Episodes

  • Abused, Black, and Beautiful

    Abused, Black, and Beautiful
    Apr 21 2026
    As a nerd, I love patterns. I’m trained to find patterns. But today there is one I don’t want to see. There’s a pattern—and it is costing Black women their lives. Not just in the streets, but in their homes… in their relationships… even in childbirth.This is a pattern we can no longer pretend we don’t see.There is a pattern emerging—no, not emerging, persisting—and it is costing Black women their lives.We cannot keep calling these stories “isolated incidents.” We cannot keep lowering our voices when the truth demands a roar. What we are witnessing is a crisis: intimate partner violence against Black women, compounded by a maternal health system that too often fails them at their most vulnerable. Love should not be lethal. Pregnancy should not be a death sentence. And yet, for far too many Black women, both are becoming dangerous terrain.In April 2026 alone, we’ve lost:• Dr. Cerina Wanzer Fairfax, a 49-year-old dentist and mother, killed on April 16 by her estranged husband in an apparent murder-suicide.• Nancy Metayer Bowen, Vice Mayor of Coral Springs, found dead on April 1; her husband was charged with premeditated murder.• Pastor Tammy McCollum, 58, killed on April 6 in her North Carolina home by her husband.• Ashly “Ashlee Jenae” Robinson, 31, a content creator who died under suspicious circumstances on April 9 while traveling with her fiancé after documented domestic conflict.• Qualeshia “Saditty” Barnes, 36, a pregnant Detroit rapper, shot and killed in Atlanta on April 8, reportedly by her boyfriend.• Davonta Curtis, 31, a Black trans woman beaten to death on April 8 by her boyfriend.• Barbara Deer, 51, an educator killed on April 15 in a murder-suicide.• Ashanti Allen, 23, eight months pregnant, murdered before she could bring life into the world.Say their names. Hold them in your mouth. Refuse to let their stories be reduced to footnotes beneath the names of the men who killed them.Because that is what often happens—we learn more about the killers than the women whose lives were stolen.This is not a coincidence. This is not rare. This is systemic, cultural, and deeply rooted.According to the Institute for Women’s Policy Research, more than 40% of Black women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime, compared to 31.5% of women overall. The National Center for Victims of Crime reports that 53.8% of Black women experience psychological abuse, and 41.2% experience physical abuse. These are not small numbers. These are not anomalies. These are patterns.Let me repeat: 32% of all women experience domestic violence. 40% of all Black women experience this violence. This should not be.Violence against women begins early.Teen dating violence already lays the groundwork. Data from Basile et al. (2020) shows that about 8% of high school students experience physical dating violence, with girls disproportionately affected—9% of girls versus 7% of boys. Sexual violence is even more skewed: 13% of girls compared to 4% of boys. These are children learning, too soon, that love can hurt.Then comes adulthood. Then comes partnership. Then, for many, comes pregnancy.And pregnancy—what should be a sacred, supported, protected time—becomes one of the most dangerous periods in a Black woman’s life.The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that in 2023, Black women experienced 50.3 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births, compared to 14.5 for White women. That is more than three times higher. The Kaiser Family Foundation (KFF) confirms this disparity persists across income and education levels. This is not about individual choices. This is about systemic failure.Even more devastating: over 80% of pregnancy-related deaths are preventable.Preventable.Let that word sit with you.Black women are dying not because we don’t know how to save them—but because we are not saving them.Structural racism, provider bias, unequal access to care, and the chronic stress of navigating a world that devalues Black womanhood all contribute. Black women are more likely to be ignored when they report symptoms, more likely to have their pain dismissed, and more likely to receive delayed or inadequate care.When you layer that on top of intimate partner violence, the risk multiplies.What is this pattern telling Black women?Work. Survive. Endure. But do not expect to be protected. Do not expect to be safe in love. Do not expect to be heard in pain.Is that the message?Because if it is, then we must reject it—loudly, collectively, and without apology.I am one of the lucky ones.I have a loving husband. I was supported. When complications arose during my pregnancy—when my daughter Ellen’s heart rate dropped in half with every push—my doctors and nurses listened. They acted. They ordered an emergency C-section. They saved her life. They saved mine.My daughter is alive and thriving today because I was heard.But I should not be the exception.My story ...
