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

I don’t know a whole lot of authors who don’t have a day job. The ones who I imagine enjoy the luxury of writing full time, doing as they please while the royalty checks runneth over, don’t run in the same circles that I do. I do however imagine myself running in their circles some day very soon. Until then, and even after, I’ll work a day job. I’m very fortunate that I’m currently working a day job that I thoroughly enjoy which is the luxury I’m afforded by being a published author. Technically, I’m an independent contractor who pimps her administrative skills. Some have called what I do consulting. Depending on whether or not I’m paying Uncle Sam after-the-fact or someone else is paying him for me in advance determines what I may or may not call it. The reality is no matter what you might want to call it, it’s still just a J-O-B. Currently, I’m working in a video store. My job responsibilities run the gamut from cleaning person to store manager. For the most part, if it needs to be d

Those who didn’t know who Michael Vick was before most certainly know who he is now. Sadly it’s not his more positive achievements that have him headlining national news today. Vick’s illustrious sports career began in 1998 with an impressive start at Virginia Tech. He was the first freshman to ever win the Big East Player of the Year Award and in 2001 he was an early entry in the NFL draft becoming the first pick by the Falcons. Fast forward to 2004 and Vick’s strides on the football field make him a $130 million dollar man. Right after that his downhill slide began. Four months after signing his multi-million dollar contract he was sued for allegedly giving a woman herpes. The case was settled quietly between the two. In 2006 he was fined and penalized by the football league for conduct unbecoming a grown ass man. Some $20,000 worth of fines for crying out loud! Then on July 17th of this year he was indicted by a grand jury for his alleged involvement with dog fighting. After coming

If you were to ask, Merry and Gerald would tell you they’ve been married since forever. Truth be told though, they’ve never been married, both refusing to legalize their relationship. They’ve been together at least twenty years that I know of and who knows how many more before that. Gerald will tell you emphatically that he doesn’t need a marriage license to tell him or anyone else that he loves Merry and Merry loves him. And it's that love that makes them both want to live each day in each other’s company. Gerald and Merry have four children and nine grandchildren so you have to figure there’s been some serious loving going on in all their years together! There aren’t many folks who don’t regard Merry as Mrs. Gerald or him as Mr. Merry. When folks refer to them it’s always as a couple, united together for a common good. Not even their offspring seem concerned or bothered by the fact that some judge or preacher didn’t get to sign his John Hancock on a state issued permit proclaimin

I am just so darn excited about all the good stuff people have happening in their lives right now that I could just bust! Instead, I'll just give them all a shout out! Nichelle Tramble, the critically acclaimed author of The Dying Ground and The Last King had been regaling us with tales of her new writing gig. A writing gig for a new television show that she couldn’t name. But that just changed. Just the other day she was given permission to announce the name of the show. The new series, WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB , will premiere Friday, October 12th at 9p.m. WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB is based on the James Patterson novels. I’m so excited for Nichelle that I could just bust. I know I’ll be watching. I hope you will too. Tina McElroy Ansa, the author of Baby of the Family , Ugly Ways , The Hand I Fan With and You Know Better done birthed two new babies. The first, DownSouth Press , is a new publishing company “ created to publish and promote the literature of African-American peopl

I had never thought of myself as being a hopeless romantic but it hit me that I really do yearn for the happily-ever-after ending. The notion hit so hard that I was moved to a teary moment that could have ended in a very bad ugly cry if I had allowed my emotions to get away from me. I want a happily-ever-after ending. Not only for myself but also for everyone who might still be searching for their Prince Charming or Queen Bee. And why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t we all? Why would I, or anyone else, ever imagine that we weren’t deserving of a happy ending, and more? I am reminded that life is short. And no one ever promised that it would be sweet. I understand that I am solely responsible for my happy and no matter what a partner’s best efforts might be, no soul can bring me joy if I’m not open to receiving it. Opening one’s heart can be quite a challenge. Then again it may come as easily as breathing. Either way, happy is a state of being that requires a level of conviction and a determ

I was moved to write a poem but the words didn’t fit the moment no matter how hard I tried to twist and bend them to fit I wanted to write a poem about my heart and love and kisses and the gentlest touch that leaves me wishing for nights and mornings and time that doesn’t get distracted by things and stuff that keep me from finding the right words to bend and twist I needed to write a poem to you To say what I can’t say out loud To capture the moment that only a poem can do And so I wrote this instead just to say I love you

Jenna is seriously rethinking her new relationship. It feels good. Too good. So much good that she’s wondering if she might be in over her head. She knows herself well. She knows that she has a tendency to disregard the not so good when the good is feeling close to perfect. In fact, she ignores those feelings that should be raising red flags of concern. The feeling good feels better so why bother with what doesn’t feel right? Jenna doesn’t deny that she’s been here, in this place before. Ignoring the bad feelings left her devastated when the rose-colored glasses finally came off and she could see her past relationship for what it was and not just what she wanted it to be. So now she’s doing some serious thinking but the answers aren’t coming the way she’d like. They aren’t coming because there’s just too darn much feeling good getting in the way.

