tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-311526412024-03-19T04:47:40.772-04:00I Ain't Said Nothin' But A Word...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger790125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-24044294589336316872023-07-22T11:09:00.001-04:002023-07-22T11:09:34.400-04:00WHEN SHE'S DEAD...<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidCCfAFth9bn7PqjNaX7HnGd07r75XeNO3rAxQ0N_EahCp5vF7gdp1qLtxLzm6Hz6Vh4IYmM9MA8IoJ8hkGo_rmE7OKuCERigmgb8RVk-wScWSD6P7CekseQ9x-cYAA_cYPVkjszgZTnbJdtZ6FoWkEIellveRums2EXmIpqmy4BHVYoYAyfXU" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="354" data-original-width="590" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidCCfAFth9bn7PqjNaX7HnGd07r75XeNO3rAxQ0N_EahCp5vF7gdp1qLtxLzm6Hz6Vh4IYmM9MA8IoJ8hkGo_rmE7OKuCERigmgb8RVk-wScWSD6P7CekseQ9x-cYAA_cYPVkjszgZTnbJdtZ6FoWkEIellveRums2EXmIpqmy4BHVYoYAyfXU" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Every time
she says I can do something when she’s dead, I am tempted to ask if she can die
sooner than later because the list of what I </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">cannot</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> do now is growing by leaps
and bounds.</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You can
take that painting down when I die. Until then, leave it. When I die you can
move those chairs, until then, let them stay. You can clear away that stuff
when I’m dead. Just leave it for now. I don't want to take that trip but you can go when I'm dead. Don’t move these things here. You can
toss them all into the trash when I’m gone.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">God
understands so I don’t feel but so bad for the thoughts that sometimes run
through my head. I’m especially mindful though not to say them out loud. But I
cannot make her understand that we are still here, and our choices should not
be dependent on what a dead man once wanted for himself. But celebrating the here
and now is suddenly foreign to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When my
father died, she too stopped living. It has taken the patience of Job to keep
her pushing forward with both feet. Most times, I have had to drag her along
kicking and screaming. Change terrifies her and she sees death as the only
answer to her fears. She’d been married to him longer than I’ve been alive, and
his world was all she’d ever known. For sixty-plus years her entire existence had
revolved around him, and now she feels lost with him not here. That makes me so
sad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I had hoped
she would want more in however long she has left. That she would finally step
out of the shadows and shine. She had once been a vibrant personality. She
could slay dragons, run marathons, and take the world by storm with a simple
dance step or two. That mother had no fear of anything. That mother lived every
day for her next adventure. That mother held tightly to family and friends. People
meant more to her than things. We lost my mother when my father died. That
woman, is the one I miss even more than not having my father here. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-1198748091378191322023-02-16T22:10:00.000-05:002023-02-16T22:10:56.463-05:00PATIENCE...<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglfY2dxjHKFlzRxhpAZqaelqvKHRy8e9OxJ15IFrFB6rhJto6TK1_y06Ztqx7P-yGMRV9-iUh0BkSforoQJNl8GxuVXBBMmhc92au-dlnUxoS9fYllR5tS894i8wQROzUPVxS_98vxpBPT0-qmDdTLvlLywkVYEDPli-MUAmKNB2qEqZVg8w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2404" data-original-width="2338" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglfY2dxjHKFlzRxhpAZqaelqvKHRy8e9OxJ15IFrFB6rhJto6TK1_y06Ztqx7P-yGMRV9-iUh0BkSforoQJNl8GxuVXBBMmhc92au-dlnUxoS9fYllR5tS894i8wQROzUPVxS_98vxpBPT0-qmDdTLvlLywkVYEDPli-MUAmKNB2qEqZVg8w=w388-h400" width="388" /></a></div><br />My beloved father was recently referred to hospice. So we
brought him home to die. No one prepares you for the waiting. They generalize
the expectations because everyone’s experience in hospice is different. But no
one tells you that waking every morning, wondering if today will be your loved
one’s last day, is emotionally and physically debilitating. They don't tell you that sleep is difficult because you're afraid to not be there when they need you.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Patience has never been one of my virtues. Rushing through
those things I can control is my norm. But no one wants to rush death. And
waiting for it, knowing it will inevitably invade your happy place but not knowing
exactly when, is brutal. Since the decision was made, each day has gotten
harder. Daddy’s needs change with each passing hour. The caregiver responsibilities
must sometimes change on a dime. And patience is often the divide between
success and failure when you must wait, uncertain what will come, and what you
must rise up to meet. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">His hospice care team have been phenomenal. Their support
and guidance have allowed us the grace to do this. Friends have circled around, support unexpected and appreciated. Family have stood strong,
despite the inevitable drama that comes with fear and sadness and the lack of
patience for bullshit usually ignored. Gratefully, petty disputes over rice and plastic cups only
last as long as the timer for his next dose of pain meds to be dispensed, or
the tears that come with the memories. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I cherish the memories. Not just those well in the past, but
those made as family and friends have said their goodbyes. Memories wrapped in laughter that rattles the walls of our home, or watered by the mist of ugly tears. Losing myself in the
memories has kept me standing. They have helped me with the waiting. I’m learning the fine art of patience. I just hate how the lesson is being taught.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-64965076266184878152022-11-17T23:17:00.001-05:002022-11-17T23:31:36.378-05:00THE TRUTH...<p style="text-align: justify;"><i>The truth never had a chance here.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Let me say that again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>The truth never had a chance here.</i> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That statement, made by attorney Ralph E. Fernandez, about
the death of 40-year-old Tamla Horsford, a black Forsyth County woman and
mother of six who died during a largely all-white, adult slumber party in 2018,
has always felt like a sliver of glass shoved into my heart. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQYK56g-TlvNMy2UkAoAekGFja03_pZw06FwD6j7-Xoolipp7OP199DKyCSK1uUjCJyRKQhTPbRH5oRKOWE_-0hJCRSjy6dG3_p_p2DfhxpnWdJnB7EPWTGj8mVMDUqYLHYSvFbbYAsTye2abBEkP4ibJ0LkgntAX14jIcxMXZNZeVGee-Mg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQYK56g-TlvNMy2UkAoAekGFja03_pZw06FwD6j7-Xoolipp7OP199DKyCSK1uUjCJyRKQhTPbRH5oRKOWE_-0hJCRSjy6dG3_p_p2DfhxpnWdJnB7EPWTGj8mVMDUqYLHYSvFbbYAsTye2abBEkP4ibJ0LkgntAX14jIcxMXZNZeVGee-Mg" width="240" /></a></div>The case surrounding Horsford’s death was compromised by conflicting
witness statements, a tampered crime scene, mishandled evidence and “unheard
of” absence of autopsy photos. The
medical examiner’s report stated Horsford had severe injuries to her head,
neck, and torso. There were cuts to her face, wrist, hand, and lower legs.
Horsford also had a “laceration to the right ventricle” of her heart.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Investigators claim Horsford fell about fourteen feet from
the back porch of the home and died on impact. Her death was classified as an
accident. Others who reviewed the case state her injuries were “consistent”
with being in a physical struggle. Horsford’s case was closed, no charges were
ever filed, and no one has ever been held accountable for her death. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>The truth never had a chance here.</i> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgg5WWoROta2MdhM502SO6aLJNJ7qid41Qt9l8RlA9H6wFx2PxX-h5DXmV7b1HctI2avbhQ35-yER0aThoHpF4pmOQSZKydmmVXTL-aD-OZInLTOSKapiEU6w7lp4E9dHEvOab00jUBSIlUNpvqsPlXvs-1z5d5ohfe1nYNObp28GLk1Dtv7g" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgg5WWoROta2MdhM502SO6aLJNJ7qid41Qt9l8RlA9H6wFx2PxX-h5DXmV7b1HctI2avbhQ35-yER0aThoHpF4pmOQSZKydmmVXTL-aD-OZInLTOSKapiEU6w7lp4E9dHEvOab00jUBSIlUNpvqsPlXvs-1z5d5ohfe1nYNObp28GLk1Dtv7g=w320-h176" width="320" /></a></div>The parents of 8-year-old Jayceon Charles have been seeking
justice for their young son since October 2022. Jayceon was visiting the home
of a neighborhood friend with plans to go to an amusement park the following
day. The friend’s family reportedly were roasting hot dogs when a fire broke
out and little Jayceon was burned over 80% of his body. Instead of calling
emergency services, the family, who are white, wrapped Jayceon in Vaseline and saran wrap. Not only did
the family NOT call 911, they never contacted Jayceon’s parents. Little Jayceon
managed to place a call to his mother, screaming into the phone for help. As a
result of his injuries, Jayceon has since been on a ventilator, suffered from
kidney failure, brain damage, had multiple surgeries and has coded twice. The Warren,
Arkansas police have declined to investigate.<br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>The truth never had a chance here.</i> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Most recently, 25-year-old Shanquella Robinson of Charlotte,
NC traveled to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico with friends to celebrate her bestie’s
birthday. She was later found unconscious in her room and pronounced dead. Those
friends claimed she died of alcohol poisoning. Days later a video clip surfaced
showing those same friends beating Shanquella senseless and filming the assault
just hours before her death. The autopsy report showed that Shanquella died from
a severe spinal cord injury and broken neck. At this time, none of the friends
who she went on the trip with are facing charges. And not one has been forthcoming
or honest about what happened.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhExI-HO9-oYbD6CIQgBOmJhq-o-W46trbr4p1ienk3PSrWyAnKo9EKgMlw6_LuygQtE0VLieTadoKoYpAD4SnQOW66KUheFjFSFhWMcnYOQfOsua-4E5QDe72s7kZWCvl-9i8vKgUyGJFtsNhoZA398uFkTH6ifybC9iEDBQJGOyUxh93SQw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="310" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhExI-HO9-oYbD6CIQgBOmJhq-o-W46trbr4p1ienk3PSrWyAnKo9EKgMlw6_LuygQtE0VLieTadoKoYpAD4SnQOW66KUheFjFSFhWMcnYOQfOsua-4E5QDe72s7kZWCvl-9i8vKgUyGJFtsNhoZA398uFkTH6ifybC9iEDBQJGOyUxh93SQw" width="320" /></a></div><i><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>The truth doesn’t have a chance here. </i>Or so some
would want us to believe.</p></i><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">These are not stories that make national headlines. Missing
white women syndrome is in full effect when it comes to the media attention on a
murdered black mother, an 8-year-old black child viciously assaulted, and a
beautiful black girl with ugly friends who showed themselves to be evil enemies. Were these stories to receive the same media attention as that of Gabby Petito, an American woman murdered by her boyfriend, maybe justice would be served. Maybe there would be earnest investigations into their cases and maybe with enough eyes questioning the facts, the truth would have more than a chance.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How did we get to this place? Where law enforcement will circumvent
the truth to save face, protect the guilty, or simply show their disdain and
lack of concern and compassion. When did social media clout become more important
than reverence for human life? What has happened to our humanity?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">These three cases, and others, haunt me. I've lost sleep pondering what I could possibly do to help. I don't know any of the families but I wish I could wrap them in a hug and let them know I care. I want to be there for them and I am not the only one. Their pain is my pain. It is our pain. Their frustration is our frustration. But for the grace of God, it could be me, or my child, or my daughter. Our beautiful black souls deserve so much more than being so easily dismissed.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-15687796918699595672022-08-31T18:20:00.000-04:002022-08-31T18:20:55.604-04:00DRIBBLINGS...<p style="text-align: justify;">I’ve decided that I need to revive my random thoughts segment.
There’s so much going on and sometimes just a random thought about a subject is
fitting. Y’all might remember how this works. Every so often a thought will
cross my mind but never quite make it into a full-blown post. I call them DRIBBLINGS,
just haphazard, trivial stuff that passes through my thoughts. And so, I
DRIBBLE!</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A father in Louisville boarded a public-school bus to
verbally assault a child. (Video <a href="http://www.worldstarhiphop.com/videos/video.php?v=wshh9ZxaBjXSJT7asLet" target="_blank">HERE</a>.) He says it was out of character for
him, but that his daughter has been bullied and because the school has taken no
action, he’d been pushed to his limits when allegedly his daughter was smacked
by another little girl. NO! In fact, HELL NO! I’m not buying that bullshit. He
showed his true colors. No grown ass man would even consider calling a child a <i>bitch
</i>and think that’s okay. No father of a daughter would be okay doing this
unless he has absolutely no respect for women in general. He called that little
girl out of her name with his whole chest, and I shudder to think what he
would have done had the bus driver not been holding him back. The video showed his
daughter trying to climb over the seat to continue to escalate the problem. Personally,
I didn’t get victim vibes, unless she got a shot of courage because daddy was
there. Clearly though, he’s not the role model any little girl needs to fully
understand her self-worth as she journeys to womanhood. Either way, he was
wrong, and no one should be okay with his behavior.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgi6UmsGTGFuyDXUZQSLwDvniCDtyZS97a8yfHnrHD2vSzYQ8tEPnvE3lHvTdGjyOndV3VFv0Vhx-qF1BqnfhXlQjIC5Xj12omqDkKsg07PL52r295YFh7o3bdDGhPs2CYKXo7E7kNaj09WhIDz84W17qw2fwThIDbewoJ73UsEcHLWAhHHpQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="1400" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgi6UmsGTGFuyDXUZQSLwDvniCDtyZS97a8yfHnrHD2vSzYQ8tEPnvE3lHvTdGjyOndV3VFv0Vhx-qF1BqnfhXlQjIC5Xj12omqDkKsg07PL52r295YFh7o3bdDGhPs2CYKXo7E7kNaj09WhIDz84W17qw2fwThIDbewoJ73UsEcHLWAhHHpQ=w200-h163" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Words are my superpower. Point of view is my kryptonite.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the beginning of his quest for the presidency, Donald
Trump stated he could walk down 5<sup>th</sup> Avenue and shoot someone, and no
one would care. A lot has happened since then that would seem to validate that
statement. I can’t help but wonder what, if anything, would make the GOP pull
their support of this one man and refocus on the needs of their constituents
and the American people? Or are they, as an entire entity of political power
determined to go down in flames if he leads them straight to hell?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5DHuvx8CILNgegHVHykOAB52Zz1eCh1Pmx1GIuQQPj-54FpuG-iJJuKY6nIAh2BU_1fy2h8W0UpJouHhtXUMynMxkmjeLtRgNCEaBooiaxnhAcEtcof0OLNXLHcXfDk-vpKuF7_fVJIjmsEXRwjaesUiIMwsuUmIBJyTaZnRN2vg8WNRWCg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5DHuvx8CILNgegHVHykOAB52Zz1eCh1Pmx1GIuQQPj-54FpuG-iJJuKY6nIAh2BU_1fy2h8W0UpJouHhtXUMynMxkmjeLtRgNCEaBooiaxnhAcEtcof0OLNXLHcXfDk-vpKuF7_fVJIjmsEXRwjaesUiIMwsuUmIBJyTaZnRN2vg8WNRWCg=w200-h150" width="200" /></a></div>We’ve blamed Covid. We’ve blamed presidents and political parties.
