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

He was a man of means who led a simple life.   And despite the jobs he may have done, or the titles he might have held, he was first and foremost a father and a husband.   And it was what he did in those two roles that will be the most lasting vestige of his life.   He was a man of great faith, respecting the high priority God put on his role as a husband and a father.   And it was what he gave to his family that defined the enormous impact he had on those who loved him best.   His success is evident in the children that carry on his name.   His sons and daughters understand the value of an education and the importance of hard work.   They know sacrifice and persistence, possessing impeccable work ethics.   And they know that family and their unwavering faith in God has been the cornerstone of all their accomplishments.    They live the lessons their father taught, passing his wisdom down their family tree. His daughter recently paid tribute with words of love that mov

I eavesdrop on a lot of conversations.   It’s a bad habit of sorts but eavesdropping on some verbal exchanges helps me determine how some of my characters may or may not interact with one another.   It gives me material to pull from when I have to write those verbal interactions.   Today, as I shopped my favorite store, I couldn’t help overhearing an exchange between a group of young women.   Young being old enough to know better.   They were lamenting men and fathers and sperm donors---  "baby daddy" being the term of choice.   One of them was bemoaning her boyfriend’s other lover forcing her child into the neat little package that was now his life.   The current girlfriend had issues with him and his responsibilities.   One of her friends had the audacity to comment that were that man stepping up to the plate to be a decent father and take responsibility for the child that was his child, then that baby’s mama wouldn’t have to force anything on any of them.

It was a rough start to the day.   A wild night left me with little sleep.   Then my rest was disturbed by the loud thump of a teen’s rude stereo.   Crude rap should not be the first sound heard on a beautiful Sunday morning.   To make up for it the kid gave me ten minutes of gospel and I was appeased.   Then the day improved significantly.   I caught up on some writing while the men were off doing men things.   It was quality alone time.  Then I was in the mindset to go prowl the stores to buy myself something pretty.   But it was cold outside and I don’t like cold.   So I decided instead to stay inside and make a pot of homemade soup.  I  made the meatballs first.   Ground beef with just the hint of breadcrumbs and an egg, then seasoned to perfection and rolled into picture-perfect orbs.   While those were browning in the oven I caramelized an onion in my cast iron soup pot, adding a crushed clove of garlic, julienned carrots and diced celery.   When those onions were translu

  “Hot damn!” she cursed, swimming back to where Malisa now stood.   “When are these people going to put some heat in this water?” Malisa laughed.   “You know it’s cold for only the first few minutes, Mama.   They’ll have you sweating up a storm before you know it.” Miss Etta grunted, rolling her eyes.   Before she could comment further the familiar faces that made up the early morning class dropped into the water to join them. Malisa and her mother both smiled and nodded their hellos as people began to greet them.   Both women didn’t miss that Irene Hill was the only one who didn’t have anything to say, not even bothering to look in their direction.   Miss Etta had had just about enough of Irene’s rude behavior and it wouldn’t take much more for her to say so, she thought.   “Let me tell you a story,” Miss Etta started, leaning against her daughter’s shoulder.   “Now we done told you a dozen or more times about how your Daddy and I met up but I don’t remember if I ever told y

It doesn’t seem possible that it has been four years since I introduced the Stallion men, the four billionaire brothers out of Dallas, Texas.   Oldest brother John Stallion’s story was the first, told in my book, To Love A Stallion .   Since then two additional brothers and a cousin have had their stories told. I really loved the first two brothers.   John was like a fine drink of wine on a summer’s night when Marvin Gaye done got you hot, buck naked, and thirsty for something you didn’t even know you needed.   Then came brother Mark in my book Tame A Wild Stallion .   Mark was more rum punch in the desert heat with Wyclef Jean guiding your shimmy, and a hard body grinding you at your best friend’s blue light basement party.   Brothers Mark and John I liked very, very much! I struggled with the next brother.   He was the baby.   By the time I finished Luke’s story, Lost In A Stallion’s Arms , I was feeling him more but with his youthful exuberance he was still very much an anomal