The Secret Is Out: I Have A Book Deal!!!

I have thought about this day for my entire life. I have been writing stories since I was six years old. Words, stories have saved my life more times than you’d ever know and more times than I’d care to admit. I believe that stories, our very narratives are transformative.

I am very rarely ever speechless so it’s hard to begin. I can tell you that I am sitting in my bed as I type this, tired from packing, tired of moving things up and down the steps. I have to wake up early to load up a cargo van from Detroit and head to NYC to live with two people who I don’t know. I have a strew of unanswered emails and unanswered texts from people who wish me well in this new and strange city hundreds of miles away from my friends and family.

So, I guess I’ll get started.

I wrote my first full-length novel at seventeen. It was a YA Sci-Fi novel. About 400 pages. I wrote little scenes in between taking notes in my freshman year of college. I was obsessed. I loved how as an author, I was in control. I could be anything unlike in real life. I lived vicariously through my characters. In the worlds I created, I was what I could never be in reality. I could be thin. I could be the heroine. I could be white. Courageous. Sexy. A villain.

I sent that book out as soon as I was done to agents in NYC. I had dreams of being a big-time author like J.K. Rowling or R.L. Stein. All I needed was that one yes. I must’ve sent that book out to over a hundred agents and publishing houses. I got a ton of rejections but was optimistic. One agent asked for the full manuscript. I was elated. I used my little money to print all 400 pages. You can imagine how much that cost me. I was a poor college student.

I waited a few weeks then got a letter in the mail. He had rejected it. I remember trudging along with a heavy backpack full of used textbooks and ripping the letter apart and crying. At that moment, I swore off writing. I wasn’t good enough. No one who looked like me would ever make it in the publishing world. Fat, Black Muslim girls hadn’t had a place in that world. I hadn’t seen any.

Years later, I picked up a pen again. My soul was itching to write more stories. I wrote my second full length novel. Again, it was YA dystopian. It was much better than the first but was rejected by over two hundred agents and publishers.

Discouraged, I took a little break but began ordering all the books I could about the art of storytelling. I even enrolled in college level courses to learn what I was doing wrong. Why hadn’t the agents wanted my stories?

Finally, I decided to get a master’s in creative writing. When I tell you I was broke and scared that I’d be wasting my money. I was. I was working a full-time job that I hated and married. But, it was my last hope to be a writer. I was hungry for the knowledge. So, against the odds, I was accepted into Wilke’s University. It was hard. All of my time went to creating a third novel.

This was the one! I bellowed. This was the book that was going to get published. Finally. I had checked off every box. Spent two and a half years perfecting and deleting and adding and red-lining this manuscript to gold. I edited it over seventeen times over the span of two years.

Guess what? A few agents bit, but no one wanted it.

I was in despair. I had three books under my belt and nothing to show for it.

Life happened. My mother had become ill and distanced herself. My father was never there. Then my husband took me through the most horrific divorce ever. Treated me like I was a stranger after a decade relationship. I gave and gave and gave and then was dropped by everyone I thought would love me and be there for me forever. I learned that people aren’t always who they say they are.  

When I tell you that I was mad. I was fuckin livid. I was left with no money, no insurance, no job. Nothing. I had to start from the bottom.

To get through the depression and separation of my husband, I wrote. I needed to purge myself of the evil that people had done to me. I needed to release the madness that was building. I needed to be raw as fuck on those pages. Trauma and pain didn’t care that I was Muslim. It didn’t care that I was poor. I cried while writing those essays. Having to recall the nastiness that happened in your life was as therapeutic as it was sad.

By the time I was done, I had a whole ass book. But, it wasn’t fiction like the others, it was a memoir of essays.

Because I was embarrassed of some of the stories inside those pages, I sat on it for almost a year. Then I made a pact with myself. If I was to receive any large sum of money, that I would send the book to agents.

I ended up winning the Gilda Award for one of my essays and that was the sign I needed.

So, without further ado. I am proud to announce that I have a whole ass memoir coming out mid-October. It’s about my life: growing up, being Muslim, being Black, being fat. It also has stories of which I’ve never, ever shared with the public and even with my family and friends.

I’m not going to lie, I never thought I’d get a book deal. I never thought that someone would actually represent me and get me a contract. I never thought that a book I wrote would be on actual shelves.

I am shocked still. I am also scared as shit. That people will judge me. Make me to be some bad person. That my stories will be exploited. I am rightfully scared of these things.

On the other hand, I believe that people need to see my face. My body. They need to hear my words. Stories are transformative. They change people. They’ve changed me.

