Lisa G. Riley's Blog

A drawing from one of my students. The sweetheart presented it with a big, proud smile and “This is for you, Miz. Wiley.”

So, I started tutoring part-time with Chicago Public Schools in October. I LOVE IT. It’s a joy helping kids who fell behind during the pandemic. My big worry when I took the role was the requirement to work inside the schools (also known as petri dishes). Anyway, I thought about the adorable first through fifth graders I’d be working with, masked up, got my booster and took the job. It’s been going…not swimmingly, but it has more than exceeded my expectations.

Well, here we are nearly three months later and after yesterday’s school-wide winter extravaganza, a teacher announced that she has COVID. I don’t work with her, but that doesn’t mean much. I feel fine, but I will be taking the test once I get home. I say all that to say that I’ll be really annoyed if I have it and have to isolate. It’s Christmas, after all, and I’m a sure shot to win the family’s Ugly Christmas Sweater contest on Christmas Eve.

Happy holidays, all! Take care of yourselves!

Lisa G.

More student drawings.

It’s a great book. It only makes sense that you should get you some.

Go get it!

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Many apologies to everyone. Please Come Home for Christmas will not be released this month. Got excited about the story, jumped the gun. So sorry, peeps! Please check here for updates.

I’ve been away from the blog a long time. I’d stopped writing fiction and concentrated only on writing for the day job. Or, I should say I’d stopped writing fiction for public consumption. It’s been for my eyes only, and though I haven’t completed a project, I’ve continued to write, and I think that’s important. It hasn’t been consistent over the past couple of years, but it’s been happening. I’m grateful for that. Grateful to still have imagination and the desire to bring stories to life.

The urge to share is what’s been missing. Recently, however, I’ve felt the desire to put the work out there again. To that end, I’ve been working on the final story in the Meadowlark Series with my ride or die Roslyn Hardy Holcomb (who coincidentally has also been on a sort of writing hiatus). Called “Please Come Home for Christmas,” this re-entry into the world is Sabra and Butch’s story. We’re hopeful to have it out in January.

We apologize for the wait, but we’re back now, babies, and thrilled with the return!

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The movie ended and I sat there in my seat not ready to move because even after the credits finished, I was still taking in all that I’d seen. Beautifully atmospheric, If Beale Street Could Talk left me speechless, made me want more and for so many reasons, made me want to cry. It will sound exaggerated, but the simple beauty of the film was staggering. Its luminosity can be seen in the actors, the sets, the camera-work, and of course, the story. The tale could have been pedestrian: boy and girl grow up together, fall in love, get pregnant, tragedy, end. But it is so much more than that.

Barry Jenkins’ film reinforces the knowledge that Black people are beautiful, multifaceted, resilient and normal. We live, love, laugh, cry, support, protect, fight and we suffer. Living in a world in which our humanity is constantly questioned, abused, ignored, we need this film — need it like fresh air. It is a tender love story full of grace, and the actors, particularly KiKi Layne, Stephan James and Regina King, bring that grace to life.

Everyone should see If Beale Street could Talk.

 

[image error]“Awaken from the Unknowing,” Charles White

About six weeks ago I realized that I was never taking the time to do and see things that I want to do and see. Outside of work and family, I didn’t do a lot of extra. I’d hang out with friends occasionally, take in a movie here and there, check out a nice restaurant, etcetera. However, I’d rarely go see that art exhibit I’d been dying to see, or hit the bike trail, go to the beach, or…just do the things that were extra, yes, but didn’t take a whole lot of extra effort.

I am now taking the time to do those sorts of things, things that you tell yourself can wait. Recently I started taking my exercise on the lakefront again. It’s a gorgeous view and rejuvenating. Yet, because my new place has a gym, I’d not been along the lakefront since last year. An entire year. Pure wastefulness.

On that same subject of wasteful, I also visited the Art Institute of Chicago two weeks ago. It’s right in the city (we’re soooo lucky), but though I love it, I haven’t been in at least two years. Last month I noticed that there were two exhibits that I’d enjoy: one featuring artist Charles White’s work, and the other featuring John Singer Sargent’s work. Two weeks ago I was downtown for something else and had to pass the AIC to get home. I made the decision to  go in, spent five wonderful hours inside and discovered another exhibit that they hadn’t advertised. Called Never a Lovely So Real, it features film and photography in Chicago from 1950-1980. It was fascinating, and topped off the day perfectly.

This is my own personal era of doing. I’m calling it an era because the word “phase” connotes a brief lifespan and I hope to “do the extra” as a way of life now. Next up: the Ebony and Jet archives, the American Writers Museum, swimming lessons, the South Side Community Art Center, whatever I take a fancy for.

