Friday, June 29, 2007


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 to see him go. He’s home now with a private nurse. A private male nurse and Mr. Ben's not happy about that thing. Number One Son is having a blast over it. I admit it’s funny as all get out to hear Mr. Ben whining and complaining but I swear his offspring has some repressed issues with his father that he’s never dealt with. To keep my girls out of the line of fire I stand at the foot of the bed when we visit. It’s safer that way. I can’t keep slapping an old man for getting fresh with my chest and Mr. Ben is working on a serious slap.

I have a cousin who is caring for her ailing mother. Great-aunt Gertie has “old-timer’s disease”, an advanced stage of Alzheimer’s stealing her precious mind. She can’t remember her name or who anyone is, but the old broad can work a pole with the best of them. There were rumors in the family that back in the day she use to dance striptease for a living but nothing that was ever confirmed or denied by anyone who truly knew. She did however give us an example recently that leaves me thinking that there might actually be some truth to the tales. Cousin has a pair of Grecian columns that lead into her dining room and for some strange reason, Miss Gertie used one to perform with. The old bat was having a good time with that pole, even managing to lift her leg just high enough to wrap it along the side as she shimmied from side to side, gyrating to some Marvin Gaye playing on the stereo. She capped off the moment by kissing cousin’s new boyfriend dead on the mouth. Boyfriend wasn’t at all happy about that thing. The rest of us found it funny as hell. Great-auntie has become quite a handful to care for, but cousin is determined that she will see this out to the end, her mother’s care all she can concern herself with.

The husband still recalls the moment he walked in on my granny’s sister. Auntie Jane was nearing the end of her full life and her health wasn’t treating her well. We’d come South to visit for the 4th of July weekend and the husband thought he’d lend a helping hand by cutting the grass before the big picnic. Leaving Auntie to nap the rest of us sneaked out of the house for a quick minute of shopping. When we returned home, the husband was sitting in a chair in the middle of the yard, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he was ready to go off on the first person that looked at him wrong. He was not a happy camper. Seems that Auntie woke up early from her nap. When the husband had come inside for a cool drink of water he heard her calling out for some help and he went to oblige. Imagine his surprise when he found her buck-naked in the bathroom proclaiming that she needed a helping hand. It was not a pretty sight! When it happened there wasn’t a one of us that could keep a straight face as he explained what had occurred. Even now, just thinking about it, has me giggling at the memory.

One of Auntie’s favorite sayings was, “my people, my people!” her gray head waving from side to side. My old people are surely giving my a few “my people, my people!” moments.

Monday, June 25, 2007


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 his life. She’d become so accustomed to coming in second behind his children and ex-wives and jobs and an assortment of other stuff that she wouldn’t know how to act if that changed. Another believed she spent more time stepping off the path of her relationship than traveling it, feeling as if she were constantly being pushed aside by a partner who was forever busy with everyone and every thing else. She had never thought of herself as being needy but she admitted to craving just an ounce of attention that was reserved solely for her.

Only one of the five gathered actually felt as if her husband earnestly put her before all else. She believed she had his full attention and she was thriving under it. You could almost feel the envy as she proclaimed her devotion for this man and his for her, the thick of it so tangible that we could have cut it with a knife.

I’ll never know if those 53 years were everything that my new friend had proclaimed them to be. I don’t doubt that there were times when his wife may have questioned her own lot in life and marriage. I imagine though she was truly a blessed woman indeed. If I could wish for half the adoration this man expressed for his wife, I’d wish it for every woman who’s never known the beauty of such a love, and more of it for every woman who has.

Sunday, June 24, 2007


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 times than not I kept my demons to myself, not wanting others to see me and mine in an unfavorable light. Needless to say, the open book of my life wasn’t open but so wide and only the parts that shined ever came through. It’s those darker demons that have been rearing their ugly head, moving me to make some serious life changes. But friends and family don’t believe the truth of my situation because never before have they had any indication that all wasn’t quite right in my world. Their disbelief has left me with little support at a time when I could surely use a helping hand and a shoulder or two to lean on.

I’ll get through this battle on my own though. I don’t have any other choice, my future depending on it. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, had I trusted in those who’ve always supported me, and had I not been a little crazy myself, I might not feel so lost and alone right now. This is a feeling I wouldn’t wish on anyone and definitely not on my crazy kin if it can be avoided.


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.

All the characters in this movie are flawed to varying degrees, each battling their own personal demons. Together, they find in each other something each of them has been missing. Brewer has truly crafted a movie that is layered with metaphors beneath a down and dirty Southern Gothic veneer. Black Snake Moan burns red hot with its smoldering depictions of love and lust, vulnerability and immorality. The soulful, down and dirty blues grinding its way through the movie is the icing on a cake that was already rich and sweet.

