Small Pleasures Contest

For ONE DAY ONLY!
Win a free copy of Small Pleasures: Mya's Story along with a gift set of Estee Lauder's Pleasures.

To enter, download the free, short story ***ebook, First Breath, from Lulu.com, Barnes & Noble, or the iBookstore. Read the story, then answer the following questions: (1) In one word, describe the mistress's hat? (2) How did the skinny attendant remove the gloves?

The rules: Contest is open to U. S. citizens, 18 years of age or older. One winner to receive a copy of Small Pleasures: Mya's Story along with an Estee Lauder Pleasures gift set for women, which includes 1 FL OZ Pleasures eau de parfum spray and 2.5 FL OZ body lotion. This contest ends on December 26, 2011 at 11:59pm, PST. The winner will be contacted on January 1, 2012.

*** If you do not have an ebook reader, download a free copy of Adobe Digital Editions or the Firefox eReader plugin. ***

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!, a photo by ~Darni on Flickr.

Art imitating life INDEED!

I wrote the short story Chique: Walking in My Own Shoes in November. Here it is December and VOILA, the true story unfolds; except with my story, their isn't a "knock down drag out" fight in the church. And the mistress, in my story, is seeking sanctuary and salvation --  not a fight.

Here is the true story of a fight between wife and mistress in a church:
http://www.blackmediascoop.com/2011/12/20/pastors-wife-jumpoff-throw-down-in-church/

Animals in my dreams!

And I wonder what it means. Or perhaps there is no meaning at all. It's just a little dream; an odd piece of entertainment while sleeping. But what would be the entertainment in dreaming of a red bat resting on a white wall, or a yellow bear wearing a gold leash, or white alligators in the parking lot of a library. Hmmm.

I Can't Pay the Lord!

Excerpt from Small Pleasures: Mya's Story

"There is so much that the Lord has done for me."

They wait. If they bombard the kitchen, she will stop singing to tend to their needs.

Her voice is the alarm clock, bringing tears to tears that have already cried. Mandy hums along while Mya sobs quietly. Rachel is smiling, listening and inhaling. And Chestnut daydreams about the golden haired, blued-eyed boy who had carried her books on Friday.

"I could have been dead," the Voice continues. "Buried in my grave. But Oh, He spoke one word. And he made old Death behave."

Donovan stretches and yawns. He rubs the empty belly fussing for food. He takes to the bathroom first, washing face and hands. He stares at his reflection and wishes that time would go back and give him another chance to start over. He would like to right the wrongs that drove his taste to rum. He does this every morning that he is sober. He's in the kitchen before the girls.

"And though I can't, I can't pay the Lord. But I'd like to tell him, I thank you Sir."

The coffee is done. The eggs are as yellow and fluffy as a baby chick. There will be a pat of butter on the pancakes. The bacon is stacked like a tiny mountain on a white platter trimmed in delicate pink roses. He embraces her from behind and kisses the neck she offers without hesitation. The singing stops.

Interruption. Can you feel it?

God turns His head. His lover is gone. She has left her praises of Him to accept the kiss of a mortal. The Angels push back clouds to witness this infertility.

The girls rise."

My Betrayed Heart

I was too high to hear my life calling me out of a nightmare that called itself a dream.  For a while, a premature technicality. I thought I was warm when the ice-chilled wings of winter embraced me. Its breath, not sweet like a row of honeysuckle vines praising God on a fence, was terribly bitter; a foreshadowing that went ignored. I thought I was a brilliant sun on planet Earth and rejected the resources the Sun offered  – still, nature has its way.

My physical eyes were blinded by a wickedness that played the roll of innocent victim and weaved a lie so great it was too fantastic to be untrue. But my third eye saw things clearly. It warned me with the space in between words, in dreams and visions. When reality began plucking away at my heartstrings, playing a terrible off key tune, I rejected the pain and settled for promises that took the shape of temporary satisfaction - selling mediocrity and imperfection under the guise of normality. I informed my suspicious mind that it was out of line: “Stand down,” I commanded! “Orders will now be dictated by the heart!”

And so by day, the heart ruled. It allowed for silliness that only a child should entertain. Yet, in the deep of night, my mind set the stage, revealing the true nature of character. In a dream, my mother and my mother’s dead kin invited me to court. I was presented to a tribunal of women who had found me guilty without having heard a word of praise or insult from me. “You have the heart of Delilah!” My mother accused and I woke quickly, disturbed by the pointed accusation. Who was my heart betraying? I asked myself. Pictures appeared in my mind; faces of folks loved and familiar, but it wasn’t long before I realized that the heart I had betrayed was my own.

