Chicki Brown's Blog, page 39
February 5, 2013
Me, write a series?
I knew it would be a lot of work planning a six-book series, but I wasn’t prepared for exactly how much work it would turn out to be. The idea of doing my first series came to me when I ran across photos of two men who are unrelated, but were physically so similar they could be brothers.
This is my idea of Charles and Marc Stafford. If you follow my posts, you know that I have a weakness for the hybrids. Back in June I wrote about it. http://sisterscribbler.blogspot.com/2012/06/fun-friday.html Hey, everybody has a “type,” and those brothers have always been mine. Readers can picture them anyway they want to...
Anyway…the thought of writing a family series really appealed to me, but I didn’t have a clue about where to start. I had twelve pages of notes on my thoughts, but I wasn’t sure how to organize them, so the first thing I did was go to my best friend, Google and search for articles on how to plan a fiction series. Next, I contacted my former critique partners that have written series and asked for their suggestions.
The fabulous Zee Monodee (http://zeemonodee.blogspot.com) was a tremendous help when she told me to start with a Excel timeline for the family members that would include their ages at the start of the first book, birth dates, spouses, wedding dates, children’s ages/birth dates, etc.
In addition to this information, I added the status of their relationship with their parents, their life point of view and their relationship with the other brothers. While I worked on this chart, the ideas began to come seemingly out of nowhere. After the awful time I had writing Ain't Too Proud to Beg by the seat of my pants, I realized plotting truly is my process. My creativity thrives when given some structure, and I'm a ball letting this story flow now that I have the skeleton. I already knew which brother I wanted to feature in Book One, and what his occupation would be. So far I’m at
Readers are going to love Marc and Gianne's story...
February 3, 2013
#SampleSunday
Today I'm sharing another excerpt from my new novelette,
You Make Me Feel Brand New
.
Here's a short blurb:
One year ago, personal chef Jan Davis signed her divorce papers after a miserable twenty-five-year marriage. She is single again, and romantic attention is as foreign to her as ancient Carthaginian cuisine. When she meets her new client, sports management agent Mac Sinclair, who is eleven years younger, Jan’s life takes a complete turnaround. She’s thrilled, but everyone in her life isn’t as pleased.Show more Show less
Mac returned from his conversation with Ron and found seats in a corner where they talked until Bobbi and Val arrived and found Jan among the guests.
“I’m glad you came. You’d better get a plate now if you’re hungry before everything disappears. Make sure you try the chicken. I put my best hand on that. We’ll save your seats.”
When she said “we,” Val give Mac a visual once-over and whispered something to her sister before they headed to the buffet table. Jan figured it was time to warn him about her youngest. “Before they get back, I wanted you to know that Valerie still hasn’t gotten over my divorcing her father. So if she doesn’t want to be your best friend, don’t be surprised. It’s not personal.”
“Yeah. I caught that look she just gave me. Don’t worry, I’m not touchy.”
The girls came back with full plates. “Well, Mom, are you going to introduce us?” Bobbi asked, being her typical good-natured self.
“Sure. I just wanted to make sure you got some food first.” She turned to Mac. “These are my daughters, Valerie and Roberta. This is Mac Sinclair.”
Bobbi reached out, offering a friendly handshake. Val simply mumbled, “Hi.”
Mac stared at Bobbi for a moment. “Wow, you look just like your mother. I thought I was seeing double for a minute.”
“I wish,” Bobbi said cheerfully.
Val grunted and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Oh, please.”
“Val, did you see Kwame when you came in?” Jan asked, referring to Kathy’s son and quickly changing the subject. “He said he wanted to talk to you when you got here. It might have something to do with school. He’s trying to get into Georgia State for the winter semester.”
“No I didn’t see him yet. He’s coming to State?”
“That’s one of the schools he’s interested in,” Mac answered. “He’s also considering Morehouse and Emory.”
“How would youknow?” Val asked in a rude tone.
Mac graciously overlooked her disposition. “Ron Scott and I talked with him earlier this week. We’re trying to help him get an internship.”
“Oh, so ours isn’t the only family you’re meddling with?” She gave him a surly stare.
Mortified, Jan sprang from her seat and grabbed Val by the arm, dragged her toward the foyer then backed her into an unoccupied corner. “Valerie, I’m so ashamed of you!” Jan hissed through clenched teeth, her head throbbing with anger. “I did notraise you to be disrespectful. You’re going back in there right now and apologize to him.”
“When you made your big announcement, you conveniently left out the fact that he’s young enough to be your son,” Val snapped in defiance. “How old is he?”
“That’s an exaggeration, and you know it,” Jan lambasted her, trying to keep her voice down. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. I am your mother, not one of your girlfriends.”
Bobbi came up behind them. “That was real ugly, Val.”
“So it’s all right with you that Mommy’s running around with some –”
“Some what–good-looking, sexy, young man? Yes, as a matter of fact, it is all right with me. Why can’t you just be happy for her and stop acting like a brat?”
“Come on, Bobbi. Be real. What could he want with her?”
A wave of shock slapped Jan, and hot tears welled in her eyes.
Bobbi took a napkin from the table and put it into her mother’s hand. “She didn’t mean that, Mom. She’s just being ignorant.”
“Valerie, get in there and apologize – now!” Jan dabbed at her eyes.
“Oh, all right,” Valerie sputtered. “Why didn’t you at least warn us about his age?”
Jan’s fists clenched were so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. “Because it was none of your business. Now move!” She and Bobbi followed Val’s reluctant walk back across the family room.
“Mr. Sinclair,” Val began, avoiding direct eye contact once she reached him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted before. It wasn’t right.”
Mac motioned for her to sit. “Valerie, I can’t say I know how you feel, because I don’t. I’m sure you love your father, and I’m not trying to meddle with your family. But I do care for your mother very much. Even though you probably don’t see her this way, you have to understand that she’s an attractive, appealing woman. And to be honest with you, we were drawn to each other from the very first night we met. Granted, I may not be exactly what you expected, but if you give me a chance, I can grow on you.” He grinned.
“Did she tell you how old she is?”
“I never asked, but I knew she had college-aged kids. It wasn’t hard to do the math. Your mom isn’t as old as you seem to think she is. Lighten up on her, okay?”
Val managed a slight smile. “I’ll try.”Satisfied with her apology, Jan left to check the buffet table.
Kindle - http://amzn.to/11eeXRq Kobo - http://bit.ly/1297P9b Nook - http://bit.ly/WyPnTQ
Here's a short blurb:
One year ago, personal chef Jan Davis signed her divorce papers after a miserable twenty-five-year marriage. She is single again, and romantic attention is as foreign to her as ancient Carthaginian cuisine. When she meets her new client, sports management agent Mac Sinclair, who is eleven years younger, Jan’s life takes a complete turnaround. She’s thrilled, but everyone in her life isn’t as pleased.Show more Show less
Mac returned from his conversation with Ron and found seats in a corner where they talked until Bobbi and Val arrived and found Jan among the guests.
“I’m glad you came. You’d better get a plate now if you’re hungry before everything disappears. Make sure you try the chicken. I put my best hand on that. We’ll save your seats.”
When she said “we,” Val give Mac a visual once-over and whispered something to her sister before they headed to the buffet table. Jan figured it was time to warn him about her youngest. “Before they get back, I wanted you to know that Valerie still hasn’t gotten over my divorcing her father. So if she doesn’t want to be your best friend, don’t be surprised. It’s not personal.”