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    18 mins
  • You, Me, and Pausing the Routine

    You, Me, and Pausing the Routine
    Apr 14 2026
    Listen… when a workaholic like me leaves the house for something that isn’t work—you should probably pay attention.Because this week, I broke my routine… and ended up in Tuscany.For this week’s rite of passage essay, I decided to do something a little different—I actually did something fun.Now, I know I’m a workaholic. I freely admit that. If I’m not writing a book, I’m reading one, or thinking about the next book I’m going to write or read. But sometimes, you have to step outside of that box—and I did just that. I went to see a movie.Yes, me. Outside the house. In a theater. Not waiting for it to stream.That alone is a huge deal.Don’t get me wrong—I love my streaming platforms. I enjoy sitting comfortably at home (or in my office), pausing for snack breaks, rewinding scenes, all of that. But this time, I made the effort to go out.I was in Detroit after a wonderful event at the Detroit Public Library speaking about Fire Sword and Sea. To give myself some downtime, I treated myself to some incredible fried chicken at The Fixin’s Soul Kitchen and then headed over to Emagine Theatres.And that’s where I saw You, me, and Tuscany.It was adorable.If you’re looking for a movie the whole family can enjoy—something that will genuinely make you laugh out loud—this is it. It reminded me of classic romantic comedies like When Harry Met Sally and While You Were Sleeping. Just warm, charming, and full of heart.First, the scenery. Absolutely stunning. It took me right back to Florence and made me want to book another trip immediately.Second, the comedy. This is a true romcom, with impeccable timing. Regé-Jean Page and Halle Bailey were genuinely funny and had real chemistry. I know some people questioned that—but it works. Watching them fall in love was sweet, playful, and engaging.The film hits all the romcom beats: the antics, the meet-cute, the charming side characters, even the tourists wandering through vineyards offering hilarious commentary. And yes, there’s the wisecracking best friend with solid advice. I would’ve loved a bit more of her, but as a writer, I understand the realities of cutting for time.Everything you expect when you hear “Tuscany”—the food, the views, the romance—is there. It’s aspirational. It’s soft-life energy. It’s a vacation on screen.Now, I know some people take issue with seeing two Black leads in a romantic comedy. To that, I say: get a hold of yourself. There are still countless films that don’t center that experience.Others have criticized the screenplay for not being written by a Black writer. But once you understand how difficult it is to get anything financed and produced in Hollywood, you learn to appreciate what does get made—especially when it honors the culture with care. And this film does: silk sleep bonnets, braids, edges, reverence to mama and family, lush wardrobes, cars, and, vineyards.It’s lovely, heartfelt, and absolutely rewatchable. I hope it becomes a classic.As for critics like Variety saying it was “missing spice”—let’s be clear. Regé-Jean Page starring in Bridgerton is one thing. This is not that.And if you were expecting that level of “spice” from someone who also starred in The Little Mermaid… did you get it there? Did you expect it here?Exactly.This is a romantic comedy. Think again about films like You’ve Got Mail—there’s very little “spice.” What you get instead is witty dialogue, heartfelt moments, and those unforgettable, adorable meet-cutes.That’s the point.If you want something with more action—go read one of my books.More steam, go read some of my friends’ books.Trust me—we’ve got plenty of spice or action or laugh out loud humor 😉. So step out of your routine—you, me, Tuscany let’s go.This week’s book list includes:One for Artemis: The Kiss Countdown by Etta Easton – A down-on-her-luck event planner enters a fake relationship with a charming astronaut for practical reasons, only to discover their chemistry might be worth risking everything for real love.By the Book by Jasmine Guillory – A frustrated young publishing assistant travels to coax a reclusive author into finishing his manuscript, but as they connect, both must confront their personal and professional uncertainties—and the unexpected spark growing between them.For those stuck on hockey here’s: Hearts on the Fly by Toni Shiloh – After a career-ending injury forces a hockey player to rethink his future, an unlikely friendship blooms with his ex’s sister.A Deal at Dawn coming June 31, 2026 - The Duke of Torrance and Lady Hampton have to find new spouses, and definitely not each other, not again.Not a romcom but the 4th book in the Lady Worthing Mystery Series releases Sept 1, 2026 -it has humor, happenstance, some shocks, and murder.Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from The Book Worm Bookstore or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and ...
