Chelle Ramsey's Blog, page 38

MAKING DREAMS COME TRUE_MARCH MADNESS GIVEAWAY

Barbara Joe Williams enjoys helping others make their dreams come true. She does it through inspiring others to pursue their writing dreams. And today, she's accomplishing that through her new book, A-Z Writing Tips: A Motivational Guide for Authors. Join me in congratulating and wishing Barbara Joe a happy release day.

She wants to help you along in your writing journey. Leave a comment for Barbara Joe today and you could be the lucky winner of her new release: A-Z Writing Tips.






Number Nineteen
 
First of all, I want to thank Chelle Ramsey for having me on her blog again today to celebrate the release of my nineteenth title, A-Z Writing Tips: A Motivational Guide for Authors. When I started writing this book last year, I knew I wanted to produce something that would help aspiring authors to achieve their writing goals this year.
 
I’ve read that eighty percent of the American population believes that they have a book in them. However, I believe that one-hundred percent of our population has a book in them because if you’re living, you have a story to tell. But the question is, are you going to tell it or not?
 
Since I published my first novel in November 2004, I’ve published over forty other new authors via their own books or in anthologies. Whether you’re a beginning writer or a seasoned author with several books, this manual will benefit you along your writing journey. All it takes is a little bit of time and a lot of determination.
 
One valuable piece of advice for any author is this: Get a partner. Not a writing partner, but another author you can share ideas with, proofread each other’s work, and keep each other motivated to write. Staying motivated to write every day is the key to becoming a great writer. Don’t let writer’s block or anything else block you from getting your writing done.
 
Whenever I’m feeling down, I go back and read past reviews from my readers because that’s what keeps me motivated to write. Just knowing that someone out there actually enjoys my work and is looking forward to my next release, makes me want to write every day that I can.
 
I appreciate all of the support that I have received over the years. I don’t take it for granted that you’re reading a book (or blog) from me. Whatever your writing goals are for this year, my goal is to help you reach them.
 
 
*****
  Barbara Joe Williamsis an Amazon bestselling author, indie publisher, and motivational speaker living in Tallahassee, Florida. She is a Navy veteran, a graduate of Tallahassee Community College, and Florida A & M University. Barbara is also the founder of Amani Publishing, LLC (2004), and the co-founder of the Tallahassee Authors Network since September 2008.
 
She has published books for over thirty authors and the following for herself:  
Holiday Hotel 2: A Valentine’s Day Story (2015), A-Z Marketing Tips (2015), A Cup of Barbara Joe (2015), Holiday Hotel: A sexy short story (2014), Forgive Us This Day (Anniversary Edition, 2014), First Class Love (2014); You Don’t Even Know My Name (2014); A Writer’s Guide to Publishing & Marketing (Volume 2, 2013); Double Proposal (2013); Losing My Soul (2013); The 21 Lives of Lisette Donavan (Anthology, 2012), A Man of My Own (2012), A Writer’s Guide to Publishing & Marketing (2010), Moving the Furniture: 52 Ways to Keep Your Marriage Fresh (2009), Courtney’s Collage (with Sherille Fisher, 2007), How I Met My Sweetheart (Anthology, 2007), Falling for Lies (2006), Dancing with Temptation (2005) and Forgive Us This Day (2004).
 
Her novel, Forgive Us This Day (Anniversary Edition), was recently reviewed in USA Today by Michelle Monkou. It was a recommended “must-read” romance.
 
All of her books are available on Kindle and Nook.
 
Amazon page: http://goo.gl/hCOkBb
Email:  amanipublishing@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/barbara.williams.31105674
Website:  www.Barbarajoe.webs.com
Twitter:  @Barbarajoe22
A-Z Writing Tips: A Motivational Guide for Authors

KINDLE
 
I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...


WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY

A JOURNEY WITHIN_MARCH MADNESS

We sometimes hear an author's logic behind a story, or why they write. But we don't always get to hear the character's point of view. The character can unlock interesting perspectives and answer the unanswered who's, why's, when's, and what-for's that we are sometimes left with after a story ends.

Today, author Imani Wisdom, lets us meet Mrs. Ruthie Belle, a very important character from her novel, Zion's Road. She holds some pertinent clues to what has been known as a powerful and passionate story, and words of wisdom for all those seeking knowledge. Ms. Wisdom's story has the potential to evoke intense feelings within the reader.

Take a peek into Imani's writing world:


The last post I interviewed was with a young boy named, Thomas – an important character from my book, Zion’s Road: A Love Story about Faith and Redemption. He had joined the lead character, Harold Smith, on a journey that revealed several truths from his life. Just like in the story, I noticed Thomas bore an old soul to his seven-year-old body. It was as if he had out lived many generations.  
 
Later, he escorted me to a wooden dock overseeing a vibrant creek as it shimmered beneath the radiant afternoon sun. Nature beings; such as birds and bees, were flying freely, while a pair of butterflies swirled around me as if they had something to say.
 
As I was enthralled at the innate beauty, I saw a woman sitting on the very end with her petite legs dangling above the water. She had her hair tied to a neat bun and dressed in a black blouse and beige slacks. “We’re here” Thomas called out as he guided me by the hand toward the woman. He leaned toward the woman’s cheek and gave her a soft kiss. “See you later, Miss Imani” He told me and ran back to the hill.
 
The woman finally presented a welcoming smile as she gestured with her hand to sit beside her. She wasn’t what I expected from Zion’s Road – the radiant caramel skin and dark, brown eyes brought out an immense glow. After we’ve exchanged our pleasantries, I finally strummed enough courage to ask the first question…
 
Me:      I’m finally sitting here with incomparable Ruthie Belle. Now, do you prefer to be called, Mrs. Belle or Miss Ruthie?
 Ruthie: Miss Ruthie would be fine.
 Me:      Okay, Miss Ruthie…so tell me more about “Ruthie Belle”. What is she about? 
RB:      Well, I used to be this scaredy-cat of a woman back home in Tulla Springs. I went
            through all kinds of crazy stuff until one day I got tired of it. So I did what any good
            momma had to do – I separated myself from the wickedness. With God, though, I made
            it through the tough storms. I even grew to understand what love was and how to love. It
            was a shame from one event in my life, I’d allowed that to define me. So, now, I’m wiser
            with lots of backbone.

Me:      Yes, ma’am…perhaps you should explain to the reader about your appearance. You come
            across as a seasoned elderly woman but you appear to be in your mid to late twenties?

RB:      Child, you sho’ know how to butter an old woman up, don’t cha! Look, when I got here, I
            didn’t expect to be blessed with a youthful glow. Ev’rythin’ you see ‘bout me, here, is
            just gifts. Ev’ryone hasta go through ‘em. But I’m still the same ole’ Ruthie Belle from
the time when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. My feelins’ get hurt like you; I wake ev’ry mornin’ givin’ Him thanks, and I still read my Bible. Ruthie will always be…Ruthie.  
Me:      Yes ma’am, Miss Ruthie. Thomas couldn’t explain what Zion’s Road is. He told me it’s forbidden. So maybe you could tell me – the readers would like to know?

RB:      Well, Thomas is right – it is forbidden – but since you are who you are, I might as well
            share a lil’ somethin’ with your readers…so here goes, ready?

Me:      Yes, ma’am. 
RB:      Search within your heart.

