I Ain't Said Nothin' But A Word...

There is this classic scene in the 2004 Gabrielle Union / Jamie Foxx movie, Breaking All The Rules, where the character Mr. Lynch, played by Patrick Cranshaw, asks his physical therapist (Gabrielle) if she wants to hold his dick. The line is uttered with such seriousness, the actor’s deadpan expression so acute, that it’s a fall-out-of-your-chair-trying-not-to-pee-your-pants funny moment. It also doesn’t help when you have an offbeat sense of humor like moi ‘cause I found that scene absolutely hilarious. Every time I see that movie and that scene I think of my old people. Mr. Ben could be Mr. Lynch. There is absolutely no shame in this old man’s game as he is determined he’s going to get laid by someone before he gets up out of here. In fact, if he could have it his way he’d have a heart attack in the midst of an orgasm, the end as fitting for his Viagra-toting soul as he could ever manage. He was evicted from the hospital, his leaving mutually agreed upon. The nursing staff was glad t

I met an elderly man today who lost his wife last week. They’d been together for 53 years. He moved me to tears as he talked about her, proclaiming with deep heavy sighs how much he missed her. The devastation of his loss was painted all over his face, his shoulders heavy from the hurt of it. As he shared the journey the two had taken together I was struck by the overwhelming delight he’d found in her and I got the sense that she had always been his first priority, nothing and no one usurping her position in his life. It was apparent that he’d loved her so deeply and so completely that I can just imagine the joy the two had shared with each other. It’s a blessed woman indeed who discovers a love so endearing, so compelling that even in death the wealth of it can be felt by strangers. Not all of us will ever know that kind of love. A gathering of women friends were recently bemoaning their relationships. One noted that she wouldn’t know what to think or do if her man put her first in h

I’ve been blocked and I’m moving my way past it as evidenced by my many posts today. I’m writing. Not necessarily what I need to be writing but at least the words are flowing. I’ve got tons of stuff on my mind and too much unnecessary crap going on in my life right now. This doesn’t help with writing the story I need to be writing. What’s fueling my creative spirit isn’t necessarily the kind of combustible material I’m in desperate need of. But hey, what can you do. A while back I posted about my crazy kin and her imaginary friends (February 23, 2007). I got called on the carpet for believing that my relative needed a serious reality check. It was my opinion that the lies and secrecy of her life weren’t in her best interest. Someone said that maybe I really didn’t have a clue what her best interests were. My own personal situation of late has me even more convinced that some secrets aren’t always healthy for a soul. I admit that I’ve not always shared my drama with my loved ones. More

When you make a movie where a black man in Mississippi is chaining a white woman to a radiator and it resonates with your audience, viewers drawn to the characters, you have truly made a movie. I knew I was going to love Black Snake Moan despite it being disguised as a trashy exploitation flick. And I loved every minute of it. Writer/Director Craig Brewer who gave us Hustle and Flow has once again demonstrated the incredible depth of his story-telling abilities. Black Snake Moan is a tale about damaged people helping and healing each other. The trashy comes from the character of Rae, played by Christina Ricci, being half-naked throughout most of the film. She’s a young woman who pops pills like candy and allows her body to be used as a revolving door for any man with or without a key. She finds salvation when God-fearing bluesman, Lazarus, played by Samuel L. Jackson, finds her beaten and unconscious outside his home and decides that he must take responsibility for her redemption. Al

Just some random thoughts that will never manifest into full blown postings. The neighbor allows her children to dress themselves, choosing their own daily attire to wear. Five-year old Junior has finally gotten the knack of pants and a shirt but he now wears boots with everything. Red rubber boots in 100-plus weather, cowboy boots with shorts, workboots with a vested suit. Three-year old Baby-Boo is now going through a pajama phase. He wears them 24-7, even to church. The Batman pair is his favorite. I’ve questioned how often they actually get washed but it doesn’t appear that soap and water touch them on a regular basis. Might be the reason for their allure. Mom calls her style of parenting “progressive”. I have no doubts that she is probably raising the future head of some Fortune-500 company and a President of the United States. Certain men folk have gone from trolling the trailer parks for a green card to trolling the senior citizens homes. Why are there some women who are so damn