This book is all of me. And, I hope that you support me by pre-ordering a copy or two, by telling your friends how amazing it is. By posting how much you are excited about it on your social media accounts.

I hope that by reading my stories that you become more like your true self each and every day. That you feel a little less scared. A little less alone.

You can pre-order your copies of Unashamed: Musings of A Fat, Black Muslim everywhere books are sold!

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0807012629/

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/9780807012628

Indie Bookstore: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780807012628

Beacon Press: http://www.beacon.org/Unashamed-P1515.aspx

I would like to thank my agent Penelope Burns with Gelfman/Schneider, Joanna Green and the entire team at Beacon Press for believing in this project, Madinah Muhammad was head makeup artist for the cover, Daniela Lisi shot the beautiful shot, and the team at Eloquii gifted me the entire outfit.

Are you excited? Are you pre-ordering your copy? Let’s make this the next Best Seller!

xoxo,

Leah V

The Unconventional: Thriving As A Covered Model

Sometimes I think it’d be easier to show my ass. I mean my entire meaty ass that’s filled with fat craters and stretch marks. Like the whole thing sitting up on a sink like I see the other gals doing. You know those multiple photos on a girl’s Instagram page as she takes a half body selfie in the mirror with her ass cheeks out. Do you know how much I’d save on wardrobe??? How much time I’d save locating photographers and setting up shoots? To live the life of an IG model who posts semi-nudes and has followers stacked on followers and doesn’t have to worry about engagement because, hello! Sex sells. Bare skin sells. And, oh, I forgot to add, this only works for certain body types. Not all bodies get to show and be empowered by semi-nudity. Only the right kind of bodies get that right. The right kind of thin. And the right kind of thicc or curvy.

I was scrolling down my timeline yesterday and saw a post that read: nudity empowers some and modesty empowers others. Which I totally agree with and this is not a “bash people who are empowered by showing their bodies on the internet” post so if you know me or have read my work or follow the folks that I support and even try to place that in this equation, you can go royally fuck yourself.

What I am shedding light on is the fact that many of us feel that we should show more body (for the wrong reasons) just to stay relevant or get validation or receive more likes.

And, we see this not only with influencers but adolescents as well. I feel like now a lot of girls (and boys) have this mentality that the sexier the better. The barer the skin the prettier. The bigger the butt the worthier.

Modesty equals prudishness. It equals being confined to one stereotype. It equals less popular. The inability to be sexy, feel sexy, be fierce.

Because I grew up Muslim, we weren’t taught to be sexy. Sexy was forbidden. There was no need for a Muslim girl to feel or be sexy at all. The extreme end of modesty was humble, colorless, loose clothes, bare face. The idea that you shouldn’t want or feel the need to be seen. Lower your gaze. Be bashful.

And after hearing stories of other cultures and religions having the same experience as above, it’s as if you can be only one or the other. There is no in-between. What’s too sexy and what’s not sexy enough look like? What’s true body empowerment versus an attention seeker who just wants to be validated for her body and nothing else?

I feel like I’m in a weird place as someone who lives so openly on the net. And, believe me, I am not the most modestly dressed Muslim you’ll see, but I’m also not the most nude either.

One day, I was at an indoor spa and I had on a bathing suit in the water. It wasn’t a bikini top, but it was more like a sleeved swim top and the top part of my chest was out. I don’t remember if I had my hijab on or not, but I made a boomerang and a few Muslims went hard on me. Scolding me for showing my body. It’s this idea that you are or you aren’t. There is no in-between. This ideology that many of us carry is problematic in so many ways. It alienates people. It forces them to be someone they aren’t just to please the masses, please their communities. When truly, it’s not who they want to be.

I don’t want to feel pressured to show my ass for likes. But I appreciate others who show their asses for a cause or because they want to be free or want to show others that there is confidence in being okay with your body. I don’t want to feel pressured to cover my body or hair either. To pretend to be fake modest like I had when I was married or when I was more involved with the Muslim community. When I wanted to fit in to their standards of how a Muslim should look.    

I’d like to wear what makes me comfortable, whether I get validation or likes or not. I’d like to be liked for me. I’d like to be accepted for me. Whether that’s fully covered or not or somewhere in between.

But, I will tell you right now that in no one is it easy to be a fat, Black model who also happens to be a semi-covered Muslim. Every time, I book a gig, I am all types of shocked. And all kinds of grateful because I can’t do and wear what the other models do and wear. So, it limits me. But, when I do step up, I am serving looks so hard that I want to make them forget that they have a Muslim girl on set. I am so fierce that all they see is a girl that will kill that shot every single time. So, that other girls (and boys) who are behind me or standing beside me have a chance to walk in that door and wear their culture or religion proudly in that campaign or on that panel.

xoxo,

Leah V  

Simply Be UK "Express Yourself" Ad

Because I’ll be traveling all week, I just wanted to drop in and show you my latest work from the summer. I was flown to the UK, not once but twice, to shoot commercials for Simply Be UK.