“Yeah. I caught that look she just gave me. Don’t worry, I’m not touchy.”
The girls came back with full plates. “Well, Mom, are you going to introduce us?” Bobbi asked, being her typical good-natured self.
“Sure. I just wanted to make sure you got some food first.” She turned to Mac. “These are my daughters, Valerie and Roberta. This is Mac Sinclair.”
Bobbi reached out, offering a friendly handshake. Val simply mumbled, “Hi.”
Mac stared at Bobbi for a moment. “Wow, you look just like your mother. I thought I was seeing double for a minute.”
“I wish,” Bobbi said cheerfully.
Val grunted and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Oh, please.”
“Val, did you see Kwame when you came in?” Jan asked, referring to Kathy’s son and quickly changing the subject. “He said he wanted to talk to you when you got here. It might have something to do with school. He’s trying to get into Georgia State for the winter semester.”
“No I didn’t see him yet. He’s coming to State?”
“That’s one of the schools he’s interested in,” Mac answered. “He’s also considering Morehouse and Emory.”
“How would youknow?” Val asked in a rude tone.
Mac graciously overlooked her disposition. “Ron Scott and I talked with him earlier this week. We’re trying to help him get an internship.”
“Oh, so ours isn’t the only family you’re meddling with?” She gave him a surly stare.
Mortified, Jan sprang from her seat and grabbed Val by the arm, dragged her toward the foyer then backed her into an unoccupied corner. “Valerie, I’m so ashamed of you!” Jan hissed through clenched teeth, her head throbbing with anger. “I did notraise you to be disrespectful. You’re going back in there right now and apologize to him.”
“When you made your big announcement, you conveniently left out the fact that he’s young enough to be your son,” Val snapped in defiance. “How old is he?”
“That’s an exaggeration, and you know it,” Jan lambasted her, trying to keep her voice down. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. I am your mother, not one of your girlfriends.”
Bobbi came up behind them. “That was real ugly, Val.”
“So it’s all right with you that Mommy’s running around with some –”
“Some what–good-looking, sexy, young man? Yes, as a matter of fact, it is all right with me. Why can’t you just be happy for her and stop acting like a brat?”
“Come on, Bobbi. Be real. What could he want with her?”
A wave of shock slapped Jan, and hot tears welled in her eyes.
Bobbi took a napkin from the table and put it into her mother’s hand. “She didn’t mean that, Mom. She’s just being ignorant.”
“Valerie, get in there and apologize – now!” Jan dabbed at her eyes.
“Oh, all right,” Valerie sputtered. “Why didn’t you at least warn us about his age?”
Jan’s fists clenched were so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. “Because it was none of your business. Now move!” She and Bobbi followed Val’s reluctant walk back across the family room.
“Mr. Sinclair,” Val began, avoiding direct eye contact once she reached him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted before. It wasn’t right.”
Mac motioned for her to sit. “Valerie, I can’t say I know how you feel, because I don’t. I’m sure you love your father, and I’m not trying to meddle with your family. But I do care for your mother very much. Even though you probably don’t see her this way, you have to understand that she’s an attractive, appealing woman. And to be honest with you, we were drawn to each other from the very first night we met. Granted, I may not be exactly what you expected, but if you give me a chance, I can grow on you.” He grinned.
“Did she tell you how old she is?”
“I never asked, but I knew she had college-aged kids. It wasn’t hard to do the math. Your mom isn’t as old as you seem to think she is. Lighten up on her, okay?”
Val managed a slight smile. “I’ll try.”Satisfied with her apology, Jan left to check the buffet table.
Kindle - http://amzn.to/11eeXRq Kobo - http://bit.ly/1297P9b Nook - http://bit.ly/WyPnTQ
January 31, 2013
Release Day!
One year ago, personal chef Jan Davis signed her divorce papers after a miserable twenty-five-year marriage. She is single again, and romantic attention is as foreign to her as ancient Carthaginian cuisine. When she meets her new client, sports management agent Mac Sinclair, who is eleven years younger, Jan’s life takes a complete turnaround. She’s thrilled, but everyone in her life isn’t pleased.
Available now!Kindle - http://amzn.to/11eeXRq Kobo - http://bit.ly/1297P9b Nook - http://bit.ly/WyPnTQ
January 30, 2013
Writer Wednesday - Candace Shaw
My special guest today is the fabulous
Candace Shaw
. Candace and I met last year at a local book event. She writes sexy, contemporary romance, and she's sharing her latest release with us. Check out the cover! Hot, isn't it?
Blurb Cannon Arrington has pushed aside a social life to dedicate his time to medical school, extracurricular activities, and helping others … that is, until he lays his eyes on the angelic face of Yasmine Dubose. For Cannon, meeting her was a breath of fresh air. Something about the bubbly, sexy teacher makes him realize he needs to stop and smell the roses.
Yasmine has had a crush on Cannon since high school, but he’d never noticed the nerdy freshman. Now she’s blossomed into a woman who’s full of life. She knows Cannon’s drive for success is important to him, but she fears he’ll become even more of a workaholic than her father, who died when she was a child. Will Cannon settle down and learn how to balance his career and love life, or will he lose the simply amazing waman who has stolen his heart? *****
Simply Amazing is a short, FREE prequel to the third book in the Arrington Family series, Only One for Me. I wanted to share a sneak peek into the life of the oldest Arrington sibling, Cannon and the love of his life, Yasmine. The prequel takes place 12 years before the actual book which will be released in 2013. Excerpt
Cannon sat across from Yasmine at her kitchen table while she graded papers. They’d been dating for over a month now, and he’d never felt so relaxed with a woman in such a short time frame. She’d made him take breaks and just have fun. He’d lived in Nashville for almost two years and had never ventured out much as far as site seeing because he was there for medical school. Thanks to her spontaneous nature, they’d been to the Cheekwood Botanical Gardens, the Nashville Zoo, and the Opryland Museum. She’d suggested a country music concert just for the fun of it, but instead they went to a traveling carnival where he felt like a kid again eating corn dogs and funnel cakes as well as riding roller coasters and Ferris wheels.
He was supposed to be studying for an upcoming test on Monday about anatomy, but he was more concerned about her anatomy. His eyes kept straying to her face, and inhaling her perfume that smelled like a mixture of apples and pears. When she’d returned downstairs from her shower earlier, he’d been mesmerized by her mint-green nightgown, which was why he could no longer concentrate. It wasn’t sexy lingerie, but it was hot on her with spaghetti straps that kept falling off of her soft shoulders and little pink ribbons around the hem that stopped mid thigh. Before she sat back down, she’d dropped her red pen and bent over to pick it up, exposing pink boy shorts that fit her cute butt like a glove and toned thighs he needed to get in between.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Yasmine asked with her reading glasses pulled down on her nose.
“I am. I could study you all day and all night and never get tired.”
“I can believe that since you never sleep.” She closed her folder of graded papers and took off her glasses.
“I know. I guess when I start my residency in a few years, I’ll be able to stay up all night. Maybe even pull a double.”
She smiled and said softly, “I’m glad you’re here.” She rose from the table. “I’m still trying to get used to this townhouse. Do you want some more coffee?”
He wanted something all right, and it damn sure wasn’t coffee. He wanted her on the kitchen table, on the island, against the wall, on the chair. Wherever she would let him have her so he could hear her soft moans when he was slow and gentle and her passionate screams when he was fast and rough.