Sam gave an outstanding, Oscar-worthy performance and I was duly impressed to discover that he learned how to play the guitar specifically for this film. I would like to see though, just once in his theatrical career, a movie where he doesn’t cuss like the sailor he wishes he could be. We already know he can use profanity with the best of them. I’d like to see him not.

One reviewer said that this film is “sex and soul in equal measures; sensationalism and bad taste harnessed for noble purpose.” Not everyone is going to get this movie or like it. The politically correct are already bemoaning the fact that a white woman was exploited and taken advantage of because things like that aren’t supposed to happen to white women. And a black man should surely not be her savior. But fiction being what it is this was one story that could be told just the way Brewer, a white man, wanted it to be told and tell it he did. His white woman finds freedom by letting a black man chain her to his radiator.

I personally can’t wait to see what the man does next.


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 desperate for a man that they will do any warm body with a pulse? Certain women are trolling too. Their sights are set a little higher though. They’re flaunting their wares in the NBA, the MLB, and the NFL, going for the green card and the green.

When you’re head over heels in love and the man you’re in love with analyzes your relationship by saying that he only “LIKES” you, that just may be a clue that you need to get your head out from beneath your heels so you can see things a little more clearly. Maybe being "in love" isn't in your best interest.

The fashion industry has things a little backwards. When I’m paying hundreds of dollars for a dress I don’t want to hear the sizes run a little small so that my usual size 16 would actually be a size 22. I would much rather hear that in my very expensive dress I would actually fit into a size 2. I’ll still know the damn dress is a size 16 but it would just make me personally feel a little better when I’m scarving down my next salad and sweating up a storm in the gym to know I can get my broad butt in a size 2 and not a size 22.

And since we’re on dresses, for the record, I would not have picked such a form fitting dress if I didn’t think I’d be able to get my broad butt into it. For those of you betting against me and I do know who you are, bite me. I can get my stuff into my dress and look damn good doing it. Can you?

Justin “Screech” Diamond is truly an ass. Celebrity Fit Club gave him another fifteen minutes of fame as he showed his butt and his penis off for some camera time. Seems he’s molding his member for a new line of sex toys since it’s reported to be of some size. “Packing heat” is how he referred to his prowess and his brief stint as a porno king. Since his stint on that kids show, Saved By The Bell, age hasn’t done him much good. Big dick and all he’s still the nerd who will never be able to pull the cute chicks. Once he opens his mouth and speaks he won’t be able to pull the not-so-cute chicks either. Unless of course they’re desperate for penis and a green card.

Every once in a blue moon there comes a person who has the audacity to open their mouths and say something incredibly stupid to me. Every once in a blue moon I have an incredible desire to tell stupid to F-off and not feel badly about doing so. It surely is a good thing that blue moons don’t come along often.


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 possibilities of a future the two could share. He’d never know that she would risk what little in her life that she had for the chance to love him and have him love her back. For him, she was willing to lose it all.

There are moments when she sees the doubt in his eyes, questions he will not ask furrowing his brow. His doubt feeds her insecurity and she finds herself lost in old fears and anxiety that only the soft touch of his hands and the warmth of his breath against her skin can stall.

They say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. She imagines they never knew love the way she wants to know love. She cannot fathom having it and losing it and if that’s what the future holds for her, she’d much rather not know love at all.


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 be seen for the very first time. But all folks really see is the sister of a brother who shot their daddy dead.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007


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 inclined to make life altering decisions. Were I to make one right now I would never, for any reason, ever write another romance novel. And only because I’m not writing the stories that I absolutely love to write. I’m writing them because others love that I’m writing them. The writing is good, but I don’t feel like it’s my best work and I’m floundering trying to find the means and motivation to make them my best.

A wise man said that if I can’t be passionate about the process, then I shouldn’t do it. I love wise men, especially when they voice advice that I’d been thinking all along. I so want to write a really great story that moves me like no other. And love has absolutely everything to do with me doing just that.

Monday, June 18, 2007


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 it’s her medication, I understand that her early stages of dementia have started to accelerate. Accepting that means other folks are going to have to seriously consider moving her to an assisted living facility and no one wants to do that. We may have no choice though because she requires constant care that few of us are able to step up to the plate to give. I worry that while she’s chasing away visions she may fall and break a hip and hurt herself. Certain folks are also scared that if they put her in a home and something happens that she will come back to haunt them. She’s threatened to do such on many occasions. I’m sure she’ll come back to haunt us all anyway whether we do or not. That’s just her style.