Stay Tuned

"    He is too sweet to be kind, having finally met his match. “I don’t like fun sized snickers,” she laughs, throwing back her head of luscious red, brown, golden-curly hair before leaving the bed with him in it!    " . . . stay turned

Small Pleasures: Mya's Story

Flat chested and agile as monkeys, the pretty little Sheppard sisters hunt exotic insects as decorations for their mud pies and childhood games. Yet, by the age of ten, Mya Sheppard’s body has outgrown her innocent mind. Deeply troubled by its unwanted attention, Mya climbs trees hoping to remain within the protected cradle of childhood. But the violence that chased the Sheppard girls to California finds them and forces them and their Mother back to Georgia and into the home of Donovan Sheppard’s religious parents. Struggling against bouts of anxiety brought on by salty California, Mya finds herself in a whirl of trouble one afternoon when she’s left in the care of a grandfather who finds her tempting. Despite the domestic issues plaguing the family, this assault seizes Mya’s ability to defend her body against others, and her own hands. Brutally honest and graphically told, Mya introduces the reader to the life of a family fighting for love and normalcy, and struggling to remain together.

I have a story brewing in my heart and my mind. I go to sleep with it and I wake up with images, conversations and characters to write. It feels so powerful that I am almost hesitant to write it. I've lost many stories by way of hesitation, fear of judgment and criticism. But I'm going to write this storm of a story and release it sometime next year . . . If that is when it wishes to be born. Sometimes a story is like a baby, it comes when it is ready.

Larry King

‎"Gossip sits on their lips disguised as a smile." Darnishia Bolden . . . this woman has a way with words. Chique: Walking in My Own Shoes

Garden for Illustration Friday

Garden for Illustration Friday
Originally uploaded by ~Darni

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They're FREE!

They're FREE!
Flash fiction in ebook format. If you do not have an ebook reader, download a free copy of Adobe Digital Editions or the Firefox eReader plugin.

1. Eunich
2. First Breath
3. Chique

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/darnib

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/darnib

EUNUCH!

FREE Ebook (another quickie)

EUNUCH!

“There is a bit of beast within every man, regardless of culture or sainthood,” Kosey advised, releasing his lips from the rare smile. He glided towards her as if walking on air.

Jasmina turned her face upwards, giving her eyes Kosey’s full attention. The top of his head disappeared into the shadows of cloth, hanging from the ceiling, while his arms were folded behind his back. He leaned forward, allowing the light to frame his handsome face.

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/eunuch/12183198

Quickies!

Quickies is my definition for flash fiction. And I have many quick short stories coming to life inside my head. Stay tuned!

Mya's. Poem.

i write like this . there is pain like this . deep inside past the corners prayer can't reach . pain with the nerve. PAIN with gall . grew roots and installed itself into a story . sprouted fingers and rubbed rubbed rubbed . with hands gripping tight . refusing to leave . ransoming time while purchasing space . took out a mortgage and pays every day instead of monthly . resurrecting Itself in a knightmare posing as a dream . i close my eyes and see his many faces . not Freddy Krueger's . i stifle ordinary sounds but still hear the clicky clack chatter of teeth . not the voice of Hellraiser deep . i feel heat inside my belly where the story cooks up . bubbling into my throat behind a prison of teeth . promised not to tell . not to tell . shhhhhhhhhhh . my words retch out in vomit . flush the truth down the toilet . late night when i know the Devil sits beside the furnace in the hall . licking sticky nervous fingers . i pee in the bed finding comfort in the warmth of yellow bladder water and white sheets . fearing the strumming, strumming strumming of fingers that used to play guitar . now he plays me . fiddling with a pink rose bud before the petals bloom . the smell of juicy fruit gum (sugared joy inside a sunshine wrapper) permeates the future memories of what used to be Sunday morning peppermint. godDAMN GOD!!!!!! don't you know roses are supposed to have thorns?

Author Spotlight

In the spring and fall of a year, I have vivid, odd dreams. The character, Sterling Addison, from my novel "Small Pleasures: Mya's Story" came from my dreams. I'm considering fleshing him out in a novel primarily about him, since he's so misunderstood. For a whole year, I dreamt of Shaq, dressed in a white robe and always smiling – he never said a word. When I'd feel myself in dangerous positions, he'd appear - POOF - like a genie! Then another year it was Boris Kujo . . . Then one spring, the "man" in my dreams was a friend who is a police officer. Toy says that these men probably signify some form of guardian angel–ship . . . Though I have dreamed of women in the same capacity but they are always "strangers" (except for my mother) and they are always very thin and tall with paper white skin and very VERY black hair or vibrant red hair. From my dream of last night, the man was an online friend, someone I "met" on Flickr. While dreaming, I was shocked to find him in my dream at all! I haven't interacted with him in a while – we've never even met in real life. But in the dream, he was giving me advice about something that I cannot recall now. Dreams, what do they really mean :–)

Free Ebook - flash fiction (quickie)

Chique A young lady seeks shelter inside a church after learning she is pregnant and has cancer.

Another freebie

First Breath "Neither woman considered assisting my mother with the knife buried to the handle in her chest. They raced to the hysterical, screaming mistress, whose hands now wore dripping red gloves."

Chique, a short short story

Flash fiction E-book, Chique: Walking in My Own Shoes, is FREE!

Working on the redesign of my website here. The image, Fire Next Time, if the overall theme - I am designing the site with it in mind. I have much to do. And I love it!