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I thank God for story tellers and for giving me such a huge affinity for reading. As an author, I read for research purposes and for pleasure. My reading list this summer is way lengthier than this, but the books listed below are the ones I’m determined to finish before the end of August. In the past, I would have been able to finish such a list in six weeks, easily. Now, however, with this pesky thing called life always interrupting, I have to snatch reading time whenever I can.

Have you got a list?

The Weeping Time, Anne C. Bailey. I’m a lover of history so I gravitated to this, but I’m also reading this one for purposes of research. The subject matter makes it a difficult read. “In 1859, at the largest recorded slave auction in American history, over 400 men, women, and children were sold by the Butler Plantation estates. This book is one of the first to analyze the operation of this auction and trace the lives of slaves before, during, and after their sale. Immersing herself in the personal papers of the Butlers, accounts from journalists that witnessed the auction, genealogical records, and oral histories, Anne C. Bailey weaves together a narrative that brings the auction to life. Demonstrating the resilience of African American families, she includes interviews from the living descendants of slaves sold on the auction block, showing how the memories of slavery have shaped people’s lives today.”

We were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy, Ta-Nehisi Coates. Coates’ book, Between the World and Me is heartbreaking, and one of the most beautifully written things I’ve ever read. As a consequence, I was excited to get my hands on this book: ““We were eight years in power” was the lament of Reconstruction-era black politicians as the American experiment in multiracial democracy ended with the return of white supremacist rule in the South. In this sweeping collection of new and selected essays, Ta-Nehisi Coates explores the tragic echoes of that history in our own time: the unprecedented election of a black president followed by a vicious backlash that fueled the election of the man Coates argues is America’s “first white president.”

But the story of these present-day eight years is not just about presidential politics. This book also examines the new voices, ideas, and movements for justice that emerged over this period—and the effects of the persistent, haunting shadow of our nation’s old and unreconciled history.”

Moonwalking with Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering, Joshua Foer. A smartly written book that might help me improve my memory, and is amusing to boot? You better believe I’ll read it. “An instant bestseller that is poised to become a classic, Moonwalking with Einstein recounts Joshua Foer’s yearlong quest to improve his memory under the tutelage of top “mental athletes.” He draws on cutting-edge research, a surprising cultural history of remembering, and venerable tricks of the mentalist’s trade to transform our understanding of human memory. From the United States Memory Championship to deep within the author’s own mind, this is an electrifying work of journalism that reminds us that, in every way that matters, we are the sum of our memories.”

The Hate U Give, Angie Thomas. I started hearing about this YA book and its young author about a year before it was published. I couldn’t help but be impressed and happy for the author, and I’m excited to read the book. “Sixteen-year-old Starr Carter moves between two worlds: the poor neighborhood where she lives and the fancy suburban prep school she attends. The uneasy balance between these worlds is shattered when Starr witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Khalil was unarmed…What everyone wants to know is: what really went down that night? And the only person alive who can answer that is Starr.”

The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead. It’s Colson Whitehead. That is all. “Cora is a young slave on a cotton plantation in Georgia. An outcast even among her fellow Africans, she is on the cusp of womanhood—where greater pain awaits. And so when Caesar, a slave who has recently arrived from Virginia, urges her to join him on the Underground Railroad, she seizes the opportunity and escapes with him. In Colson Whitehead’s ingenious conception, the Underground Railroad is no mere metaphor: engineers and conductors operate a secret network of actual tracks and tunnels beneath the Southern soil. Cora embarks on a harrowing flight from one state to the next, encountering, like Gulliver, strange yet familiar iterations of her own world at each stop. As Whitehead brilliantly re-creates the terrors of the antebellum era, he weaves in the saga of our nation, from the brutal abduction of Africans to the unfulfilled promises of the present day. The Underground Railroad is both the gripping tale of one woman’s will to escape the horrors of bondage—and a powerful meditation on the history we all share.”

Thank you for stopping by. What are you reading?

 

 

“All I Want for Christmas,” the fourth and latest book in Ros’ and my “Christmas at the Meadowlark” series will be dropping (steaming hot) on July 22. In celebration, we’re having a Christmas in July sale for the month. First up for 99 cents is “Gee Whiz, it’s Christmas.” Go get you some:

Amazon: http://a.co/feKJunH

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gee-whiz-its-christmas-roslyn-hardy-holcomb/1123116779?ean=2940157645403 

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/gee-whiz-it-s-christmas

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/gee-whiz-its-christmas/id1384319079?mt=11

The book will only be discounted until the 7th. On the 8th, “Oh, What a Christmas” goes on sale for a week for 99 cents, and trust me, you’re going to want to read it. Just as you’ll want to read “A Lot Like Christmas,” which will be 99 cents from July 15th through the 21st!