Me:      But, Miss Ruthie, isn’t Zion’s Road a place?
 RB:      Yeah, baby, Zion’s Road is a place but not ev’ryone is gon’ believe ‘cause they don’t see
            it. Your heart is the best pair of eyes God could give you. It’s just too bad your kind
            chooses to stay blind. You see a handsome man and knowin’ he ain’t no good, and you
            choose to stay anyway? Forget how many times he’d made you cry, or beat you, you’ve
            grown so weak that you would rather live with it ‘cause it’s easier. Miss Imani, it’s
            the same thing as fire – admire the colorful flame from a distance, but if you
            touch it, you’ll get burn.

Me:      So Thomas is right, this place can be scary.

RB:      Naw, Zion’s Road is good as it gets. What I’m sayin’ believin’ is not always seein’, and
            seein’ is not believin’. You have to trust your heart and keep your faith intact, and
            anythin’ that comes your way won’t be so hard. The path that any new arrival
            follows is accordin’ to the footsteps they’ve all ready taken.

Me:      Without giving me too many details, how was your journey?
 RB:      Child, you know I can’t tell you that. But I will say my journey had its ups and downs.
            I cried. I laughed, and there were times I wanted to give up, but I kept on. There were
even some unexpected surprises that turned my journey upside down. So, really, Miss Imani explainin’ Zion’s Road is like askin’ what’s the meanin’ to life – you ain’t gon’ know til you discover it, and when you do you ain’t gon’ like your answer.

Me:      Okay, now let’s back track for a bit. Tell me what Tulla Springs is like, and do you
miss it?
RB:      Girl, I don’t miss nothin’ ‘bout that Mississippi town! The memories there were nothin’ but misery. The only fondness I do have is my family – and I thank the Lord for ‘em – but other than that there ain’t a nice thing I have to say about Tulla Springs. Nothing!

Me:      Yes, ma’am...now one last request before we go to your place to eat a slice of your chess
pie – could you tell the readers about the book we’re giving away. Tell them in your words what they should expect.

RB:      I can try, Miss Imani, but wouldn’t be better if they heard it from you? After all, you wrote the book. 
Me:      Yes, ma’am, but it would be great if the readers would it hear from one of its characters.  
 
RB:      (Sigh) All right. I’ll do my best.
Come and join me in Imani Wisdom’s novelette, Zion’s Road, as that boy Harold Smith meets an unexpected person as they go on an adventure to discover Harold’s truths. During their journey, the two learn Smith had been keeping an old secret that’ll sure to shock anyone! And when I mean, anyone, I mean YOU! Hell, I’m in the book when it all happened, and I still can’t believe my….
Me:      MISS RUTHIE!!!!

RB:      What?

Me:      You’re saying too much!

RB:      Don’t you want me to explain it or not, Miss Imani?

Me:      Yes, ma’am, I do, but without giving too much of the story away.

RB:      So I can’t mention anything about the Klan?
 Me:      No, Miss Ruthie.

RB:      Or the boy’s daddy?

Me:      (shaking my head)

RB:      Okay, what about Arth…

Me:      Miss Ruthie…please!

RB:      Fine, Miss Imani. How about this? During Harold’s journey, these truths will
            shatter his world. But will that stop him from gettin’ to his final destination? Or will he
            man-up and break free from his dark past? Find all the answers in Miss Imani’s iddy-
            biddy story, Zion’s Road. It may be short but it packs a punch.
            How’s that?

Me:      Perfect! But don’t forget to mention you have a story, too.
 RB:      Oh yeah…I do. Coming in 2015, I gots my own story self-named after me: The Journey of Ruthie Belle. The story begins in 1914, when I was a slave to a heathen’s abuse. But I wised-up and a found a way to break free his bondage, yet to discover things ain’t all ways what it seems. I will see ev’rythin’ on my journey, even silly butterflies. Now if you want to read a piece of it, visit Imani’s web…site: www.imaniwisdom.com. It’s under except on the tab.
 Me:      It’s called, excerpt.

RB:      Whatever. Are you ready to eat? I got somethin’ good cooked.

Me:      Yes, ma’am! What do you have besides chess pie?

RB:      Soup.

Me:      (Blank stare) 
For more character interviews, advance readings, and updates on events, subscribe to the Pink
Noire Newsletter to become a Pink V.I.P. Stay ahead before everyone else.  Find on the landing page on the website on the VIP box.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Imani Wisdom is the founder of Pink Noire Publications.  Based in Indianapolis, IN, Pink Noire is a groundbreaking company with an unpredictable brand of literary storytelling.   Wisdom is also the creator of Pink Noire Blog, which hosts inspirational posts for the soul, along with social commentary.  Born and raised in “Indy,” Wisdom spends her days overseeing a family of five, writing short stories and books, cooking vegan dishes, running 5Ks and mini-marathons, and enjoying quality time with her friends and family.
                                    
Wisdom is a graduate of Ivy Tech Community College, earning a degree in Paralegal Studies. She is a prolific storyteller whose works depict an honest portrayal of societal issues. As a blogger and author, she has received numerous honors including 2012 nominee for Poet of the Year (AAMBC Book Club), March 2012 Up and Coming Author (The Writer’s POV Magazine), September 2011 Blog of the Month (The Writer’s POV Magazine), and February 2011 Editor’s Pick (BlackShortStories.com) for her short story, The Shattered Mogul. Her works include Zion’s Road: A Love Story about Faith and Redemption, and her upcoming debut novel, The Journey of Ruthie Belle.

I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...



WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY 

WRITER WOMAN_MARCH MADNESS

Writers arrive at a certain point in life where we're ready to share our creative gifts with the world. Whether the genre is women's fiction, romance, mystery, crime, thrillers, or Christian fiction, we have all come to our gifts and crafted them by way of our own unique journey.

Author Eartha Watts Hicks is no exception. Today, Eartha is sharing her perception on the craft of writing and how life led her to become the gifted word artist that she is today. Don't forget to comment, you could be today's winner, of a signed paperback copy of Love Changes.