We’ve blamed supply demands. We’ve pointed fingers at other countries and a war
we’re financing but not supporting. Every ill from rising gas prices to the
economic crisis across the nation has been blamed on something. At what point
do we place the blame on the greed and selfishness of people who have no
compassion for their fellow man? When do we call out blatantly bad behavior and
actions meant to defraud most and prosper only a few? Where shelves are stocked,
why haven’t prices begun to drop? Because someone is profiting personally, and
they don’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of us. So when will we lay the blame
there?<br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My cognitive empathy has become a liability. I cry at
commercials. Life can become overwhelming too quickly. My emotional empathy is
on overload, fueling somatic empathy that has my entire body reeling. To shut
it down, I need to shut it off. If I shut off my emotions, I can’t write. And I
need to write. I feel like I’m caught between the proverbial rock and a hard
place.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhybnTY_UINdluQJ_z-amdcTwKphW7-uQMwhdpp7_6U5f8ajUNhWm9C2wFcFhJoECCyc9Dd4PICIDX9SQdAoN0lrYzQM97lgaQMocueh1ibgXwQXI_FzUsGNdksDIxqWkol369BKwQSy7MmeRDCuFcscj47aKGn6rS04kk8MHMn-LAyc-3l9Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="990" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhybnTY_UINdluQJ_z-amdcTwKphW7-uQMwhdpp7_6U5f8ajUNhWm9C2wFcFhJoECCyc9Dd4PICIDX9SQdAoN0lrYzQM97lgaQMocueh1ibgXwQXI_FzUsGNdksDIxqWkol369BKwQSy7MmeRDCuFcscj47aKGn6rS04kk8MHMn-LAyc-3l9Q" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Old people are determined to take their dirt to their
graves. The deeds done in their youth could potentially come back to haunt
generations that follow behind them. But I get it. I’ve done some things I pray
daily will never see the light of day. And I hope if it ever does, I’m long
gone, and my descendants can forgive me. There’s a story here. Maybe, one day,
I’ll let myself write it. Then again, maybe I already have?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-17465939926956273332022-08-15T09:00:00.003-04:002022-08-17T20:50:37.950-04:00DIVAS ON MY BOOKSHELF: FARRAH ROCHON<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAYIJhOXj-Vn1VWkeq6zXdN4JObQKudwJ6HhuLQxiuz4sOJuiNaDQ0awLCPtbNDFotD9IqepEuczE0mn_8Oaht8yFyKNgBeBRX1K2zGsWv_OB9CcV3vtYb1LileQkV9IitU63MpuELk_YkP7sLeQc6VsIWkEdM4O79-jCH-4cugkE2tBj64A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAYIJhOXj-Vn1VWkeq6zXdN4JObQKudwJ6HhuLQxiuz4sOJuiNaDQ0awLCPtbNDFotD9IqepEuczE0mn_8Oaht8yFyKNgBeBRX1K2zGsWv_OB9CcV3vtYb1LileQkV9IitU63MpuELk_YkP7sLeQc6VsIWkEdM4O79-jCH-4cugkE2tBj64A=w270-h400" width="270" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">USA Today Bestselling author <a href="https://www.farrahrochon.com/home" target="_blank">Farrah Rochon</a> has been on my
bookshelf since her <a href="https://www.farrahrochon.com/books" target="_blank">New York Sabers</a> series. It was one of the first romance
series that made me doubt my own writing. Because Farrah Rochon can tell a
story like no one’s business. She’s also one of those authors who is on point
with every detail surrounding her books. From the creative idea to publication
and marketing she doesn’t miss a single beat. Her writing is her business and I’ve
learned much from her. Farrah has taken plotting a story to a level that still
mystifies me. I was not a student who passed her class and I’ve taken her
plotting workshop a few times. She is that good and I still don’t come close!</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Farrah has been such an inspiration. She continually
challenges all of us in this literary game to write better, promote smarter,
and put only our very best on the table. She sets a higher standard with each
and every book she writes, pulling us up and over that bar along with her. Those
of us who admire her may go kicking and screaming but she hasn’t allowed us to
fall once. She genuinely wants each and every one of us to win and that can be
rare to find in a business where your success lasts only as long as it takes a
reader to finish your last book.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Farrah’s list of literary nominations and awards is
extensive. They reflect her love for her craft and a testament to her talent. Farrah
is adored by all of us who know her, and it is truly a blessing to call her my
friend.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m excited to celebrate Farrah’s most recent release, <a href="https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/farrah-rochon/the-hookup-plan/9781668605738/" target="_blank">THE HOOKUIP PLAN.</a> It’s the final story in The Boyfriend Project series. And what a
ride this series has been! <br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgP5xjXwyEyR5pBJ98GLYNcAxSRvIDT7LtAtwa6jKnr-BAausp_XyUW-gRXYULkPLJfFDyZWTsPc2UV-nr06HEtwKmVWAB-4rZei5PJCCjtniLyLBomIv-RjAwPws6aH4Bvfsj8Z2Q1P3gKuU7vPFfgvAi_5uv6Vb5j9EuveunD_nZ11Z9sGw" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="303" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgP5xjXwyEyR5pBJ98GLYNcAxSRvIDT7LtAtwa6jKnr-BAausp_XyUW-gRXYULkPLJfFDyZWTsPc2UV-nr06HEtwKmVWAB-4rZei5PJCCjtniLyLBomIv-RjAwPws6aH4Bvfsj8Z2Q1P3gKuU7vPFfgvAi_5uv6Vb5j9EuveunD_nZ11Z9sGw" width="161" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Successful pediatric surgeon London Kelley just
needs to find some balance and de-stress. According to her friends Samiah and
Taylor, what London really needs is a casual hookup. A night of fun with no
strings. But no one—least of all London—expected it to go down at her high
school reunion with Drew Sullivan, millionaire, owner of delicious abs, and oh
yes, her archnemesis.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Now London is certain the road to hell is paved with good
sex. Because she’s found out the real reason Drew’s back in Austin: to decide
whether her beloved hospital remains open. Worse, Drew is doing everything he
can to show her that he’s a decent guy who actually cares. But London’s not
falling for it. Because while sleeping with the enemy is one thing, falling for
him is definitely not part of the plan.</p></blockquote></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yeah! This one’s good and you won’t be disappointed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHyn4Z_ExGNeE-RFVDtd7j607o2SOpDNBK_NzLi1g_T7M0pSJFQu5JMu1E__wxb5yiedFFol28RR2jHyhNwvxetRoVcrshyQf33kS2R0DafcnRyRrQ8_5yQQaZcsfd7LQHo4tbiVqEyfiHDhxLBaHWLUdQxsXfcWLfNEuG1POtmiPyBkptBg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="239" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHyn4Z_ExGNeE-RFVDtd7j607o2SOpDNBK_NzLi1g_T7M0pSJFQu5JMu1E__wxb5yiedFFol28RR2jHyhNwvxetRoVcrshyQf33kS2R0DafcnRyRrQ8_5yQQaZcsfd7LQHo4tbiVqEyfiHDhxLBaHWLUdQxsXfcWLfNEuG1POtmiPyBkptBg" width="166" /></a></div>I’m also excited for her upcoming release, </span><a href="https://books.disney.com/book/almost-there/" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">ALMOST THERE:TWISTED TALE</a><span style="text-align: justify;">. If you follow Farrah, you know she is a big Disney fan. All that pink, cotton-candy, Mickey Mouse joy makes her heart sing. Now imagine her taking a
Disney princess tale and giving it an alternate reality twist! How could this
not be a must read! I’ve pre-ordered my copy and September 6</span><sup style="text-align: justify;">th</sup><span style="text-align: justify;"> can’t
get her fast enough. Don’t miss out on this one. Pre-order your copy NOW!</span></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And if you’ve never read Farrah before, prepare yourself.
She has an extensive <a href="https://www.farrahrochon.com/books" target="_blank">backlist </a>and every single title is romance gold. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">You’re
welcome!<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-68937427954186416602022-07-08T16:48:00.002-04:002022-07-08T16:56:18.263-04:00DIVAS ON MY BOOKSHELF: PIPER G. HUGULEY<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhxSjjMRYLmi6Qd0Li4mlzyhETFRGFHOpERqGubvnYvew30Q4nxzYtznvauA4arkgMfu8HCnlf2gw_W89L1nk9_i9pTbQsAB2vdtRZmGD1vSic_mhAX85heRuBh35-BVWXChzd7IscA7MGqihvaINZPRQBTHWdUVlPWHd17iz49t7ohSwiA/s267/piper2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="267" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhxSjjMRYLmi6Qd0Li4mlzyhETFRGFHOpERqGubvnYvew30Q4nxzYtznvauA4arkgMfu8HCnlf2gw_W89L1nk9_i9pTbQsAB2vdtRZmGD1vSic_mhAX85heRuBh35-BVWXChzd7IscA7MGqihvaINZPRQBTHWdUVlPWHd17iz49t7ohSwiA/w400-h297/piper2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Today’s Diva Spotlight is shining on historical fiction
author <a href="https://piperhuguley.com/" target="_blank">Dr. Piper G. Huguley</a>. If you’ve not read any of her books, you’re
missing out. With amazing story-telling skills Huguley is able to take us
back in time to bear witness to the untold stories of amazing African American
Christian characters. She educates, enlightens, and allows her readers to
escape into historical experiences that have been largely left out of traditional
history books. Huguley is out here doing the Lord’s work with her stories, and
I greatly appreciate her ministry.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I adore Piper Huguley. I'm blessed to call her a friend and a sister of my heart. I aspire to be just like her when I
grow up. She is an educator by profession and has influenced many a young mind
to excel at whatever they desire. She a woman of Southern gentility, her grace,
patience, and serene spirit reflected in the words she paints on paper. She
epitomizes the very essence of #BlackGirlMagic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjY3Z5r61ydQD30niE8TOdIedrOPb-1Yorgrbz85mrVO_KFpZnRlPF5OBp5njFxq0IBHiUSUqXBKjOgFDlYdGaYjOtxts1dH96GYqdoUh6FVEwknq01sIyTHlCCcVkOyWxMo7FPn8Ys3F4gagv8FoF2Nn_Bicjy0ZWYFdyK-xJUqMw9yTKg/s800/tbt.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjY3Z5r61ydQD30niE8TOdIedrOPb-1Yorgrbz85mrVO_KFpZnRlPF5OBp5njFxq0IBHiUSUqXBKjOgFDlYdGaYjOtxts1dH96GYqdoUh6FVEwknq01sIyTHlCCcVkOyWxMo7FPn8Ys3F4gagv8FoF2Nn_Bicjy0ZWYFdyK-xJUqMw9yTKg/w200-h200/tbt.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was honored to share a book with her, a trilogy with our author-sister-friend
Iris Bolling. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Songbird-Iris-Bolling-ebook/dp/B0714CZ7YJ/ref=sr_1_1?crid=YAY7EB08LP47&keywords=songbird+mello&qid=1657312411&s=digital-text&sprefix=songbird+mello%2Cdigital-text%2C48&sr=1-1" target="_blank">SONGBIRD</a> is an incredible book, and Huguley’s contribution is
reflective of all her writings. It’s better than great. Sharing the stage with
this amazing woman was a privilege and an honor I don’t take lightly.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Huguley has an extensive and impressive <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Piper-Huguley/e/B00L76Z34E?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_4&qid=1657312159&sr=8-4" target="_blank">back list </a>of
books, starting with her two-book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07F7JYRZS?ref_=dbs_p_pwh_rwt_anx_a_lnk&storeType=ebooks" target="_blank">HOME TO MILFORD COLLEGE</a> series and her
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08BPBD7BY?ref_=dbs_p_pwh_rwt_anx_a_lnk&storeType=ebooks" target="_blank">MIGRATIONS OF THE HEART </a>series. She’s been included in numerous anthologies and
is often sought out to share her historical perspective on black history.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">An award-winning author, Piper Huguley’s most recent release,
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Best-Kept-Secret-Fashion-Designer-Register-ebook/dp/B093ZXPRXH/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2PUMNW5IM3UBG&keywords=by+her+own+design+piper+huguley&qid=1657312484&s=digital-text&sprefix=huguley+%2Cdigital-text%2C66&sr=1-1" target="_blank">BY HER OWN DESIGN</a>: A Novel of ANN LOWE, Fashion Designer to the Social
Register, is making quite the buzz in literary circles. Well received, the
reviews have been reflective of her talent and masterful story-telling
abilities. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Best-Kept-Secret-Fashion-Designer-Register-ebook/dp/B093ZXPRXH/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2PUMNW5IM3UBG&keywords=by+her+own+design+piper+huguley&qid=1657312484&s=digital-text&sprefix=huguley+%2Cdigital-text%2C66&sr=1-1" target="_blank">BY HER OWN DESIGN</a> is the incredible, untold story of how Ann Lowe, a
Black woman and granddaughter of slaves, rose above personal struggles and
racial prejudice to design and create one of America's most famous wedding
dresses of all time for Jackie Kennedy. I can personally attest to this book being
one of the best of all times, although I might be slightly biased. But it is
that remarkable and deserving of all the accolades.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Discover the work of Piper G. Huguley for yourself. You’ll be
equally impressed!<o:p></o:p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_LGD9EH9395ErVB7UZxhLR-nedtIofdwqMup0HOAGqOXFwTQcwTq6y2qp2entiyNo68a0S0rWsmdPL4BmSCybnc-6IzXxzj9hIj9-fuiEHqD9LKYYxcb1vkEpGyKLMiwfi3Oltszg5WUCh6azLDzSZwP1hafo-YVkmKVVrXGqnp7A0ildA/s500/piper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_LGD9EH9395ErVB7UZxhLR-nedtIofdwqMup0HOAGqOXFwTQcwTq6y2qp2entiyNo68a0S0rWsmdPL4BmSCybnc-6IzXxzj9hIj9-fuiEHqD9LKYYxcb1vkEpGyKLMiwfi3Oltszg5WUCh6azLDzSZwP1hafo-YVkmKVVrXGqnp7A0ildA/s320/piper.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-34922116094851655002022-07-01T07:00:00.001-04:002022-07-01T07:00:00.169-04:00DIVAS ON MY BOOKSHELF: VANESSA RILEY<p><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMB0FNgEJbxhrIcBgkUkjymC9M7wDH7VhvchQfd4N660Ctlk33DFImIWM7fAnIhNaiD6ag9TJraCWgCZStnQ1rioaN21p6pOm-HYaAmNC_iGY-XYY0RZVm9iA_QxMTJV8rdwF_yQtAhizuMbReDmKUo1I8sqpStsv1sA8lXPl57Wo1BUYhkw/s1844/Bell1-mobileMasterAt3x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1844" data-original-width="1800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMB0FNgEJbxhrIcBgkUkjymC9M7wDH7VhvchQfd4N660Ctlk33DFImIWM7fAnIhNaiD6ag9TJraCWgCZStnQ1rioaN21p6pOm-HYaAmNC_iGY-XYY0RZVm9iA_QxMTJV8rdwF_yQtAhizuMbReDmKUo1I8sqpStsv1sA8lXPl57Wo1BUYhkw/w195-h200/Bell1-mobileMasterAt3x.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>Good morning! I'm so excited about this new series, DIVAS ON MY BOOKSHELF! Today, I’m thrilled to talk about the incomparable <a href="https://vanessariley.com/" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Vanessa Riley</a><span style="text-align: justify;">.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Vanessa Riley is one of the most
prolific writers I know, and this is not my first-time sharing news of her books and upcoming releases. My last posts are <a href="https://deborahmello.blogspot.com/2022/02/island-queen-by-vanessa-riley.html" target="_blank">HERE </a>and <a href="https://deborahmello.blogspot.com/2020/05/author-rooms-welcomes-vanessa-riley.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>. I aspire to Vanessa’s level of creativity. I am
always captivated by the sheer beauty of her words. She can take the 26 letters
of the alphabet and string together stories that are transformative. I love me
some <a href="https://vanessariley.com/" target="_blank">Vanessa Riley</a>!</p><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4KwEIPoXiZlhgSzIGK7hXsnRo2R0yYqjSq3GWW6sQ0Wf1pBWw05HYrcM7BQxQ-xQduITpuM5L97kr4I2KjySBh8o-Q3sjhLREWIltas8FIbNnVzCkBVzBSAqBTgTQ9WzkfRd9Pp1Usg11FFn7VKfNIVJqEt01sykrY7Ypr5b6ipgpp5TANA/s2419/812Nsq-GiGL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2419" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4KwEIPoXiZlhgSzIGK7hXsnRo2R0yYqjSq3GWW6sQ0Wf1pBWw05HYrcM7BQxQ-xQduITpuM5L97kr4I2KjySBh8o-Q3sjhLREWIltas8FIbNnVzCkBVzBSAqBTgTQ9WzkfRd9Pp1Usg11FFn7VKfNIVJqEt01sykrY7Ypr5b6ipgpp5TANA/w133-h200/812Nsq-GiGL.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Most recently I finished <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08KQD5J9T/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i2" target="_blank">Island Queen</a></i></b>, for the third time! Based on the incredible true-life story of Dorothy “Doll” Kirwan
Thomas, a free Black woman who rose from slavery to become one of the
wealthiest and most powerful landowners in the colonial West Indies. Vanessa
Riley breathed life into each character and her portrayal of Doll’s staunch
determination to rise above her circumstances and reign was absolutely riveting.
