Wednesday, September 26, 2012


Just sharing the new cover for my January release Passionate Premiere, the official first book in the Boudreaux series....My only gripe is I wish they had left his dreads down instead of giving him that Little Richard updo.  

So what do you think?

Monday, September 10, 2012


I am connected to an amazing group of incredible women.  I have sister-friends who are artists and crafters and writers; talented individuals who are able to birth beauty out of little to nothing.  I am, at times, in awe of their abilities.  There are times that my spirit is moved to tears by the magnificence they are able to produce and their works inspire me to do and be better with my own.

Recently, a dear, sweet friend revisited that special place inside of herself to create an incredible piece of prose that she’s coined, The Color of Women.  It’s a work in progress after an eighteen year hiatus.  And all I can say is she’s been missed and with eighteen years of pure magic to release we will all be incredibly blessed to be touched by her talent.

I love being able to share just a little of what my dear, sweet friend has shared with me.  I am in awe of her talent and have been truly inspired by the gift that is the woman she is.  She has moved me to tears.  Enjoy!

Excerpted from The Color of Women
By Mary Parrish

She is red, in all its magnificence. From the near-black crimson of blood, life-beginning and life-sustaining, to the cherry red of fast cars and thrill rides.  From the gray-pink blush of a grown woman’s lips, to the chewing-gum pink of a child blowing bubbles, princess colors enshrining her.  She is the original woman: the first mother, the first daughter.  The first unrestrained laugh, the first anguished cry of loss.  Life, in its rage and excesses and passion, and love, in its humility and forgiveness and grace…

She is the laughing colors of spring, a picnic by a mountain stream.  The pale shades of new grass, and the richer green of moss.  Wisps of sky blue mirrored in the water, which echoes her voice: gently streaming in sanguinity, rushing in expectation, skipping lightly over pebbles and stones that have yet to hurt her.  For warmth, a shower of sunlight through canopied leaves to halo her.  The goddess’ much-loved daughter. She is the color of my eyes, once when I was young…

She is moonlight.  And star light.  And sun light.  She is mirrored light on water, and the first dash of white in the dawning sky.  All crafted together, tightly smoothly, by the hands of an unnamed God, producing a color I cannot name.  A song I cannot quite hear.  A woman always just beyond me.  A goddess I cannot touch…

Me?  Oh, I guess you don’t recognize me.  I am the color of shadows.   Once, I was a gypsy princess, dancing wildly in swirling scarves of color.  Now, I am the woman standing outside the window, waiting for you. Stand up, pull back your curtains—there I am, somewhere in the lamplight, somewhere in the ruins of your abandoned childhood dreams.   I am the whisper of loves forgotten.  The hollow memory of a memory.  I am your broken goddess, awaiting resurrection…