  WRITER WOMAN: Why I writeI don’t know how many times I heard my aunt, Eartha, after whom I am named, tell this one particular story. According to her, I was three years old—telling everybody’s business—outside in front of her building with pen and paper, writing “a book.” I don’t remember that. Or even if I was able to write my own name at the age of three. I do remember telling another aunt, who had read so many romance novels that they were stacked across her dresser in three rows approximately two feet high. I said to her, “I gonna write a book, just so you can read it.” Based on the size and shape of the paperbacks (approximately two inches thick) and the length of the dresser (twelve books across), my estimate now is that she had at least four hundred and thirty-two books there, plus or minus two units.  Pardon me; I’ve always had a thing for numbers.I’ve had a thing for numbers and songs. Words actually scared me, unless of course I was facing a word problem. It was intimidating, having papers returned to me with big red corrections. Explain! I never understood how I was failing to communicate my ideas effectively. The way I saw it, if my thoughts and feelings were written on the page how could they be “wrong”? One would either agree or disagree.  I deserved an A, because I had written these concepts down. Points shouldn’t be deducted, because I didn’t explain them to someone else’s satisfaction. Sound logic, but try explaining that to an English teacher. Songwriting was second nature to me. In grade school, I studied to a rhythm, creating songs to help me remember. Vocabulary words and definitions stuck, because when it came time for exams I was actually singing them in my head. In high school, I started writing love songs. A snappy song was “instant happy” for me. And I loved numbers because formulas had set answers, concrete solutions I could figure out that wouldn’t be subject to interpretation or debate.In college, I majored in accounting. One day, while riding the commuter train, I saw a man dozing off. I had never seen him before, but instantly knew his life story. It was more than the stress pressed into his forehead, his worn and outdated suit, his wire-framed glasses that were misshapen, and the lead stains on his shirt pocket from too many pencils. This man looked exhausted, like he was so busy counting money that he didn’t have time to spend it. We talked briefly, and what he told me confirmed what I already knew: he was a CPA who owned his own firm and was near retirement. No glamour there. I could’ve been a bookkeeper, a Math teacher, or stock broker. None of those professions would’ve been a labor of love for me. I wanted to be a CPA because I heard they made “good money.” I had planned to be a CPA, and then a tax attorney, and maybe eventually, Comptroller. I realized I didn’t have enough of a passion for numbers for them to take me to that “CPA MAN” place or any other place where I’d be crunching numbers for the rest of my life.   Fast forward. Now, my appearance has become just as wacky as CPA MAN’s. I have become WRITER WOMAN, always with an oversized purse full of Mead composition notebooks, fine point Sharpies, index cards, and my flash drive. So busy writing that, at times, I don’t have time to read. I am an artist. No glamour here either. It is hard to say how I arrived at this place, especially since the transition was gradual, a segue I myself didn’t notice despite the many checkpoints along the way. In college, my English professor explained the structure of a critical essay to me in formula form. Years later, my aunt gave me a book (a title by Iyanla Vanzant) as a gift. After reading the voice of a narrator that didn’t seem fabricated, for the first time in my life I said to myself, “I can do that!”  Why do I do it? For me, writing makes me feel as good as if I were stuffing my face with large amounts of chocolate. At first I wrote, chasing that sense of euphoria, but I have come to realize that expression is my gift, and there are so many responsibilities attached to it. Black people have more depth than we are given credit for. We don’t all come in the same package or from the same place. We don’t all think the same thoughts. We don’t all have the same motives. We all don’t live the same story. I am grateful that we are represented in books, films, and television now more than ever before, but still I feel there needs to be more of a variety. Much of what I’ve been exposed to doesn’t accurately reflect the people I love. For that reason, I write what I feel is missing. I write what I enjoy and would love to see exist. So, please forgive me, if my process may appear a little odd. I just hoping to create something that young, aspiring readers and writers could benefit from. Autographed copies of Love Changes are available through my Earthatone.com website. The Revised Edition is now available on Amazon. To preview or purchase, visit http://ow.ly/INWgc
 Please LIKE  my FaceBook page: www.facebook.com/earthawattshicks.lovechanges. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Eartha Watts Hicks is the award winning author of LOVE CHANGES, a member of the Harlem Writers Guild, and a contributing writer for Harlem World Magazine and blog site. The first three chapters of Love Changes are accessible through this link. http://ow.ly/yqODR If you would like to learn more, please visit www.earthatone.com. And feel free to connect on all social media (@Earthatone).   I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...

WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY   
 

RAINING DOWN FIRE!_MARCH MADNESS

Michelle Stimpson is back and she's bringing the heat today! Not the type of heat you might be used to from last month's romantic posts, but it's a different type of fire she's lighting. Well you might just want to take a peek to see what I'm talking about. And...you'll have to do just that and leave a comment if you want a chance to win the $10 Amazon Gift Card for today's March Madness post that Michelle is giving away.

A Excerpt from A Change of Heart
by Michelle Stimpson
 Isaiah McKnight’s body jerked onto his left side. He knew he was dreaming, but somehow he was powerless to wake himself from this recurring nightmare.
In the dream, he was standing at the altar of his life-long church, Full Holiness of God Tabernacle. Though there were other men to his left and right, there was some sort of spotlight on him obscuring the men’s faces. He could hear his father’s voice and Pastor Munsey’s voice but couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying.
A woman dressed in black stepped forward. Her hands raised in surrender, her head bowed. Isaiah couldn’t see her face, either, but somehow he knew that it was his girlfriend, Myesha Hawkins.
And then came the part that made him shudder even in his sleep. With the elders of Fellowship of International Right-living Evangelists (FIRE) church urging him on, Isaiah laid his hand on Myesha’s mushy forehead.
A jolt of electricity rushed through his arm. Heat radiated down to his fingertips.
His hand glowed red. Then bright orange. Smoke emanated as his flesh seared into Myesha’s skin. They were both burning, melting from the point of contact. Chaos ensued as people screamed and watched as they both disintegrated before the congregation in slow motion.
Isaiah jerked upright in bed. He took in a chest full of air. Breathe. Breathe. It was a dream. He swallowed hard.
Isaiah lifted the towel off the digital clock and read 2:43 a.m. He covered the display again.
This was the second time in a month that he’d been awakened in the middle of the night with the melting-hand dream. He hadn’t told anyone about it. No need to. He already knew.
The feather-light touch on his back startled Isaiah.
“You okay?” Myesha asked.
“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm hmm,” she mumbled, then flatted her body on their king-size bed.
Isaiah eyed her backside. She wasn’t particularly shapely. Not skinny, not fat. She was plain. His mother had told Isaiah that he could do better, especially since he was a “good-looking college graduate with a good-paying job.” He should be dating an all-black church girl from a family that was well off enough to put her through four years at a university. The woman for him should also care a little more about her appearance so that—most of all—she would represent the family well in church and in the community.
Myesha was none of those. She was a laid-back, easy-going, artsy person who had paid her own way through her first two years of college, thus the junior college for a start. Her mother was white. She was a year older than Isaiah, which didn’t set particularly well with his mother, but her biggest beef was that Myesha was unchurched. Worse than that, actually. Evil. And were it not for Myesha’s seducing ways, Isaiah wouldn’t be caught up in this web of sin, according to his mother.
“That girl’s put her claws in you,” Mother fussed. “I’m praying the Lord will set you free from her.”
The thing was: Isaiah didn’t want to be free. He knew right from wrong. Knew he had no business “shacking up” with Myesha. But he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He tried to explain to his mother that he loved her.
“You don’t know what love is!” His mother had nearly hit the roof when she came over unannounced and discovered that Myesha had moved into Isaiah’s apartment. “Your soul is in danger of hell’s fire, Isaiah! FIRE!”
Of course, that brought his adjacent neighbors running. Isaiah had been grateful to hear the guy from next door knocking. “Is there a fire?”
“No. It’s just my mom freaking out.”
“I’m not freaking out! I’m telling the truth! You’re going to burn in hell if you don’t move Jezebel out of here!”
His neighbor’s blue eyes gave a questioning glance as he whispered, “Is she…okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks for checking.”
Myesha had locked herself in the bedroom that day, afraid of what Mrs. McKnight might do.
Thankfully, his father had come upstairs and inquired about what was taking his wife so long to drop off a tie for Isaiah to wear to church.
“Your son’s girlfriend is living here!”
Isaiah was relieved at his father’s under-reaction. Slightly raised eyebrows. Contemplative frown. “Well, it’s not what I want for him, but he’s—”
“On his way to hell!” His mother’s hazel eyes had been wild with a mixture of terror and shame that he hadn’t witnessed since her brother, Vaughn Duffey, was seen on the 10 o’clock news in handcuffs.
“Momma, we’re going to get married,” Isaiah had tried to calm her.
“I hope not! If she has this kind of satanic influence on you now, imagine how much worse it will be once you’re married!”
Isaiah had cocked his head to the side and blinked slowly. “Momma.”
She had raised her hands and switched gears instantly. She bowed her head and fluttered her eyelashes as she took quick, shallow breaths. “Lord knows me and your Daddy”—huff, huff—“tried our best to raise you in a God-fearing home.” She swallowed. “Made sure you and Nehemiah—God forgive him—and Priscilla had everything you needed.” She licked her lips. “Most of what you wanted. Sent you to a major university. And this is the thanks we get, huh? You’re just going to throw your life away? Gonna cause me to lose two sons to the enemy now?”
That was a low guilt-blow, even for his mother.
“Viola, that’s enough. Let’s go.” His father had insisted, taking hold of his mother’s elbow.
“Isaiah, you know better. You need to get this”—his father waved an arm in the air—“fixed. We’ll see you at church.”
Eleven months later, Isaiah still hadn’t “fixed” anything. He was still living with Myesha. Still at odds with his parents, though his father wasn’t as heavy-handed.
His earthly father, that is.
But now that his heavenly Father—if it was safe to call Him that given the circumstances—seemed to be on Mother’s side, sending him dreams that unsettled him at 2:43 in the morning.
Still wide awake ten minutes later, Isaiah threw the linens off himself and headed toward the kitchen. He walked slowly, hoping he wouldn’t step on anything or stub a toe in the darkness. The bedroom had to be absolutely pitch-black in order for Myesha to sleep. He had teased her about being a vampire.
Now, as he eased out of their bedroom and closed the door behind him, he wondered if there was an ounce of truth to the parallel. There had to be. Why else would God be sending these dreams about him burning as soon as he touched Myesha? It was one thing for his mother to throw a guilt-trip on him. But when God Himself spoke to Isaiah in the same mode that He had used to warn people in the Bible, there could be no denial.
Isaiah opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a small bottle of orange juice, and plopped himself down at the kitchen table in front of his laptop.
Solitaire was a nice distraction. He’d gotten pretty good at it over the years. Between his phone, his tablet, and the computer, he had paid his dues to become a champion. One of these days, when his savings reached five figures, he might actually start waging bets, beating mere amateurs who considered Solitaire a game rather than a science. And when he got really, really good, he’d go to Vegas. Clean house at one of those tables.
“Wait a minute. Do they even have Solitaire in Vegas?” he asked himself, sliding virtual cards into place. He’d never been to sin city.
Talking to himself or the computer was another habit he’d developed while playing. Solitaire helped him relax. Be his usual goofy self. Helped him forget about the fact that God might be preparing to put him flat on his back so all he could do was look up and repent, as the elders at FIRE used to say.
Might be today. Might be next week. But if he didn’t straighten up, Isaiah had no doubt that a change was coming.
  If you enjoyed this book, you can pick up a copy at Amazon  or Barnes and Noble .Leave a comment on this post for your chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card.
Connect with Michelle online at www.MichelleStimpson.com I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just... WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY 
 