This writer’s ability to evoke emotion knows no bounds and with each chapter, I
found myself lost in the eighteenth-century world of sugar plantations, island
marketplaces, and London drawing rooms. If you want a real treat, purchase the
audio book, too, narrated by the British actress Adjoa Andoh, (Lady Danbury of
Bridgerton fame).</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I'm anxiously awaiting the July 12, 2022 release of Vanessa’s
next novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sister-Mother-Warrior-Vanessa-Riley/dp/0063073544/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=y66dd&pf_rd_p=91202c6f-1c11-4e3d-b51a-3af958cedd30&pf_rd_r=B6238DJ1D97JDJNJC1CR&pd_rd_wg=BEArx&pd_rd_r=ca1a99e3-7fe0-4d9a-8e91-96f93e0367e3&content-id=amzn1.sym.91202c6f-1c11-4e3d-b51a-3af958cedd30&ref_=aufs_ap_sc_dsk" target="_blank"><b><i>Sister Mother Warrior</i></b>.</a><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwDMT8l_75gsVr_tjwo75T1I9khymOGMG6tmzDupC9DDknZS1siiWP5GbDUTyEW5-S71-00x1_bBnxOANsV1H8QZA7cJxA5upgHsxCwP8M4O1Ta4IrNJDGfblJxYyLTYNpYfvf-wVNXTsp-plJFIEYSVyA7dkaTpPodITnvy5wnlYg0aXPQ/s346/vanessa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="228" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwDMT8l_75gsVr_tjwo75T1I9khymOGMG6tmzDupC9DDknZS1siiWP5GbDUTyEW5-S71-00x1_bBnxOANsV1H8QZA7cJxA5upgHsxCwP8M4O1Ta4IrNJDGfblJxYyLTYNpYfvf-wVNXTsp-plJFIEYSVyA7dkaTpPodITnvy5wnlYg0aXPQ/w264-h400/vanessa.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">It’s the vivid, sweeping novel
of the Haitian Revolution based on the true-life stories of two extraordinary
women: the first Empress of Haiti, Marie-Claire Bonheur, and Gran Toya, a West
African-born warrior who helped lead the rebellion that drove out the French
and freed the enslaved people of Haiti. I know that Vanessa Riley will
transport us to a whole other world as she again, pulls us into history we’ve never
before been told or had been denied.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">But Vanessa's writing talents don't stop there. She will soon be taking us on a jaunt into historical mysteries with her upcoming book, </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Westminster-Vanessa-Riley/dp/1496738667/" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Murder in Westminster</a><span style="text-align: justify;">, the first book in her new Lady Worthing Mystery series. The anticipation is giving me goose bumps! Adding each new book of hers to my collection is me snatching a tiny piece of literary heaven to include in my small book world!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoeN0ktT8toOHOO91hNI1dGsWP2tK1SOU1pZtwhRaudXai_grbLopZ6vNSVu-T5dOpJAztYqFRwUD6iuIQHt7P7glQQgGCOk93S5-i8NJHO4Hp7c5gMi79Rt98Dw37qfFEsWFVraCiXJO8BPWX437qosg__IezvPXpLQJutmSUAuBNAP3_QA/s499/vanessa2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="338" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoeN0ktT8toOHOO91hNI1dGsWP2tK1SOU1pZtwhRaudXai_grbLopZ6vNSVu-T5dOpJAztYqFRwUD6iuIQHt7P7glQQgGCOk93S5-i8NJHO4Hp7c5gMi79Rt98Dw37qfFEsWFVraCiXJO8BPWX437qosg__IezvPXpLQJutmSUAuBNAP3_QA/s320/vanessa2.jpg" width="217" /></a></div></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">If you’ve never read <a href="https://vanessariley.com/" target="_blank">Vanessa Riley</a>, you’re missing out. Do yourself a favor and journey through her
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/entity/author/B00C55DARS?_encoding=UTF8&node=283155&offset=0&pageSize=12&searchAlias=stripbooks&sort=date-desc-rank&page=1&langFilter=default#formatSelectorHeader" target="_blank">backlist</a>. You’ll thank me later.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-80010420593629707982022-06-29T17:40:00.000-04:002022-06-29T17:40:31.876-04:00DIVAS ON MY BOOKSHELF: BEVERLY JENKINS<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Many have heard me tell the story of being a romance snob
before I became a romance author. I did not read romance, believing those
happily-ever-after stories were a waste of good ink on even better paper. Boy,
did I get that one wrong! It was after the publication of my first romance
book, when die-hard romance readers came for me, that I discovered my shortcomings. It seems I’d written a good
book, but it failed the romance litmus test.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">To write romance and write it well, I needed to figure out
what I’d been missing. So, I began to read romance and discovered these
incredible stories of love and life written by amazing women, and even a few
good men. Some of these stories included characters who sometimes looked like
me and sometimes didn’t. The joy I experienced was like nothing I’d known
before. It surpassed my favorite chocolate cake and the occasional romp between
my silk sheets. Well, maybe not the silk sheets, but definitely the cotton
ones! But I digress.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Eventually, I got better at writing romance. Then I found
myself shifting toward romantic suspense, and most recently, I’ve been toying
with the idea of mystery. In each genre, I have found women who tell brilliant
stories and who have generously shared so much of themselves with me. But I
digress again, because this post isn’t about me. It’s about my love of reading
and for those women writers who sweep me away with their brilliant writing!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2GfEHga1MyrEHssrP0kYMIOpcctGchJbeW0lompAiwuaCGguof0AJ_-8JGqc0YPsmDPWbuLmLltm2xO78CrYyxVzUOa71amiyIevr2BHAumKeDGna5nShMBXs_WUhZcZjn5CP2IxlF-kE0l5DO4UYZRGXBODO0W5HjuZLmsJS8ZyypSXOg/s240/Beverly4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="240" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2GfEHga1MyrEHssrP0kYMIOpcctGchJbeW0lompAiwuaCGguof0AJ_-8JGqc0YPsmDPWbuLmLltm2xO78CrYyxVzUOa71amiyIevr2BHAumKeDGna5nShMBXs_WUhZcZjn5CP2IxlF-kE0l5DO4UYZRGXBODO0W5HjuZLmsJS8ZyypSXOg/s1600/Beverly4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNKaEemGwfwX0WNp5Pm3odOoJtSvgjP8e3ROnxNUFbcu2Hezq_3W2X_Y-RTOtf-XABB1d1T7rRDVREl8GgW4HhOvCqDlIlVzMcwDIb8ewZU_S7_EI7JOanfwLiO8XLOSBc7_OkhBgjcl6_x9HK8BEkgh9DV0JX-6l5-1kVpm8P-uBEgq9zQ/s500/beverly3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="297" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNKaEemGwfwX0WNp5Pm3odOoJtSvgjP8e3ROnxNUFbcu2Hezq_3W2X_Y-RTOtf-XABB1d1T7rRDVREl8GgW4HhOvCqDlIlVzMcwDIb8ewZU_S7_EI7JOanfwLiO8XLOSBc7_OkhBgjcl6_x9HK8BEkgh9DV0JX-6l5-1kVpm8P-uBEgq9zQ/w119-h183/beverly3.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>During this exploratory phase I discovered the writings of Romance
Queen, USA Today bestselling author, <b><a href="https://beverlyjenkins.net/" target="_blank">Beverly Jenkins</a></b>! I dare to say that she’s
able to don that literary crown and retains her seat on that romance throne because
of her brilliant storytelling. Beverly Jenkins’ books have graced my bookshelf since
that very first read. I had started with her first contemporary romances, <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Edge-Midnight-Novel/dp/B08BX13DCH/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3H4X7QQLYF8HI&keywords=edge+of+midnight+jenkins&qid=1656538314&s=books&sprefix=edge+of+midnight+jenkins%2Cstripbooks%2C54&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Edge
of </a></i></b><b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Edge-Midnight-Novel/dp/B08BX13DCH/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3H4X7QQLYF8HI&keywords=edge+of+midnight+jenkins&qid=1656538314&s=books&sprefix=edge+of+midnight+jenkins%2Cstripbooks%2C54&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Midnight</a></i></b> and then <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/The-Edge-of-Dawn/dp/B08M45NBKD/ref=sr_1_1?crid=XDX7C7CP18TK&keywords=edge+of+dawn+jenkins&qid=1656538393&s=books&sprefix=edge+of+dawn+jenkins%2Cstripbooks%2C44&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Edge of Dawn</a></i></b>. Since then, I've meandered
my way through her Blessings series, and become totally engrossed with her
historical romances after backtracking to the books <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Indigo-Beverly-Jenkins-audiobook/dp/B00MJ9WUJO/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1O16KT4IEA8ED&keywords=indigo+jenkins&qid=1656538437&s=audible&sprefix=indigo+jenkins%2Caudible%2C47&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Indigo</a></i></b> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vivid-Beverly-Jenkins-audiobook/dp/B00M48LANW/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3ALS67M0NWZLP&keywords=vivid+jenkins&qid=1656538474&s=audible&sprefix=vivid+jenkins%2Caudible%2C47&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><b><i>Vivid</i></b>.</a>
Her historical romances were my sweet spot, filling a hole in my literary heart
that I didn’t even know existed. I had no idea that she would later become a
mentor and a friend. The romance genre became a blessing that has continued to give, and
give, and give!</div><div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9LPGohz7xoF6VAg71600KpOxv5OrFrvEvn8u3Sv2StjEv-W5gO2qKgte8QNu5Os0ZMTch8ltkIviUhtblWTyf8uzT0J-rQ2ROe_oeEfWWTKiUmdzVm0FkAInH86ET1_F0xNqkJGYJt0z1QuCxgBsaphCiqAWJbJZtspKs3JcbGqPER5ElQ/s346/beverly2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="218" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9LPGohz7xoF6VAg71600KpOxv5OrFrvEvn8u3Sv2StjEv-W5gO2qKgte8QNu5Os0ZMTch8ltkIviUhtblWTyf8uzT0J-rQ2ROe_oeEfWWTKiUmdzVm0FkAInH86ET1_F0xNqkJGYJt0z1QuCxgBsaphCiqAWJbJZtspKs3JcbGqPER5ElQ/w126-h200/beverly2.jpg" width="126" /></a></div>I devoured Jenkins’ last book, <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wild-Rain-Women-Who-Dare/dp/B07ZTVKBPW/ref=sr_1_8?keywords=Beverly+Jenkins&qid=1656538605&s=audible&sr=1-8" target="_blank">Wild Rain</a></i></b>. It’s
the second novel in her compelling new Women Who Dare series and follows Spring,
a female rancher in Wyoming after the Civil War. A reporter has come to Wyoming
to do a story on doctors for his Black newspaper back east. He thinks Colton
Lee will be an interesting subject…until he meets Colton’s sister Spring. She
runs her own ranch, wears denim pants instead of dresses, and is the most
fascinating woman he’s ever met. But Spring, who has overcome a raucous and
scandalous past, isn’t looking for, nor does she want, love. As their
attraction grows, will their differences come between them or unite them for an
everlasting love? You’ll need to read the book to find out for yourself.<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Next up in the Women Who Dare series, is <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Catch-Raven-Women-Who-Dare/dp/B09MV846YB/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Beverly+Jenkins&qid=1656538529&s=audible&sr=1-1" target="_blank">To Catch a Raven</a></i></b>. It’s the story of a fearless grifter who goes undercover to
reclaim the stolen Declaration of Independence. With a release date of August
23, 2022, you’ll want to pre-order your copy NOW! I know I have, because there’s
not a Beverly Jenkins book that I foresee myself ever missing. All hail my romance
queen! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5MFDbYpXlxEODaccJ3Sh4fCiyQ4j6UeQ6GVCaPbTA7ikP4fDMCeWfOEVR4xE-V4O5GBc6Y5hHT10F6W4GEnWhOQvziZrmMHkZ2gksggNgIaZhaswduK6LBZ2BD0D3ZYXivxOCc9L6dnnSZ0iEHnrNMTKaG_ksKk49YzAf8hdy_I7hpcCWQ/s500/Beverly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="338" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5MFDbYpXlxEODaccJ3Sh4fCiyQ4j6UeQ6GVCaPbTA7ikP4fDMCeWfOEVR4xE-V4O5GBc6Y5hHT10F6W4GEnWhOQvziZrmMHkZ2gksggNgIaZhaswduK6LBZ2BD0D3ZYXivxOCc9L6dnnSZ0iEHnrNMTKaG_ksKk49YzAf8hdy_I7hpcCWQ/s320/Beverly.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Lately, I’ve been feasting on historical romance and stories
that bring our collective pasts to light. I love historical fiction and there
are a few authors who’ve become automatic buys! Over the next few weeks, I plan
to share how amazing these writers are, and what they’re bringing to the
reading table that has moved me beyond words.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I haven’t blogged in some time and to now do so with a series
that I plan to call, <b>DIVAS ON MY BOOKSHELF </b>feels like Christmas in Spring
or that milestone birthday complete with unexpected surprises, great gifts, and
the sweetest champagne. It’s a celebration of sorts and I hope you’ll enjoy the
journey with me!<o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-90082395321207996172022-05-09T17:55:00.000-04:002022-05-09T17:55:48.631-04:00MOTHER'S DAY!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_FF3T-466hTLoG4XRBZbjkNcmpPmxvsH6CXctAW5nAB3Gaj_MJuwwWsRm04ikGA3Kf7XL6iZPeO48fqw2pg36315bK-4YY0Dd9dnXhUGdfok8DmycyiJx1igM1eKXNfcGtHy_2RJTRsJ7ZBcctQ8XeuaJ-_9w3qbyJztnsEEBt_LaDKfvQ/s3088/IMG_4400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_FF3T-466hTLoG4XRBZbjkNcmpPmxvsH6CXctAW5nAB3Gaj_MJuwwWsRm04ikGA3Kf7XL6iZPeO48fqw2pg36315bK-4YY0Dd9dnXhUGdfok8DmycyiJx1igM1eKXNfcGtHy_2RJTRsJ7ZBcctQ8XeuaJ-_9w3qbyJztnsEEBt_LaDKfvQ/w300-h400/IMG_4400.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday was Mother’s Day. For those who celebrate I pray
that it was everything you wanted and needed the day to be.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Although I had a very pleasant day, it is always a bittersweet
experience for me. Since birth, my sister and I have gone to church with our mother
every Mother’s Day. Unless of course I was living out of the country on an
island, or the sister was away in college. Yesterday, we came together with my granddaughter
in tow to continue that tradition. The Pretty Princess and I rose early to make
it in time for service at Morehead Avenue Baptist Church to get the word from mommy’s
pastor, Reverend Charles C. Barnes, Sr. My mother was ecstatic and that brought
me much joy. I don’t take it for granted that at her age, with her declining
health, that we are immensely blessed to still have her here with us. Brunch
followed. We laughed and reminisced and our time spent together was a breath of
fresh air for my spirit. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For many, many years I have claimed six children. The ex-husband
came with four, fathered the fifth with his mistress and we shared the youngest.
Some who know me, believe they are all mine by birth, and I have never before
felt it necessary to correct that assumption. They were mine and I loved all of
them with every fiber of my being. I took them to school, cheered at all their
extracurricular activities, wiped away tears and fussed when they did wrong. I
was there during their formative years, the younger bunch from birth. I did
what a mother did to the best of my ability and I was practically a child
myself. More times than not I got it right, but those times when I made mistakes,
I thought them monumental. Most mothers do.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FHXy6jzr1Ze36lhlCyHsI-cbOomKOWGEY2zRmfjj2tx31n54nzE3l503o9e6n4zU2_4bJMcEsPt24oa3aseyzvonLp-JK0Up0LOJwJNqJvujDJebmLwd7KoQZLzNjYModg5KmteU-VCfuxMtg7sNSwDcgw8UHFaDiNCyK8C_UqTKVph72g/s4032/IMG_4396.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FHXy6jzr1Ze36lhlCyHsI-cbOomKOWGEY2zRmfjj2tx31n54nzE3l503o9e6n4zU2_4bJMcEsPt24oa3aseyzvonLp-JK0Up0LOJwJNqJvujDJebmLwd7KoQZLzNjYModg5KmteU-VCfuxMtg7sNSwDcgw8UHFaDiNCyK8C_UqTKVph72g/s320/IMG_4396.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When the divorce happened, the older kids were adults with
families of their own. I know that their father smeared my name at every
opportunity, but I was so hell bent on being free from his abuse that I didn’t
care. I thought the bond I shared with them would be enough. They knew me. Knew
my heart. Knew I loved them beyond measure, no matter what was said about me.