No, I can’t. Not yet. Too soon. Right?Everything with her felt right and grounded, but he didn’t want to rush things.
Before he could consult his conscience any further, she placed her gaze on him and gave him a smile so amazing that any other questions he may have had for himself were thrown out the window. He needed her with a hunger so fierce it shook him.
Driven on a steadfast urge, he went to her and crushed her to him so fast, she let out a startled moan that he quickly muffled with his lips.
He kissed her hard, taunting her lips with his; her mouth succulent and soft. He was in control of their kiss, overpowering her warm, willing mouth as she sighed against his lips and reached for his head to pull him further into her. The moment their lips touched, all the reasons why he shouldn’t proceed escaped him. Instead, all of the explanations why he should make love to her overtook him and blazed within him so deep, it created a surge that rippled through his being and into her.
She responded to his kiss as if she’d been waiting for this moment to happen as well. He loved how perfect she felt in his embrace, her soft hands caressing his face and neck. He deepened the kiss even more, and she shuddered, letting out a muffled moan while her mouth vibrated against his. Heat flared in his gut, and he let out a profound groan while an intense flood of aching desire completely consumed him.
Buy Links
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes and Noble
PDF on Website
All Romance Ebooks
Smashwords
Kobo
iTunes/iBooks
Diesel eBookstore
Readers can contact Candace here:
Twitter:
Facebook
Blog/Website
Blurb Cannon Arrington has pushed aside a social life to dedicate his time to medical school, extracurricular activities, and helping others … that is, until he lays his eyes on the angelic face of Yasmine Dubose. For Cannon, meeting her was a breath of fresh air. Something about the bubbly, sexy teacher makes him realize he needs to stop and smell the roses.
Yasmine has had a crush on Cannon since high school, but he’d never noticed the nerdy freshman. Now she’s blossomed into a woman who’s full of life. She knows Cannon’s drive for success is important to him, but she fears he’ll become even more of a workaholic than her father, who died when she was a child. Will Cannon settle down and learn how to balance his career and love life, or will he lose the simply amazing waman who has stolen his heart? *****
Simply Amazing is a short, FREE prequel to the third book in the Arrington Family series, Only One for Me. I wanted to share a sneak peek into the life of the oldest Arrington sibling, Cannon and the love of his life, Yasmine. The prequel takes place 12 years before the actual book which will be released in 2013. Excerpt
Cannon sat across from Yasmine at her kitchen table while she graded papers. They’d been dating for over a month now, and he’d never felt so relaxed with a woman in such a short time frame. She’d made him take breaks and just have fun. He’d lived in Nashville for almost two years and had never ventured out much as far as site seeing because he was there for medical school. Thanks to her spontaneous nature, they’d been to the Cheekwood Botanical Gardens, the Nashville Zoo, and the Opryland Museum. She’d suggested a country music concert just for the fun of it, but instead they went to a traveling carnival where he felt like a kid again eating corn dogs and funnel cakes as well as riding roller coasters and Ferris wheels.
He was supposed to be studying for an upcoming test on Monday about anatomy, but he was more concerned about her anatomy. His eyes kept straying to her face, and inhaling her perfume that smelled like a mixture of apples and pears. When she’d returned downstairs from her shower earlier, he’d been mesmerized by her mint-green nightgown, which was why he could no longer concentrate. It wasn’t sexy lingerie, but it was hot on her with spaghetti straps that kept falling off of her soft shoulders and little pink ribbons around the hem that stopped mid thigh. Before she sat back down, she’d dropped her red pen and bent over to pick it up, exposing pink boy shorts that fit her cute butt like a glove and toned thighs he needed to get in between.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Yasmine asked with her reading glasses pulled down on her nose.
“I am. I could study you all day and all night and never get tired.”
“I can believe that since you never sleep.” She closed her folder of graded papers and took off her glasses.
“I know. I guess when I start my residency in a few years, I’ll be able to stay up all night. Maybe even pull a double.”
She smiled and said softly, “I’m glad you’re here.” She rose from the table. “I’m still trying to get used to this townhouse. Do you want some more coffee?”
He wanted something all right, and it damn sure wasn’t coffee. He wanted her on the kitchen table, on the island, against the wall, on the chair. Wherever she would let him have her so he could hear her soft moans when he was slow and gentle and her passionate screams when he was fast and rough.
No, I can’t. Not yet. Too soon. Right?Everything with her felt right and grounded, but he didn’t want to rush things.
Before he could consult his conscience any further, she placed her gaze on him and gave him a smile so amazing that any other questions he may have had for himself were thrown out the window. He needed her with a hunger so fierce it shook him.
Driven on a steadfast urge, he went to her and crushed her to him so fast, she let out a startled moan that he quickly muffled with his lips.
He kissed her hard, taunting her lips with his; her mouth succulent and soft. He was in control of their kiss, overpowering her warm, willing mouth as she sighed against his lips and reached for his head to pull him further into her. The moment their lips touched, all the reasons why he shouldn’t proceed escaped him. Instead, all of the explanations why he should make love to her overtook him and blazed within him so deep, it created a surge that rippled through his being and into her.
She responded to his kiss as if she’d been waiting for this moment to happen as well. He loved how perfect she felt in his embrace, her soft hands caressing his face and neck. He deepened the kiss even more, and she shuddered, letting out a muffled moan while her mouth vibrated against his. Heat flared in his gut, and he let out a profound groan while an intense flood of aching desire completely consumed him.
Buy Links
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes and Noble
PDF on Website
All Romance Ebooks
Smashwords
Kobo
iTunes/iBooks
Diesel eBookstore
Readers can contact Candace here:
Twitter:
Blog/Website
January 27, 2013
#SampleSunday
Next month I am releasing
You Make Me Feel Brand New
, a 44-page novelette that was originally published in the WG2E Valentine's Day anthology last year. Today and next Sunday I will give you a little taste of that story about a woman who gets involved with a younger man. Enjoy!
Chapter One
W ho do you think you’re kidding? Jan Davis threw her car into gear and headed for GA400. You can’t possibly be considering this? He’s practically a boy, for crying out loud.
“He’s not that young,” she protested out loud, as if someone were actually sitting in the front seat. “A lot of women are involved with younger men these days. If he’s interested in me, why shouldn’t I?”
Because you’ll look foolish, that’s why. Act your age and don’t embarrass yourself, the voice warned.
She slammed another fifty cents into the greedy gaping mouth of the tollbooth, annoyed at having to feed the DOT’s legalized slot machine.
“Mmm, it was a nice thought anyway,” Jan answered her invisible accuser.
The rest of the way home down I-75, she reflected on the events of the evening. From the moment she’d tied on her apron, Mac Sinclair’s piercing dark eyes followed her. At first she thought he simply wanted to see how she prepared the food, but when she caught his gaze trained on her legs and not her hands, she knew he wasn’t merely admiring her culinary skill. The thought that this young man, blessed with classic good looks and a Hershey’s Kiss chocolate complexion, found her attractive made her nervous and clumsy. He sat and studied her while she tried to keep her hands from shaking as she chopped onions and peppers for the sauce. Uneasy under his scrutiny, she decided to fill the silence with small talk.
“How long have you been living here, Mac?”
“A little over six months.” He stroked his smooth, clean-shaven face.
“So, what do you think of Atlanta?”
“Love it. I’d come here on business several times, so when my company offered me a promotion working in their Buckhead office, I left L.A. and made Atlanta my home.” He took the last sip of his Red Bull energy drink and flashed a devastating grin.
