FEATURED AUTHOR: Barbara Keaton

Barbara Keaton, a native of Chicago, who thinks its the best city in the world, also enjoys writing. Her first diary is dated December 1975! And since then, Barbara has written articles for Today's Black Woman Magazine, Chicago Reader, Chicago Crusader and most recently, True Confessions. In addition, Barbara is an accomplished romance author, having nine titles to her name. Barbara credits her late grandfather, Thomas Hill, and the Oblate Sisters of Providence for instilling in her a love and passion for the written word. Visit her on the Web at www.bkeaton.com.

One In A Million

When high-powered attorney Deena Walls walked into the police station searching for her client the last thing she expected was to feel the immediate heat brought on by Detective Charles Henry Harris. As they both work on a case that would not only test Deena's will and mettle, but how deep her attraction is to the handsome detective, they would have never guessed that theirs would be a relationship of searing passion and emotional healing.

What would you like your readers to take away from your book?

As with most of my romances, it is about lying down the sword of fear and embracing the possible! That love is possible. And even I have to remind myself of that.

What did you learn while writing this book?

That I really like writing romance with a twist of suspense. I'm now toying with trying my hand at a romantic suspense. Also, I really write better under some pressure.

What is the hardest part about the writing business?

Sustaining momentum! I have a job with some odd hours and there are nights I get off and I am just tired, even though I have a deadline looming. Also, I find it really hard when new authors come into the business and are so excited, then for a myriad of reasoning's they loose the enthusiasm, the love and passion for this business. I learned, the hard way (aren't these always the ones we remember?!), that the operative word is: BUSINESS. And its about the business of money - all else is a byproduct.

What one thing about writing do you wish other non-writers would understand?

It ain't as easy as you think it is. While I have a real passion for this business - for the written word - trying to come up with a believable story, something new and fresh is difficult for me. I want to create depth, while giving those who read my work what they expect: a good story with somewhat of a twist and my nutty brand of humor.

Our theme this month is THE BUSINESS OF WRITING. Most new writers don't know about the business side of writing, what advice can you offer on this important part of writing?

If I had to offer one it is: HIRE AN INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES ATTORNEY! I cannot stress this enough! While your cousin may be an attorney or your good friend is an attorney doesn't make them experts of Intellectual Properties and the contracts governing your work. An IP attorney, while he/she may be a little higher in cost per hour, it is so worth the money! I have two attorney's. One handles my general stuff (real estate, wills, etc.) while the other handles all of my literary contracts. I often joke that if I go to jail call my attorney, Carl Boyd! But for my contracts? Call none other than John Tellis, III! How's that for a shameless plug? But in all seriousness, an IP attorney will make sure that your interests and your intellectual property, are well represented.

What are three things you wish you'd known before you reached where you are now?

1) This is a business - never forget it!
2) How much I really like writing romance.
3) Major Commitment is required.

Was there ever a time in your writing career you thought of quitting?

Oh, my, God - YES!! But the thing that kept me going was my love for this whole business. There are aspects I don't like, but they don't overshadow the passion I have. And once I reconciled the negatives with the positives, which outweighed all of the bad, I haven't thought about quitting since. That was when I was writing Cupid, my fifth book.

Do you have any advice for the aspiring writer?

I'm a firm believer in having mentors and networking. I have been blessed to be among some of the best writers, the Godmothers of Black Romance if you will. My friend and mentor is Rochelle Alers; and then I'm also blessed to be able to reach out to other authors like Francis Ray, Donna Hill, Beverly Jenkins, Gwen Forester and my partners in crime: Dyanne Davis and Earl Sewell - they all root me on and never turn me away when I have questions, issues or just want to vent. So, when new writers approach me, I stop and give them as much of my time as I can spare; like new author Mia Moore - I've adopted her and she is such a sweetheart! To whom much is given, much is expected.

What is the best lesson you have learnt from another writer?

While this could be perceived as negative, I've learned to be more humble - I've watched some amazing things come from authors - out of their mouths. On the positive: never give up! Never let someone else define you and your work - its an extension of you.

Five questions about books:

One book you've read more than once:

None! I find it quite difficult to reread a book once I've read it.

One book you couldn't put down until you finished.



I'm a voracious reader - so that's not a fair question for me, but one book stands out: Devil's Gonna Get Him by Valerie Wilson Wesley! I love her Tamara Hale mysteries and just about anything by J. California Cooper.

One book that made you laugh.

From page one, Terry McMillan's "A Day Late & Dollar Short" - I was laughing throughout.

One book that made you cry.

Toni Morrison's "The Bluest Eye" - All that baby wanted in that book was to be loved like she'd seen her momma love the kids she cared for as a domestic. It's a really deep book.

One book you wish you'd written.

I've been reading a long time and have read thousands of books; but, if I have to choose one, I'll pick the classic: The Tale Tell Heart by Edgar Allen Poe - loved the story.