That first Mother’s Day when I heard not one word from any of them, I was devastated.
I sat in church with my own mother trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The second year didn’t hurt as much. By year five I’d become
numb to it all. The one child I had birthed still wished me a good day and
joined me and his grandmother at church. Then suddenly that went left. I became
persona non grata. He told me he hated me and blamed me for everything that was
wrong in his life. He turned on me, his wrath so vapid that it still has me
reeling. I had to be reminded that it wasn’t personal, it was his mental
illness. But it felt as personal as personal could ever get. It was pain in a way
I have never experienced hurt before. I cried continuously when no one was
watching. There were times I could barely breathe thinking about it, wondering
if I would survive. It was unfathomable grief and through it all I kept smiling,
kept saying I was fine, and hid it from others to the best of my ability. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNt9jrPIrt5mBfoGpEPde27MSt7MY9LpO06A3VKVPwbBjiGsL8tG84xMUuAzvbUq7LZSrQ-P0FuzowpgahJtx78JFyDpS8OXLFT6Oia3SYLSCCdeRzYcW6fQKVmoJiS4Lvi0qOoIYBwq-gUCW3mO95_it064Dg1fbxUo0qTPZnWe-83IU-xw/s2414/IMG_4411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2414" data-original-width="1810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNt9jrPIrt5mBfoGpEPde27MSt7MY9LpO06A3VKVPwbBjiGsL8tG84xMUuAzvbUq7LZSrQ-P0FuzowpgahJtx78JFyDpS8OXLFT6Oia3SYLSCCdeRzYcW6fQKVmoJiS4Lvi0qOoIYBwq-gUCW3mO95_it064Dg1fbxUo0qTPZnWe-83IU-xw/s320/IMG_4411.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Things have gotten better. The holiday is no longer as
difficult to navigate as it was in years prior. I’ve learned not to great Mother’s
Day with any expectations. Yesterday, I received two messages. The first was
from my new bonus son, saying he loved me and appreciated me and wishing me the
best day ever. The second came from my youngest, apologizing for not calling,
but he wasn’t well. He hoped I had a good day. Both greetings made me happy. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Big Daddy and the Pretty Princess gave me a Mother’s Day parade.
They showered me with affection and love and presented me with the sweetest
cards and the most generous gifts. And then I sat in church with my mommy,
feeling immensely blessed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-14866391826131274222022-02-08T11:54:00.000-05:002022-02-08T11:54:34.172-05:00ISLAND QUEEN by Vanessa Riley<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjE16dNRWH75wtxRzLm5j4nCqtmOObQhrzt2f-JA0kLQrk5-PfY7V_viWgJ3WUVIfzUuxfRnrvOA0ik11OY3yhi0-c-zpEkkm42lvKsNRc1Ntw_S2XKyVCq2vVOAt78BLitmcslN6cmXAXpSrdKczGR3eOx2-WeaSR1w3gB2q81h4tnZTvXkQ=s2419" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2419" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjE16dNRWH75wtxRzLm5j4nCqtmOObQhrzt2f-JA0kLQrk5-PfY7V_viWgJ3WUVIfzUuxfRnrvOA0ik11OY3yhi0-c-zpEkkm42lvKsNRc1Ntw_S2XKyVCq2vVOAt78BLitmcslN6cmXAXpSrdKczGR3eOx2-WeaSR1w3gB2q81h4tnZTvXkQ=s320" width="212" /></a></div><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I love a great historical novel a<span>nd ISLAND QUEEN by renowned author Vanessa Riley is one that should not be missed. And now it's on sale!!! </span><span>Learn more he</span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">re:</span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><a class="yiv3557167349" href="https://bit.ly/IQsaleDV" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" shape="rect" style="cursor: pointer; font-size: 13.3333px;" target="_blank">https://bit.ly/IQsaleDV</a></span></span><p></p><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Island Queen is a<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> remarkable, sweeping historical novel based on the incredible true-life story of Dorothy Kirwan Thomas, a free woman of color who rose from slavery to become one of the wealthiest and most powerful</span></span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">landowners in the colonial West Indies. Accolades for the story and for the author have been sweeping!</span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Richly detailed, vividly depicted, and sweeping in scope, Island Queen is historical fiction at its absolute finest. A stunning must-read!” <span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">— Chanel Cleeton, New York Times bestselling author of The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba</span></span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Island Queen is the magnificently reconstructed life story of Dorothy "Doll" Kirwan Thomas, whose fascinating legacy of grit and success desperately deserves to be better known. With lush prose and raw emotion, Riley vividly captures the complexity of bringing to life a time of rebellion and possibility.” <span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> — New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Stephanie Dray</span></span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Reading Island Queen and I am riveted. RIVETED, I tell you! Whew! <span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">That woman can WRITE! What a book!”</span></span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> — Kristan Higgins, from Twitter</span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Born into slavery on the tiny Caribbean island of Montserrat, Doll bought her freedom—and that of her sister and her mother—from her Irish planter father and built a legacy of wealth and power as an entrepreneur, merchant, hotelier, and planter that extended from the marketplaces and sugar plantations of Dominica and Barbados to a glittering luxury hotel in Demerara on the South American continent.</span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhW4RyUY8pxXo5WY_jme23_cDG5kp23hQKzslLwgGYz19IOcbALg_pYycFM0IOq-uEpl66fI0vznQhTyaQK9-E5zavEGFti5GDTDVhMpAQFhBLmYl705VdgQJ-H_ed5rO7nsqDSWKaC4WgCE2-msu72BjLTKSOO2YpoCHrgtaIZ-XpiZsNF4w=s1844" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1844" data-original-width="1800" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhW4RyUY8pxXo5WY_jme23_cDG5kp23hQKzslLwgGYz19IOcbALg_pYycFM0IOq-uEpl66fI0vznQhTyaQK9-E5zavEGFti5GDTDVhMpAQFhBLmYl705VdgQJ-H_ed5rO7nsqDSWKaC4WgCE2-msu72BjLTKSOO2YpoCHrgtaIZ-XpiZsNF4w=w212-h217" width="212" /></a></div><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Vanessa Riley’s novel brings Doll to vivid life as she rises above the harsh realities of slavery and colonialism by working the system and leveraging the competing attentions of the men in her life: a restless shipping merchant, Joseph Thomas; a wealthy planter hiding a secret, John Coseveldt Cells; and a roguish naval captain who will later become King William IV of England.</span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">From the bustling port cities of the West Indies to the forbidding drawing rooms of London’s elite, Island Queen is a sweeping epic of an adventurer and a survivor who answered to no one but herself as she rose to power and autonomy against all odds, defying rigid eighteenth-century morality and the oppression of women as well as people of color. It is an unforgettable portrait of a true larger-than-life woman who made her mark on history.</span></span></div><div class="yiv3557167349" style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Buy a copy for you or a friend: <a class="yiv3557167349" href="https://bit.ly/IQsaleDV" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" shape="rect" style="cursor: pointer;" target="_blank">https://bit.ly/IQsaleDV</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-24868420850143584532022-01-19T11:49:00.001-05:002022-01-19T11:53:35.200-05:00CONFIDENCE IS EVERYTHING!<p style="text-align: justify;"> I was feeling myself today. I woke early, nothing hurt, and
I felt ready to take on the world. The Pretty Princess hopped out of bed
without being prodded and she too greeted the new day with a bright smile and
no grumbling. I had two quick errands to run this morning, so after dropping
the Princess off to another day in second grade, and the Paw off to the
groomers for a much-needed haircut, I made a quick run to the post office and
then to the library. Errands complete I decided to swing by my favorite store
for a quick browse. I reasoned it was early, there wouldn’t be a big crowd and
I might have an opportunity to shop the aisles in peace.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was my lucky day! One elderly woman entered before me. Two
staff members greeted us, and we had the entire store to ourselves! In times of
a pandemic this was an epic moment! The other woman headed in one direction,
and I headed in the other. We passed each other in the home goods section,
avoiding all contact.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And then I turned down another aisle and there he stood.
Even with a mask I could tell he was a nice-looking guy. He was large with an
athletic frame, closely cropped haircut, and a warm umber complexion. There was
the barest hint of gray in his hair, and he carried himself with an air of maturity.
After a quick assessment (okay, maybe not so quick) I apologized and turned to
head in the opposite direction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“No problem,” he said, the timber of his voice sliding like
butter against my ears. “I hope you’re having a good morning?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“I am, thank you for asking,” I responded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“I’m looking for a gift for my mother,” he said as if I’d
asked. Maybe there was something in my eyes that questioned why he was looking
at China serving pieces.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Well, aren’t you sweet!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“She has everything so it’s near impossible to shop for her
and it’s her 85<sup>th</sup> birthday.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“What a blessing! I’m sure she’ll love anything you get her.
I have no doubts that just spending time with you will be the best gift ever.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I could see him smile behind that mask and he nodded. We
chatted for a few more minutes and then he continued on his search as I resumed
my browsing. Heading to the children’s section of the store I found myself grinning,
thinking <i>I still got it</i>! Appreciating that I couldn’t tell you what “it”
was if you paid me. I just knew I felt good. I felt confident and emboldened
and immensely blessed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He was paying for his selections as I exited the store. A
minute or two later he called out across the parking lot. “Would you like to
grab a cup of coffee?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I waved. “Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think my
husband would appreciate that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He laughed and nodded. “I understand completely. He’s a
lucky man, your husband.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I laughed with him. “You have a good day and happy birthday
to your mother!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjacgT87UwK6s2A1N00KlJ9Vtt_Ttk3pmxQ2j12b22FJu-60GUQB_-fJaFVoJpiRSmJSr4LKfJZLfgt4kKY7bfLDfiww1f5rivA4EXLKLAPN-Fx6QXO8VeskKoQwwsCVxhCmmD2Dhm2edvgm4TPl5k5ZqKgdRhgg7JQ6PSxWxYXRc4y9oIWFw=s400" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjacgT87UwK6s2A1N00KlJ9Vtt_Ttk3pmxQ2j12b22FJu-60GUQB_-fJaFVoJpiRSmJSr4LKfJZLfgt4kKY7bfLDfiww1f5rivA4EXLKLAPN-Fx6QXO8VeskKoQwwsCVxhCmmD2Dhm2edvgm4TPl5k5ZqKgdRhgg7JQ6PSxWxYXRc4y9oIWFw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div>Sliding into the driver’s seat of my car, I did a little shoulder
shimmy as Ginuwine’s song, Pony, blasted out of the speakers. I sat in all that
confidence for a good, few minutes, then I looked at myself in the rear-view
mirror.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’d left the house and forgotten to comb my hair and I hadn't put on an ounce of makeup!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Confidence is everything!<br /><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-59075675474991335272021-12-24T22:05:00.000-05:002021-12-24T22:05:02.489-05:00Dear Santa Claus<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zEDOQojNqcs/YcaGaxbgSUI/AAAAAAAAfY4/bt3a-9LneZEk4DZiv7FRpLCOfj0Wf1eSACNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zEDOQojNqcs/YcaGaxbgSUI/AAAAAAAAfY4/bt3a-9LneZEk4DZiv7FRpLCOfj0Wf1eSACNcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Dear Santa Claus,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How are you doing? I pray this finds you safe and well. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I write this, I know you were just spotted in the Amazon
Rainforest in Brazil. You’re expected to arrive in Bolivia shortly. I’m
envious. You’re still able to travel around the world. Many of us can neither afford
that luxury nor are we willing to take the risk travel holds today. I have no
doubt that you are vaccinated and boostered. We all know this pandemic is
nothing to play around with. I always air on the side of caution. Better safe
now than sorry later. Just make sure you keep a mask close in case you bump
into anyone along your trek tonight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s been quite a year, Santa! After 2020 there was
expectation and hope that this year would move us past viruses and quarantines and
return us to a semblance of normalcy. That didn’t unfold in the way we’d
anticipated. We are still plagued with illness and loses, and things are far
from the normal we all remember. We now have Omicron, a new variant to the
virus, and more people are willing to put themselves and others at risk just to
prove a point that’s disputable. It’s a sad state of affairs, big guy, but many
of us are still holding out for a miracle of sorts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On a personal note, I can’t complain. I’ve been immensely
blessed this year and I’ve tried hard to bless others as often as I’ve been
able. As a family we experienced a wealth of loss last year, burying more than
our fair share of family members. It was bad. This year we welcomed babies! Lots
of new babies. Life continues and it’s a choice whether we keep up, or not.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I don’t have a lengthy wish list this year, Santa. All I
want is to see loved ones safe and healthy. I wish for abundance and prosperity
for those in need and when you have a moment, blow some common sense though the
air for those who do most of their thinking without their brains. I’m grateful
to still be standing, Santa and I appreciate that I’m still able to do what I
love. Even when things got hard and all seemed lost, I continued to be blessed and
I don’t take that for granted. Some more of that would really be nice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Lastly, some kid out there has a pony on her wish list
Santa. Please, don’t make her wait for thirty-plus years to get it. I’m still
trying to figure out your problem with giving a girl a stallion! Just imagine
what I could have accomplished if I’d gotten mine when I’d originally asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Keep your head down, Claus! We’ve missed you and we want to
see you again next year. Give the Mrs. my regards and kisses to the elves. Tell
Rudolph we know about that problem of his and we’re keeping him lifted in
prayer. That bright red nose is a dead giveaway! Booze rarely solves problems
long term, but I understand. Starting my day with a shot of bourbon in my
coffee had become a bad habit I had to break. Might I suggest organic juices
for our four-legged friend?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Continue to bless us with joy and love, Santa! I promise to try to
do the same.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Until next year,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Deborah<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-25274299018480628802021-12-15T10:33:00.002-05:002021-12-15T10:34:05.277-05:00BESTIES<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg82_I84chySlD1vPFYSIOWaRCp_Lr_fMp9B509OUefi9jaC0gQwdFX93tplkl1L2vZk-_ZVtDjHozRv5SQnDJLnAIY4ouQjbox9LJTtqtWAFPRearchPNMMhcxiGp3-7uMoXYtJ5NFIfdOlg2Fl_qU99VdQb6YByh_c8S8KSjlWXaNM4PWWw=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="640" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg82_I84chySlD1vPFYSIOWaRCp_Lr_fMp9B509OUefi9jaC0gQwdFX93tplkl1L2vZk-_ZVtDjHozRv5SQnDJLnAIY4ouQjbox9LJTtqtWAFPRearchPNMMhcxiGp3-7uMoXYtJ5NFIfdOlg2Fl_qU99VdQb6YByh_c8S8KSjlWXaNM4PWWw=s320" width="320" /></a></div>I respect my limitations. I know there are some things I’m
just not good at. Although my intentions are always good, I regularly fall
short of full and total success. Much like this blog that I seem to regularly forget about, I’m bad about calling people and keeping up
with them. My inability to remember and acknowledge birthdays and anniversaries
defies logic. Some things come to me after-the-fact and by then, it’s usually
too late. My social etiquette skills are just horrific more times than not.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have a bestie who never forgets an important date and
regularly follows up with the appropriate card or acknowledgement. She sends
the perfect gifts when a loved one is lost and never misses a celebration of
someone’s accomplishments. She has regularly put me to shame, and I’ve always
envied her ability to make what seems unfathomable look so easy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Lately though, I think she’s given up the ghost and I can’t
much blame her. Hell, why call folks who don’t try to call you? This Thanksgiving
was not the first holiday I didn’t hear from her. The last few years have seen
her bypassing those of us who look like we don’t appreciate her and her
efforts. So, this year I did call for the holiday. Albeit two days late, but two
days was a true win for me. Not that I’m defending my actions, but hell, I know
my shortcomings and there is no point in me lying about them. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p>I love my dear friend and her ability to remember and
acknowledge those of us in her life has always been a blessing to me and many,
many others. You could depend on her like clockwork and personally, I became very
comfortable with that. I could fall short because she was there to pick up me and my slack. But I can also see that her not getting that back from
me could be perceived as me being selfish and diminishing. I have no doubts that it has raised questions about the depth of our friendship and whether or not I am truly someone she can still depend on.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I genuinely want to do better and be a better friend. And I
know that I’ll put forth the effort but like that last diet, it might not last
long. It’s not who or how I am but it also doesn’t negate my love and affection
for the woman who is more sister to me than anything else. She has always been my rock and my cheerleader, encouraging me forward when I didn't think I could take another step. She's my oldest and dearest friend and I love her unconditionally. She is my bestie! She knows me better