Her man asked her once if she felt neglected. And even as she told him ' no' she knew that he would never truly understand that neglect was all she’d ever known. Neglect was certain and sure in her life, the one thing she could always depend on and trust. But his lack of interest during a time when his focus was needed elsewhere didn’t feel anything like the disregard that had been her birthright. With him she felt wanted even when she didn’t have his full attention. And so neglect was something she couldn’t associate with him and them together. Neglect had never reared its ugly head between them. Her man asked her once why she took the risk to be with him. She couldn’t quite comprehend the question, never once feeling threatened by the dynamics of their relationship. He was more pragmatic about the two of them together. She simply allowed herself to fall into the beauty of the moment with all else being damned. The only peril she feared was losing him and them and the possibi

No one understood that it was a man who beat down her spirit. They just knew the women in her family rarely smiled, never laughed, eyes forever cast down at dirt for no apparent reason whatsoever. No one knew the bitter storms each was made to weather. No one understood that it was a man who made them feel unloved and unwanted, wishing for the one day when life could change and things could be different and better. No one had a clue how they suffered under that same man’s hands. No one realized that change would only come when a boy did the unthinkable, leaving that man to die in his own blood so that a little girl and a woman would know different and better. No one understood that a young boy would bring them salvation from a man with no heart and little concern for a wife and daughter’s well being. Folks would discover the truth only when a boy shot his daddy dead. She smiles now and laughs. Her face shines full and bright with hope and joy. Her eyes, a deep shade of blue-black can b

Love has everything to do with my writing, and unfortunately, right now, it has absolutely nothing to do with my writing. For the most part, I write because I absolutely love to write. I am impassioned by the written word and when they’re my words, invoking emotion and telling a story that has never been told, my sense of accomplishment is astronomical. When I’m allowed to write what feels good and right for me, I am at my very best and so is my writing. I’m published in the romance genre, contemporary fiction where guy meets girl, girl and guy have conflict, girl and guy make up, make love, and have a happy ending. Very formulaic, most times predictable, and in this very moment I am sorely lacking the depth of emotion required to get me through my next book. Deadlines are fast approaching and I would much rather endure a root canal with no anesthesia than write another story about some boy who meets a girl and the two live happily ever after. It is moments like these where I’m incline

I swear my old people are just having a hard time lately. Mr. Ben isn’t well and now my granny is seeing dead people. Dead people and folks who’ve built a teepee in the corner of her living room and won’t go away. She’s been trying to chase her ghosts away all weekend long. It really isn’t funny but many a relative has gotten a good laugh about it this weekend. Granny’s running around shooing away strangers with a cane and talking to her deceased sisters while the cousins are doubled over hysterical. It doesn’t help that the other senior citizens have been coddling Granny’s hallucinations. One uncle had the audacity to pretend to chase the teepee people out the room. Even Granny looked at him like he’d lost his mind, proclaiming that if you wanted to throw someone out you needed to at least wait until they were there with you. Seems the teepee people were in the kitchen eating collard greens and neck bones at the time. We have to call her doctor today. Although folks want to believe i

My dear old friend has been in the hospital. Old age has finally caught up with the man and his frail body just hasn’t been able to keep ahead of the chase. His children predict that he is quickly running out of time but something tells me that his days aren’t as numbered as they might like to think. The old geezer is putting up one heck of a fight and I imagine that he isn’t down and out for the count just yet. In fact, Mr. Ben is giving the grim reaper a serious run for his money. He fussed me out big time for not coming to see him sooner. He didn’t want to hear that I came as soon as I heard he was ill. It seems that I should have heard the news sooner. Number One Son caught hell for that faux pas. I caught hell for failing to check up on him. Mr. Ben says he owes me a butt whoopin’ for that mistake. I imagine that if he could catch me I’d be in serious trouble. Then he pinched his nurse. A few times. He was scolded and yelled at and he responded by reaching for her breast as she le