Ros and I had fun writing these books, which I believe bring both the funny and the serious.

Thank you for stopping by.

Lisa

 

 

 

 

 

 

[image error](Picture courtesy of artistrunwebsite.com)

Hola mis amigas!

Because I’ve been going through some things, it’s been quite a while since I’ve communicated through this platform. And though all is well now, I won’t promise that I’ll post here any more frequently than I did before the most current drought because there’s just always something. What I want to do is tell you about my next few projects:

Christmas at the Meadowlark: All I Want for Christmas. The fourth in the series, this is Libra’s and Saul’s story. Roslyn and I are working diligently on this story and it will be out soon. By the way, be on the look out over the next few weeks for something awesome regarding this series.

Christmas at the Meadowlark: Please Come Home for Christmas. This will be the fifth and final book in the series and will feature childhood sweethearts Sabra and Butch. It’s a doozy!

KK Patrickson’s story (Tentative title: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered). This one is a long time in coming. People have been asking for KK’s book since she first appeared in At Last in 2003, and I promise I have been trying to write it. At one point I had nearly 100 pages before I stopped fighting the truth, which was that the story didn’t work for her. She’d been trying to tell me, but I just wasn’t listening. Well, I’ve got it now and we’re both extremely happy with it. So, 15 years after she was birthed in print, KK finally has a story that works for her. It’s a glimmer, but a strong one and we’re off.

Thank you for being here.

Lisa

 

Meet her in the Acts of Wars sneak peek (©2017 Roslyn Hardy Holcomb and Lisa G. Riley) below. You’re  going to love her!

[image error]“What was it you came over to tell me?” Perish made her way back over to the table and looked at her late grandmother’s friends, Father Mike Clements and Cash Hayes, in turn. “And please, just tell me. I’d like to know before one or both of you gets murdered.”

Again, they both burst into laughter, but Perish didn’t smile as she sat across from them.

“All right, lass. You win, though you could let a couple of old men enjoy the warmth of your hearth and the pleasure of your company for a little bit,” said Father Clements.

Perish squashed the guilt that flared. “Are you going to tell me?”

“How much do you know about your parents?”

Perish frowned. “Only what Grandmother said in the letter she left for me when she died –that my parents shouldn’t have been together and that I should look for any clues about them in Sector One in Massachusetts or New York.”

Mr. Hayes shook his head. “There’s so much more to it than that. For years we tried to persuade Abigail to tell you what she knew, but she was such a stubborn thing, and she was concerned that the truth would damage you in some way.”

“Yes, soft-hearted and stubborn, that’s a perfect description of your grandmother,” began Father Clements. He drank from his cup, slurping up the last of his tea. “Anyway, she’d told you about how your mother showed up on her doorstep one day with you in tow. You were a wee bit of a thing, and your mother? Well she was outrageously beautiful. Her loveliness could almost stun the eyes. I wish we had thought to preserve that image with just one photo, but we were so busy trying to protect, that trifles like pictures were the furthest things from our minds. Danger surrounded her and anyone in contact with her. We had to be very careful. No one was safe.”

This was the first time Perish was hearing anything so specific about either one of her parents and she sat up straighter. “In danger? Protect her? Protect her from whom?”

Perish would have had to be blind to miss the quick worried look the two men passed between one another, and the silence that followed was deafening and pregnant with tension. “Tell me,” she demanded.

It was Cash Hayes who said quietly, gently, “Your mother wasn’t the one in danger, child; everyone else was. Especially you. She tried to kill you.”

Perish fell back in her chair. “Well.” She looked down at the table and tried to gather her thoughts. As a child she’d conjured up images of what her parents would be like. Never once had she imagined child murderers. Aware that the men were watching her and worrying about her, she looked up and met their eyes. She shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting champagne and roses, but I damn well wasn’t expecting that. Go on,” she demanded and made sure she kept eye contact. “Continue.” She said this to Father Clements because she knew he’d be her best shot at getting the entire story. Mr. Hayes would wimp out.

 

Mike Clements wanted to look away from Perish’s stare, but couldn’t. This conversation had been coming for a long time, and was due. She’d been owed it since she was old enough to understand, but he knew why Abigail had never told her. She hadn’t had the courage, and he didn’t blame her. Looking at Perish now, he had his own reservations. He sighed. At least the worst was over…mostly.