I've been away. I took the baby boy to college for Freshman Orientation. He had a great time swinging from one student party to another. I attended parent lectures and worried. His great time was a whole lot better than my great time. He came back home since classes don't start for another three weeks. I voiced what few concerns I may have had. He told me to cut the cord. Cut the cord, indeed. I think I'll just go write another book instead. Something angst-ridden and sappy because that is surely how I’m feeling right about now.

My baby boy has been kanoodling on the island of Bermuda for three weeks now. He went to visit with his older brothers. They're doing some male bonding that he's missed sorely since his older siblings left the family nest. My two older boys are like night and day. One's a rebel to his soul, always testing the limits of every boundary placed before him. The other walks the straight and narrow as if every fiber of his being depended on it. The youngest is a nice balance of them both. The legal drinking age in Bermuda is 18. Baby boy has been having a grand time in the bars thanks to older brother #1. This has not made me a happy camper. Older brother #2 did, however, make him go to church to confess his sins every Sunday that he's been there. And, I have no doubts there was a lecture or two for the both of them about the errors of their ways. In either case though my child has been having a grand time splish splashing in clear blue water and playing on the pink sand. So m

The flower man showed up on my doorstep yesterday with the most stunning arrangement of roses. An extraordinary friend sent me roses. Roses for me! I felt incredibly special and the moment moved me to tears. There are no words to describe the magnitude of my emotions other than to say I feel incredibly blessed. Thank you! Thank you from the depths of my heart. I love you very much.

Okay, Jayne asked the question and I promised her an answer. What happened to the chocolate martini post? Since I started posting I have written and posted exactly two posts that I subsequently deleted. They were deleted for very different and very similar reasons. The martini post was one I deleted. Everything I write about is founded in some element of truth. Some of it mine. Some of it other people’s. And sometimes I have to be reminded that what I write might actually touch a nerve and cause someone I care about hurt. The chocolate martini post was one such post. There was a salon saga story that was the other. Most of my family and friends know that I will twist enough of their stories and tales to move them past the point of fact into the realm of fiction. It’s what I do well. On rare occasions though the party being written about can’t get past the fact to actually enjoy the fiction. With the first salon post, the person called and asked me to remove the post, fearing that her e

Many, many years ago I worked in an office where one of the secretaries frequently received floral deliveries from her boyfriend/husband. Most of the women always knew that when the flower man showed up with a bouquet in his hands that they were probably for Stella. Most of us also went home after each delivery to complain that Stella was always getting flowers and we weren’t. One day, the flower man came with friends, delivering the first of what would eventually be some forty dozen roses. Almost five hundred brilliant red roses covered every surface from the reception area to the cafeteria. But these roses weren’t for Stella. They were for Margie. The very last long stemmed rose came with Margie’s boyfriend, a diamond engagement ring tied to the pretty ribbon tied around it. Every woman in the building was in awe of the moment, each of us blown away when her tuxedoed beau got down on his knees to propose. Then Margie said no. She didn’t say it out loud, not right then, and if you wer

Have you read a book by moi ? If you haven’t, you should. In fact, I can say unequivocally that if you haven’t read a book written by Deborah Fletcher Mello then you have truly missed out on a reading experience like no other. So go buy a book. You won’t be disappointed. Now, how’s that for self-promotion? I am very much responsible for promoting my books because as a mid-list author, whether I have national, best-selling acclaim or not, there is no one out here promoting me. And, truth be told, I’m not doing but so much promotion. I’m really just not good at that sort of thing. I still blush and get tongue tied when my mother announces loudly to anyone who’ll listen that her daughter is a writer with seven books published. I couldn’t begin to tell you why but perhaps it has something to do with my extremely shy personality. I have friends who’ll raise an eyebrow at that statement but I am truly very shy in certain situation. Not all of them, but most of them. My books have done very w

I wear my emotions on my sleeves. I don’t fare well when I play poker because I hardly have a poker face. My eyes are neon signs for every emotion I may be feeling. My face is like a billboard of advertisement. So is my writing. This is a good thing. And, then again, it's not so good. Typically every experience, every feeling, every thought I have or have had ends up in a story, a post, or a letter I’ve written or will write. Those who know me best know where and what to look for to discover what’s going on in my world. I have one dear friend in particular who will frequently weed out a trial or tribulation that I’ve attributed to some fictional character to resolve, knowing that it is something that’s actually weighing heavily on my own shoulders. Knowing this has suddenly made me very self-conscious about what I write. Exposing myself when I can be anonymous is one thing. Exposing myself where someone can recognize me is something else all together. My writing is at its very best