Granny has had a good life. She’s well into her late eighties and still as mean as spit. She was never one to bite her tongue about anything and will cuss you out in a heartbeat if you make her mad. In fact I caught hell for leaving the macaroni and canned salmon off her shopping list. She didn’t need macaroni or salmon, having so much in the pantry that she could easily start her own grocery store. But apparently that wasn’t my decision to make especially with teepee people trying to eat her out of house and home.

I tried once to fix her up with Mr. Ben and she wouldn’t have any part of it. “What the hell can I do with a buck that old?” she’d exclaimed, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “I ain’t never had no time for no old man,” she’d said. “I don’t want no man over the age of fifty-five! You know once they get old they things don‘t work!” Seems Granny had seen a commercial or two on erectile dysfunction and she wasn’t having any part of it. I imagine that in the moment Granny wouldn’t have been overly sensitive to any man’s personal problem.

Dirty old men, dead people, ghosts, and a woman who doesn’t think that 53 boxes of macaroni in the pantry is enough really gave me a run for my money this weekend. Now I’m broke and tired as hell and the week promises to be just as taxing.

Saturday, June 16, 2007


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 leaned to take his temperature. That mishap got his arms strapped to the bed. Under most circumstances I would have said that was cruel and unusual treatment. In Mr. Ben’s case, it’s well deserved. The dirty old man knows full well what he’s doing and he’s using old age and illness to try and get away with it. It seems that this is the second nurse and the second time they’ve had to strap him down this week. He thinks it’s funny, chuckling like he’d actually made a funny.

Mr. Ben’s lady friends have been visiting him like clockwork. Seems a few of the old gals get off on Mr. Ben and his touch and tickle antics. Mr. Ben’s been getting off on it too. The old bird might have some snow on his roof but there’s still one heck of a fire burning below.

They say death comes in threes. I hate that it has to come at all. There is an old wives tale in my family that with death comes birth. Historically when a loved one is lost, their passing is honored by the subsequent birth of a child. It wasn’t until I was pregnant with my baby boy that I actually paid any attention to the tale. I lost a beloved relative just weeks before my child’s birth. I remember the old people whispering about the passing on of souls. When my maternal grandmother died, my cousin was pregnant with her daughter, the child coming just weeks later. She lost her father shortly before the birth of her son. It has gotten to the point where we seek out who is pregnant when we get news of someone being ill. Some of the family take it so seriously that when another cousin was pregnant with her first child and we got news of a great uncle’s declining health, she was petrified that his soul would be passed down to her baby. The man hadn’t lived a good life, ostracized by most in the family. Folks were scared to death that the new baby would be doomed if it was uncle’s passing soul he inherited. Uncle is still around kicking up trouble. So is the cousin’s baby boy.

I’m not one for superstition, but if there’s anything to the family yarn, I imagine that the parent whose little one comes after Mr. Ben is definitely going to have their hands full. Mr. Ben bust out laughing when I told him so. Then he said that if he’d known he’d have kicked the bucket forty-odd years ago so that he could have been reborn and been around to give me a run for my money. Winked his eye and said it would have been so good to me I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself. Then he told us all not to go digging his grave too soon. Seems Mr. Ben has a whole lot of life left in him.

Monday, June 11, 2007


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 reality show her grandbaby is going to be participating on. Cousin That is going to be loving himself some New York and his bible thumpin’ granny will probably fall out from the embarrassment. This is a woman who won’t read my books because of the “sex and sinning” that goes on between the pages. I personally plan to host a TV watching night with her here just so I can get a picture of her face when she views the show for the first time. I can’t wait to see how she handles her little darling’s sex and sinning!

Then Uncle This and the new wife both lost their cotton picking minds. Uncle This bought the wife a new puppy. A new puppy that they leave in a closed car. It was 96 degrees outside! I don’t even want to imagine what might have happened if the two dumb asses hadn’t mentioned it in passing and my baby boy rushed to rescue the little dog. I asked them just how stupid could they be and neither had a clue that they’d done anything wrong. I keep telling my mother that there is some family that doesn’t need to come to any family function that I’m at. These two fools are just that kind of family.

My crazy kin was still crazy. More new imaginary friends that none of us will ever meet, but hey, she’s happy so who am I to fault her. Maybe she’s actually got something with her imaginary relationships. I might try one or two myself. Think I might create me a boy toy to play with every now and then. I’ll call him Stud and he’ll be one too. Stud, here to serve, guaranteed to please, and he only shows up when I want him to show up. I may very well be on to something.