LIVING JUST A LITTLE_MARCH MADNESS

Today's March Madness post comes from another author friend of mine. Her story that she shares with us today is touching. As I read it, I had tears in my eyes and my soul cried out for all of those she describes. What am I talking about? Read Rhonda McKnight's "Living Just A Little..."


March Madness - Living, just a little…
 
Rhonda is giving away an e-book copy of Give A Little Love or Live A Little (Jordan Family stories- winners choice).
 
One of the perks of being an author is that I get to attend book club discussions with readers. There’s one question that I can count on being asked at every meeting. And that’s “Are any parts of the story true?” The reader is usually wide-eyed and excited, nearly sitting at the edge of their seat in anticipation of my answer. Surely, they want it to be yes and I almost want to say it is so they can be satisfied with my answer, but that would be a lie, not fiction. I shrug and give the disappointing answer, “No, I make this stuff up.”
 
When I write, my goal is to “touch the heart of women” through my stories. My characters are on a journey. By the end, they find God’s truth for their life.  Finding God’s truth…there’s nothing fictional about that. There’s nothing fictional about the hurt or the hope or the love or the prayer or the sacrifice or any of the other actions characters experience. I don’t make that stuff up. I’ll use my recently released book, Live A Little, as an example. Live A Little is the story of Raine Still and Gage Jordan. Raine and Gage have something in common. They’re both struggling with a major life change. Raine is grieving the death of both her parents. Having lived a sheltered life with them, she now has to exist in a world that was filtered through their experiences and she’s completely unprepared for life without them. Having no other relatives, she finds herself alone in the world. Gage’s family situation is the opposite of Raine’s. He has a large family of siblings, both his parents, and a host of extended family members that love him. But he’s returned home after fourteen years of military service, most of them spent in combat in Iraqand Afghanistan. Injured, he’s been discharged and forced to return to a world he’s only been connected to through emails, letters, and short visits. Gage left a piece of his soul overseas and he’s not sure how to get it back. These two people meet on cold winter night and their spirits connect in places that are much deeper than physical, for they are two halves that need something to happen in their lives to make them feel whole. They both need a reason to live. They need hope.
 
Have you known anyone with a similar situation? Maybe they aren’t grieving or a recently returned from war, but someone struggling with depression or even in the grips of a deep depression? Have you ever known someone who wanted to end their life, and you couldn’t love them enough to convince them to live? Maybe I’m describing you and you’re thinking, “Rhonda, there’s nothing fictional about any of this. Depression is real.” Trust me, I know that it is. I have people in my circle that struggle with depression and even thoughts of suicide every day. I wrote this story for them and because of them. Their struggles are a very real part of my life. So, you see I made up Gage and Raine, but I didn’t make up the heart of their story. I didn’t make up their struggles with pain and sorrow or their fear of not knowing what tomorrow will bring or even the voice of the enemy that whispers, “Give up. Life is not worth living.”  I make this stuff up, but I also live a little in the pages. I hope you’ll read Raine and Gage’s story and live a little with them.
 
 An excerpt from Live A Little  Raine Still and Gage Jordan run into each other on a cold winter night. Will the chance meeting save one of their lives?
  
Raine passed a large black Hummer with an Army bumper sticker. The license plate read Gage J. It was a sexy car. Just like him, she thought. Gage Jordan. Nothing about him had changed except for the better. He still had dark eyes, smooth skin, deliciously long dimples, perfect teeth, and impressively broad shoulders. 
Raine knew Gage was in Charlotte. She’s read it in the local newspaper. He’d been awarded a Silver Star and a Purple Heart and they were pinned on him by the Vice President himself at a reception at the V.A. hospital. The article stated he was discharged and had plans for a second career in the public sector. Raine knew a Purple Heart meant he’d been injured. She figured he must have post-traumatic stress disorder or something you couldn’t see, because with the way that suit and wool coat hung on him, no one could tell her there was something wrong with his body. 
She sighed and pulled her own coat tighter. The last thing person on earth she needed to be thinking about was Gage Jordan, but she couldn’t help it. He was the jock she’d had a crush on in high school, the soldier she’d shared her first dance with and the only man she’d ever had a date with.
She smiled at the memory of that dance. His mother, whom she’d been talking to when he made his approach from across the room, had thrown them together. Raine remembered he’d had a determined look on his face, no doubt on a mission to convey some message. He whispered in is mother’s ear and then before Evelyn Jordanleft she handed her off to him and said firmly, “This pretty young woman has been holding up the wall for too long. Dance with her, son.” Gage didn’t hesitate to invite her to the floor. After all, the disc jockey was playing Brown Sugar. Even a confirmed gospel music only addict like Raine knew that song. Less than sixty seconds after they moved onto the dance floor, the tempo of the music slowed down and If Only For One Night by Luther Vandross reverberated through the D.J.’s speakers.
“You don’t mind this song, do you?” he asked. She surmised the question was a mere courtesy, because Gage took liberties before she could respond. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. Raine saw her life flash before her, but not in a way that scared one to death. Her own wedding, marriage, and children came to her in flashes of light. In those five minutes, she lived every dream she had ever had. And then Gage disappeared into the cabin of a military flight to a war thousands of miles away. 
 