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    9 mins
  • Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

    Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire
    Apr 7 2026
    “Liar, liar, pants on fire! ” On the playground we used to yell this at someone who did something dishonest. We were in their faces. We demanded better.Somewhere along the way, that simple standard faded. Now, lies don’t get called out—they get likes.Scrolling yesterday on Twitter, and I saw a tweet about A$AP Rocky cheating on Rihanna—that thing was completely false, yet it spread like melting butter on warm toast.Saw bits of a speech claiming to have decimated Iran’s capabilities only to have two of our airplanes shot down. I think someone was lying. Politicians bend the truth, put our troops in harm’s way and get mad when they are fact checked by bombed wreckage.Then there’s the lies we’re all guilty of— picking up pictures that look so polished that they barely resemble reality.It makes me stop and ask: whatever happened to the truth? Does it exist? Has it been trampled on these social streets and stomped on, crushed into the pavement like dust beneath our feet?According to Statistica, internet users around the globe average 6 hours and 38 minutes of being online daily. We, here in the United States, average around 10. Imagine the amount of curated illusions, we’ve soaked up. Edited photos, staged luxury trips, and even fake relationships have become some kind of digital currency.And with AI tools, bots, and filters, it’s never been easier to lie. Anyone can build a perfect life or post an outrageous Am I the A*****e Tweet, something so patently false but meant for catching casually, scrolling eyeballs.And when we see digital attention, those “likes” appear to translate into status, attention, and brand deals, the temptation to lie grows stronger.But what does that do to our souls?At first, it seems harmless. A little extra filter here. A small exaggeration there. But over time, these little distortions pile up. Truth shouldn’t be flexible. Authenticity should never be optional.And yet, we now kinda expect it.When lies are constant, they stop shocking us—and that might be the most dangerous part how easily we now accept this reality.That’s a deep cost. We compare our real lives to someone else’s fabricated one, and feel like we’re falling short. We measure our accomplishments against illusions.Then some of us feel the tug, the draw to keep up. How can we ever compete with lies.It amazes me what we are now willing to accept as normal. Dishonesty has become normalized. We see it in headlines and in speeches.Lies which would’ve gotten me kicked off the playground or grounded at home are now laughed at as everyday conversations.The line between truth and fiction keeps blurring, until it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And yet, we all know—deep down—that our values are being lost.I want to go back to a time—real or imagined—when integrity mattered. When being a “good man” or a “good woman” meant something solid. When your word carried weight. When truth wasn’t negotiable, even when it was inconvenient.Integrity is more than just telling the truth—it’s about who you are when no one is watching. It’s about choosing honesty even when a lie would be easier, faster, or more rewarding. It’s about building a life that doesn’t need filters to look meaningful.The internet may reward illusion, but real life should still depend on truth. I want to trust in relationships, the credibility of our leaders, and see respect in our communities. None of this exists without honesty. Once trust is broken, it’s very far hard to rebuild any reputation crafted online.So maybe it’s time to bring back not just “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” but the will to challenge ourselves and others back to being real.In a world full of curated lies, the truth should be the one thing that binds us together, the one thing that doesn’t need editing.Speaking of Liars - How about murderous liars, today, is the release of the audiobook for Murder in Berkeley Square. Get cozy, as our intrepid Lady Worthing is snowed in with murderers. You know some bodies.Need More Liars?Let’s not forget the our ladies who have to fib about their identities. Female pirates in disguise. Have you gotten a copy of Fire Sword and Sea—the audio is amazing. And come out to see me April 11th, Come to Conyers Book Festival. April 12th, meet Michigan at the Detroit Public Library. All my friends and General Motors buddies come on out. I am not lying when I say, I want to see you.This week’s book list all lies:The Death of Truth, Notes on Falsehood in the Age of Trumpby Michiko Kakutani Examines how political rhetoric, media, and culture have eroded respect for facts.Algorithms of Oppression, How Search Engines Reinforce Racism by Safiya Umoja Noble Reveals how search engines and digital platforms perpetuate bias and misinformation.The Boyfriend Project by Farrah Rochon Follows a woman rebuilding her life after a viral cheating scandal.Need more liars?A Deal at Dawn ...
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    10 mins
  • Create. Deliver. Disappear?