He reached for Perish’s hands, tightening his grip when she would have pulled away. “It’s all right, lass,” he told her soothingly and allowed himself a grin when her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his tone. “No, I’m not up to anything, Perish. This kind of thing calls for human contact and gentleness. Now, relax. I’m gonna tell you a story.

“It will be thirty years next April. It seems so long ago, that day does. I was visiting your grandmother. She’d invited me over for lunch and cards. Having just finished lunch, we were on the front porch of your old house trying to catch a breeze.”

Father Clements closed his eyes in remembrance and his voice turned reflective as memories, so bright and clear he felt he could almost touch them, assailed him. “I remember everything in fine detail because what happened that day was so momentous. It was hot, terribly so — about a thousand degrees in the shade. Abby was querulous — didn’t usually take much to make her that way, but this time she had a legitimate excuse. The heat was murderous. I was tempted to take off my collar to combat the heat, but had only taken off my jacket and was sitting around in short sleeves. Abby was trying to keep cool by waving this worthless paper fan back and forth, while also trying to convince me to play poker instead of the crazy eights that I’d agreed to…”

 

“No, Abby, I’m not going to play poker with you. I don’t like the avarice I see shining in your eyes.”

Abigail smirked. “Christ, Mike. That’s not avarice; that’s what we in the know call good old-fashioned confidence. Now what I see on you,” she began before taking a sip of the tall glass of lemonade that he was sure was rapidly warming, “is just pure cowardice.”

“Now none of your trash talking, Abigail Blackburn. You’re not gonna get me to play by insulting me or by being blasphemous. I will not play poker with you.”

Abigail snorted, but didn’t deny it. “Chicken,” she muttered and began to deal the cards. “Heard anything from Gibson lately? I haven’t even seen him at Mass.”

“That’s because he hasn’t been.” He studied his hand before placing a nine of spades on the discard pile. “He’s traveling.”

“Ah. I suppose he’s on another one of his secret missions,” Abigail commented and tossed an eight on the pile.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s secret.”

“Ha Ha. You’re a funny man… ”

When she said nothing else, Father Clements looked over at her, but she was staring out at the street. He followed her gaze and stiffened. The woman who stood at the end of the lane was bedraggled, but her beauty stood out, almost defiantly. He met her dark unflinching gaze, and couldn’t have felt more vulnerable if he’d just been pushed naked and wailing from his mother’s womb. Without thinking about it, he made the sign of the cross. Humor briefly flared in her gaze, becoming a twin to the unholy light that had been there from the beginning. He crossed himself again, this time with deliberation. She seemed to take that as a challenge, and as if his gesture had made her decision easier, she started to make her way up the lane.

“Stop right where you are.” It appeared Abigail had found her voice. It came out weak at first, but was at full strength before the third word was uttered. She’d said the command just as the woman was half way up the path. Father Clements was almost surprised when the woman stopped. No one brooked Abigail when she used that particular tone, though from the narrowing of her eyes and the tightening around the younger woman’s mouth, he could tell that she was sorely tempted to.

“What do you want?”

When the other woman spoke, her voice was so melodious that it was close to being bewitching and Father Clements had to resist the urge to cover his ears in a weak effort to protect himself. “I was told at the Trayvon Martin Justice Center that you may be willing to offer your assistance.”

“My assistance with what?”

“I do not feel comfortable with the holy man here. I would like to speak to you alone.”

“You just said what to me?” Abigail asked incredulously. “And then you expect me to be in your company alone? Willingly? Surely you jest.”

“If I were at my full power, old woman, I could make you.”

Abigail snorted. “Yeah, so guess what? The case for ‘no’ is only getting stronger.”

His body nothing but six feet of tension now, Father Clements waited for the young woman to answer.

Abigail didn’t give her an opportunity. “What do you want young lady? We haven’t got all day. Why would the Center direct you to me? They know enough about me to know that I don’t cotton to anybody up to no good.”

Small white perfectly straight teeth were bared in a brief, but recognizably cruel, smile. “Perhaps you don’t, but I am sure you will cotton to what I’m sure you would consider an innocent.” She half-turned so that part of her back was to them. She looked over her shoulder and over the top of the head of a dark-haired baby sleeping peacefully in a heretofore unseen carrier, and with a crafty look in her eyes now said succinctly, “Will you not?”

Acts of Wars sneak peek © 2017 by Lisa G. Riley and Roslyn Hardy Holcomb.

The book drops on January 27, but it’s available for pre-order: Amazon, Kobo, and iBooks. The book will be  available at Barnes & Noble on January 27th.

Tagged: Acts of Wars, Grace Quinn, Of Wars series, Ominous Pride, Parker Quinn, Perish Blackburn, Princess Buttercup, Resistance, Trick