Book Synopsis
Raine Still has never had much of an identity outside of being the daughter of the old hippie couple that own Hope House, a transitional housing facility in the worst part of Charlotte, North Carolina, and that had been okay with her until her parents died and left her alone in the world.

Gage Jordan is a decorated soldier discharged from the army after fourteen years due to a physical injury, but the emotional scars are far worse than anything he's rehabbed from. He has a great job lined up and a mass of support from his family, but something is missing and he's starting to feel like it's Raine.

Gage thought his wounded heart had issues, but Raine's pain is much deeper. If something doesn't give soon they will never have a chance at love. Can he convince her to see that "hope" and faith are the balm she needs to heal her hurting soul?
 
 
Buy Links
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Live-Little-Rhonda-McKnight-ebook/dp/B00TFEOKQ2/
Barnes and Noble http://alturl.com/h3bcr
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/518282
iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/live-a-little/id966415831?mt=11
 
About the Author
Even as she pursued degrees in Textile Technology, Organizational Leadership and finally, Adult Education, Rhonda McKnight ’s love for books and desire to write stories was always in the back of her mind and in the forefront of her heart. Rhonda loves reading and writing stories that touch the heart of women through complex plots and interesting characters in crisis. She writes from the comfort of her Atlantahome with black tea, Lays potato chips and chocolate on hand. At her feet sits a snappy mixed breed toy dog. She can be reached at her website at www.rhondamcknight and on social media at www.facebook.com/booksbyrhondaand www.twitter.com/rhondamcknightand www.blackchristianreads.comwhere she has joined with nine other Christian fiction authors to introduce her stories to the world.
 
Happy Birthday, Chelle!!!

I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...

 WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY

LIVING WITH YOUR CHOICES_MARCH MADNESS

Hello lovely people. It's day 4 of the March Madness event. Many of you may not know I'm doing this in celebration of the month of March, because it's my birthday month. I thought it would be really cool to give you the gifts all month instead of myself. So all you have to do is leave a comment daily to win a chance at a prize.

Today, I'm giving away a signed copy of my novel, Bejeweled: The Flight of an Angel. But I want to share with you something else that I'm working on. It's in its raw, early stages, unedited and uncut, but I still want to hear your views.

A Woman's Choices is a novel about three best friends. Naomi, Ambience and Paige. Their lifestyles and choices are as different as night and day. As they each reflect on their lives, they have to learn to woman up and live with the choices they've made. It's not always an easy road, but one well traveled, and one they would do well to learn from.


A WOMAN'S CHOICES EXCERPT:

The men, the men, they all love me! Because I’m a beautiful and sexy honeybee! There’s a whole lot of F.I.N.E packed into five feet and two inches of a 115 pound woman. With my beautiful golden bronze skin and slanted, almond-shaped green eyes, let’s just say I was turning heads wherever I went.
Say what you want about women who are out to get theirs. I believe every woman has the right to rule her life and her body the way she wants. Hell, if you ask me I say we better get ours before they get theirs. It’s either use or be used. And I’ll be the one using…yep, I’m using men up like my favorite credit card. My favorite gift from them? A roll in the sack to relieve a day’s stress.
No women despite what men say, that doesn’t make me a whore. That makes me a smart and clever negotiator, getting what I want and giving them what they want in return. In the end nobody gets hurt, and nobody gets burnt, right? Haha!!! Not if you wrap it and strap it, you won’t. Or at least that’s what I thought!
My name is Paige Dougherty and this is my story.
****
I had just closed the file for my last client of the day. I was tired, and needed a little downtime to help me relax. Working with juvenile delinquents all day kept me on my toes and sad about the state of the world. I refused to have children. When I saw how people who couldn’t afford children, pop babies out at random and then abused and mistreated them, it broke my heart. Yet, worse than that were those who could afford to have kids, but chose to lavish material wealth rather than love upon them. They oftentimes left the children to raise themselves or to their own devices. These kids were shouting out for love and attention. And they would use any means necessary to grab that attention, theft, burglary, fighting, prostitution, and even murder.
I pushed the phone button for my OnStar system in my Camaro. After giving the call command, I spoke the name Rodney. I waited several seconds as the phone on the other end rang. Getting the voicemail, I hung, up and selected three more names before I finally received an answer.
“Vic, what do you have planned for the night?” I asked, after receiving a response.
“I don’t know…what you want me to have planned for the night?” he asked. He knew what was on the menu, and what was on my mind.
“How about Facuito’s at eight and a night cap at your place?” I asked.
“Sounds good. I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?”
“Uh-uh, I’ll drive. I’ll meet you there at eight.”
“Have it your way,” he stated.
“I always do,” I replied with a smirk on my face and then clicked the phone button on the system off.
After a night at Fasciuto’s, Vic and I had made it back to his place, me following in my car behind him. He wasn’t the first at the top of my list, to relieve my tension for the night. But he would do. After all he was the first to answer my call.
I hoped he didn’t plan on having me stay overnight. That was the only downfall about Vic. He wanted to pretend this was some love affair. I wasn’t into that. I had no time for love and romance. I was a woman out to live her life, and nothing was going to stop that.
We had barely made it into the door, before I began clawing at his shirt, popping his buttons off to reveal, a chiseled, ebony chest. Vic was supremely fine, but I didn’t much care for hair on a man’s chest and he had his fair share of hair. The only reason I could put up with it, was because it was silky and not nappy, like taco meat.
“Slow down baby. Don’t you want to have drinks, or sit and talk for a while?” he asked.
“Talk about what, Vic? We talked at the restaurant.”
“I know but…it seems like you had a rough day and I thought maybe you wanted to relax and chill for a while before getting down to business.”
My mouth pressed against his to stop the flow of words. I didn’t want to hear this. I just wanted him to push up inside of me and have his way. Damn, why couldn’t I find Rodney tonight? That’s who I truly wanted to be with. He would just give it to me like I wanted, no questions asked and be on his way. It didn’t matter if it was his place, or mine, he was always accommodating to my needs.
Vic’s hands squeezed my arms and held them in place, as I tried to unbutton his slacks. “Baby, slow up and let’s take it easy,” he whispered.
“Look, you said you were concerned about my day. This is what I need from you now, to help me get past the turbulence of my day. Please baby, just give me what I need and we can talk about it later. I’m sure I’ll be in a better place afterwards, mentally anyway,” I compromised.
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking down into my eyes. I knew I had him once he looked into my almond shaped green eyes. He could seldom resist them.
“I promise,” I lied. If it would get me relaxed and released, I would tell him whatever he needed to hear at the moment.
“I just want you to be okay. You know I care about you baby,” he said, staring into my eyes.
“Mhmm,” I murmured, kissing him along his neck. He finally released my arms from my sides and I began fumbling with his belt buckle again. This time he assisted me and our efforts at undressing went much faster than before.
I didn’t need to make it to the bedroom, or any further than where we were. But because I knew that was important to him, I grabbed his hand and pulled him in that direction. I pulled back the covers on his bed and slipped into the cool, black satin sheets underneath. We could do this his way, as long as we did it that was all that mattered to me.
Vic hopped in beside me and I opened the nightstand drawer on my side of the bed. I pulled out a condom for him to use, and did a quick mental count. There was the same number of condoms in there from my last visit two weeks ago, minus the one we used that night and the one we were about to use now.
Vic rubbed the nape of my head, where my hair was cut short at. I wore my black hair, short in a pixie cut, with it long on the right side, and shorn on the left and in the back. It was easy to manage, because I had a nice grade that allowed me to brush my hair down, and simply curl the length that hung over my right eye.
He leaned into me and kissed me softly on my lips. If I were interested in a relationship and wanted to settle down with a good man, Vic would probably be the one. He was family oriented, and very attentive to my needs.
His kisses left me wanting what I had already arrived desiring. I grabbed one of his hands and placed it between my legs so he could feel the heat radiating from within to prove my desire. It wasn’t long before I felt his desire press against my thigh, I reached back to the nightstand and grabbed the condom I had just set down moments ago.
Vic stilled my hand as I attempted to open it. “Baby, don’t you think it’s time to settle down…maybe start a family?” he asked.
Really? Really? We’re in the midst of getting busy and this dude wants to go there with me. Damn! Now I see how niggas feel when women be pressing up on them. How come we can’t just satisfy our mutual needs? What’s wrong with keeping it real, handling our business and living our lives? Uh-uh, this wasn’t working for me. If he didn’t stop I’d dry up like the Sahara desert. I had been dealing with kids and their horror stories all day. The last thing I wanted was to think about kids right now. I wanted to think about Midnight. That’s what I called his sugar stick.
Why did I keep him around? Because he was a great listener, he honestly cared about my feelings, he was fun to be around when I wanted to just hang, and he was good in bed.
But I honestly wasn’t interested in settling down with nobody. I had seen too many marriages ruined because men thought they were supposed to run a woman’s life. And the next thing you know, the man’s creeping out with everything wearing a skirt. No ma’am that was not the life meant for me. I had watched it happen to too many women. My mother, my aunts, even some of my close girlfriends. Hell, look at Ambiance, one of my best friends. All of them sucking up to a man, waiting on him hand and foot, and being loyal to the end of time. And what do they get back in return? Extramarital affairs that result in diseases, broken hearts, divorce, and bastard children.
I wanted more out of my life and it was my intent to get everything I could out of this life before it got the best out of me. If that required using men for their company and getting my freak on in the process, because I loved sex, then so be it.
And tonight, Vic was the one on that used or be used list. I knew he cared about me, but I’ve always been up front and open with him. He knows I’m not dedicated to this, and he knows I’m not ready for marriage and kids. What he didn’t know was that I slept with other men. But hey, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Or would it? LEAVE A COMMENT FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A SIGNED COPY OF THE NOVEL, BEJEWELED: THE FLIGHT OF AN ANGEL. I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...

WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY   
 

MORPHING INTO A SERIES_MARCH MADNESS

This March Madness has been extremely successful thus far and the gifts are wonderful. Today, you have an opportunity to claim your forever fame. My dear author friend, Zee Monodee, is coming to us all the way from the beautiful island of Mauritius, located in the southern Indian Ocean. Read on to find out what you have a chance to win today...


How the story of one Corpus Bride morphed into a series!Hey beautiful people! Pleasure to be here today—thanks Chelle for having me over. I know ye all are celebrating romance, and so am I, in a way…

Because, you see, I’m a sucker for secondary characters. I just have to give them their story, and of course, their HEA.And this definitely happened to me with my latest released series, the Corpus Brides, who are secret agents, spies, and even assassins, inside a clandestine agency that operates mainly in central Europe.

I sure didn’t start this series as one… It all began with one book…About 7 years ago, circa 2008, I started a stand-alone story where the heroine had amnesia. To recover what’s been erased from her memory, I made her travel to Marseille, where the accident that made her amnesiac happened. The buried pieces of the puzzle were there, in that old city, and a handsome and sinfully sexy police officer helped her in her quest there. I planned this to be a novella, 40,000 words tops.But that story idea fizzled after only 2 chapters... and I found myself with a snippet of an idea and no clue what to do with it. There definitely needed to be ‘more’ to make this more gripping; if I couldn’t be excited about a story, how on Earth could I make an editor and a reader interested?

Shortly after, I got sick, with the worst flu bug I’ve ever encountered in my life! I spent my days in a haze of slumber and wakefulness, doped up on cold medication that kept me loopy.

*eureka!* What if this was how my amnesiac heroine felt... because the man in her life kept her plied with drugs? Now, why would he be drugging her? Maybe so she won’t recover her memory...? What’s there in that buried past of hers? What doesn’t he want her to know, and why?I had the new start of a story—I took the old idea and worked if off this one. The sexy French cop turned into the woman’s former lover, whom she ‘sees’ in dreams when she is in her drugged-up state. She ditches the drugs, manages to lose her ‘husband’ in London, and escapes all the way to Marseille, to find ‘her’ cop!

And when she does find him, she also opens a can of worms, finds secrets beyond anything she could’ve imagined... as well as the existence of a clandestine espionage agency called the Corpus. Inside the ranks of this agency, a mutiny is brewing. Anyone could be a bad guy; no one you can be sure to trust...

I finished that story, and started shopping it around. The title was Walking The Edge. Around the same time a now-defunct publisher requested the full manuscript, a few friends prompted me to write a story about best friends turned lovers. I had this idea of a comedy-type story, where a spy returns to civilian life, but she reckons she’s never faced any mission as dire as being in her nutty family’s fold once again.
In another *eureka* moment, I saw an opportunity—all those backstory questions not answered in Walking The Edge, well, what if they were answered in this story, which I could turn into the prequel to this mutiny plot inside the ranks of the Corpus?I now had 2 books taking place inside the ranks of the Corpus – both heroine-centric, about strong, kick-arse women who worked for that agency. Dilemma, dilemma – what publisher will be interested in taking only 2 books about the same theme?I started the outline of Book 2, and suddenly, I ‘met’ this secondary character—a medical doctor, with a past shrouded in secrets, and who has a turbulent relationship with the head of the Corpus agency. What is her story? And how is she involved in this whole mutiny backdrop? What if everyone believed she was the mastermind behind that mutiny?

And there I had my idea for the third, and last, book based on these Corpus agents. Corpus agency; strong women; spies; all of them finding love in the midst of the turmoil in their lives... the name of Corpus Brides came to me, and that’s how this series got named.


You learned a bit about Amelia Jamison up there, the heroine from Walking The Edge (Corpus Brides: Book1). Come read the story of Rayne Cheltham, the spy who left the agency in the name of love, when she meets her childhood best friend, Ash Gilfoy, once again. Laugh at her foray back into the fold of her crazy Irish-Russian family... and see how she will deal with the danger that shrouds her life, the secrets she is forced to keep, and how she will have to stay alive when the rebellious group from inside the Corpus decides she shouldn’t bow out so easily. All this and more, in Before The Morning (Corpus Brides: Book 2).