So, I’ve officially kicked off the summer. A marriage, a divorce, a move, and a transition are all that’s left of the major events I’ll have to get through this year and I’ll finally be able to rest. If nothing else, I’m loading up on material to fuel my writing. Just this weekend alone gave me a book or two or three that I can write. You just gotta’ love a dysfunctional family and all their jazz!

Friday, June 08, 2007


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! How do you do what your sister just done?) Unfortunately for Robert, the brother didn't learn the first time that alcohol and a bitch in heat is a deadly mix. So deadly in fact that Tasha and Tara’s older brother is aiming for Robert every chance he gets. Only one of his first three shots hit their target the first time. Big brother promises that his aim will get better the next time if Robert doesn't step up to the plate to take care of Junior One and Junior Two born just days apart.

Allegedly, Robert's a daddy now with more baby mama drama than the law should allow. Tara had her baby first. Big sister Tasha's baby was born just days after. Both claim Robert is the daddy of their babies and Robert won 't claim anything until the DNA results come back. Probably the only smart thing Robert's done in this messy situation. But Robert's quickly learned that when you play, you pay, and it looks like he might be paying twice for the next eighteen years.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007


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 searching for it.

Then of course you have your multipurpose pleasure product that can be used hot, or cold, dependent on where you choose to play with it. How you're supposed to play with it is another story all together. I would hope it comes with instructions 'cause it sure looks too easy to just figure out on your own.

And my personal favorite, the sex toy that actually plugs into your IPod and vibrates to the music of your choice.
Now, can you just imagine a heavy metal gives a whole other meaning to droppin' it like it's hot!

Clearly, creative use of external devices in the bedroom has gone beyond high tech and creative.

Strangely, all I keep thinking is:

How do you...?

Why would you...? and,

Damn, are you sure that’s not going to hurt something I may need later on in life?

Sunday, June 03, 2007


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 Lineup, an absolute hoot to write. I had my girl down on her knees in the Dominican Republic following after her man, Angel Rios. And talk about a challenge! Imagine getting a condom on a brother while he’s skinny dipping in a swimming pool. That one took skills if I do say so myself!

And now Bridget Hinton’s story has finally hit the bookstore shelves. My book Always Means Forever, was officially released on Friday and Bridget and Darwin Tolliver (Mecan’s twin brother) finally hook up after much teasing over the last two books. But their hooking up didn’t come without its own set of challenges. I was moved to write a romance that had no sexual intercourse whatsoever, just a hotbed of sexual tension to leave the reader hot and bothered. Of course, Darwin’s lothario reputation and Bridget’s need for some good nookie really tested my resolve. But good golly, Miss Molly, what a little creative license will move a woman to do and do it I did. Bridget doesn’t necessarily get herself some but Lord knows she surely does get herself some.

Read the book. You won’t be disappointed.


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 publications to her name had the audacity to reprimand me for not having a clue. In fact, she proceeded her rant with “you new authors need to learn…”, then she gave us a mile long list that included rhetoric about not bothering our busy editors. I found her response most curious because not knowing me from Mary, she didn’t have a clue whether or not I had bothered my editor ever. The tone and attitude of her response not only left a bad taste in my mouth but it didn’t inspire me to ever want to play with her at all.

The pieces really came together when I refused to participant in a negative rant about an issue I deemed irrelevant to me and another author gave me a call to “discuss” my non-compliance. It would seem that others felt I wasn’t taking my career seriously enough and that I needed to get with the program. That same afternoon I withdrew from every one of the groups I was participating in, retreating to my own little sandbox to play alone. And I’m glad that I did because my focus turned to my writing rather than my desire to be included where I didn’t feel like I fit.

For whatever reason I decided that with time and my own personal growth I’d give the groups and forums another go. I really was looking forward to connecting with women who were doing what I was doing. But I approached a different group, the dynamics a striking contrast from the other.

Talk about two ends of the spectrum. Like night and day these two groups can’t be more polar. With my new group there is inclusion and answers and a genuine desire to share. I asked a question and actually got a response and a response from an A-list, best-selling novelist who’s success in the industry makes that esteemed author look like she’s the one without the clue. Then I had to wonder, why does the act of sharing clearly work for one group and not the other? Why does one group find success doing what they’re committed to doing and the other fail?

The answer was crystal clear, black and white, no shades of gray to cloud the issues. The first group is too darn busy throwing sand, while the second is focused on building castles.

I think I’ll stay and play. I like building castles.