We graduated! We graduated! We graduated! The baby boy has officially graduated and so did his mommy. I am finally out of high school hell! No more teacher conferences, homework drama, and all the ills that plague us parents as we try to get our kids through school. The boy walked across the stage to get his diploma and my grin was a mile wide across my face. Whew! Has it been a long week and an even longer weekend. Graduation was Friday and on Saturday, my mother and I hosted an old fashioned fish fry to celebrate commencement and my father’s birthday. I've been cooking for days for a very large gathering of family and friends. We had the party in my parent’s backyard complete with ninety-plus degree temperatures and as much family dysfunction as some folks could muster. Cousin That kicked off the festivities by announcing his acceptance on a TV reality show. His grandmother was bragging big time about how he was going to California to live in a mansion. She’d never seen the rea

Robert’s been keeping a low profile lately, family and friends wondering what’s got him in such a slump. No one knew the Jerry Springer drama that has become Robert’s day to day existence, but doing what drama usually does, it’s gotten nasty and loud and Robert can’t do but so much hiding anymore. Robert taking a bullet in the leg was the first clue that the brother didn't have all of his stuff together. Sisters, Tara and Tasha, filled in the rest of the puzzle. As parties go, Robert knew how to throw one hell of a good time. So good in fact, he couldn't even remember Tasha’s name when she woke up in his bed that morning. But girlfriend was all smiles, feeling better than good from whatever it was that Robert put on her. So good in fact, she couldn't help but brag to her sister Tara. Days later Tara figured since she and her sister shared everything else why shouldn't they share Robert. (Just some out and out trifling, nasty, uncivilized behavior if I do say so myself!

I swear, researching a new book takes me to some of the most interesting places... This is a sex toy, but most folks recognize the infamous Wascally Rabbit...although I swear if you come at Miss Kitty with that thing you might get an eye scratched out. Why does it need all those 'things' on it? What do they do? Where do they go? And why does it need attachments? And this is a sex toy. It boasts extraordinary, simultaneous G-spot and clitoral stimulation. Now, I got how this baby works but can real women actually bend thusly? And this is a sex toy too, ... something for those who prefer a more contemporary flair in the boudoir. Don't ask 'cause I don't want to know. And let’s not forget that special something for the man in your life, who you probably might want to reconsider having as your man if he's excited to stick this where I think it's supposed to go.... And why the handles? I mean, really, if it gets lost I can't imagine anyone wanting to go sea

I’m not big on writing sequels. For me, once a story is done and finished, I’m done and finished with the characters. Rarely do I have any desire to go back to see what June Bug and Mary Sue have gone on to do with their lives. Hey, they ended happily ever after, why stir up mess that don’t need stirring? Die-hard romance fans though like good sequels. So, I wrote one and it came about quite inadvertently. It started with my book The Right Side of Love with Jeneva Douglas and Mecan (rhymes with pecan) Tolliver. That was a great book if I say so myself. I absolutely loved writing the scene where Jeneva’s wayward ex-husband tells her he’s remarried and has two kids with the new wife. Some of my best writing if I say so myself but I digress. Anyway, Jeneva had two best friends and these two women really resonated with my audience. And thus, Roshawn Bradsher and Bridget Hinton each got their own book. Roshawn’s came first. Roshawn was hell on wheels, which made her story, Love In The Line

Even as a little girl I didn’t necessarily play nice on the playground. In fact, if I didn’t like the rules I was inclined not to play at all. It was many an afternoon of recess that I was relegated to the sandbox to do my own thing because rarely was I a follower just to say I was a part of something. This bothered other folks more than it ever bothered me. Other folks always seem to have a problem when you’re not doing things their way. When I was first published I joined a lot of forums and groups to get involved with other writers who were on this same journey. I quickly learned that it was a playground I wasn’t going to be able to play nice on. My first hint came the day I asked one group a simple question, curious to know how something did or didn’t work. These were women with far more experience and I was excited that they would be willing to share the knowledge they’d garnered over the years. Surprisingly not only wasn’t there much sharing but one esteemed author with many publ