    Create. Deliver. Disappear?
    Mar 31 2026
    Time is spinning. Faster than truth. Faster than publishing. Faster than we can think.Half the workforce is going gig—but writers? We were the prototype.Now AI wants in, the rules are changing, and the question isn’t can you write…It’s can you survive the revolution?Create. Deliver. Disappear?Time keeps spinning.Lately? It feels like it’s whirling faster than any of us can keep up with.I saw an article last week—data pulled from Statista and reported by Fast Company—that said by 2027, 86.5 million people in the United States will be freelancing, That’s over half the workforce.Half.Half of American workers won’t have a steady paycheck or dedicated pension. Half will be finishing one job while waiting and watching for the next.Half will be part of what they call the “gig economy” . But as I look around. The gig isn’t just coming. It’s here.As I chat with friends, I think we can commiserate. We are the original gig workers.We write a thing—out of nothing but imagination, research, and discipline—and then we send it out into the world. Sometimes directly to readers. Sometimes to agents who sell it to publishers.No matter the distribution, at the core, it’s the same model:Create. Deliver. Hope it sells. Do it again.Sound familiar?Nonetheless, something feels different right now.Time itself feels different.It’s March 31st, and I swear January was just yesterday.I was hawking Fire Sword and Sea- and folks don’t forget about it. I need your bookclubs to pick it up and discuss. We still need revolution.The air of oppression is the only thing that’s not speeding up. Anxiety has us constantly scrolling, looking for endless updates, the noise—wars, prices rising and Druski sketches. People are stockpiling water. And everyone’s trying to figure out is it Ai or truth? Where do we get news from. Substack? YouTube? TikTok? If it’s IG how do you fit all in 60-second posts?Everything is whirling, spinning faster.And layered on top of that acceleration is AI.What was supposed to be a technological revolution.With Hachette pulling the novel Shy Girl from publication because of AI editing…and New York Times parting ways with a Gig Book Reviewer —who used AI to help write a review that inadvertently borrowed elements of a Guardian review of “Watching Over Her” by Jean-Baptiste Andrea.The AI revolution is feeling a little French, as in the French Revolution. It’s chaos with forces pushing to AI - I’m looking at you Grammarly and Microsoft Copilot, And other forces trying to shame you for em dash usage— it’s chaos.Authors, like many other Gig workers are frightened.Let’s just say it plainly.Many of us have had our work scraped, borrowed, absorbed into systems we never consented to. And while companies like Anthropic have at least begun conversations around accountability and repair, the larger landscape still feels unsettled.Unclear.And very unstable.But—life keeps moving.So here we are, at the end of the first quarter, and I have to ask you—and myself:Have you accomplished what you thought you would this year?I’m sitting here thinking about everything that’s happened already with Fire Sword and Sea, how many of you made sure it wasn’t drowned out. They’re are more events happening. April 11th, Come to Conyers Book Festival. April 12th, meet Michigan at the Detroit Public Library. All my friends and GM buddies come on out.You will never know how good it feels when readers show up.There is joy in that.Real joy.And I’m grateful.Truly.But I would be lying if I said there wasn’t also fear, that the gig I love keeps evolving.We are living in a time where storytelling itself feels contested.There is pressure on what stories get told.Pressure on whose histories are preserved.Pressure on whose voices are amplified—or silenced.And publishing, like every other industry, is trying to find its footing in shifting political, cultural, and economic ground.Which means writers—especially emerging writers—are asking:Is there space for me?Will my story be welcomed?Or will it be turned away before it ever has a chance to live?I think about the next generation a lot.Are they being nourished?Are they being encouraged?Or are they being pushed out by chaos, by confusion, and systems that don’t yet know how to hold onto them?These stories don’t just disappear.They get lost. And when they get lost, we lose pieces of ourselves.So what does this all mean?We’re back to where we started.With the gig. And a marketplace that’s getting more crowded as we all become gig workers.Writing has always been uncertain.Always.There has never been a guarantee that the next book sells. That the next contract comes. Or that markets will hold.This isn’t new.It’s intensified.So what happens if the book gig dries up?That’s a real fear I’ve been sitting with.Luckily, I’ve done indie publishing and tech startups. I know what it means to build something from nothing. To ...
