diverse stock photography. Some said they’re still struggling. Others have moved toward illustrated covers—what some folks dismissively call “cartoon covers.”But honestly? I love illustrated covers.Illustration allows artists to create a vision that includes everyone. You aren’t limited by the stock that exists. When I’ve had illustrated covers—let’s just say the difference in sales and wide appeal is apparent. It’s hard to accept that people look at pretty cover with a Black Regency Heroine and say it’s not for them.But things are better. Cover artists may still have to build composites from multiple ...
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    13 mins