Ya’ll know that I started my blog back in 2013 because I wanted to fill a gap. I wanted to show the world that beauty didn’t have a standard. It had no age, color, or religion. 
I’ve always expressed my identity through fashion. 

I was the Muslim girl who would wear black nail polish and black lipstick to prayer on Fridays and get shocked and disapproving looks from other Muslims. I was the girl who would cover her eye lids with glitter and stick flowers in her hijab while friends either made fun of me or told me that “big girls were always looking for attention”. I was the girl who always wore what she wanted on her face and body despite what people said. 

I look back at all the people that talked shit about my makeup and clothing. Called me a clown and other discouraging names. They are either in my inbox asking for styling advice or now watching from the sidelines as I rise *sips tea* 

Had I listened to their ridicule, had I wavered and changed who I truly was to please them, I surely wouldn’t be standing here shooting whole ass commercials 😂. I want to let you know that you don’t have to be an Instagram model to feel confident with your body. You don’t need a small waist, long weave with baby hairs laid, pale skin, clear skin, narrow nose, big booty, or long legs to feel beautiful. 

You can start right now. 

What makes your feel beautiful?

XOXO,

Leah V

Everything is Going to Change

When I was a little girl, I used to hate change. Mom would always tease me. “Amerra, likes for everything to remain the same.

Amerra, which means “princess” in Arabic, and the Islamic name I was given as a child.

I think I’m still that person. Inside anyway. Little Amerra is still in there trying to halt movements that are too fast, too uncomfortable. It’s so safe right where we are. To move in an unknown direction, to make a leap of faith is just too much for her to carry, too much for many of us to carry.

So, we remain stagnant. And comfortable. Never venturing out into the wild that is life.

It is both sad yet understandable.  

For me, I was forced to accept change. Does that mean I’m in love with it? Hell nah! But I get it. I understand—for the most part—that if I don’t move, the world will continue to move with or without me present.

When I say that I was forced to accept change, I mean that a series of shit occurred. Shit that stunned me. Shit that rendered me helpless, confused. Everything stopped. I was at the crossroads of going left or right. On the left was pain and misery on the right was also pain and misery. But, the right had some added benefits. With that pain and misery was acceptance. It was a route that I would be able to become my own narrator. Instead of allowing the world to narrate for me.

I think that too many people are afraid to take the wheel and become their own narrator because for one it’s scary as shit and secondly, it makes them accountable.

Change to me was being accountable. Holding others accountable.

Trust me when I tell you that this role isn’t easy to slide into. You come up against a lot of foolishness once you take on the challenge. I’ve noticed that people want to do what they want without consequences. Everyone just wants to be accepted as they are. But, that’s not really fair. Maybe your ‘as is’ ain’t good. Not good for you and not good for others. I know for a fact that mine wasn’t. Like at all. The person I was five years ago wasn’t good. It was doable. But not great.

Everything is going to change, I told myself two years ago.

And, would you look at that. Everything has changed.

I’ve changed. Situations have changed. Some slow and some fast. I’ve found myself being able to cope with change much quicker and more openly than before. I’ve moved less away from the rigidity of childhood and become a tad more fluid.

Yet there are still moments of complete rigidness, where I won’t bend for shit. Some work out and others, I am again forced to accept.

I’m still learning when to hold on and when to let go.

Last year, for me, was a year of hardship and discovery. I discovered that I had writing talent that I always knew I had but others wouldn’t give me the time of day to figure out. I always wondered how I was going to get my work seen. Heard. Nobody was checking for me. My little artsy feelings were hurt. But, I had talent, I screamed from the tops of mountains. Still no one cared.

When I tell you that I quit or almost quit multiple times is an understatement. It is HARD to do what I do. You, the spectator, get to look at the pretty photos and read the well-crafted sentences for free. Not seeing all the behind the scenes work that’s put into it. Not seeing me trying to drag myself out of bed every morning. Battling depression and anxiety. Wondering if anyone is reading this shit or am I just talking to my damn self.

I made a promise though. That no matter what, I’d always write. Every day. For free, if I had to. Because I am words and words are me. Simply.