My God, he’s fine! And he smells so good. Concentrate on what you’re doing, Jan. Don’t chop off any fingers. Calm down and try to keep from sounding like an idiot.
Jan moved to the stove, sautéed the vegetables and continued the conversation. “What kind of work did you say you do?”
“Sports management. I work with professional athletes negotiating their contracts and endorsement deals, setting up media interviews, arranging for etiquette training, bailing them out of jail. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds interesting,” she said, admiring his smile. With such a lean, muscular body, he could easily be mistaken for an athlete himself.
“It’s a nice way to make a living. Plus some great perks come with the job – season tickets, private party invitations, you know.”
“No. I don’t. I wish I did.”
“So, how did you get to be a personal chef, Ms. Davis?”
“Please, call me Jan,” she said without looking up from stirring the food. “I’ve always loved to cook as a hobby. One day I read about a woman who’d left her accounting job to become a personal chef. It struck me as something I’d love doing, so I got my certification and started taking clients on the side. Once I saved up enough money to advertise, I placed a few ads in local papers, and things just took off. It got to the point where I couldn’t work days and also handle my clients. Eventually, I resigned from my job and started cooking full time.”
“Pretty ambitious. How does your husband feel about it?”
He would’ve hated the idea. He wanted a housewife, always ready and willing to feed his boring clients. It never crossed his mind to take them out sometimes. No, it had to be a gigantic home-cooked meal so they could see he married the black Rachel Ray. “I’m not married. I got divorced a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding quite sincere.
“I’m not.” Jan gazed at him, bit her lip and turned away. Maybe that was a too forward.
“Okay.” He rested his chin on his hand, a bemused smile on his full sensual mouth. His lips begged to be kissed. A primitive warning sounded in her brain. To get her mind off his mouth, she asked, “Do you have someone to serve tomorrow night?”
“No. I figured I’d make it buffet style and let everyone serve themselves. It’s not a formal dinner, just a couple of my clients, a few potential ones and their dates. I guess we could go out, but I want the night to be unhurried and relaxed.” He paused for a second and smiled again as he popped open another Red Bull. “I appreciate you doing this. You come highly recommended. Ron Scott mentioned you one day at lunch, and suggested I call you.”
“He’s my best friend’s husband, so it wasn’t exactly a professional reference.”
“Well, he told me you could throw down in the kitchen. That was enough to convince me.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your confidence.”
His gaze followed her every move as she maneuvered around his spacious, modern kitchen.
“Would you like to join us tomorrow night?”
Shocked by his offer, she stammered, “I – oh – I couldn’t.”
“Why not? Then I could introduce you as my personal chef. It would be good for your business. Most of these guys are loaded.”
“That’s nice of you, Mac, but I think it’s better if I just leave you some of my cards.”
“Okay, but meeting people in person always makes a better impression. I think you’d enjoy yourself. Besides, I like your company.”
She wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her skirt. His invitation sounded more personal than business. Romantic attention was as foreign to her as ancient Carthaginian cuisine. This handsome man was the complete opposite of Robert’s paunchy middle-aged colleagues. Mac appeared to be at least ten years her junior, and he lived in a gorgeous body.
With the meat, pasta and vegetable dishes done, she started on dessert. They made small talk about everything from religion to Atlanta traffic. Mac didn’t extend the invitation again until she had cleaned up and repacked her utensils.
“I wish you’d think twice about joining us. I’ll be the only one without a date, and I’m the host. We should be getting started around eight o’clock.” He wrote a check, placed it in her hand and held it a bit longer than necessary. Strangely she had no desire to pull away. This is definitely more personal than business. “Thank you, Mac, but I make it a policy to keep my business and personal lives separate.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He licked his bottom lip and never took his gaze from her eyes.
“Let me know how everything went. I’d better get going now.”
“All right. I understand. It was a pleasure, Jan Davis. Hope I’ll see you again soon.” He watched her walk all the way down the hallway to the elevator.
Once he closed the door to his apartment, she dragged in a long breath. I need to talk to somebody about this.
Coming in February to Kindle, Nook and Kobo!
Chapter One
W ho do you think you’re kidding? Jan Davis threw her car into gear and headed for GA400. You can’t possibly be considering this? He’s practically a boy, for crying out loud.
“He’s not that young,” she protested out loud, as if someone were actually sitting in the front seat. “A lot of women are involved with younger men these days. If he’s interested in me, why shouldn’t I?”
Because you’ll look foolish, that’s why. Act your age and don’t embarrass yourself, the voice warned.
She slammed another fifty cents into the greedy gaping mouth of the tollbooth, annoyed at having to feed the DOT’s legalized slot machine.
“Mmm, it was a nice thought anyway,” Jan answered her invisible accuser.
The rest of the way home down I-75, she reflected on the events of the evening. From the moment she’d tied on her apron, Mac Sinclair’s piercing dark eyes followed her. At first she thought he simply wanted to see how she prepared the food, but when she caught his gaze trained on her legs and not her hands, she knew he wasn’t merely admiring her culinary skill. The thought that this young man, blessed with classic good looks and a Hershey’s Kiss chocolate complexion, found her attractive made her nervous and clumsy. He sat and studied her while she tried to keep her hands from shaking as she chopped onions and peppers for the sauce. Uneasy under his scrutiny, she decided to fill the silence with small talk.
“How long have you been living here, Mac?”
“A little over six months.” He stroked his smooth, clean-shaven face.
“So, what do you think of Atlanta?”
“Love it. I’d come here on business several times, so when my company offered me a promotion working in their Buckhead office, I left L.A. and made Atlanta my home.” He took the last sip of his Red Bull energy drink and flashed a devastating grin.
My God, he’s fine! And he smells so good. Concentrate on what you’re doing, Jan. Don’t chop off any fingers. Calm down and try to keep from sounding like an idiot.
Jan moved to the stove, sautéed the vegetables and continued the conversation. “What kind of work did you say you do?”
“Sports management. I work with professional athletes negotiating their contracts and endorsement deals, setting up media interviews, arranging for etiquette training, bailing them out of jail. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds interesting,” she said, admiring his smile. With such a lean, muscular body, he could easily be mistaken for an athlete himself.
“It’s a nice way to make a living. Plus some great perks come with the job – season tickets, private party invitations, you know.”
“No. I don’t. I wish I did.”
“So, how did you get to be a personal chef, Ms. Davis?”
“Please, call me Jan,” she said without looking up from stirring the food. “I’ve always loved to cook as a hobby. One day I read about a woman who’d left her accounting job to become a personal chef. It struck me as something I’d love doing, so I got my certification and started taking clients on the side. Once I saved up enough money to advertise, I placed a few ads in local papers, and things just took off. It got to the point where I couldn’t work days and also handle my clients. Eventually, I resigned from my job and started cooking full time.”
“Pretty ambitious. How does your husband feel about it?”
He would’ve hated the idea. He wanted a housewife, always ready and willing to feed his boring clients. It never crossed his mind to take them out sometimes. No, it had to be a gigantic home-cooked meal so they could see he married the black Rachel Ray. “I’m not married. I got divorced a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding quite sincere.
“I’m not.” Jan gazed at him, bit her lip and turned away. Maybe that was a too forward.
