And sometimes life dances first…

A few weeks ago, I found an old photo tucked between pages of a forgotten book. In it, my grandparents are wrapped in an embrace, slow dancing in the middle of what looks like a crowded living room. There's something unshakably tender about the image: the way she looks over his shoulder, smiling at the camera, her arm gently draped across his back. Behind them, another couple sways. The television glows quietly in the corner. The curtains are a rich, velvet red. This wasn’t a ballroom. This was a home. Their home. And in it, joy found room to move.

I discovered this photo just after releasing my newest children’s book, At Night, They Danced. It’s a story about two brothers—Langston and Emerson—who think their parents are going out for date night. But instead of leaving, their parents stay in. The boys are confused…until they peek around the corner and find something magical: their mother and father dancing together, barefoot in the living room, wrapped in music and laughter.

When I wrote this book, I thought I was creating art that imitated life. But now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe, sometimes, life dances first—and art simply follows in awe.

There is something radical about love that refuses to wait for the perfect setting. The couples in that photo didn’t need a fancy restaurant, a curated playlist, or even a babysitter. They had each other, a beat to move to, and a living room full of memories. That’s all it took to begin their revolution. And yes, it was a revolution. Because joy—especially Black joy—is not just happiness. It’s an act of resistance. An assertion that we are here. That we love. That we live fully, even in the smallest corners of our world.

Dancing in love is a liberating practice. It says, “We’re not waiting to be told this moment is worth celebrating. We already know.” In the hush of a late night, in the soft hum of a record player, in the rhythm of everyday life, a slow-moving revolution unfolds. It happens when parents hold hands. When children peek around the corner, witnessing what tenderness looks like. When homes become sanctuaries, not just shelters.

The photo of my grandparents dancing wasn’t staged. It was lived. And like the characters in my book, they turned the mundane into magic. They taught me that intimacy isn’t a grand gesture—it’s showing up again and again, arms outstretched, ready to sway with the people you love.

You can experience a little of that magic for yourself in At Night, They Danced. It's more than a bedtime story. It’s a call to slow down, draw each other close, and remember that the heart of home beats loudest when we move in rhythm together.

✨ Purchase your copy at Liberation Station Bookstore and start your own slow dance revolution.

—Victoria Scott-Miller