This year. Man, this year, my endurance was put to the test. There wasn’t a chance to quit or tussle with change because I had gotten all the opportunities right in my lap. They piled on top of each other. After starting my blogging career in 2013, things were starting to change. For the good and bad. Friends started to drop off like flies, their true intentions revealed. I landed my very first commercial in the UK. I went to Barcelona on a random solo trip. I still don’t have a man on the account of me being too “intimating”. I’ve cultivated so many relationships with so many lady friends and have built a tribe all over the world.

“Everything is going to change,” I said to myself right before I knew I was getting divorced. Right before I knew all the foolery that he was a willing participant in.  

I felt it in my bones. In my aura. I knew it was coming whether I wanted it to or not.

And, it did come. Sooner than I wanted but that’s not for me to control. I can only control how ready I am for it when it comes.

What has changed in your life? Were you ready for it? What kind of change would you like to see in the near future?

Xoxo,

Leah V

BRUT Feature: Power In Numbers

So, this video went from 22k views to after me sharing it having over 130k views in over a week. Ya'll are just amazing. 

Watch it and keep sharing and liking and commenting on the video because in numbers we can change narratives. They aren’t going to take us seriously unless we show them that we can pull numbers. 

For a hot minute, I was getting these major features and interviews back to back. There were so many that I couldn’t keep up. I remember feeling validated. I was poppin *Tongue pop* 

Then they suddenly stopped. I wasn’t the “it” girl anymore. I was “normal”. Probably never gonna see that much shine again unless a sex tape surfaced 😂

Who was I if I was no longer validated by huge media outlets? Who was I if I wasn’t poppin on the net? 

Y’all know that I am constantly checking myself. Why? Because I’m not trying to slip and slide back into my past self. I refuse to be a slave to my old habits because I’ve worked damn hard to level up. 

I had to remember my why. My purpose. I hadn’t started my journey to seek validation for empty likes or a thousand retweets. I started because through my self discovery I could help others rediscover themselves. 

I’m delighted to tell you that I have been featured in Brut and they made a whole ass video of meee. Here’s one of the nasty comments: “If it wasn't for Brut we would have never heard of this person and we'll probably never hear from her again.”

I thought it was funny because you’ll definitely be hearing from me again. 

Go comment nice things on it 😎

Watch it and here and lemme know what you think: 

https://www.facebook.com/brutamerica/videos/1982250172073492/UzpfSTc5NTY3MDAyMzg3NzUyOToxNTk0OTMxMjg3Mjg0NzI4/

Ramadan Chronicles: Embracing Imperfections

Because my platform is so diverse, I never want to feel preachy or overbearing. That Muslim girl who forces her religion on you. I’ve met Muslims who are constantly trying to force their beliefs on others and it becomes tiring and honestly, annoying. So, I’m very careful about what I share when talking about my spirituality.

Since we’re in the holy month, I’ve shared some stories about my relationship with Ramadan over the past years and how I tackle it now.

I had no idea that people, non-Muslims and Muslims, would be so interested in fasting and my experience with Ramadan. The conversations were heavy.  

I talked about how everyone is so happy when Ramadan comes around. You’ve got the Ramadan Mubarak memes and the smiling faces in pastel hijabs and the religious Facebook statuses with ayats from the Quran.

Ramadan is such a perfect time for perfect Muslims to fast and everything just seems so easy.

No one talks about how Ramadan can be not so easy for others who are converts who have been banished from their families for accepting Islam or people who don’t live near mosques or other Muslims who have to break fast alone every night. No one talks about Muslims who are having physical ailments and feel low because they are unable to participate in Ramadan fully or how a woman on her period has to constantly defend her reasons for not fasting to the Haram Police. No one talks about Muslims who have eating disorders, triggered by fasting or the ones suffering from mental illnesses. Like me.

Last year, when my divorce was still fresh and my mental health at an all-time low, I told my friend that I wasn’t participating in Ramadan. I hadn’t seen the point in it. All I saw were fake people trying to be holy for 30 days then become the same sucky people after it was over, after they were done playing super Muslim.    

She told me that it was my choice to participate or not. But, then she added, that my Ramadan wasn’t for other people. It wasn’t for the Muslims who judged me or my ex or to show everyone how good of a person I was because I abstained from food and water and curse words during the daylight hours. She told me that my Ramadan was for me.

I went home and thought about what she said. She was absolutely right, and at that moment, I figured out that all those prior years, I had always been fasting to appease others. I had wanted to seem like the perfect, law-abiding Muslim that I lost track of what Ramadan was really about: self-reflection through prayer, gratefulness to our creator, and centering oneself.

It was never about perfection but embracing one’s uniqueness in imperfection. 