than most, so I hope, if nothing else, she knows my heart.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-73836050953650099762021-06-14T20:16:00.000-04:002021-06-14T20:16:08.547-04:00A GOOD DAY!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-864kZwhf9rI/YMfuW9_eI-I/AAAAAAAAeC8/PVr2pAeAHzw-r-575q5UTJ2ULJfCx27fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s701/table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-864kZwhf9rI/YMfuW9_eI-I/AAAAAAAAeC8/PVr2pAeAHzw-r-575q5UTJ2ULJfCx27fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/table.jpg" /></a></div> Yesterday was a good day! I love book events. I'm also partial to book clubs because book club members are pure joy! Yesterday, I was honored to visit with the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/RoundTableReadersBookClub" target="_blank">Round Table Readers Literary Book Club</a>. It was their first post-pandemic, in-person book club meeting and my being able to pull up a chair to the table and talk books with them made my heart sing! It was also two years ago <i>today</i> that Round Table Readers also hosted me.<br /><br />Their book choice had been <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Stalked-Secrets-Serve-Seduce-Book-ebook/dp/B08FYMWLQ9/ref=sr_1_1?crid=UOGLE3FXLCQ7&dchild=1&keywords=stalked+by+secrets+by+deborah+fletcher+mello&qid=1623715694&sprefix=stalked+by+se%2Caps%2C189&sr=8-1" target="_blank">STALKED BY SECRETS</a>, the fourth book in my <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07G3M74SK?ref_=dbs_p_mng_rwt_ser_shvlr&storeType=ebooks" target="_blank">To Serve and Seduce series</a>. They had great questions, challenged my thought process, and taught me a thing or two. They always hold me accountable with my stories and I try not to disappoint. The conversations were engaging and the laughter abundant. Of note, I've given up playing the trivia games. I never win and most leave me in the dust with the old school music and movie questions. It's amazing how much I don't know or remember!<br /><br />I'm also a tad biased when it comes to these women. I consider myself an honorary member of Round Table Readers. I've often invited myself to their meetings to rub elbows with my fellow authors. They've generously included me in their activities and I've often said I need to start paying dues so I can get in on their cool tee shirts. They always have the coolest tee shirts!<br /><br />These women have supported my writing for years now! I love them to pieces! My sincerest appreciation to Ms. Kay Edmundson who chose this month's book and Mr. LaSheera Lee for always having my back. Kudo's to the staff and patrons of <a href="https://davincistable.com/" target="_blank">da Vinci's Table</a> for the great service, spectacular food, and wonderful entertainment. And a nod to God who showed up and showed out with the most spectacular weather and a potential blessing that no one saw coming!<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PA_GdriS1A0/YMfvJR-nXCI/AAAAAAAAeDI/7xgkNQOa6cA5_3sP9kNuAcUmi1mpHJ0WQCLcBGAsYHQ/s701/table%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PA_GdriS1A0/YMfvJR-nXCI/AAAAAAAAeDI/7xgkNQOa6cA5_3sP9kNuAcUmi1mpHJ0WQCLcBGAsYHQ/w240-h320/table%2B2.jpg" title="Round Table Readers 6/14/2019" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-3811838103262905092021-04-10T09:09:00.000-04:002021-04-10T09:09:06.791-04:00CARELESS WHISPERS by SYNITHIA WILLIAMS<p><b style="text-align: justify;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GKsdCekC_Jg/YHGg9GVDoDI/AAAAAAAAd7g/HEMj1caytgcpdSLwYLbB2B7iUia3-5kIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s600/Careless%2BWhispers%2BCover_407x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="407" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GKsdCekC_Jg/YHGg9GVDoDI/AAAAAAAAd7g/HEMj1caytgcpdSLwYLbB2B7iUia3-5kIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Careless%2BWhispers%2BCover_407x600.jpg" /></a></b></div><b style="text-align: justify;"><br />I
love a good love story and my sister-author-friend Synithia Williams has done
it once again with her newest Jackson Falls novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Careless-Whispers-Jackson-Synithia-Williams-ebook/dp/B087MW86QF/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1BZ83BA2MWXRM&dchild=1&keywords=synithia+williams+jackson+falls+series&qid=1618059801&sprefix=synithia+williams+%2Caps%2C157&sr=8-2" target="_blank">CARELESS WHISPERS</a>. Anyone
familiar with Synithia and Jackson Falls and the Robidoux family have been
waiting with bated breath for Elaina Robidoux’s story and Synithia does not
disappoint. She brings the sexy, the messy, and the drama to the pages making
this a delightful, page turner that you will not want to put down. </b><b style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="Standard" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><b>I
asked Synithia about writing the romances she writes.</b><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p class="Standard" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">“My
life is pretty routine. I get up in the morning, get the kids ready for school
(virtually currently), work a day job, prepare dinner in the evenings, and
spend time with the family before bed. But, right before bed, I get to do
something amazing. I sit down in front of my laptop and I get to write sexy,
messy, romantic stories. I’m not surrounded by drama, lies, secrets, and
glamours settings (my seven tiaras excluded) but I get to let my imagination
run wild crafting stories that are full of heart, some humor, lots of drama,
and plenty of heat. </p>
<p class="Standard" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">“My
latest novel, Careless Whispers, is the fourth book in my Jackson Falls Series.
A series that was inspired by my love of romance novels. In Careless Whispers
Elaina Robidoux is suddenly ousted from her family’s business. A business she
sacrificed so much for. To reestablish herself in the business world she has to
work with the man who is partially to blame for her firing. Alex Tyson was once
the bane of her existence, but as they work together, and Alex not only sees
her vulnerable side but cherishes that part of her an unexpected love grows. I
love my pretty routine life and wouldn’t voluntarily invite any of the drama I
put in my stories into my day to day, but it sure is fun to explore the
richness of human emotions and the beauty of falling in love through my
writing.”<br /><br /><b>DRAMA! DRAMA! DRAMA! I get excited just thinking about it! But why don't I just give you a little tease so you can get excited too!<br /></b><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2xm2879wn2U/YHGcoH4ySYI/AAAAAAAAd6s/d-ySSByYeNwMsdrqdSEIM5FIQb3CHA0BgCLcBGAsYHQ/s193/carelesswhispers%2B-%2Bexcerpt.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="101" data-original-width="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2xm2879wn2U/YHGcoH4ySYI/AAAAAAAAd6s/d-ySSByYeNwMsdrqdSEIM5FIQb3CHA0BgCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/carelesswhispers%2B-%2Bexcerpt.png" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b>“This is the family’s room.”<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">She said the words as if he were a toddler encroaching upon
a forbidden space. He supposed Elaina did view him as an unruly child. “That’s
what he told me.” He stood and put out the cigar in the crystal ashtray next to
the leather sofa.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">When he looked back at Elaina, her eyes narrowed. Alex’s
stomach did an unwelcome flip. He hated how much he was attracted to her. He’d
rather be attracted to a man-eating succubus than Elaina. At least a succubus would
take him out with a smile on his face. Elaina was not the type of woman to
bring a smile to a man’s face.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">She was beautiful. Her thick, wavy dark hair looked so damn
soft. God was the only person who knew how many times he’d considered the
softness of her hair, her smooth terra-cotta skin, or her full lips, and even
then he’d deny it on judgment day. Her chestnut-brown eyes were bright and
sparked with intelligence when they weren’t narrowed with skepticism or frozen
over with disdain. Then there were her curves. The woman could make men stop in
their tracks. He knew because he’d seen it happen. Full breasts, trim waist and
rounded hips. He’d wanted to taste her luscious lips the second he’d seen her.
Until she’d opened her mouth and told him all the reasons Robidoux Holdings
didn’t need him.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He wasn’t sure why Elaina disliked him so much. Despite the
rumors that he wanted the CEO position, he didn’t, and had made that very clear
to Grant. A part of him was glad she openly despised him. Knowing he had absolutely
zero chance with her made ignoring the way his body automatically reacted to
her easier.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“There are other places you could have gone. Why did he let
you up here?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Alex wasn’t in the mood to argue. He also avoided being
alone with her for too long to prevent any evidence of his crush from showing.
If Elaina got a hint that he was attracted to her, she’d have his balls skinned
and mounted on her wall like a trophy in no time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Ask him, Elaina,” he said in the blasé tone he used with
her. “Your father invited me. I decided to come. I won’t be bothering you
anymore.” He walked toward the door.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Elaina grunted softly. “I guess today’s the day I run men
off.” The words were muttered under her breath.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Alex stopped at the door. Her hand shook as she brought her
drink to her lips.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He frowned at the unusual display of a chink in her armor.
Her words hadn’t been for him to hear, and he had no reason to find out what
was wrong, but the slight slump of her shoulders tugged at an empathetic soft
spot he hadn’t realized he possessed. “Are you okay?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Her head whipped in his direction. Her eyes widened, and her
arched brows drew together. “Of course I’m okay. Go down to the party and enjoy
the free food.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The coarseness of her words bristled. His hand tightened on
the doorknob. He was ready to leave without another word, until the light
glinted off the sheen of tears in her eyes. She looked away quickly and went
further into the room.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Unsettled, Alex stared at her profile against the window.
Elaina was a force to be reckoned with. If he made any reference to her tears,
he might end up with his jugular ripped out. He didn’t have a clue what to say
to lift her spirits. The two of them weren’t friends or cordial colleagues. Yet
that newly discovered empathy wouldn’t let him leave without saying something.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“You did a great job on the party.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">She frowned at him. “What?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“The party. I know you did most of the planning. From what I
can tell, you did a great job.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Her chin lifted. “It’s not that hard.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Still, I know your dad appreciates it.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">She sipped her drink. “Doubtful.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“He does. But even if you don’t believe it, then know that I
appreciate it.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Why would you appreciate it?” she asked suspiciously.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He thought about her earlier comment. “I like free food,” he
said with a smile. Her mouth fell open. He’d at least succeeded in surprising
her and taking away the sad look in her eyes. Alex hurried out the door before
she could think of a snarky reply.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>It's only a tease, but you get the idea! CARELESS WHISPERS is available wherever books are sold so go get your copy NOW! And please don't miss the other books in the Jackson Falls series. You'll be disappointed if you do.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Promise-Kiss-Jackson-Falls-ebook/dp/B081X1Z55W/ref=sr_1_4?crid=1BZ83BA2MWXRM&dchild=1&keywords=synithia+williams+jackson+falls+series&qid=1618059910&sprefix=synithia+williams+%2Caps%2C157&sr=8-4" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="190" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mVfaGHH8MAg/YHGgJLRbmyI/AAAAAAAAd7U/sbjhQYAOuQQfBb6OY1b6MZ-FfjZ1bRjNgCLcBGAsYHQ/w127-h200/WILLIAMS-PromiseofaKiss-R3-1.jpg" width="127" /></a></div><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Secrets-Novel-Jackson-Falls-ebook/dp/B082YCJB6N/ref=sr_1_3?crid=1BZ83BA2MWXRM&dchild=1&keywords=synithia+williams+jackson+falls+series&qid=1618059910&sprefix=synithia+williams+%2Caps%2C157&sr=8-3" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="204" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ITY9frZE900/YHGgJGqYM5I/AAAAAAAAd7Q/TvfDFvGS3WEvSXshyh_r9rZfi_xaT0E_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w136-h200/Scandalous-Secrets-Cover.jpg" width="136" /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Forbidden-Promises-Synithia-Williams-ebook/dp/B07QW21QLS/ref=sr_1_5?crid=1BZ83BA2MWXRM&dchild=1&keywords=synithia+williams+jackson+falls+series&qid=1618059910&sprefix=synithia+williams+%2Caps%2C157&sr=8-5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="189" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YdBjFEuQ7Ps/YHGgJHbsRhI/AAAAAAAAd7M/IZlw-Zt5PowQKs1w2CvkxYd1PgaqY26zwCLcBGAsYHQ/w126-h200/Forbidden-Promises.jpg" width="126" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rJO2-kiqus/YHGdxGU_uEI/AAAAAAAAd68/od305XA8MfwQBCdBmW5WVsRuulK4lmvLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s391/carelesswhispers%2B-%2Babout%2Bthe%2Bauthor.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="94" data-original-width="391" height="66" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rJO2-kiqus/YHGdxGU_uEI/AAAAAAAAd68/od305XA8MfwQBCdBmW5WVsRuulK4lmvLQCLcBGAsYHQ/w273-h66/carelesswhispers%2B-%2Babout%2Bthe%2Bauthor.png" width="273" /></a></p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UxwetN8rnE/YHGeIhndZEI/AAAAAAAAd7E/3chw64v7cz8zJV6hkU-OMUIaeJjx0i_0QCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Synithia%2BWilliams_281x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="281" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UxwetN8rnE/YHGeIhndZEI/AAAAAAAAd7E/3chw64v7cz8zJV6hkU-OMUIaeJjx0i_0QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Synithia%2BWilliams_281x400.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Synithia has loved romance novels since reading her first one at the age of 13. It was only natural she would begin penning her own soon after. It wasn’t until 2010 that she began to actively pursue her dream of becoming a published author. She completed her first novel, You Can’t Plan Love, in the fall of 2010 and sold it to Crimson Romance in 2012.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her novel Making it Real was a USA Today Happily Ever After blog 2015 Must Read Romance and A Malibu Kind of Romance a 2017 RITA finalist. Synithia has also written two books under the pseudonym Nita Brooks.</div><div><br /></div><div>When she isn’t writing, she works on water quality issues for local government while balancing the needs of her husband and two sons.</div><p class="MsoNormal"><b>You can discover more about Synithia and her books <a href="http://www.synithiawilliams.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a>!</b></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-31695674554365827722021-01-05T18:07:00.001-05:002021-01-05T18:07:32.254-05:00PLEASE DEAL WITH YOUR SHIT<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lmEEc1vdt3I/X_Tv28SJUSI/AAAAAAAAdn4/0dIET8bGe44rcotr2tLwtdMQGFh37ISoACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/poop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lmEEc1vdt3I/X_Tv28SJUSI/AAAAAAAAdn4/0dIET8bGe44rcotr2tLwtdMQGFh37ISoACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/poop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let me preface this rant with an apology for my French. For those
of you who are sensitive to bad language, I’m sorry, but sometimes I cuss and I
wasn’t interested in watching my language for this post.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">2021 is the year to deal with your shit! And I am saying
that with my whole chest! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I had a conversation with a relative lately who was nasty for
no other reason than she could be. No one has ever called her out on her nastiness.
She low key attacks friends and family because she is broken and refuses to
deal with her own shit, so assaulting loved ones has become her behavior du
jour. Her husband endures most of her abuse. Most men would have gone out for a
loaf of bread and stayed gone. But he continues to endure her tantrums and violent
outbursts. To some degree he enables her bad behavior because he loves her and
he wants to be there when things get better between them. I wish him well with
that, but I don’t see it happening if she doesn’t start dealing with her shit. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This woman is blessed and she takes that for granted.
Personally, I have neither the time, or the energy, to coddle her issues. I
have my own damn problems to deal with. I’d go down the list if I thought it
would give her something else to consider, but I know I’d be wasting my breath because
in her small world everything is always about her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">With the New Year, it’s time for all of us to do some self-reflection.
It’s time to take inventory of our needs and wants and assess what’s broken,
what needs to be fixed, and what needs to be discarded. Then we need to get to work.
My relative refuses to even consider therapy. She doesn’t think there’s anything
wrong with her. Nothing that she can’t fix herself. But she would benefit from
talking out her issues with a neutral party. Someone who isn’t going to agree with
her just because she says they should. Someone who can see through her crap and
who isn’t afraid to call her out on it. She needs to face the trauma she’s
buried deep in the core of her psyche and begin the work to unpack the baggage
she’s been lugging around like a favorite coat. She needs to do what we all
need to do! She needs to heal by whatever means necessary!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But healing won’t come if one isn’t willing to put forth the
effort. You can’t right what’s wrong when you refuse to ask for help. There’s
no coming back from those dark places if you won’t even acknowledge that you’ve
fallen down that rabbit hole and can’t find your way back. If you won’t look in
the mirror and be honest about the monster you unleash on others to help you
cope with your hurt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s okay to be broken. It’s not okay to wave the shattered
fragments of your pain around like a weapon. It’s also okay to not want help.