“Okay.” He rested his chin on his hand, a bemused smile on his full sensual mouth. His lips begged to be kissed. A primitive warning sounded in her brain. To get her mind off his mouth, she asked, “Do you have someone to serve tomorrow night?”
“No. I figured I’d make it buffet style and let everyone serve themselves. It’s not a formal dinner, just a couple of my clients, a few potential ones and their dates. I guess we could go out, but I want the night to be unhurried and relaxed.” He paused for a second and smiled again as he popped open another Red Bull. “I appreciate you doing this. You come highly recommended. Ron Scott mentioned you one day at lunch, and suggested I call you.”
“He’s my best friend’s husband, so it wasn’t exactly a professional reference.”
“Well, he told me you could throw down in the kitchen. That was enough to convince me.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your confidence.”
His gaze followed her every move as she maneuvered around his spacious, modern kitchen.
“Would you like to join us tomorrow night?”
Shocked by his offer, she stammered, “I – oh – I couldn’t.”
“Why not? Then I could introduce you as my personal chef. It would be good for your business. Most of these guys are loaded.”
“That’s nice of you, Mac, but I think it’s better if I just leave you some of my cards.”
“Okay, but meeting people in person always makes a better impression. I think you’d enjoy yourself. Besides, I like your company.”
She wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her skirt. His invitation sounded more personal than business. Romantic attention was as foreign to her as ancient Carthaginian cuisine. This handsome man was the complete opposite of Robert’s paunchy middle-aged colleagues. Mac appeared to be at least ten years her junior, and he lived in a gorgeous body.
With the meat, pasta and vegetable dishes done, she started on dessert. They made small talk about everything from religion to Atlanta traffic. Mac didn’t extend the invitation again until she had cleaned up and repacked her utensils.
“I wish you’d think twice about joining us. I’ll be the only one without a date, and I’m the host. We should be getting started around eight o’clock.” He wrote a check, placed it in her hand and held it a bit longer than necessary. Strangely she had no desire to pull away. This is definitely more personal than business. “Thank you, Mac, but I make it a policy to keep my business and personal lives separate.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He licked his bottom lip and never took his gaze from her eyes.
“Let me know how everything went. I’d better get going now.”
“All right. I understand. It was a pleasure, Jan Davis. Hope I’ll see you again soon.” He watched her walk all the way down the hallway to the elevator.
Once he closed the door to his apartment, she dragged in a long breath. I need to talk to somebody about this.
Coming in February to Kindle, Nook and Kobo!
January 23, 2013
Welcome Guest Blogger
Today my special guest author is Sarah Gordon Weathersby, who has written a fascinating book:
Thanks so much, Chicki, for the opportunity to guest blog at your place. I’m currently in the midst of a 10-day blog tour to promote my new novel TELL THEM I DIED. Amazon has paperback copies listed for $8.99 and an Amazon Kindle version for $3.99. You can find it also on BN.com in NOOK version for $3.99. I need reviews to help generate word-of-mouth buzz and interest in the book.
Amazon link Barnes & Noble link
TELL THEM I DIED is a romantic adventure that doesn't conform to the usual romance novel genre in that the protagonists are all over fifty years of age, retired, and with discretionary time and funds to enjoy life, and online friends to share every minute. And unlike other romances, much of the action takes place on the internet on social networking sites. The story was inspired by the many people I came to know and love over many years on social networking sites. People who are not online a lot don't realize how real those long-distance relationships can be. Over all those years, my online friends have married, had children, divorced, and some have died. And then there is the travel element. My husband and I travel a lot, and we share our travel photos with our friends online. Several friends have suggested that I write a book about my travels. I think travelogs can be rather boring, but I decided to weave some of our adventures into the story.
The main characters of TELL THEM I DIED are Laura (Screen name: A1QTEE), owner/operator of Blaq-Kawfee.com, and the men in her life who come in an out of the social networking scene. There is Laura's number one confidante and forum moderator, Angela (Screen name: Angelplaits), and her husband "Bodine." The men in Laura's life, ex-fiance', Jackson (JackDaniels), Lester (TheGuy), Laura's son, Carlton, and her some-time boyfriend Harman all present challenges for Angela as she tries to find out what happened to her dear friend when she gets the news that Laura has died.
I hope you’ll take the time to check out TELL THEM I DIED and write a review at Amazon.com or on your blog. It's a light-hearted page-turner of a story, that my early reviewers have said they hated to end.
My tag line: When it comes to long-distance internet romances, sixty is the new seventeen.
Here is an excerpt:
“Thanks Carlton.” Angela said, but she still didn’t understand what he was up to. Why did he call if he wasn’t going to tell her anything?Now Angela was starting to shake. Like Jackson had said, it wasn’t right. She had never known anyone so evasive.
She called Jackson to give him the contacts from Blaq-Kawfee.
“Bonita and Stacey live in Las Vegas, and want to help. Bonita knows that guy Robbie who tried to sell Rooibos tea on Blaq-Kawfee. He lives somewhere near Laura’s condo. Bonita thinks he might want to help.”
She told him about the conversation with Carlton.
Jackson said, “See. I told you it wasn’t right. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t want to go accusing that boy of doing something awful, but he sure is covering something up. I’ll look into those Johns and Blackman or whatever names and see if there is a mortuary with a similar name. I kind of doubt it. I’m thinking if I can get to the 911 operators from the day she died, I could get some useful information. They have to record every call.”
Angela was always the worrywart. “I’m not feeling good about your being out there snooping around where nobody knows you. Call those girls and see if they will help...at least have somebody who knows what you might be getting into.”
“OK, I’ll call them.” Jackson said. “And the one with the tea, I don’t know about him. Remember he got nasty when y’all asked about where he bought the tea he was selling. He started the name-calling until Laura had to banish him from the site. She told me he started harassing her with phone calls after that. I’d better tell Bonita and Stacey to back off from him.”
“Were you able to get any rest this afternoon?”
“Nah, Angela. I don’t think I will until I get some answers.”
“I told you, I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jackson reassured her. “Don’t worry.”
GOODREADS GIVEAWAY - January 2013
I am giving away four (4) autographed copies ofTELL THEM I DIED through a giveaway administered by Goodreads.com. If you're not already a member of Goodreads, it's easy to join.Go here for the giveaway:
http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/40065-tell-them-i-died
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Gordon Weathersby is the youngest of seven siblings, and the first to migrate back to the South after living in DC, New Jersey and New York. She is a retired Information Technology professional who lives in Raleigh with her husband, and their imaginary dog, Dusty. Sarah is the author of a memoir, Motherless Child - stories from a life , and publisher of a family saga, The Gordons of Tallahassee , written by her sister LaVerne Gordon Goodridge. Tell Them I Died is her first work of fiction.
You can contact her online atwww.sarahweathersby.com
http://blogspot.sarahweathersby.com
http://www.facebook.com/saraphen
And Twitter @saraphen
I appreciate your time and consideration, and I hope you’ll enjoy my novel. Thanks so much, Chicki and friends.
Thanks so much, Chicki, for the opportunity to guest blog at your place. I’m currently in the midst of a 10-day blog tour to promote my new novel TELL THEM I DIED. Amazon has paperback copies listed for $8.99 and an Amazon Kindle version for $3.99. You can find it also on BN.com in NOOK version for $3.99. I need reviews to help generate word-of-mouth buzz and interest in the book.