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    13 mins
  • Vibing to Peace

    Vibing to Peace
    Mar 24 2026
    journal they could find.Vanessa, that sounds odd.Hear me out.Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for yourself is something small that will nurture your soul.Give yourself something beautiful to focus on. In a world that feels chaotic, overwhelming, even war-torn—surviving is learning how to vibe.And you vibe by writing or singing or thinking or journaling.Let me have a few minutes. Let’s vibe together.We are on the verge of something—call it world war three, call it chaos, call it the moment before everything shifts.In the middle of it all—TSA lines wrap around terminals, travel anxiety hums the background, people are forced to work with no pay. I could go on about how every headline is filled with hostilities. They escalate hourly.I’ve made the practical decision to vibe, to be above the moment rather than in it.Vanessa, what does that mean?I’m stocking up on the essentials:Water.Toiletries.And goodwill.Since the world feels unstable, the least I can do is stabilize my corner of it.But how do you reset when gas prices feel like they’re climbing without end? When groceries—something as basic as beef—begins being priced like silver?When the weather can’t decide what season it belongs to, and you’re running both the heat and the air conditioning in the same week? You give up. Nothing, absolutely nothing is under our control.I’m not telling you anything new. But I am sharing with you my survival rules 101:First, protect your peace. The crazy train’s not stopping. There’s no switch we can flip to slow things down. It has to run it’s course and teach hard, painful lessons.And it’s so difficult when the people we love—especially those in uniform—will be called into harm’s way.So what do we do?This weekend, I found part of the answer.I joined the Tanya Time Book Club and met a room filled with readers and vibed with food, fashion, friendships and books.These readers were engaged, joyful, present.Beautiful women. Supportive, diligent men.These were people who chose, intentionally, to gather.This was nourishment, to be with bookish people.I saw laughter, felt the collective breath release and reveled in this moment: we are safe. We are together.The vibe struck me:We need this. All of us.I’m tired of watching chaos. Tired of those who thrive on fear winning. I’m deeply disappointed in those who profit from division.But as I said, there’s no stopping the crazy train. Our leadership has lied and failed us.So yes—we have to buckle up.Crazy has the keys and we’re in the back of station wagon.Back to those practical steps:Stay hydrated.Stock up—little by little on essentials:Water. Staples. Medicines. These things disappear first when systems get strained.And then—just as importantly—feed your mind.Escape, escape into a book.Because stories are more than entertainment.They are a refuge. They are resistance. They are hope.If you crave manageable chaos with a side of humor—let me offer you A Deal at Dawn, releasing June 30, 2026.This is Katherine Wilcox, Lady Hampton’s story.This stubborn woman has spent her life believing that secrecy equals safety.It’s not. It’s betrayal.This story is packed with a secret baby, hurt-comfort, and herbs.And my dear girl is ready to walk over hot coals to make things right.And opposite her—Jahleel Charles, the Duke of Torrance.The master chess player is a man shaped by legacy—a Black Russian princess for a mother, an English duke for a father—and now faces a crisis that could take everything from him.His health.His independence.His future. His one chance to be a father.So the question becomes:What does forgiveness look like when trust has been shattered?What does redemption cost?And what happens when the child—once hidden—has grown old enough to understand that she’s been lied to all her life?Will Katherine make amends?Or will she give up? Or will time run out?Yes, we need more escape. I still do suggest to picking up Fire, Sword, and Sea. These pirates fight back. We can learn something.So let me leave you with this.Please take time to care for yourself.If you need to disconnect from the noise—do it.If the news feels like too much—step away.Find voices you trust. Platforms that inform without overwhelming.Guard your home front.Prepare wisely.And don’t underestimate the power of small joys.Watch something that makes you laugh.Call someone who reminds you who you are.Go hang with a book club.And above everything, read.Let a story carry you somewhere safe and full of laughs even if it’s just for a while.And be prayerful.Pray for leadership with backbone.Pray for those called into service.Pray for wisdom and mercy and endurance.Pray for creators.Creators keep creating.We need you.We need the stories written.Art painted.Words spoken, rhymed, sung, or acted.In times like these, art is not a luxury.It’s vibe to survival.This week’s book list includes:Legendborn by Tracy DeonnSecret societies, grief,...