It’s just not okay to expect that you can drag those who love you into your hell
and they will stay and take it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Clean away from your own doors this year instead of worrying
about what others are doing behind theirs. Be the best version of yourself that
you can be and if that means fighting for your sanity, then damn it, get in the
mud and fight! Stop worrying about what others think or how things may look. Most
folks are too focused on their own issues to truly care about yours. Besides, you
acting like a damn fool in the middle of the night and smiling in the morning like
no one will figure it out, rarely works. Someone always knows. Someone else is
bound to see and personally, I’m not keeping your bad behavior a secret, so you
can trust at least one person is going to tell. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Get it together. A well-lived life depends on it. And you
can’t be whole if you are investing all your energy in being angry and hostile
and a miserable bitch to the very people who are least deserving of it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So, please, deal with your shit! <o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-61831878758766045812021-01-01T10:32:00.000-05:002021-01-01T10:32:02.526-05:00DEAR BABY NEW YEAR<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f5cw7kQXkL0/X-8-nLXmXMI/AAAAAAAAdnA/0cQFjZJMFd0cgcNsZ-ynxyyUvomP_hZzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s900/zz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="477" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f5cw7kQXkL0/X-8-nLXmXMI/AAAAAAAAdnA/0cQFjZJMFd0cgcNsZ-ynxyyUvomP_hZzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/zz.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Baby New Year, hello! And Happy Birthday!</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Let me forewarn you, this isn’t your typical welcome and
hello letter. I usually save my end of the year rants for Santa Claus, but I
gave him a break this time. I’m sure he was inundated with Santa letters this
year with the needs list for many being astronomical. After the year we’ve all had
I knew he probably couldn’t handle much more bitching and complaining. Not that
I ever bitch or complain. Except maybe about that pony he never did deliver,
but I digress.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We are all in a weird space right now and the pressure on
your shoulders to get the new year back on track would break the best of us.
You don’t have that option. To be blunt, if you screw up, we will come for you.
Your predecessor blew it big time, in unfathomable fashion. Hell, all you really need to do now is stand still, keep quiet and not break anything to do a better job
than he did. Seriously, no fast moves or loud noises are allowed this year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We desperately need some peace and quiet. Just a few moments
of stillness where we can hear ourselves think. We need to be able to breathe
without fear, with or without a mask. Our losses in 2020 have been monumental. I
have had to grieve so much that I don’t know how to grieve anymore. Bad news comes
and I can’t shed a single tear. I’m completely numb and I have no plans to
spend the next twelve months feeling as though I need to keep building walls to
protect my heart.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So, the onus is on you to get it right. You’re allowed baby
steps for a few minutes. Maybe even a day or two, but then we need you to dig
in your heels and get moving. Your learning curve is going to be short and sweet. It’s a lot, I know, but I have faith that you can
do it! Many of us will be cheering you on. If you have questions, ask us, not
the last guy. We’ve kicked 2020 to the curb. He’s come and gone and couldn’t give
advice to a tick on his ass if he needed to. I know the work you have ahead of
you is monumental, but the challenge is here to make you stronger, not break
you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But understand, failure is not an option. We’ve had more
than our fair share. Our politicians have failed us. Our governments have failed
us. Sadly, even friends and family completely blew it this year so we can’t take
anyone else falling down on the job and getting it wrong. Most especially the new
guy. You’ve got a clean slate. No excess baggage and more importantly, you’ve
been warned! It’s not often that we call out the last guy and his screw ups.
Usually, we let you figure it out for yourself. We can’t risk it this go-round.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So, welcome, baby! We’re done cooing at you and tickling
your chubby cheeks and I’m sure that was good while it lasted. Now, we’re
giving you a little nudge out the nest; okay, maybe it’s a swift kick, but I
know you understand. Get it cracking, kid, and please know, I’ll be praying daily
for your success!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And please, tell Santa I’ll catch up with him later in the year. We’re good
with that pony but I’m going to need him to step up his game this Christmas!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-47034777397927544382020-12-30T11:23:00.001-05:002020-12-31T09:53:44.822-05:00WALTER WESLEY WOODY SR.<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b-_V6dIo1g0/X-ygFVuf34I/AAAAAAAAdmg/DZY1JvStXzgt5UOLpiv6TwEhIpbkEW_wACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/mook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b-_V6dIo1g0/X-ygFVuf34I/AAAAAAAAdmg/DZY1JvStXzgt5UOLpiv6TwEhIpbkEW_wACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/mook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />We bring our family home to die. I used to think it was only
a Southern thing because it was only in the South where I saw that done.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Today, we will bury a family patriarch. Two weeks ago, we
brought him home from the hospital to die. We knew his time was coming to an
end. Doctors and nurses had told us so. But we still held out hope that once he
was home, under the loving care of family, that his condition would turn around
and our beloved Papa Mook would be his cantankerous self again. That he would
go back to loving on his “sweet, sweet girls” and finding fault with the sons
who never learned how to sharpen a knife properly. God’s plans were not his
family’s plans. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sitting hospice is never an easy thing to do. You worry over
the little things. A raspy cough will make your heart race. You worry for their
comfort and pain and the things they can no longer convey to you with their
words. You count your loved one’s every breath. You sit and you wait for the
inevitable and you pray that you are not there alone when they take that last inhale
of air. His eldest son and his youngest daughter were with him in the end. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There was an abundance of love that surrounded him. Energy
that flooded the space. His family sat vigilant, everyone taking turns to pull
their weight to the best of their ability. Laughter would ring from room to
room. Sometimes, tears would, too. The princesses would don their masks to go “check”
on him throughout the day. One remarked that she liked to sit with him and the
angels who had come to visit, too. Their Papa Mook was much loved!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Walter Wesley Woody Sr. was a man of many layers. He was set
in his ways and he would not be moved from his convictions. He took pride in
his name and what that represented. He was honored that his eldest son and
grandson also carried the same moniker. He was a talented musician who could wield
his way around a guitar with the best of the best. He was a master carpenter with
skills others envied. Sadly, the circumstances of being a black man in the racially-charged
South kept him from realizing the full potential of his talents. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He was a man of modest means, but he lived his life
abundantly. He had no regrets, owning every aspect of the life
he lived. He was an amazing grandfather and great-grandfather. He loved to take the children
fishing when he was able. He told them stories with lessons they may not
understand until they are adults themselves. He laughed with his grandsons over
their girlfriend problems. He whispered secrets they will all hold until the end of time. Our pretty princesses, his sweet sweet girls, were one of his greatest joys. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was always in awe of how he remembered dates, times, and
places with the recall as if he were telling you what he’d had for breakfast
that morning. He was a walking history book and what he may have lacked in
formal education, he more than made up for with common sense. His impact in the
lives of his family will be passed down for generations to come. Not even they
realize yet how monumental his experiences will be on their future. He was a
giant among men, and he didn’t even know it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Walter Wesley Woody Sr., age 80, transitioned to eternal rest on December 23, 2020. Papa Mook will be missed.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-49360504116500124142020-11-01T20:49:00.000-05:002020-11-01T20:49:09.895-05:00A BATTLEGROUND STATE<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gs_QAvGwjKo/X59k7DPzbmI/AAAAAAAAbfs/rDQzMJuueEo6I0KKT5hI_KyOtAsDTBt7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/o-WELCOME-TO-NORTH-CAROLINA-facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="2000" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gs_QAvGwjKo/X59k7DPzbmI/AAAAAAAAbfs/rDQzMJuueEo6I0KKT5hI_KyOtAsDTBt7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/o-WELCOME-TO-NORTH-CAROLINA-facebook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />The state of North Carolina has become a coveted battleground
state for the 2020 Presidential election. Depending how the voting numbers
inevitably fall could make or break either one of the candidates. This election
will also show the world what North Carolina is made of; what we value, and what
North Carolinians would like to see for themselves and their bretheren moving
forward. Good or bad, this election will say much about the people who live
here.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have deep roots in North Carolina. My father was born and
raised here. It was my grandparent’s home. My ancestors were enslaved in this
state. The racial climate was why my father fled North Carolina. He’d been fourteen
the first time he was picked up and held by Durham police. He’d been walking
home from the local golf club where he had worked a summer job caddying for the
club’s wealthy, white members. He’d made two dollars that day and was excited
to take his earnings home to his mother. It brought him joy to feel like he could
contribute to the home and help his family. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For three days he sat in a jail cell, no one knowing where
he was. When they found him, they were never told why he was being held. One of
the officers stole his two dollars, telling him he’d have no use for it where
he was going. He was eventually released, never charged, and no one apologized
for their actions. He was admonished to remember his place and he was called
the N-word as if it were his name. It would not be the last time the local
authorities harassed him for no reason. He learned early that being a black
male in the South could easily be a detriment to his health.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A year later, at the age of fifteen, he enlisted in the US
Army. He lied about his age and his mother signed the papers for him to go.
Both he and my grandmother believed he would be safer with Uncle Sam. Military
service took him to Germany where he learned a language and a trade. When he
returned to the states, he headed north, landing in Connecticut where he met
and married my mother. She had been a transplant from South Carolina herself
and they bonded over their southern roots.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My father left North Carolina in his rearview mirror,
returning only for funerals, the occasional wedding, and holidays to visit with
elderly relatives who had stayed. Despite his misgivings about North Carolina,
the decision to return after retirement was an easy one. He was a self-made
man, financially solvent, with adult children. He was able to pay cash for his
expansive home and has been able to enjoy the fruits of his labors. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When I announced my decision to move to North Carolina my
father wasn’t overly encouraging. I had a young son and he worried for us in a
way that was disconcerting. To some degree I’d lived a sheltered life. Raised
in a middle class, predominately white community, I had no true sense of the
racism my daddy had endured as a child. What I had faced had been
whole-heartedly different, not as overt or as caustic. No one had dared called
me the N-word to my face. I didn’t know how to prepare for what I might be walking
into.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My first home was in a wonderful neighborhood out in the
country. It was a small town that I instantly loved, affording us a sense of
community where a little boy could run and play and have no fear. I could not
have been happier. I’d rented my home blind, a family friend doing the walk
through with the landlord and taking photographs for me to see. I still
remember the landlord’s surprise when he discovered I was a black woman married
to man who was perceived to be white. But we came with cash and green has
always been bigger than black or white has ever been. He did, however, forewarn
us to be mindful of our neighbor, saying he was racist and didn’t take kindly
to interracial relationships. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Duly frightened, I was mindful to make sure Son-shine stayed
clear of that side of the road and I didn’t go out of my way to be a nice neighbor.
A dog named Jaxx changed that. He was a massive Rottweiler who loved to explore
with his boy. The two would disappear into the woods behind our property for
hours on end. Then one day, Jaxx took off next door to explore. Son-shine chased
after him and I chased after them both. I apologized profusely as the dog and
his boy both climbed the front porch to sit beside the homeowners. Minutes later,
the dog was chewing on a bone, Son-shine had a plate of fresh baked cookies and
we had made new friends. It would be many months later when I would share with
them what had been said, kicking myself for believing what I hadn’t bothered to
learn for myself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">North Carolina became home and I have been glad for it. I’ve
grown here. I’ve watched my son become a man here. I left a toxic relationship
behind, and I found love here. North Carolina has been more good than it has
been bad. But never before have I seen the wealth of racism here that has reared
its head over the last four years. Neighbors have turned on neighbors, strangers
are ugly to each other, and more times than not race is centered around the
conflicts. I fear for my black son, my black husband, and I understand that
this fear is what moved my grandmother to think it safer to send her fifteen
year old son to the military during a time of war than keep him home in a state
that did not value his black life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I worry that North Carolina will not rise above the fray. I
fear the hatred that is suddenly running amuck will be validated if the state
remains polarized. I don’t trust that the voices of reason have been heard over
the chatter of insanity that’s become so prevalent. I’m scared that this state
will cease to be home to many of us who have loved it here. But mostly, I worry
that North Carolina will soon be a battleground for far more than this
election.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-15274539015522441982020-09-12T22:00:00.002-04:002020-09-12T22:08:45.855-04:00LOUISE WILLIAMS THOMAS<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pgVFpKSN4UQ/X118099OE7I/AAAAAAAAbEE/qDkIs9gnyvodBSsdX4d_BQN89nbK22vtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/louise.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2047" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pgVFpKSN4UQ/X118099OE7I/AAAAAAAAbEE/qDkIs9gnyvodBSsdX4d_BQN89nbK22vtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/louise.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My best friend in the whole wide world buried her beloved mother
today. I thought about my dear friend this morning, breathing as I would have
admonished her to do had I been there. Praying as I would have prayed with her
if I could have been by her side. But I wasn’t there. Unable to make the trip
for too many reasons to count. Feeling lost as I imagined the hurt that she was
dealing with. Feeling useless as I went through a seemingly normal routine just
to get through the day. It felt foreign to me. My friend is the sister of my heart and in all of our many years together there has never been a time when we were not there in body and spirit to support each other through a hard time. Finding solace and comfort in a friendship that has endured and nurtured us when we needed it most. I had been there when her father
passed, never leaving her side until well after he was laid to rest. My friend
was with me when I lost my son, coming on the first flight when I called to
tell her he was gone. Not being physically there to support her was a knife to my heart
like I had not felt in a very long time. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have fond memories of her mother, the woman who many times
mothered me alongside her own daughter. Memories of time spent in her home when
I went there for play dates as a child and when I just showed up at her door as
a teen. Memories of our parents together and a lifelong friendship that nurtured and
supported us. Memories of her admonishments for us to do and be better because she
was watching, always having a maternal eye on our doings. Memories of our road
trips to Seton Hall University to visit my bestie when she was away at school
and had taken up residence in New Jersey. Memories of conversations that
challenged my beliefs and sometimes gave me pause. I’ve got good memories!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When life took a turn and it looked like my future was nose-diving
South, it was her mother who sought me out, sitting down with me to make sure I
was well. When I cried, she patted my hand and doled out maternal advice that I
still follow to this day. When I began to write, she encouraged me, supporting
my endeavors although she was very vocal about preferring my literary work over
my romance. It was only a few short years ago that she indulged in those “sexy” stories,
laughing heartily when we teased her about it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She was regal in stature and exemplified what a well-lived
life should look like. She traveled, was well-read and passionate about those
things that were important to her. Most particularly her daughter. She was the
epitome of grace, with a gentle spirit and a magnanimous heart. She could also
be stern, was highly disciplined, and not a woman you wanted to cross.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;">I was not there to say goodbye. Not there to hold my friend’s
hand as she laid her mother to rest. But I prayed. And I held tight to the many
memories we shared.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My sincerest condolences to the Thomas family. Sending light and love
to my sister, Angela Thomas Graves and my brother, Gregory Graves.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/stamfordadvocate/obituary.aspx?n=louise-thomas&pid=196773684" target="_blank">Louise Williams Thomas,</a> you will be missed!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-66825935163184151062020-08-25T01:28:00.000-04:002020-08-25T01:28:38.385-04:00DAVID BROOKS, JR.<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e6ZytCVSzRs/X0SagdCf3bI/AAAAAAAAbCM/fPEJr_7LkQUiHRwrrjPMmPk8DEz3U_I7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/David_Brooks_Jr-DMID1-5nolmmcd9-1920x1080-1-640x368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="640" height="235" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e6ZytCVSzRs/X0SagdCf3bI/AAAAAAAAbCM/fPEJr_7LkQUiHRwrrjPMmPk8DEz3U_I7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w410-h235/David_Brooks_Jr-DMID1-5nolmmcd9-1920x1080-1-640x368.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Roxboro, NC is one of those sleepy communities that is
reminiscent of another era. Back in the day I’m sure it was considered a
one-horse town and despite the growth, it is still a community where time feels
as if it is standing still.</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Little happens in Roxboro and the residents are happy to
keep it that way. There was little fanfare when a convoy organized by the Klu
Klux Klan paraded through town in 2016 to celebrate President-Elect Donald
Trump's win. Only a few of the town’s citizens were dismayed by their presence.