Amazon link Barnes & Noble link
TELL THEM I DIED is a romantic adventure that doesn't conform to the usual romance novel genre in that the protagonists are all over fifty years of age, retired, and with discretionary time and funds to enjoy life, and online friends to share every minute. And unlike other romances, much of the action takes place on the internet on social networking sites. The story was inspired by the many people I came to know and love over many years on social networking sites. People who are not online a lot don't realize how real those long-distance relationships can be. Over all those years, my online friends have married, had children, divorced, and some have died. And then there is the travel element. My husband and I travel a lot, and we share our travel photos with our friends online. Several friends have suggested that I write a book about my travels. I think travelogs can be rather boring, but I decided to weave some of our adventures into the story.
The main characters of TELL THEM I DIED are Laura (Screen name: A1QTEE), owner/operator of Blaq-Kawfee.com, and the men in her life who come in an out of the social networking scene. There is Laura's number one confidante and forum moderator, Angela (Screen name: Angelplaits), and her husband "Bodine." The men in Laura's life, ex-fiance', Jackson (JackDaniels), Lester (TheGuy), Laura's son, Carlton, and her some-time boyfriend Harman all present challenges for Angela as she tries to find out what happened to her dear friend when she gets the news that Laura has died.
I hope you’ll take the time to check out TELL THEM I DIED and write a review at Amazon.com or on your blog. It's a light-hearted page-turner of a story, that my early reviewers have said they hated to end.
My tag line: When it comes to long-distance internet romances, sixty is the new seventeen.
Here is an excerpt:
“Thanks Carlton.” Angela said, but she still didn’t understand what he was up to. Why did he call if he wasn’t going to tell her anything?Now Angela was starting to shake. Like Jackson had said, it wasn’t right. She had never known anyone so evasive.
She called Jackson to give him the contacts from Blaq-Kawfee.
“Bonita and Stacey live in Las Vegas, and want to help. Bonita knows that guy Robbie who tried to sell Rooibos tea on Blaq-Kawfee. He lives somewhere near Laura’s condo. Bonita thinks he might want to help.”
She told him about the conversation with Carlton.
Jackson said, “See. I told you it wasn’t right. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t want to go accusing that boy of doing something awful, but he sure is covering something up. I’ll look into those Johns and Blackman or whatever names and see if there is a mortuary with a similar name. I kind of doubt it. I’m thinking if I can get to the 911 operators from the day she died, I could get some useful information. They have to record every call.”
Angela was always the worrywart. “I’m not feeling good about your being out there snooping around where nobody knows you. Call those girls and see if they will help...at least have somebody who knows what you might be getting into.”
“OK, I’ll call them.” Jackson said. “And the one with the tea, I don’t know about him. Remember he got nasty when y’all asked about where he bought the tea he was selling. He started the name-calling until Laura had to banish him from the site. She told me he started harassing her with phone calls after that. I’d better tell Bonita and Stacey to back off from him.”
“Were you able to get any rest this afternoon?”
“Nah, Angela. I don’t think I will until I get some answers.”
“I told you, I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jackson reassured her. “Don’t worry.”
GOODREADS GIVEAWAY - January 2013
I am giving away four (4) autographed copies ofTELL THEM I DIED through a giveaway administered by Goodreads.com. If you're not already a member of Goodreads, it's easy to join.Go here for the giveaway:
http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/40065-tell-them-i-died
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Gordon Weathersby is the youngest of seven siblings, and the first to migrate back to the South after living in DC, New Jersey and New York. She is a retired Information Technology professional who lives in Raleigh with her husband, and their imaginary dog, Dusty. Sarah is the author of a memoir, Motherless Child - stories from a life , and publisher of a family saga, The Gordons of Tallahassee , written by her sister LaVerne Gordon Goodridge. Tell Them I Died is her first work of fiction.
You can contact her online atwww.sarahweathersby.com
http://blogspot.sarahweathersby.com
http://www.facebook.com/saraphen
And Twitter @saraphen
I appreciate your time and consideration, and I hope you’ll enjoy my novel. Thanks so much, Chicki and friends.
January 20, 2013
#SampleSunday - January 20, 2013
Good Sunday morning, everyone! Before I post today's Sample Sunday excerpt, I wanted to mention two things:
Ain't Too Proud To Beg is back on the Kindle bestseller list! #This morning it was #44 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Romance > African American and #49 in Books > Romance > Multicultural On another note, recently I've seen a huge jump in readers here on the blog from Sweden. Välkommen!
Now, for today's snippet...
* * *
Yesterday the plastic surgeon called and gave me a choice of dates for the surgery on my face. Since I’d been here at Weinstein Lodge, I had tried not to think about it. Sure, I knew it was inevitable and necessary, but I just wasn’t ready. It had been two months, and I still wasn’t ready. All that came to mind was coming out of the operating room looking like Michael Jackson, Mickey Rourke, or Bruce Jenner. This operation was nothing like the ones on my leg. I’d been tripping about ending up walking like Quasimodo, but this one offered the possibility of my future movie roles being only in horror movies. I needed time to think about it, and we ended the call with him saying he needed an answer ASAP in order to get me on the schedule. Thoughts of what was to come swept over me like a tidal wave. I dropped my head into my hands and ran my fingers over my face. When I looked up, TC’s daughter was standing in the doorway.
“Can I come in to see you?” she asked from the threshold where she appeared to be hesitant to step across. I assumed TC had warned her about wandering into my room without permission.
Edna glanced over the top of the magazine she was reading and waited for me to answer. “If you want.”
The little girl hopped up beside me on the bench without saying a word and swung her legs. She looked up at me with those eyes that would one day drive men crazy. “Are you sad?”
“I was just thinking.”
“You look sad.”
Women. Did they get that emotional radar at birth? I wanted to tell her to go away and leave me to my misery, but then she leaned over, rested her bushy head on my knee and patted my leg.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel good. My mommy always hugs me when I don’t feel good. Can I hug you?”
When I opened my mouth to answer, my throat closed up and nothing came out.
She didn’t wait for an answer, just stood up on the bench, put her arms around my neck, and gave it a long, silent squeeze. “I knew this is where you’d be.” TC cleared her throat and entered the room. I turned back to the window so I could blink away the unexpected moisture in my eyes. The next time I went back to Dr. Liu, I needed to ask if he knew someone that could fix the other stuff that was wrong with me. I think the accident had somehow changed my emotional chemistry, and I hated it. When I was really young, I’d been a crybaby, but I hadn’t cried over anything in twenty years. After all I’d been through in my life, why would a car accident turn me into a sentimental chump.
Kindle - http://amzn.to/TNCAuW Kobo - http://bit.ly/UrtUqi & Nook - http://bit.ly/RYhlIB
Ain't Too Proud To Beg is back on the Kindle bestseller list! #This morning it was #44 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Romance > African American and #49 in Books > Romance > Multicultural On another note, recently I've seen a huge jump in readers here on the blog from Sweden. Välkommen!
Now, for today's snippet...
* * *
Yesterday the plastic surgeon called and gave me a choice of dates for the surgery on my face. Since I’d been here at Weinstein Lodge, I had tried not to think about it. Sure, I knew it was inevitable and necessary, but I just wasn’t ready. It had been two months, and I still wasn’t ready. All that came to mind was coming out of the operating room looking like Michael Jackson, Mickey Rourke, or Bruce Jenner. This operation was nothing like the ones on my leg. I’d been tripping about ending up walking like Quasimodo, but this one offered the possibility of my future movie roles being only in horror movies. I needed time to think about it, and we ended the call with him saying he needed an answer ASAP in order to get me on the schedule. Thoughts of what was to come swept over me like a tidal wave. I dropped my head into my hands and ran my fingers over my face. When I looked up, TC’s daughter was standing in the doorway.