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    11 mins
  • Not What They Voted For

    Not What They Voted For
    Mar 17 2026
    My husband, a retired military man, doesn’t talk much about his service.But when he does, he’s careful—measured—about the details and the conflicts he may have witnessed.I did get him to share a little about evacuating citizens during Hurricane Katrina.But then (Saturday) I got a call while I was on the road in Baltimore.A woman who had been his office mate…a navigator who became a pilot…someone he once gave a check ride to…She had a beautiful laugh—the kind that filled a room.Always encouraging. Always steady.She died this weekend.She—and her crew—became casualties of a U.S. war.I just came back from a quick dash to Baltimore.I spent time in a beautiful bookstore, wandered through a wonderful library system, and got to greet Maryland readers—people who love stories the way I do.I brought work with me.My next novel is brewing.But I didn’t touch it.Instead, I let myself be wrecked by Kin by Tayari Jones.Because I needed escape.Not distraction—escape. The kind that reminds you why stories matter when the real world feels like it’s unraveling.Right now, I’m living in a dichotomy.On one side, there’s the book world—my world.Deadlines. Promotion. Strategy. The constant push to get our stories into as many hands as possible.On the other side… there’s everything else.Every time I leave my house, gas costs more. It has jumped from $2.65 to nearly $3.90.Every headline feels heavier than the last.And now, we’re in a war I didn’t want—a war I didn’t vote for.Let me be clear—I support the troops. Always.But that does not mean I support everything that puts them in harm’s way.Because this isn’t abstract to me.My husband—retired military—flew with a young pilot.She sat at the desk next to his.She is now a casualty of this war.This isn’t policy.This is personal.When things get heavy, I put my feelings in a box. I believe in compartmentalization.Put your grief in one box.Your anger in another.Your ambition somewhere else.It’s how I’ve survived rooms where I knew I wasn’t valued.Rooms where people smiled politely while quietly wishing I’d disappear.And yes—sometimes you smile to keep from crying.Sometimes you grin and bear it because the future matters more than the discomfort of the present.I thought I was good at that.But this?This is harder.When things were impossible for Jacquotte Delahaye and Sarah Sayon in Fire, Sword, and Sea, they turned to fire. The wish to burn it all down and clear away the rubbish, that they were presented. That feeling must be universal. I am very tempted to point out to those who enabled this hellscape why they need fire. It might feel good to curse out the people who deserve it.You’ve watched the news. I’m sure some very choice words have come to mind.But that’s not me.I have faith, a moral compass, a soul that won’t be damned because of enablers.Which means I enter rooms—and exit them—with grace, poise, and dignity.I will not let anyone steal that from me.Racism will not stumble me.Misogyny will not humble me.And those who don’t value stories—especially stories about history, power, and women—will never shut me up.So I will not let them win by becoming something I’m not.Nonetheless, let’s not pretend. Let’s open the compartment where the rage is.The world feels like it’s on fire. Self-inflicted fire.There’s a part of me that wants to point fingers.To call out everyone who said, “both sides are the same.”Everyone who reduced complex decisions to a single issue.Everyone who believed nothing truly bad could happen.Because now we are here.We are off the guardrails.And maybe—just maybe—these are the consequences people needed to feel, and unfortunately, they must bear witness to the blood that has been spilled.“Vanessa, you are being hyperbolic. No one wanted this.”Are we sure?Many of us have been talking about book bans and hiding history. Yet must they see an executive order force the National Park Service to dismantle the panels depicting enslavement at the President’s House on Independence Mall?“Oh, that’s a one-off, and now the panels are back.” So a cleanup on aisle nine makes everything better?And let’s look at the rest of the cleanup items.People say they voted for lower gas prices.But prices in Atlanta climbed from $2.65 to $3.85.Some say they voted for no new wars.But now we have Operation Midnight Hammer in June 2025—striking nuclear facilities in Iran.And Operation Epic Fury, launched February 28, 2026—starting a war.And the cost?A strike hit Shajareh Tayyebeh, a girls’ elementary school, killing at least 175 people—the majority schoolgirls between the ages of 7 and 12.Thirteen U.S. service members are dead.At least 200 are wounded—many with traumatic brain injuries, burns, and shrapnel wounds.A nation’s leader—Ayatollah Ali Khamenei—was killed in a precision strike,along with generals, officials, and their families—hardening resolve against the ...
