Deesha Philyaw Opens Up About the Freedom Behind “True Confessions of First Lady Freeman”

When Deesha Philyaw’s short‑story collection, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, finally landed on a shelf after being turned down by a string of big houses, it didn’t just win awards—it announced a voice that refused to be silenced. Now, fresh off that whirlwind, she’s turned the page (literally) to a full‑length novel, The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman, and she’s happy to spill a few behind‑the‑scenes details.

In a breezy email Q&A, Philyaw describes the book as the story of Scharisse Freeman—a girl from a modest background who marries a charismatic megachurch pastor and suddenly finds herself perched on a gilded podium. Everything seems perfect until a scandal erupts, pulling long‑buried secrets into the harsh light of public scrutiny. "Her life is upended," Philyaw says, "and the truth that finally surfaces is both messy and liberating."

Why the church, you might wonder? For Philyaw, the evangelical world isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a formative force that shaped her adolescence. "I grew up on sermons that were supposed to guide us, but the contradictions were loud," she admits, a little chuckle sneaking in. The hypocrisy, the gendered double standards, the lingering scent of white‑supremacist patriarchy—these are the threads she’s been trying to untangle since she first put pen to paper nearly three decades ago.

She’s been mulling over Scharisse for a long time, actually. The earliest draft dates back to 2006, a fact that surprises even her. "I thought I’d keep her in a drawer, but the character kept nudging me," Philyaw writes, half‑joking, half‑serious. Over the years, Scharisse evolved from an earnest, self‑pitying figure into a more satirical, self‑determined heroine—thanks in large part to a pivotal decision Philyaw made in 2020.

That decision was to lean into satire. "The sex was always there, but I wasn’t comfortable with a straight‑up earnest narrative," she confesses. By injecting humor, pageantry, and a little irreverence, she turned the novel into a mirror that reflects the absurdities of Black church culture while still confronting its darker corners. The result? A story that feels both “real” and “fun,” a rare blend in contemporary fiction.

Form matters to Philyaw, too. The novel is peppered with script‑style dialogue, footnotes, email screenshots, and other quirks that feel like the author’s mental doodles spilling onto the page. "I get bored easily," she admits. "These shifts keep me interested and let me show the character in different lights." The experimental format, she says, isn’t just a gimmick; it’s a way to reveal backstory, flesh out setting, and keep the reader (and herself) on their toes.

Beyond the book, Philyaw is busy mentoring other writers, echoing Toni Morrison’s call to use one’s power to lift others. She talks about answering questions, making introductions, and even blurbing for fellow authors. "I don’t see other writers as competition," she says, reinforcing her ethic of community over rivalry.

When asked for recommendations, Philyaw points to two sophomore novels she’s recently blurb‑ed: Monica West’s Light the Way and Dawnie Walton’s These Girls Out Here. Both, she says, showcase the same fearless honesty she strives for in her own work.

And what’s her comfort read? Something “smart, irreverent, and fictional”—she’s still giggling over Andie Davis’s 2024 debut, Let Me Liber. If you haven’t yet picked up Philyaw’s new book, expect a wild ride through a megachurch’s gilded corridors, seasoned with satire, raw sexuality, and a fierce quest for freedom.