  And finally, wrap it all up with Let Mercy Come (Corpus Brides: Book 3), the story of Valeriya Morozova, a woman who was known as Anastasiya inside the Corpus, and one who has cut and run from her duty. Why? Is she the one responsible for the mutiny? Or could she be harboring some other secret? The man sent to find her—an agent who goes by the moniker of Scott—reckons it must be something like the latter if not the former…but even he is not ready for the full scope of the skeletons buried in this woman’s wardrobe. Is she innocent, or is she playing everyone?You can find all these books which I have chosen to bring out as an indie author on this page http://zeemonodee.blogspot.com/p/corpus-brides-trilogy.html

I was totally bamboozled into giving secondary characters their story. What about you? Do you cheer for secondary characters to get their own tale? If yes, what’s your criteria that makes you go “OMG! He/she has got to have their own story!!!”?Tell me in the comments and you can enter the draw to create and name a character in one of my ongoing series! You can even give him/her your name and thus live eternally in a book J

I look forward to what ye all have to say!Again, thanks Chelle, for having me over and for allowing me to be part of this lovely event!

 From Mauritius with love,Zee
 

Zee Monodee
Stories about love, life, relationships...in a melting-pot of culture
 
Author, editor, smitten wife, in-over-her-head mum to a tween boy, best-buddy stepmum to a teenage lad, bookaholic, lover of all things fluffy & pink (& handbags!), chronic shoeholic, incompetent housewife desperate to channel Nigella Lawson (and who’ll prolly always fail at making domestic goddess status)...




Zee hails from the multicultural, rainbow-nation island of Mauritius, in the southern Indian Ocean, where she grew up on the figurative fence—one side had her ancestors’ Indian and Muslim culture; the other had modernity and the global village. When one day she realised she could dip her toes into both sides without losing her integrity, she found her identity.
This quest for ‘finding your place’ is what she attempts to bring in all her stories, across all the genres she writes. Her heroines represent today’s women trying to reconcile love, life, & relationships in a melting pot of cultures, while her heroes are Alpha men who often get put back into their rightful place by the headstrong women she writes. Love is always a winner in her stories, though; that’s a given.
 
**Find exclusive content about the latest on Zee and her works in her monthly newsletter before anyone else! http://eepurl.com/5GULr
 
**Read about her life & find out about all her books at her website/blog http://zeemonodee.blogspot.com/
 
**Friend her on Facebook (she loves to make friends & meet new people!) https://www.facebook.com/#!/zee.monodee
 
**Follow her on Twitter https://twitter.com/#!/ZeeMonodee
 
**Email her at this addy (she loves to talk...prolly too much, even!) zeemonodee@gmail.com
  I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just... WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY   
 

EMBITTERED OR EMPOWERED BY LOVE_MARCH MADNESS GIVEAWAY

Yesterday's kickoff to the March Madness event was a great success! Thanks ladies for coming out to support. Today, Tia McCollors is here to begin day two and she has my heart going out for her heroine. We've all had a broken heart a time or two, but did it leave you bitter towards love?

Listen to Vaughn's story and tell us what you think. Tia's also giving away a free gift today, but you have to read on, and then leave a comment for your chance to win.





Give Me A Reason Chapter 1
 
I sat on the patio of my third floor condo and watched the tender exchange between the couple below. As he embraced her, his chin rested in her thick, black hair. She nuzzled her head against his chest. I’d seen them plenty of times and they were always stuck together like Velcro. By the pool. Cornered together in the elevator. They lived in their world of love. I could also tell they were young. They didn’t know any better. 
He playfully pinned his woman against a silver sports car, sleek and shiny as a bullet. She yielded to his touch as he kissed her on the bridge of her nose, let his lips run down to hers, then down to her neck. She melted. Heck, I melted. I drained my glass of the last swallow of the freshly squeezed lemonade I’d made that morning and went back inside. Show’s over.
As if that wasn’t enough, another heated love scene from a movie taunted me in high definition from my flat screen television mounted over the fireplace. The muted volume silenced the man and woman’s words but I could tell she was clinging to every word he said. Hidden beneath his promises, there were probably lies. Television or reality, that’s usually how it went. I’d once been a hopeless romantic, but somewhere between broken promises, a broken engagement, and a broken heart, that had changed. They always say when love calls you better answer. I say, let it go to voicemail. 
I picked up the remote and powered off the television. Enough of that, too.
I breathed in deeply and inhaled love. My kind of love. It was love in the form of red velvet cupcakes with only seven more minutes before I slid them from the oven and topped them with my special cream cheese frosting. I fell back onto the oversized pillows of my sofa, and grabbed the top magazine off the stack of house decorating and renovation magazines that I subscribed to. Two things always put me in good spirits: baking and anything related to real estate. I specialized in luxurious desserts and even more luxurious homes.
I lived in a 1,256 square feet condo by choice because as a single entrepreneur, I preferred to have my amenities at my fingertips in my life-work-play community. I could easily have my dry cleaning picked up if I was too busy to drop it off myself, could request housecleaning services when I wanted the white glove treatment, and at my mother’s insistence, I resided in a secured community. The only thing it lacked was the kitchen of my dreams. One day I’d have my restaurant-style ranges and cooktops, double ovens, deep stylish sinks and those hands-free faucets. I was easy to please. With one swipe in front of the sensor I could rinse icky egg yolks, cream cheese, or flour off my hands without leaving residue on the handles. For now, however, I was content in the perfect pad for a woman with big dreams.
Dreams take time, but lately my mother hadn’t been as patient about my climbing the ladder of success.
“Vaughn,” she said, “you need to think about more than your career. You need to think about getting married and having children. Those awards and magazine articles aren’t going to take care of you when you get old. I know there have got to be some good men in Atlanta. Everybody can’t be like those crazy reality shows. If that’s what the men are like there, you need to move back to Denver.”
I didn’t care how much Meta Holiday-Simms whined. I wasn’t moving back to Denver and she knew it. I loved my mother as much as I loved myself, but the 1400 miles between us was the best thing for our relationship. She could force her advice on me, and I could choose what I wanted to ignore.
I gave my mother the same spiel every time.
“If a man truly wants to be with me, he’ll be up for the chase. However long it takes.”
“Then slow down because you’re moving too fast. How can a man catch up with you when you’re always on the go? I know who will run after you. Trace. Trace is ready for the chase. You better open your eyes before he takes off running after somebody else.”
In my mother’s eyes, Trace Moseley might as well have been Jesus’ brother. She’d thought the same thing about Roderick and neither one of us would’ve suspected that he’d confess his wrongdoings two months before our vows. And neither one of us would’ve suspected that less than six months later he’d say “I do” to another woman. I wasn’t sure if I could trust my judgment or my mother’s judgment anymore when it came to matters of love.
 
 Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00TL2NGVS?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creativeASIN=B00TL2NGVS&linkCode=xm2&tag=tiam-20
Barnes & Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/give-me-a-reason-tia-mccollors/1121217172?ean=2940150070806

ABOUT THE AUTHOR



Tia McCollors is an award-winning, bestselling author, speaker, and writing coach. She found success and acclaim with her first novel, A Heart of Devotion (Moody, 2005), which was her first Essence Magazine bestseller. Since the release of her first book, Tia’s family and career have blossomed. She and her husband are blessed with three children and Tia has become a well-known as a significant and fresh new voice in inspirational fiction and as a nonfiction and devotional writer.

Tia’s most recent works include Give Me A Reason (a novella, February 2015), and the Days of Grace series with Whitaker House that includes Friday Night Love, Sunday Morning Song, and a third book scheduled for release later in 2015.