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    14 mins
  • The Vicarious Vicious Keyboard

    The Vicarious Vicious Keyboard
    Mar 10 2026
    What if I told you the most dangerous weapon most of us carry… isn’t a gun or a knife?It’s a keyboard.Millions of people every day wake up, pick up their phones, and step into a strange theater of human behavior—where cruelty spreads faster than truth, outrage travels farther than kindness, and strangers feel emboldened to destroy someone they’ve never met.And the worst part?For some people… it feels good.That rush. That attention. That viral moment.Today I want to talk about the dark side of something we all do.The Vicarious Vicious KeyboardHuman nature is something I study.It’s one of the tools I use to make my characters feel real—solid… and undeniably human.People aren’t perfect. So my characters aren’t either.Sometimes they want to do something selfish. Something indulgent. Something that brings them no real benefit at all.And that impulse? That foolishness?It speaks to the heart of all our pent-up reckless desires.After all, don’t we love reading about things we’d never do ourselves? Not in the real world.Things we lack the guts—the raw courage—to do?I remember the first time I learned the word vicarious. It was on one of those weekly vocabulary lists in school. You remember when we had homework, and Mom would drill you on the list, while she cooked.Vicarious—adjectiveAccording to the Britannica Dictionary, vicarious means experienced or felt by watching, hearing about, or reading about someone else rather than by doing something yourself.Light bulbs flashed. Thunder rolled.I understood this. My life changed a little. Suddenly I had a word for something I’d always felt but couldn’t name: and the dangerous desires of the human heart had a vehicle.That thrill of experiencing something through someone else.I can be an astronaut. I could be a Duke. I could be a NASA mathematician. I could be a hockey player. I could be a cowgirl riding backwards on a horse. Anything, even a serial killer.But like most things… we in the digital age take things too far.We don’t know when to stop.And the internet—well, the internet makes it easier for us to keep going.Yes, social media and endless scrolling. I’m look at you.Have you ever put up a post and suddenly—miraculously—it get clicks? I’m talking serious clicks.Once I made an IG post about the imagery in the Sinners movie poster; it reminded me of Ernie Barnes and his iconic painting The Sugar Shack—the same painting immortalized on Good Times and on Marvin Gaye’s I Want You album cover.“That swirl of limbs.That sense of joy, rhythm, resistance.The juke joint as sacred space.”Well, that post—that simple observation—went viral in April of 2025.Almost a million views.Over ninety-five thousand likes.And I’ll be honest… it felt good.It had me checking the app again and again like an addict. Refreshing. Watching the numbers climb. For a few moments I even wondered—what could I do to capture that magic again?I liked that rush. If I could do it again, I would. But that’s the magic of viral.A scroll through threads or a dash through Twitter will show you the posts with the most likes are often vile or viscous.Some of the most toxic posts go viral. The same feeling I had checking art comments must be the same for those who post hate or speech about harm.Are people willing to chase the clicks even if it means posting cruelty?Are these fiends, checking their toxic feeds for engagement? Does negative attention spur them to post something even crazier?Is there a craving for attention, so strong that negativity will do.Have we grown so safe behind a a keyboard that we lean in at a greater propensity to bully?Or is it something darker—something more insidious? Does the hurt inside bubble up until it spills out online?Do endorphins kick in when the crowd joins the pile-on.Let’s be honest—every nasty thread post or tweet can’t be a bot.I keep asking myself: what’s in it for someone to be that hurtful? That’s the part of the vicarious journey I don’t get.But I do see the consequences:Actors doing their jobs—playing fictional characters—suddenly have to issue statements condemning racist or homophobic harassment from so-called “fans.”Any given day on Twitter—and honestly, I don’t recommend it—you’ll see people wishing harm on others simply because they didn’t like a character… or because someone attended an award show.This newfound comfort with cruelty makes me wonder if our lives have become so hollow that we now live evil vicarious lives, victimizing others with a keyboard?When I was writing Jacquotte Delahaye (Fire Sword and Sea), I had to wrestle with her darkness.She’d endured terrible things, the cruel deaths of people she loved. Betrayal. Loss.And I had to walk a fine line. I don’t do trauma porn. I believe we write of violence without hurting or triggering readers, if at all possible.For Jacquotte, I wrestled with her resolve to survive and achieve her dreams with her...
