12.26.2011

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 & Nobleor 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.

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

12.21.2011

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.

12.11.2011

I Can't Pay the Lord!


"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."

12.04.2011

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.

12.03.2011

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

Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.
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.

12.01.2011

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.