Local police blocked several intersections along US Highway 501 as they waved
their Confederate flags, moving through and exiting the city. Sadly, racism in
Roxboro is one of those things that time has held onto tightly.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--Pwid1NQlmg/X0SbHhs2DfI/AAAAAAAAbCY/gFlsHu1rUHEKqnQLbXApXJOjVH_oZCJ8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/ROXBORO2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="2048" height="223" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--Pwid1NQlmg/X0SbHhs2DfI/AAAAAAAAbCY/gFlsHu1rUHEKqnQLbXApXJOjVH_oZCJ8gCLcBGAsYHQ/w410-h223/ROXBORO2.jpeg" width="410" /></a></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Law enforcement and local politicians have become proficient
at keeping attention off the small community. But anyone who lives there, works
there, or who has contact with the town knows that racism is as prevalent now
as it was some fifty years ago. It’s usually not overt racism, just that
old-fashioned, very Southern, know-your-place-and-stay-in-it kind of racism. Racism
that is deeply ingrained, resistant to change, indignant, stagnant, and
perpetuated by the descendants of the confederacy. The kind of racism where law
enforcement rule with a heavy hand and people of color are sometimes
criminalized for simply breathing. That kind of racism with its own set of
judicial rules, one set of laws for whites and another set for blacks, the
playbook written decades ago on the backs of our enslaved ancestors and sanctioned
daily in the Person County courthouse.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Most recently, 45-year old David Brooks, Jr. was a victim of
that heavy-handed rule. As it was widely reported, on July 24<sup>, </sup>2020,
David was fatally shot by a Person county police officer who responded to a 911
call reporting a person with a gun walking on Old Durham Road with a mask on.
The officer claimed after issuing an order for him to put the weapon down, that
David pointed the gun at him instead, and he was forced to fire. Roxboro Police
allege that they found a loaded, sawed-off shotgun at the scene and Police
Chief David Hess said that weapon is considered a “weapon of mass destruction”
and is not legal in North Carolina.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And here is where fact and fiction diverge, the media
justifying David’s death and Roxboro’s law enforcement community and local
politicians working diligently to divert attention far from them. David was
known to many in the community. He was also known to the local police. In fact,
it has been reported that this was not the first time David had an encounter
with the same officer who killed him. Allegedly, said officer was reported to have stopped
David just a week or so earlier. In that instance, the same gun David carried
was deemed legal, returned to him, and David was sent on his way. If this is
true, why was this stop necessary or different?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2iEB6sq0xY/X0SbdkocuGI/AAAAAAAAbCk/Gq7vyuZuEFATedPb_0vLVfzkLHgdxMs2QCLcBGAsYHQ/s900/ROXBORO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="900" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2iEB6sq0xY/X0SbdkocuGI/AAAAAAAAbCk/Gq7vyuZuEFATedPb_0vLVfzkLHgdxMs2QCLcBGAsYHQ/w328-h246/ROXBORO.jpg" width="328" /></a></div>North Carolina is an open carry state. It is not unusual to
see white, male residents of Roxboro with their weapons holstered or being
carried. Rifles lay in the beds of pickup trucks and for those male residents
it would seem to be a rite of passage that only they are allowed. No one ever
blinks an eye. Recently, four white males carrying AR15’s stood guard over the granite
statue of a Confederate soldier that stands near the intersection of Main
Street and Court Street on the courthouse square in downtown Roxboro.
Allegedly, calls to local law enforcement were said to have been ignored, no
one coming to check the legality of their weapons. They were, after all, protecting
Roxboro’s confederate legacy.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">They claim David’s gun was illegal. There are many who are
challenging that. It is said that David was carrying a pistol grip shotgun with
a shoulder strap. David knew the law. David’s father, who once ran for local
sheriff, knew the law. David’s family, friends, and the local Roxboro community
knew the law. If David was carrying the gun he was known to regularly carry,
then his gun was very much legal. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">David wore a mask to shop at the local Dollar General Store.
Store employees knew David. It was not his first visit to the store. They have
said he was always respectful and never a problem. He walked there and was
walking home. He did that often. With his gun. David wore a mask because we are
all wearing masks to stores to shop now. David wearing a mask was pragmatic
during these times of Covid-19. His mask was not illegal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Local television stations who have aired the dash cam video
of David’s shooting admit to editing it to be sensitive to David’s family and
their viewers. Edited video typically supports the narrative one would like it
to support. Edited video sometimes leaves out valuable facts, most especially
when a black man has been shot and killed by a white police officer and the
powers in charge want to control the narrative.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Those who have seen the full video question the officer’s account
of what happened. David was asked to put the weapon down and some feel he was reaching
for the shoulder strap to do just that when he was shot once in the chest. Others
don’t dispute that David lifted the barrel of his weapon, pointing it toward
the officer as he reached for the shoulder strap. Officials claim the encounter
lasted six minutes. The video would seem to show that David was shot a mere six
seconds after the officer exited his car and issued the command. Some argue that
he fired as David was trying to comply. Others claim David’s actions was malicious,
his intentions to do the officer harm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The officer is heard on audio tape explaining his action, although
there was radio silence for almost two minutes as he was dispatched to the
scene. What was said over the radio and why were those comments edited out? He
said he drove past, and David tried to hide his gun. The video shows David did
no such thing. The officer acknowledged exiting his vehicle with his shotgun.
Most officers exit with their service pistols. Why a shotgun? For someone known
to him? And why a gun at all when the officer in question ALLEGEDLY has a
pending domestic violence case against him and should not have been in
possession of a weapon at all? That takes us back to the Roxboro rulebook and
who must follow it and who doesn’t. But I digress because this isn’t about the
officer’s prior failings or his history. Not yet. Nor should David’s prior
actions be weaponized against him to support the argument that he deserved to
be shot. But it will be if it’s necessary to help justify the police officer’s
actions. But one might argue that if prior history warranted David losing his
life, then prior history might point to the police officer’s motives for
pulling the trigger before any efforts to deescalate the situation were made.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Officials claim David was immediately rendered medical
support. That could also be disputed. Secondary officers arrive within minutes
of the shooting. Two look down at his dying body as the officer who shot him
asks, “Bro, you good?” David is admonished to stop moving a few times. David is
frisked for additional weapons as one leg begins to shake violently. The
officer who pulled the trigger is heard calling David by his name more than
once, so David was clearly no stranger to him. Medical help is rendered when
EMS arrives minutes after that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Battle lines have already been drawn. Arguments abound
supporting the officer who was “just doing his job”. Fingers are being pointed
at David for not complying with police orders. Everyone has an opinion and
those opinions are split down color lines. The police are viewed as saviors and
their actions should not be questioned and a black man standing against the status
quo was deemed dangerous. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Had David been white would he have even been stopped? Most
in Roxboro would say no because they’ve seen how white males holding AR15’s are
dealt with. Would there have been more effort made to deescalate the situation?
Would the officer who pulled the trigger have utilized that training the Police
Chief claims his officers have all undergone for situations just like this one?
Why was that training not in play when this cop pulled up on David? If he
forgot his training in those six seconds should he even be on the police force?
The family has questions. Outsiders have questions. The community should be
asking questions instead of closing one eye to every ounce of racist behavior
in their fair town. But I digress yet again...<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">David knew his rights and he was well within them to carry
his weapon out in the open in Roxboro, North Carolina. He also knew that not
playing by the rules and knowing his place put him at odds with Roxboro’s
finest. David believed he was being watched by local police. He believed they
intended to do him harm. Some attributed that to David’s mental health. But
hindsight shows David knew more than many gave him credit for. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">David’s murder is barely a footnote now in Roxboro’s history.
Most know David will be blamed for his own death and the officer involved will
go back to policing the community like nothing happened. Although officials
say they continue to investigate and the shooting is still under review, media
attention has moved on to yet another shooting. The most recent in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
Another black man gunned down, on camera, by a law enforcement officer. Another
spotlight on shootings that happen with regularity with little to no consequences
for the police officers involved. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Roxboro Police have been sworn to protect and serve. Clearly,
they failed to protect and serve David Brooks, Jr. My condolences to his family
and friends.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-31096961187036085352020-07-30T21:02:00.000-04:002020-07-30T21:02:25.126-04:00#NotThisTime<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YWZ6llZJTgc/XyNsILtk_vI/AAAAAAAAa-A/-cmJsrJjxGYvoJCabnKs62TDK5CC2BWYACLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/candidates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YWZ6llZJTgc/XyNsILtk_vI/AAAAAAAAa-A/-cmJsrJjxGYvoJCabnKs62TDK5CC2BWYACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h225/candidates.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>We are just days from presidential candidate Joe Biden
announcing his choice for <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2020/07/24/12-most-logical-picks-joe-bidens-vice-president-ranked/" target="_blank">Vice President</a>. He has said he will ask a woman to
share the Democratic ticket with him. Some are hoping she will be a black
woman. Others just want to see him in office if it means the current White House
resident is promptly escorted off the premises. They don’t much care who he
drags with him. Like many, I want to trust that Joe Biden and whomever he selects will
make a difference in a world that is going straight to hell, sinking in a mire
of quicksand faster than any of us could ever begin to imagine. Because things
are bad.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The idea of a female on the ticket isn’t new. But this time
it will be different. No one can argue that the women under consideration aren’t
capable of doing the job. Not only are they qualified, but they can run circles
around most of the men who have ever vied for the position. They are already
out here fighting for better. Many have survived a storm or two. I imagine what’s
coming will just be another walk through a very dark park and they will have to
rise above the fray no matter what gets thrown at them. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s what will be thrown at them that most concerns me.
Women have to take a lot of shit from men who are threatened by their presence.
The horror stories are abundant, more women than not having to endure abuse
that runs the gamut from verbal and emotional, to physical and back again. Sadly,
sometimes it’s other women who help shovel all that crap, fueling the flames
with jealousy and ignorance. I have a college-educated associate who would rather
not vote at all than vote for a woman. She still subscribes to the belief that
women should be barefoot and pregnant in the home and only men can lead. There are
times when we can be our own worst enemy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What I know is that any female candidate will likely be
attacked on her abilities simply because she is a woman. A man with a lesser
resume would be considered gold. A black woman will have the added benefit of
being attacked for breathing, everything about her called into question again
and again. There will be the assumption that she cannot be educated enough, or
qualified enough, or just enough period. Because, after all, she is black. I
don’t have to imagine the comments and memes that will follow her. I remember
what was done to Michelle Obama. How she had to go high when their low was
particularly vicious.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We’ll, I’m not here for it. Nor should you be. No matter who
Uncle Joe picks, we will have to pull ourselves together and stand against the
naysayers. We need to keep the focus on the candidate’s qualifications and the
changes she and Joe will be able to affect. What damage rained down against us
in the last four years will they be able to repair? And we’ll need to keep the
wolves at bay. When the attacks come, we need to unify and shut them down
before they can gain footing. We will need to demonstrate the ideals of sisterhood
in an unprecedented way.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Recently women have been posting black and white beauty
shots on Instagram tagged #ChallengeAccepted. It was intended to be a display of
female empowerment. Some have questioned its purpose, and its impact, as we rally
through the Covid-19 pandemic. I challenge these same women to be front and
center to support the female candidate when she is besieged with ill will and
condemnation. Rally around her to shut down the harassment and character
assassinations that will have no validity and will only serve to be a distraction
from the real issues. Use the hashtag #NotThisTime. Put your activism behind
real support of another woman. Support that requires you to actually push back
and be about the walk, not just the talk. No pretty pictures required. Just a
staunch determination to ensure that the woman Joe throws into the flames will
rise like the Phoenix. I dare you to accept that challenge. <o:p></o:p></p><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-9070416622253338782020-07-26T16:30:00.001-04:002020-07-26T23:10:38.762-04:00HE'S NOT NICE<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BjtVQf27ev0/Xx3mvViXrqI/AAAAAAAAa9k/h84n6GC4gYAv1aAM2d5o2mFGWyAHS-J2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/dark2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BjtVQf27ev0/Xx3mvViXrqI/AAAAAAAAa9k/h84n6GC4gYAv1aAM2d5o2mFGWyAHS-J2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/dark2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>People look at me funny when I tell them my house is
haunted. But it is. We have haints. I used to think it was a single spirit.