“Can I come in to see you?” she asked from the threshold where she appeared to be hesitant to step across. I assumed TC had warned her about wandering into my room without permission.
Edna glanced over the top of the magazine she was reading and waited for me to answer. “If you want.”
The little girl hopped up beside me on the bench without saying a word and swung her legs. She looked up at me with those eyes that would one day drive men crazy. “Are you sad?”
“I was just thinking.”
“You look sad.”
Women. Did they get that emotional radar at birth? I wanted to tell her to go away and leave me to my misery, but then she leaned over, rested her bushy head on my knee and patted my leg.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel good. My mommy always hugs me when I don’t feel good. Can I hug you?”
When I opened my mouth to answer, my throat closed up and nothing came out.
She didn’t wait for an answer, just stood up on the bench, put her arms around my neck, and gave it a long, silent squeeze. “I knew this is where you’d be.” TC cleared her throat and entered the room. I turned back to the window so I could blink away the unexpected moisture in my eyes. The next time I went back to Dr. Liu, I needed to ask if he knew someone that could fix the other stuff that was wrong with me. I think the accident had somehow changed my emotional chemistry, and I hated it. When I was really young, I’d been a crybaby, but I hadn’t cried over anything in twenty years. After all I’d been through in my life, why would a car accident turn me into a sentimental chump.
Kindle - http://amzn.to/TNCAuW Kobo - http://bit.ly/UrtUqi & Nook - http://bit.ly/RYhlIB
January 18, 2013
Fun Friday!
I just wanted to start off the weekend with a laugh.
HOW TO SHOWER LIKE A WOMAN:
Take off clothing and place it in sectioned laundry hamper according to lights and darks. Walk to bathroom wearing long robe. If you see husband along the way, cover ...up any exposed areas. Look at your womanly physique in the mirror -- make mental note to do more sit-ups/leg-lifts, etc. Get ...in the shower. Use wash cloth , long loofah, wide loofah and pumice stone......
Wash your hair once with cucumber and sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins. Wash your hair again to make sure it's clean. Condition your hair with grapefruit mint conditioner. Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for 10 minutes until red. Wash entire rest of body with ginger nut and jaffa cake body wash. Rinse conditioner off hair. Shave armpits and legs. Rinse off. Turn off shower. Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower. Spray mold spots with Tilex.. Get out of shower. Dry with towel the size of a small country. Wrap hair in super absorbent towel. Return to bedroom wearing long robe and towel on head. If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.
HOW TO SHOWER LIKE A MAN:
Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile. Walk naked to the bathroom. If you see wife along the way, shake wiener at her making the woo-woo sound. Look at your manly physique in the mirror. Admire the size of your wiener and scratch your butt. Get in the shower. Wash your face. Wash your armpits. Blow your nose in your hands and let the water rinse them off. Fart and laugh at how loud it sounds in the shower. Spend majority of time washing privates and surrounding area. Wash your butt, leaving those coarse butt hairs stuck on the soap. Wash your hair. Make a Shampoo Mohawk. Pee. Rinse off and get out of shower. Partially dry off. Fail to notice the water on floor because curtain was hanging out of tub the whole time. Admire wiener size in mirror again. Leave shower curtain open, wet mat on floor, and light and fan on. Return to bedroom with towel around waist. If you pass wife, pull off towel, shake wiener at her and make the woo-woo sound again. Throw wet towel on bed.
If there is anyone who did not laugh at the truth behind this, there is something SO very wrong with you.
HOW TO SHOWER LIKE A WOMAN:
Take off clothing and place it in sectioned laundry hamper according to lights and darks. Walk to bathroom wearing long robe. If you see husband along the way, cover ...up any exposed areas. Look at your womanly physique in the mirror -- make mental note to do more sit-ups/leg-lifts, etc. Get ...in the shower. Use wash cloth , long loofah, wide loofah and pumice stone......
Wash your hair once with cucumber and sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins. Wash your hair again to make sure it's clean. Condition your hair with grapefruit mint conditioner. Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for 10 minutes until red. Wash entire rest of body with ginger nut and jaffa cake body wash. Rinse conditioner off hair. Shave armpits and legs. Rinse off. Turn off shower. Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower. Spray mold spots with Tilex.. Get out of shower. Dry with towel the size of a small country. Wrap hair in super absorbent towel. Return to bedroom wearing long robe and towel on head. If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.
HOW TO SHOWER LIKE A MAN:
Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile. Walk naked to the bathroom. If you see wife along the way, shake wiener at her making the woo-woo sound. Look at your manly physique in the mirror. Admire the size of your wiener and scratch your butt. Get in the shower. Wash your face. Wash your armpits. Blow your nose in your hands and let the water rinse them off. Fart and laugh at how loud it sounds in the shower. Spend majority of time washing privates and surrounding area. Wash your butt, leaving those coarse butt hairs stuck on the soap. Wash your hair. Make a Shampoo Mohawk. Pee. Rinse off and get out of shower. Partially dry off. Fail to notice the water on floor because curtain was hanging out of tub the whole time. Admire wiener size in mirror again. Leave shower curtain open, wet mat on floor, and light and fan on. Return to bedroom with towel around waist. If you pass wife, pull off towel, shake wiener at her and make the woo-woo sound again. Throw wet towel on bed.
If there is anyone who did not laugh at the truth behind this, there is something SO very wrong with you.
January 16, 2013
Work in progress
About two weeks ago I began plotting out my new series featuring a family of six brothers. I already knew what I wanted them to look like. After searching the Internet for days for photos men that looked as if they could be related, I finally came up with my idea of the Stafford family. I posted a collage of their photos on Facebook, and already received some flack, but as I explained to those offended by my choice, these are brothers in the same family. They are not supposed to look like my last hero, whose physical description was more to their liking.
The next thing I needed to do was decide where I wanted the first story set, and I chose Atlanta and Las Vegas. The first book, which will be entitled, A Woman's Worth , features personal trainer and raw vegan Marcus Stafford, the renegade son of this Atlanta-based family of doctors. He now lives in Vegas and hasn't been home to Atlanta in four years because of the friction that exists between him and his father, oncologist Dr. Victor Stafford, Sr.
The story opens with Marcus' reluctant return to Atlanta at the request of his mother to attend a celebration in honor of his oldest brother, Vic's promotion to Chief of Staff of the largest medical center in the A. His return stirs up old conflicts and escalates when Marcus meets his father's beautiful, frail, recovering patient.
Right now I'm still in Chapter One, but if you want to see my ideas of the characters, setting, etc., you can go to my Pinterest page: http://pinterest.com/chicki663/work-in-progress/
January 13, 2013
Sample Sunday
Today's Sample Sunday excerpt contains a tiny spoiler, but it doesn't give much away. Enjoy!
Engrossed in the latest episode of TI and Tiny’s Family Hustle, I sensed that I was no longer alone. When I glanced toward the door, a little caramel-skinned girl smiled at me from the threshold with narrowed eyes. “Hi.”
Where had she come from? “Hi.”
She angled her head to one side and peered at me with a frown from beneath a curly halo. “Are you sick?”
“No. Well…yeah, kind of. What’s your name?”
“Zahra.” She took a few small steps into the room then came to an abrupt stop when she saw the casts. “Are you broken?”