Her other books include: Zora’s Cry, The Truth about Love (also an Essence bestseller), The Last Woman Standing, and Steppin’ Into the Good Life. In 2012, she released her first devotional book, If These Shoes Could Talk: Devotional Messages for a Woman’s Daily Walk. She also published shorter works including the novella Knight in Pink Armor for a Kensington anthology, A Million Blessings. Her essay “Diary of A Stay-At-Home Mom” was published in The Motherhood Diaries (Simon & Schuster) and she’s a contributor to the Sisters in Faith imprint of Thomas Nelson/Biblegateway Christian Devotions.

Tia is a frequent and sought-after speaker at women’s conferences and events. She’s been spotlighted in a growing number of publications, including Black Enterprise magazine, Who’s Who in Black Atlanta, The Good Life magazine, and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

Tia lives in the Atlanta area.

 I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...


WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY 

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME_MARCH MADNESS

It's the first day of the March Madness blog event! We're excited about the kickoff and can't wait to begin giving away prizes. We just need you to leave a comment on the posts of these talented and generous authors.

Today's post comes to us from Adrienne Thompson and she's sharing an excerpt from her novel, Home. Adrienne has also promised the following:

"I will gift one eBook copy of Home to one lucky person who comments on this blog post." Adrienne Thompson

 
Genre: Edgy Inspirational/African American Fiction
 
Blurb:
For ladies’ man Ivan Spencer, there really is no place like HOME.
A family emergency brings former rapper and current real estate mogul, Ivan Spencer, back to his long-abandoned hometown. While there, he must deal with his confused mother, his elderly, philandering father, his flaky sister, an unreliable aunt, and a face from the past who makes him question some of his earlier decisions. All he wants to do is to get things squared away and return to his life, but as it turns out, he must deal with his own issues first.

Excerpt:
Mrs. Roundtree was my sixth grade teacher. Now, one thing you need to know about a twelve-year-old boy: anything can translate into sex. With Mrs. Roundtree, it was her smile. She had the sexiest smile. I don’t think Mrs. Roundtree meant to be sexy. She just was. She had a talent for making everyone feel special with her smile. But to me, her smile said, “I want you, Ivan.” I spent my days fantasizing about what it would be like to touch Mrs. Roundtree’s legs. She always wore skirts and dresses and those soft, full legs mesmerized me. I wanted to taste those full lips of hers, too.
Once, I won a school-wide spelling bee, and Mrs. Roundtree hugged me. I dreamt about her soft body from that day forward. She hugged me again when I lost at district. See, she did care. When the school year was over, she kissed me on the cheek for being such a good student.
She was smart, too. She interjected a little black history into every lesson, whether it was math, English, or science. She taught me that black people could be whatever they wanted to be.
I never forgot Mrs. Roundtree or her mind or her body.  She became the perfect model of a woman for me. A brown goddess with a good mind, a nice smile, nice legs, wide hips, and full breasts. She made me fall in love with women, brown women to be exact. So I think Mrs. Roundtree is to blame for me being the way I am. Yeah, it all started with her.


TODAY IS RELEASE DAY FOR HOME. GET YOUR COPY NOW:


Purchase Links:Kindle: http://amzn.com/B00TNPEAOA Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00TNPEAOA

About the Author:
Adrienne Thompson has worn many titles in her lifetime–from teenage mother to teenage wife to divorcee to registered nurse to author. This mother of two young adults and one teenager currently resides in Arkansas with her daughter where she writes and publishes her stories full time.
Social Links:
Website: http://adriennethompsonwrites.webs.com  
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AdrienneThompsonWrites    
Twitter: https://twitter.com/A_H_Thompson  
Instagram: http://instagram.com/ahthompsn/  
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5051327.Adrienne_Thompson
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/ahthompsn/  
Tumblr: http://authoradriennethompson.tumblr.com/  
YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/user/muusikluvver

RAE LAMAR_20 DAYS OF ROMANCE

Today is the final day of 20 Days of Romance. Rae Lamar is closing out what has been a wonderful month of love, and romance.

There are fewer things in this life more special and more precious than watching nature in its finest hour. And there are fewer things more romantic than sharing those precious moments with the one you love, especially when that one has been a friend, and now the lines of that friendship are beginning to blur.

Rae Lamar's excerpt from Dawn of Aris gives us a real picture of romance. Take a peek...


 

EXCERPT | DAWN OF ARIS
  Shortly before dawn, Luke opened his eyes.

The bed was empty, a written note resting in the place where Aris’s head should have been.

Tossing the note, sheet and blanket aside, he grabbed a pair of cargo pants and a shirt from his suitcase before entering the bathroom to freshen up. After leaving the suite, he caught the elevator, rushed through the lobby and out to the patio and gardens that led to the beach where he spotted a lone figure standing in the distance near the water’s edge.

Luke quietly entered Aris’s space and sat in the sand a few feet away from her, watching as she took a step forward, the tide kissing her toes as it ebbed and flowed. He dropped his head and curbed his urge to chide her about leaving him early morning notes on pillows and wandering out onto the beach in the dark by herself, knowing that the danger of her decision wasn’t lost on her…just like she’d already known that he would read her message when he woke and eventually join her so she wouldn’t be alone.

He looked up to see her glancing over her shoulder at him, aware of his presence before he could say one word. Her grin revealed that he hadn’t startled her at all, that she had expected to turn and see him there.

That made him smile.

When she shifted her eyes back to the water, his chest tightened as he realized how much he wanted to always be there for her, wherever and whenever she needed him.

Minutes later, the sun peered over the water. He watched as she wrapped her arms around her body, taking in the magnificent blends of red, orange and yellow as the sun rose and cast its beauty over the ocean. Glancing over her shoulder again, she blessed him with a bright smile that reached her eyes. He nodded, acknowledging the beauty of the moment and how fortunate he felt to share it with her, to see the pure delight on her face as she lifted her gaze and looked at the sky.

Luke continued to stare, the melodic sound of Aris’s laughter lifting the weight of his worry. When she began to kick her feet and dance in the waves, he smiled again, relieved to know that—despite the fear and confusion he’d seen in her eyes as they further blurred the lines of their friendship just hours ago—at least for now, in this moment, she seemed…happy.

"I love this," she finally said, looking out over the ocean to the horizon. "So beautiful."

He nodded again, still watching her.

Marveling at how beautiful and fragile she truly was.



Release Date: March 3 (Now Available for pre-order on Amazon.com)

 
BIO


Rae Lamar is mild-mannered consultant by day and fiction writer by night who currently resides with her husband in Atlanta. On a perfect day, she can be found on the top floor of a swanky beach resort, sitting on the balcony of an ocean-front suite with a book in her hands and food at her fingertips.




CONNECT WITH RAE LAMAR:

Website: raelamar.com

Status: facebook.com/raelamar


It's been wonderful having a bevy of talented authors showcasing their talent this month. But don't fear, please come back next week for our March Madness event, which begins Monday. Several authors will be sharing posts and giving away books, gift cards, and so much more every day, Monday through Friday. You simply need to leave a comment for a chance to win.


I hope you enjoyed this post. If so, please share it with others by clicking the social media icon below. Thanks for dropping in and as always please leave a comment, because I just love chatting with you. You can link up with me online using the icons above. Until the next time I'm just...


WRITING MY DREAMS, CHELLE RAMSEY