Definitely female and partial to my guy. She was not happy when I moved into his
home, but we’ve learned to respect each other’s space. I leave her alone and
she knows not to bother me. But it took a minute to come to a mutual
understanding that I wasn’t going anywhere, and she couldn’t run me away with
her <a href="https://deborahmello.blogspot.com/2013/10/who-done-it.html" target="_blank">antics</a>. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She roams the house late at night. You can sometimes hear her
walking across the floor or down the stairs. She has occasionally slammed a
door to get someone’s attention. In the wee hours of the morning when I’m
focused on my writing, I sometimes sense she is behind me, just the faintest
gust of air or breath blowing across my ear or neck. She’s become my sounding
board and I sometimes talk to her as I plot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Recently though I’ve gotten the impression that she is not
alone. It started with the chair that never stays pushed in at the table. It
was constantly moving and until it happened when I was home alone, I blamed the
girls, or the big guy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Dishes randomly falling into the kitchen sink was my second
clue. Drinking glasses sliding off the counter while we sat in another room, the glass shattering against the stainless steel was
disconcerting. She used to do that, too. Once could be dismissed as a fluke. Multiple times raises an
eyebrow or two.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Lately, personal items disappear and reappear, leaving us to
question if we might be losing our collective minds. I’m anal about there being
a place for all things and all things being in their place. Keys get dropped
into the key basket at the front door. When the basket is empty and we turn the
house upside down searching for them, only to discover them in that same basket
minutes later, I know I’m not crazy. Toys are moved. Phones have disappeared
off tabletops. Earrings get rearranged in my jewelry chest. I no longer scratch
my head at the absurdity. Our new occupant has jokes but they aren’t funny. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My pretty
princess loves her newly decorated room. She’s been partial to the tent with
the sparkly lights which has become her private sanctuary. She will sit inside
for hours with dozens of her stuffed friends. Talking to someone or something
that no one else can see.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">"He’s not very nice," she said once. When I ask who, she shrugs
and dismisses the conversation. Almost as if someone behind me has raised a
finger to shush her. Recently, she opened the front door to peer outside and
then screamed at the top of her lungs. I watched the door slam shut as she raced
toward me her arms outstretched. She did not close that door. I’m almost
certain of it. Almost. But if she didn’t slam that door, who did?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">"What’s wrong?" I asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">"I saw him," she answered. "For real, MeeMi. I saw him and he
was trying to get back in, but she wouldn’t let him inside."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">"That’s some imagination," our favorite guy laughs nervously.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I nod as the princess and I
exchange a look, understanding sweeping between us. Because I have seen him,
too. And no, he’s not nice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-56386671990150096392020-05-25T16:46:00.000-04:002020-05-25T16:46:25.258-04:00AUTHOR ROOMS Welcomes SHARON C. COOPER<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qhP01CVXDiw/XswieATBusI/AAAAAAAAawY/0yGKAVddldQpT7_-8tzZx7y9u7i2vXmmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/sharonccoooooppperer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qhP01CVXDiw/XswieATBusI/AAAAAAAAawY/0yGKAVddldQpT7_-8tzZx7y9u7i2vXmmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/sharonccoooooppperer.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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I’m so excited to welcome my author-sister-friend <b>Sharon C. Cooper</b> to Author Rooms! Sharon is an award-winning, bestselling author who loves anything that involves romance with a happily-ever-after, whether in books, movies, or real life. Sharon writes contemporary romance, as well as romantic suspense and enjoys rainy days, carpet picnics, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She's been nominated for numerous awards and is the recipient of Emma Awards for Author of the Year 2019, Favorite Hero 2019, Romantic Suspense of the Year 2015, Interracial Romance of the Year 2015, and BRAB Award<br />
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One of my favorite people, I appreciate Sharon taking time to sit down with me. So let's get right to it! Sharon, welcome!<br />
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<b>So, tell me, how has writing changed your life?</b></div>
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What a great question! That’s something I haven’t thought about, until now. I think the most noticeable way that writing has changed my life is that I’m able to work from home full time – which I like. For as long as I can remember, I did part-time work from home (virtual assistant and freelance writer), but this is the first time I’ve been able to make a decent living working from home. Now, if you ask my husband this question about me, he’d probably say my active imagination is to the extreme. Lol! We were walking through a parking lot recently and passed a vehicle where the trunk was low to the ground. The first words out of my mouth were, “God, I hope there’s not a dead body in that car.” That was honestly my first thought. My husband was like. “Of all the things you could’ve come up with that could be weighing down that trunk, you came up with a dead body?” He ticked off other possibilities like – bricks, heavy boxes, tools, but not me…I imagined it contained a dead body. Then I started thinking of ways to work the idea into one of my romantic suspense novels. What can I say? *shoulder shrug* I’m extra like that.</div>
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<b>Do you Google yourself?</b></div>
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I have googled myself. Not often, though. Usually it’s after I receive notice that someone else has googled me. Sometimes it’s interesting (or not) to see where the search takes me.</div>
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<b>Have you ever had a scene edited out of a book that you wished you had kept?</b></div>
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Oh yeah! Wait…scenes that I wished I had kept? Actually, I can’t say that I’ve cut any that I wished I had kept. BUT I have had to cut some (that I LOVED) that just didn’t fit the story. Cutting those types of scenes can be painful. I’ll remove them from that particular story, but I usually save them in hopes of using them in a different project. </div>
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<b>Is there one line or phrase that seems to always sneak into all your books?</b></div>
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LOL! Unfortunately, there are a few! My critique partners or editor are usually the ones who catch them before a story is published, but every now and then one slips through. Such as: The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. The sentence might not include those exact words every time, but it’s usually always something similar.</div>
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<b>If you weren't writing what else would you love to see yourself doing?</b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZubDstdlCY/XswlXrbJc_I/AAAAAAAAawk/d-w02-B2UXgw8Kyt19PxTMjea-GQbVGVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Art%2Bwork.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZubDstdlCY/XswlXrbJc_I/AAAAAAAAawk/d-w02-B2UXgw8Kyt19PxTMjea-GQbVGVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/Art%2Bwork.JPG" width="200" /></a>Hmm…that’s a good question! On any given day, I probably would have a different answer, but today, I’d say painting. Not house painting, but abstract (picture) painting. That’s what I do in my spare time. This is my latest painting (during “safe at home”). I’ve been displaying some of my artwork around the house. My son (who’s an adult and doesn’t live with us) mentioned a few years ago that our place looked like an art gallery. Lol! NOTE: He was exaggerating…but one day, it really will!</div>
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<b>What is it about your writing space that motivates your writing?</b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5FNWpq0OKo/Xswl8ilKVnI/AAAAAAAAaww/hu_evYdu-YUh_ezPFBL2clx28U4nh29BgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Book%2Bcover%2Bpictures%2B-office%2Bwall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5FNWpq0OKo/Xswl8ilKVnI/AAAAAAAAaww/hu_evYdu-YUh_ezPFBL2clx28U4nh29BgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Book%2Bcover%2Bpictures%2B-office%2Bwall.jpg" width="240" /></a>My office is set up to be inspiring and peaceful. It’s extremely comfortable and usually neat. I’m a little OCD and don’t function well with clutter. The space includes a vision board (created annually), calendar for book releases (which currently shows that I’m behind), an area displaying some of my writing awards, and of course book shelves. I even have a sofa. I occasionally stretch out on it to work out a scene in my head that’s not coming together. And no, I usually don’t fall asleep during those moments. Lol. My favorite part of the office, though, is my wall of book covers. It’s the wall directly across from my desk. Whenever I look up from my computer monitor, I see huge framed photos (16 x 20) of a few of my book covers. They remind me of my writing accomplishments, as well as encourage me not to give up on a WIP (work in progress).<br />
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<b>Tell us something about yourself that your readers don't know. Spill some tea!</b></div>
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Some of my readers probably don’t know that I worked construction for ten years. Seems like a lifetime ago, but it’s true. I’m a sheet metal worker by trade (installing HVAC units, working on roofs, installing gutters, welding, etc.). Some of my experience in construction has been showcased in my Jenkins Family series. It’s a series where some of the women in a family oversee the family’s construction company. For more on that series, your readers can visit my website: https://sharoncooper.net/jenkins-family-series</div>
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In January, Sharon released <b>BETRAYED</b>, the latest book in her Atlanta’s Finest Series. Each book in the series has been written to read as a standalone and readers often use the words HOT and STEAMY to describe a Sharon C. Cooper story.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dDizJetU5xA/Xswl8ve9wCI/AAAAAAAAaxA/6bY_Tb7PQzwRrY3JoYFxhY25PZ3m-a2LgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/betrayed%2B3D-%2Bcovered.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="520" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dDizJetU5xA/Xswl8ve9wCI/AAAAAAAAaxA/6bY_Tb7PQzwRrY3JoYFxhY25PZ3m-a2LgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/betrayed%2B3D-%2Bcovered.png" width="208" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>When secrets turn into lies…</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Former DEA agent Angelo González’s final undercover operation exploded in a betrayal he’ll never forget or forgive. He’s moved on. As one of Atlanta’s Finest, providing personal security for the rich and famous, Angelo is living his best life—until he has to play fake boyfriend to one of their clients. Not just any client. A client who stirs something so sensually intense inside him, he’s not sure he can fake anything.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Singing sensation Zenobia Westfield’s troubled past and poor judgment, especially with men, nearly destroyed her life. Music saved her, but now her safety is in jeopardy, forcing her to seek personal security. Angelo is more than she expected. Dangerously sexy. Fearless. Attentive. The attraction sizzling between them is impossible to ignore, but her track record with men has her treading lightly. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>When the threat against Zenobia escalates, Angelo will stop at nothing to protect her. But lies and treachery come to the forefront. Will another betrayal destroy their newfound love? Or will Angelo realize in time that Zenobia is a woman worth fighting for?</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Betrayed-Atlantas-Finest-Book-5-ebook/dp/B083V7NCBY/ref=as_sl_pc_tf_til?tag=shaccoo-20&linkCode=w00&linkId=8eaf99c89618b76be8e0eb70b6212b3a&creativeASIN=B083V7NCBY" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Betrayed-Atlantas-Finest-Book-5-ebook/dp/B083V7NCBY/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=sharon+c+cooper+betrayed&qid=1579113605&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> | <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Betrayed-Atlantas-Finest-Book-5-ebook/dp/B083V7NCBY/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=sharon+c+cooper+betrayed&qid=1579113720&s=digital-text&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> | <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/betrayed-sharon-c-cooper/1136036106;jsessionid=0A2BDC9C70ED53D4A0FA580A8A3EDB68.prodny_store02-atgap01?ean=2940162768913" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | </div>
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<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1000337" target="_blank">Smashwords</a> | <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/betrayed/id1495067596" target="_blank">iTunes</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/betrayed-227" target="_blank">Kobo</a> | <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1946172197/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=SHARON+c+cooper+betrayed&qid=1579359937&s=digital-text&sr=1-1-catcorr" target="_blank">Paperback</a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GRALnQtO4nY/Xswl8g0M4YI/AAAAAAAAaxA/IFd5-PauYTcn0OjemEsNYUxWtC9iU2n3gCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/hunted%2B3D-cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="520" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GRALnQtO4nY/Xswl8g0M4YI/AAAAAAAAaxA/IFd5-PauYTcn0OjemEsNYUxWtC9iU2n3gCPcBGAYYCw/s320/hunted%2B3D-cover.png" width="208" /></a>And, coming this summer is <b>HUNTED</b>, the next book in the series. I'm a huge fan of Sharon's work and like all of her fans, I’m excited! If either book is your first Sharon C. Cooper read, you won’t be disappointed!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>She’s everything he never knew he wanted…</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Former CIA spy Myles Carrington experienced enough action in his clandestine days. The last thing he needs in his life right now is trouble, but that’s what he gets when salon owner Geneva Ramsey crosses his path. She’s combative, fierce and the sexiest woman he’s ever met, but he’s not looking for anything serious. He promises himself only one night with her and nothing more. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Geneva kissed him on a dare. A dare that altered her carefree life, and she’s conflicted. Myles is an enigma, a puzzle she can’t piece together. Yet, she’s addicted to him—which is just crazy. She never gets serious with any guy, but after one night with Myles no other man will do. Now, she just needs him to cooperate. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>When an unknown enemy from Myles’ past begins hunting him, the hunter becomes the hunted. Myles will destroy anyone who dares threaten those he loves, but will Geneva become a casualty of his past? Or can Myles save her and begin a life he thought he never wanted?</b></span></div>
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Want to discover more about Sharon? Join Sharon's <a href="https://bit.ly/31Xsm36" target="_blank">MAIL LIST</a> or subscribe to her <a href="http://sharonccooper.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">BLOG</a>. And definitely follower her online:<br />
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<a href="http://sharoncooper.net/" target="_blank">Website</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSharonCCooper21?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook Fan Page</a></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/#!/Sharon_Cooper1" target="_blank">Twitter</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5823574.Sharon_C_Cooper" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/sharonccooper/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31152641.post-26998167313522325342020-05-05T09:00:00.000-04:002020-05-05T12:16:41.299-04:00AUTHOR ROOMS Welcomes VANESSA RILEY!<span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><br />
</span> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_CHq5CoKP8E/XrCeupTyrdI/AAAAAAAAak8/kSsvzQQSCpshxe_slI3tLlFG9AtbwlLVACEwYBhgL/s1600/VanessaRileyHeadB737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="737" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_CHq5CoKP8E/XrCeupTyrdI/AAAAAAAAak8/kSsvzQQSCpshxe_slI3tLlFG9AtbwlLVACEwYBhgL/s320/VanessaRileyHeadB737.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Let me preface this post by saying that I LOVE me some <a href="https://vanessariley.com/index.html" target="_blank">Vanessa Riley</a>! I also aspire to be as gracious and as kind as she is when I grow up. I am honored that she agreed to grace me with an interview. </span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Vanessa is a gentle soul with one of the purest, sincerest spirits. The author of the <b><i>Advertisements for Love</i></b> series, she’s also a formidable force in these literary streets, continually challenging the historical representation of people of color to insure that our stories are told boldly and accurately. I consider it a blessing to be able to call her a friend. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://vanessariley.com/index.html" target="_blank">Vanessa Riley</a> writes Regency and Historical Romances of dazzling multi-culture communities with powerful persons of color. Vanessa writes for historical romance readers who admire and acquire books that showcase women who find joy in sweeping kisses and strong sisterhoods. Even in the darkness, she promises to give you laughs and to show you how light always prevails and how love always, always wins.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Vanessa holds a doctorate in mechanical engineering and a master’s in industrial engineering and engineering management from Stanford University. She also earned BS and MS in mechanical engineering from Penn State University. She has been a radio anchorwoman and church announcer. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and President-Elect of The Beau Monde, a specialty RWA Chapter. She is also a member of Georgia Romance Writers, NINC, and Historical Novel Society. She is on the Board of Directors of Christian Book Lovers Retreat where readers escape for a weekend of fun, faith and connection to the author community.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0OyfadzC1gs/XrCjs6zxXVI/AAAAAAAAalU/HiFSu2JEkyMcrH_LXs19lFgHuYNKtADzgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_6164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0OyfadzC1gs/XrCjs6zxXVI/AAAAAAAAalU/HiFSu2JEkyMcrH_LXs19lFgHuYNKtADzgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_6164.jpg" width="240" /></span></a><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Vanessa juggles mothering a teen, cooking for her military-man husband, and speaking at women's and STEM events. She’s known for her love of romantic gestures, hidden histories, and humorous delivery of poignant truths. You can catch her writing from the comfort of her southern porch with a cup of Earl Grey tea.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Vanessa loves to write at night and research during the day. Her weekends are reserved for reading.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It is a joy to welcome her to my AUTHOR ROOMS segment. So, let’s get right to it!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">What is the first book that ever made you cry, Vanessa?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">That is a hard one to remember, but I think the first was The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The whole wrongful death scenario, the questioning of one’s worth and not figuring it out until it’s too late—that made me choke up. That was a struggle growing up in a broken home, finding one’s worth.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>What is your writing Kryptonite?</b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Historical paintings. I can spend hours looking at the images and imagining their stories. I always think that there are hidden messages contained in the images.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><b><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">How do you get past writer's block?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Reading a good book or watching “empty” TV shows where I don’t have to think too much truly helps. I also love shows that teach me something. I’m awed by American Pickers. Please come to my house and pay me hundreds of dollars for my junk!</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>If you could tell your younger writing self-anything, what would it be?</b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I would tell me to own my stories and my style of telling them. How author A does it is fine for Author A. My storytelling has to be true to me.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The fastest way to claim your place in the world is to be true to one’s self. There’s so much pressure trying to get you to conform, or to retell old stories or to write novels which wouldn’t be authentic for me to tell. I would tell me to value me.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msolistparagraph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><b><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">What does literary success look like to you?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Q7EdKIGeFo/XrCjtH0Gf-I/AAAAAAAAalM/9V2QqKJT__kCyGmF4qIguQKKpJIGc18NACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_0573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Q7EdKIGeFo/XrCjtH0Gf-I/AAAAAAAAalM/9V2QqKJT__kCyGmF4qIguQKKpJIGc18NACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_0573.JPG" width="240" /></span></a><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Success for me is drawing a core group of readers who love history or emotional women-centered tales. I think success is bravely building an authentic platform to tell stories that burn in your heart and soul.</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: ;">What is it about your writing space that motivates your writing?</b></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vja-6cFlNTY/XrCjsrVVw4I/AAAAAAAAalQ/5ELOTqt7zkEhCxXLpzQYMrZa7iNkq_yEwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_6468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vja-6cFlNTY/XrCjsrVVw4I/AAAAAAAAalQ/5ELOTqt7zkEhCxXLpzQYMrZa7iNkq_yEwCEwYBhgL/s200/IMG_6468.jpg" width="150" /></span></a><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>I love writing on my porch or deck. Both have great views of trees. Both are quiet with the right amount of sun. I can see my writing screen but not have to shade my eyes. They both have lovely tables to place a teapot and cup or a coffee mug. I need tea and Starbucks to write. I feel an inner peace writing in those spaces.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sqZe4Ch_KhA/XrCrz-DPiBI/AAAAAAAAalg/Yut9PWHJOxcby3xGxfeJiqUni8DrpC9NwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/51nWhlzHn%252BL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sqZe4Ch_KhA/XrCrz-DPiBI/AAAAAAAAalg/Yut9PWHJOxcby3xGxfeJiqUni8DrpC9NwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/51nWhlzHn%252BL.jpg" width="212" /></span></a><span style="background-color: ; color: purple;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Up next for Vanessa is her book </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07W4MRQZ6/" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" target="_blank">A DUKE, THE LADY, and A BABY</a><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">. It’s the first book in her Rogue and Remarkable Women series.</span></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Created by a shrewed countess, The Widow's Grace is a secret society with a mission: to help ill-treated widows regain their status, their families, and even find true love again--or perhaps for the first time...</span></b></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: purple;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When headstrong West Indian heiress Patience Jordan questioned her English husband's mysterious suicide, she lost everything: her newborn son, Lionel, her fortune--and her freedom. Falsely imprisoned, she risks her life to be near her child--until The Widow's Grace gets her hired as her son's nanny. But working for his unsuspecting new guardian, Busick Strathmore, Duke of Repington, has perils of its own. Especially when Patience discovers his military strictness belies an ex-rake of unswerving honor--and unexpected passion...</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A wounded military hero, Busick is determined to resolve his dead cousin's dangerous financial dealings for Lionel's sake. But his investigation is a minor skirmish compared to dealing with the forthright, courageous, and alluring Patience. Somehow, she's breaking his rules, and sweeping past his defenses. Soon, between formidable enemies and obstacles, they form a fragile trust--but will it be enough to save the future they long to date together.</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: darkmagenta; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>A DUKE, THE LADY, and A BABY</b> is available for pre-order at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07W4MRQZ6/" target="_blank">Amazon</a> and <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-duke-the-lady-and-a-baby-vanessa-riley/1132868185?ean=9781420152241" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>. </span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Recently, HarperCollins announced the acquisition of Vanessa’s book, ISLAND QUEEN for their William Morrow imprint to be released in the summer of 2021. ISLAND QUEEN is a historical fiction novel based on the compelling life of Dorothy “Doll” Kirwan Thomas who rose from slavery to become the wealthiest woman landowner in the early 1800’s Caribbean. A mistress to royalty, the future King William IV of England, Dorothy advocated for women's rights and successfully appealed the unfair taxation of free persons of color on the Island of Demerara. I love that Vanessa's future writings will shine a bright spotlight on stories the history books have frequently excluded.</span></div><div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="yiv3220902687msonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: ; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">If you love historical fiction or just want to give it a try, discover more about Vanessa, her upcoming releases and her phenomenal backlist. You won't be disappointed!<br />
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