We’re a week into Ramadan, and I’ve missed some days of fasting already. This morning, I was determined to wake up early enough to make suhoor (pre-dawn meal before fasting), read the Quran, and pray.

Prayers in Islam are integral. It’s a time where we mediate, keep in remembrance of our blessings, and ask.

Usually when I pray, I ask for general things for other people and I always leave myself out. As dumb as this may sound, I don’t believe that I deserve to ask for anything. So, I don’t.

But, Ramadan is the best time to ask and reflect.

I sat on my prayer rug that was once collecting dust and spoke out loud. I asked for the heaviness to be lifted. For a means to continue my art without struggling financially. I asked for a peace of mind. Forgiveness for any messed up stuff I’ve done to my body and to others.

After that, I gave thanks. For having working limbs, a mouth to speak, access to food, opportunities just laid in front of me. I’m not the richest or the smartest or the best, but I’ve done things most haven’t. Tears streamed down my eyes. Not sad ones but happy ones as I rejoiced. That the things that happened, good and bad, had been written for me way before I was born.

But, I always had a choice.

So, when I’m fasting and experiencing hunger pangs, when I’m feeling like I cannot go any further, I know that I can go further.

How’s your fast going?

Xoxo,

Leah V

The Power of Transparency

I wasn’t always so transparent. Growing up I was very quiet. Always in deep thought or some imaginary land. I never said what I was thinking. When I had, my peers thought I was weird.

Then I went through a phase where I spoke a lot more. I was told that I ‘talked too much’ and that I ‘sounded like a broken recorder’. From an early age, I found out that adults needed to be reminded and that most of them lacked accountability. And, if I wanted to get things done, I had to be assertive and vocal about my needs.

In my teen years, the person I was inside hadn’t matched the outside. So, I hid within myself. I dove into writing fictional stories, that way I could live vicariously through characters, leaving the real world behind.

Years passed, and I still clung to fictional stories even as an adult. No one would accept me—the real me—if I ever spoke my truths. I’d get eaten alive by the Islamic communities and the online ones, too. For sure, I thought that no one wanted to hear anything other than what famous blogger I met in New York or what I wore that day or what lipstick I was wearing. They couldn’t possibly want to hear the ugly truths about my life. Why would they want my stories to taint the beautiful aesthetics of social media?

Location: Assemble Sound (Detroit)

For years, I posted what I thought people wanted to see. They liked my fashion. Not me as a real-life person. A human being who struggled with her husband or mental illness or eating disorders. A person who struggled with a Muslim identity, a Black identity in a Eurocentric-crazed society.

One time, I posted something about body insecurities. I didn’t go into full detail or anything. I just gave Instagram a snippet into an ongoing problem in my life. Women began commenting about their own body issues, just openly sharing their stories and praising me for being honest. My inbox was flooded with more stories about the hardships of being a fat woman and how my photos gave them hope.

Even then, that wasn’t enough to get me to completely come out of my shell. I was still very much so a ‘style blogger’ who kinda-sorta talked about body stuff.

I get asked a lot how am I so comfortably transparent about my life, on the internet and in person. Especially with the rise of hardcore trolling and judgmental-ness of peers. And the fact that I am in a fat, Black Muslim body that is constantly policed more so than my counterparts. I can’t tell you how I started to become more transparent on the ‘Gram’, but I know for a fact it was in small doses at first. I didn’t just jump out there like HEY! THIS IS ME!

No. No. No. Rome wasn’t built in a day, y’all. Nor is self-discovery and acceptance.

Dress: Fashion to Figure

But, on some real shit, the tipping point for me was the divorce. I most definitely 100% used the marriage as an excuse to ‘not say certain things’ that could embarrass him or the façade of perfection that he tried so hard to attain.

I felt like half a person when I wrote or shared things. Always keeping him in the back of my head. Is this appropriate? Would he be mad? Is this Islamically pleasing for me to say or post?

Transparency was a no-no. And it hurt me greatly. To be an artist is to be comfortable and transparent with your work. I was too busy trying to please others and forgot about pleasing myself. I played it safe and suffered for it.

To be transparent about my life, raw with you, the reader, the watcher is therapeutic for me as a writer. To be able to openly live in my truth is so much more rewarding than hiding my oddness. To be able to connect with a person half way across the world from a story, a photo is amazing.

Of course, I got a lot of backlash from my decision to go word-rogue and I have trolls on the daily who harass me. But, the people who I’ve touched and who have touched me through my journey is far greater than any negative thing someone says about me or my spirituality or my body.  

I challenge you to live in your truth and be a little more transparent each day. You never know who will be touched by your truths.  

xoxo,

Leah V