The events of the past couple of weeks – losing AJ, the temporary use of my legs, and the movie role that could have been a game changer in my career – flashed through my mind. “You could say that.” I didn’t usually take time to have conversations with kids, but other than small talk with Edna and phone call from Devon or one of my boys in L.A., I was starving for conversation. And I was a sucker for a beautiful woman, no matter what her age. This little beauty had to be one of Sabrina’s daughter’s friends. I wasn’t a softie when it came to the rug rats, but her perfect heart-shaped face made me want to pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger. And something about her seemed strangely familiar.
“Did you fall down?” Her hazel eyes scanned the length of my body and took in both casts.
“No. I had a car accident.”
“Oh.” She angled her head and focused on my face then solemnly added. “My mommy says some people drive too fast.”
“I guess your mommy is right.
“She fixes broken people.”
She’d have to be a miracle worker to fix me.“Is that so? What does your mommy do?”
“She’s a fairapish.”
“A what?”
“A fair-a-pish,” she repeated as if I was either dense or hard of hearing. Her forehead wrinkled and her fists balled at her non-existent hips the way black women were prone to do.
Before I could ask her for a translation, an annoyed voice called from the hallway. “Zahra? Where are you?”
“Here, Mommy.”
“Where?”
“With the broken man.” I couldn’t help but smile again at this little girl’s frankness.
Her mother rushed through the doorway and froze with her mouth gaping open. “Oh, it’s you.”
“What the hell?” Craig had set me up. He hadn’t told me her name on purpose. No wonder he set up this meeting while he’d be out of town.
“Please don’t speak like that in front of my daughter.”
“Sorry.”
“Zahra, go back to Harlowe’s room, and stay there until I come to get you.”
The little girl hung her head. “But I want to stay and talk to him.”
“Do as I say, Zahra. Now move it.”
I watched her daughter drag out of the room as though she were a death row inmate on her way to that lethal injection. “So, you’re the miracle-working therapist Craig’s been bragging about? But he said…” I clamped my mouth shut, drew in my lips, and tried to recall exactly what Craig had said.
“He said what?”
“Never mind.”
“No, go ahead, Mr. Breland. What did Craig say?”
“He said a guy named TC worked with his brother.”
“He did not say that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Craig wouldn’t have told you that.”
Embarrassed, I refused to look at her. “What’s your name again?” I finally asked.
“Trenyce Clark. You just assumed TC was a man. Does it matter?”
I studied her glossy lips and imagined what they might feel like covered by my own. “I’d rather work with a man.”
“That’s your prerogative, Mr. Breland, but do you mind telling me why?” she asked in a cool tone.
“Are you married, Ms. Clark?”
Her lips pressed into a slash, and she folded her arms across a perky but otherwise unimpressive chest. “Excuse me? What does my marital status have to do with your treatment?”
“Don’t get upset. I was just curious.”
“I’m not upset, but it’s an inappropriate question.”
A few seconds passed while my gaze traveled down her elegant neck to cleavage modestly covered by a bright pink sweatshirt that matched her lipstick before I spoke again. This woman was too beautiful. I’d be better off working with a booga bear. Someone that wasn’t so…so sexy. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I like to get to know the people I work with.”
“I’m not married, Mr. Breland,” she answered with a smirk. “Does that also make a difference?”
I smiled again. “It could.” Kindle - http://amzn.to/TNCAuW Kobo - http://bit.ly/UrtUqi & Nook - http://bit.ly/RYhlIB
Engrossed in the latest episode of TI and Tiny’s Family Hustle, I sensed that I was no longer alone. When I glanced toward the door, a little caramel-skinned girl smiled at me from the threshold with narrowed eyes. “Hi.”
Where had she come from? “Hi.”
She angled her head to one side and peered at me with a frown from beneath a curly halo. “Are you sick?”
“No. Well…yeah, kind of. What’s your name?”
“Zahra.” She took a few small steps into the room then came to an abrupt stop when she saw the casts. “Are you broken?”
The events of the past couple of weeks – losing AJ, the temporary use of my legs, and the movie role that could have been a game changer in my career – flashed through my mind. “You could say that.” I didn’t usually take time to have conversations with kids, but other than small talk with Edna and phone call from Devon or one of my boys in L.A., I was starving for conversation. And I was a sucker for a beautiful woman, no matter what her age. This little beauty had to be one of Sabrina’s daughter’s friends. I wasn’t a softie when it came to the rug rats, but her perfect heart-shaped face made me want to pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger. And something about her seemed strangely familiar.
“Did you fall down?” Her hazel eyes scanned the length of my body and took in both casts.
“No. I had a car accident.”
“Oh.” She angled her head and focused on my face then solemnly added. “My mommy says some people drive too fast.”
“I guess your mommy is right.
“She fixes broken people.”
She’d have to be a miracle worker to fix me.“Is that so? What does your mommy do?”
“She’s a fairapish.”
“A what?”
“A fair-a-pish,” she repeated as if I was either dense or hard of hearing. Her forehead wrinkled and her fists balled at her non-existent hips the way black women were prone to do.
Before I could ask her for a translation, an annoyed voice called from the hallway. “Zahra? Where are you?”
“Here, Mommy.”
“Where?”
“With the broken man.” I couldn’t help but smile again at this little girl’s frankness.
Her mother rushed through the doorway and froze with her mouth gaping open. “Oh, it’s you.”
“What the hell?” Craig had set me up. He hadn’t told me her name on purpose. No wonder he set up this meeting while he’d be out of town.
“Please don’t speak like that in front of my daughter.”
“Sorry.”
“Zahra, go back to Harlowe’s room, and stay there until I come to get you.”
The little girl hung her head. “But I want to stay and talk to him.”
“Do as I say, Zahra. Now move it.”
I watched her daughter drag out of the room as though she were a death row inmate on her way to that lethal injection. “So, you’re the miracle-working therapist Craig’s been bragging about? But he said…” I clamped my mouth shut, drew in my lips, and tried to recall exactly what Craig had said.
“He said what?”
“Never mind.”
“No, go ahead, Mr. Breland. What did Craig say?”
“He said a guy named TC worked with his brother.”
“He did not say that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Craig wouldn’t have told you that.”
Embarrassed, I refused to look at her. “What’s your name again?” I finally asked.
“Trenyce Clark. You just assumed TC was a man. Does it matter?”
I studied her glossy lips and imagined what they might feel like covered by my own. “I’d rather work with a man.”
“That’s your prerogative, Mr. Breland, but do you mind telling me why?” she asked in a cool tone.
“Are you married, Ms. Clark?”
Her lips pressed into a slash, and she folded her arms across a perky but otherwise unimpressive chest. “Excuse me? What does my marital status have to do with your treatment?”
“Don’t get upset. I was just curious.”
“I’m not upset, but it’s an inappropriate question.”
A few seconds passed while my gaze traveled down her elegant neck to cleavage modestly covered by a bright pink sweatshirt that matched her lipstick before I spoke again. This woman was too beautiful. I’d be better off working with a booga bear. Someone that wasn’t so…so sexy. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I like to get to know the people I work with.”
“I’m not married, Mr. Breland,” she answered with a smirk. “Does that also make a difference?”
I smiled again. “It could.” Kindle - http://amzn.to/TNCAuW Kobo - http://bit.ly/UrtUqi & Nook - http://bit.ly/RYhlIB