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    15 mins
  • Shut Up and Write

    Shut Up and Write
    Mar 3 2026
    Every time the world feels unstable, and an artist dares answer an interview question, we get the same memo: stay in your lane. Entertain. Distract. Don’t dare analyze what’s happening. Don’t name it. Don’t challenge it. Shut up.I’m sorry to inform you—I’m not your minstrel on demand. If you’re big mad about that, go sit in the corner and think about why.Art has always been political. Perhaps your outrage is the real performance. So maybe, you need to quiet and listen.Shut Up and WriteIn February 2018, Fox News host Laura Ingraham responded to comments made by NBA superstar LeBron James with a phrase that ricocheted across the culture: “Shut up and dribble.”She was reacting to an interview James gave alongside Kevin Durant, in which he spoke not only about basketball but about race, leadership, and the lived reality of being a Black man in America. Ingraham dismissed his words as “barely intelligible” and suggested that someone “paid $100 million a year to bounce a ball” should keep his political opinions to himself.But here’s the thing: the minute you ask a Black person about their experience in America, you are no longer asking about “just sports.” You are asking about history. You are asking about citizenship. You are asking about survival. And you are asking for our truth.When you tell him or her or them to shut up and dribble, what you are really saying is:Perform. Entertain. Produce. But do not speak.That phrasing doesn’t emerge in a vacuum. It echoes a long American tradition—of Black bodies celebrated for talent but silenced in intellect; commodified for labor but dismissed in leadership; applauded for artistry but censored in analysis. From minstrel stages to modern arenas, the script has too often been the same: dazzle us, but do not disrupt us.And yet, LeBron did not shut up.He went about his business—on and off the court. He used the moment to amplify conversations about injustice, education, and opportunity. He built schools. He funded scholarships. He made sure that his platform included not just athletic excellence but civic voice. When he was told to shrink, he expanded.I guess that is what unsettles people. Not that LeBron dribbles—but that he keeps speaking.So on Threads, Twitter, pretty much all your parasitical streets, I hear authors being told a version of that command:“Just shut up and write.”Don’t talk politics.Don’t analyze power.Don’t interrogate policy.Stick to romance.Stick to fiction.Tell us about dukes and wagers and stolen glances, but do not dare connect the past to the present. In my June release, A Deal at Dawn, some readers are dying to know if the Duke of Torrance survives a chronic illness Black communities still suffer from today, but many more want to hear about the hurt-comfort caregiving in his bathtub or his foot fetish.In Fire Sword and Sea, some want to hear about the hijinks of women cross-dressing as men but forget about the systems of government that oppress them and force them into piracy as their way to survive.And since I’ve been writing to you weekly, I’ve gotten those nasty little emails telling me that I should stick to writing historical fiction and leave politics alone.To those folks, what the heck do you think I have been writing all along?When I describe women rising up in hostile systems, about enslavement and trafficking, about corrupt leaders, white supremacy, about diseases neglected because they ravage Brown bodies—I am writing politics. I’m writing about policy. I am writing about power. Corsets and cravats and crowns never dilute the truth.You cannot celebrate the art and forbid analysis.You cannot applaud the talent and mute the testimony.You cannot consume the culture and silence the creator.The expectation that artists remain apolitical is itself political.It says:We want your labor, LeBron, not your leadership, JasmineYour imagination, Micheal B, not your insight—DelroyYou are for entertainment, forget the lived experiences that got you here.But identity is not something I can toggle off between chapters. When you ask me about my work, you are asking about my worldview. When you ask about my characters, you are asking about justice and injustice as much as you reading for love.And love is power, and it is always political.We are living in times that feel combustible. Many are waking up to realities they once refused to see.They don’t know who to trust. They want words of comfort. But where are you going to get that? You told me to shut up and write.Writers, creators—moments like this, it’s easier to retreat—to binge-watch comfort shows, to lose ourselves in manuscripts, to hide in deadlines and drafts. I, too, would love to stay in my rom-com era. I would love to focus solely on shenanigans and happily-ever-afters. But even I can only binge-watch MythBusters, hockey, and Bridgerton for so long.So no, I cannot just shut up and write.I must write. Writing is my blood ...
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    12 mins