How can readers get in contact with you? (mail, email, website)

My snail mail is P.O. Box 438707, Chicago, IL, 60643. My email is BNewell572@aol.com and my website is http://bkeaton.com/. I love mail, so folks feel free to send me some!

DEBUT AUTHOR: Sharon Oliver

Sharon Oliver

Born in Baltimore, Maryland, the author is a former Systems Administrator for a federal government agency and a resident of the Atlanta, GA area. Currently working on her third novel, she is also a contributing writer for an online magazine based in South Carolina entitled, Light of the Lowcountry.







KEEP YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER is a humorous tale about folk in a fictional southern town who learn who learn how to deal with life’s interruptions and a pastor’s deceptions without falling apart or killing one another.

What would you like your readers to take away from your book?

Aside from whatever God wants to impart, I want the readers to feel less stressful about their own circumstances and know that life's storms are usually indictors of God's divine movement.

What did you learn while writing this book?

I learned that by the grace of God I could accomplish a feat that I had never dreamed of doing.

What is the hardest part about the writing business?

Sometimes overcoming writer’s block and finding an agent.

What one thing about writing do you wish other non-writers would understand?

Let’s see, I have two. Writing is time consuming and the time between finishing a work and actually seeing it on the shelf of a bookstore can span years. One can have an idea for a story to the point of typing 12,000 words for it. However, the average editor/publisher asks for anything from 65,000 to 100,000 words for a manuscript. Coming up with words may not be as easy as one might think.

Our theme this month is THE BUSINESS OF WRITING. Most new writers don’t know about the business side of writing, what advice can you offer on this important part of
writing?

Marketing and promoting are basically the writer’s responsibility so save your money. Never stop researching even after that 2nd or 3rd book is completed because this business is ever evolving and something new is constantly being added to the mix.

What are three things you wish you'd known before you reached where you are now?

1) The importance of seeking God when I was much younger

2) Just because a person is nice doesn’t necessarily mean they have integrity and

3) Recognizing the great impact of journaling and recording dreams/visions

Was there ever a time in your writing career you thought of quitting?

Yes, during my search for an agent/publisher.

Do you have any advice for the aspiring writer?

Again, never stop researching and network, network, network. I cannot fully express how valuable networking is. And of course, pray for the guidance and flow of creativity.

What is the best lesson you have learned from another writer?

Oh gosh, I’m still learning and there are so many lessons. If you can, get sound advice on what promotional/marketing ideas, companies, etc. are worth the money.

SHARON HAS DONATED A COPY OF HER BOOK TO A LUCKY READER. LEAVE A COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN.

PURPOSELY SAID - Dr. Linda F. Beed

MINDING YOUR BUSINESS

There are many among us who seek, and some may even say are compelled to operate in a fashion considered Business Unusual. Due to a necessity to operate in what may be considered an unorthodox manner, the extraordinary individual may be viewed as odd, lacking savvy and possibly devoid of possessing the intellect to compete with the movers and shakers.

Innovators, mavericks, pioneers, independent thinkers, i.e., those willing to buck the system are often viewed in a light shining at less than full wattage.

Opposition to their methods is openly ridiculed while established processes long ago enthroned as the only way is given as sound advice. Example after example of impending failure is presented as the reason why not to deviate from proven institutional methods.

Despite scenarios of gloom and warnings of impending failure, should you deviate from the norm, you are driven to discard what is given as sound advice. You are compelled to step beyond tradition into the abyss of the unknown.

Why?

Because you are who you are, different, unique, driven and an independent thinker.

As an independent, maverick, pioneer, the chosen, the uncertainty of what lies ahead as you color outside the lines will at times haunt you. Your path will be littered with a bevy of naysayers, will at times cause tentativeness and possibly self-doubt. At times the uncharted path will cause inability to see the light at the end of the tunnel in broad daylight.

Does the uncertainty of your expedition entitle you to throw out the baby with the bathwater? No, but it does maintain that you have the option of choice. Sadly, the decision to stray from traditional publishing is one hotly debated from a variety of viewpoints.

The majority of writers choose and swear by the validity of traditional publishing. That is a personal choice; so too is that of seeking self or independent publishing.

Regardless of your choice it is wise to understand the constants of what every business person must possess. Chief among them is the necessity of having a sound business plan.

Marketing plan? No, I said a business plan.

What is a business plan? The necessity of having to ask this elementary question to some will set off another level of debate regarding readiness for business. Yet for those in need of clarity here is the simple definition. A business plan is a written document that details a proposed or existing venture.

In practical terms for your current or anticipated business it explains the:

• Vision
• Mission
• Current status (if exiting business)
• Expected need of company
• Marketing plan

Often I quote and maintain that, “A person without a plan is person planning to fail.”

Having a plan and having a viable plan are what I classify as vision siblings. Both are birthed with the intent of success. And underdeveloped plan sees the desired result, but is not supported with (thought out) steps that nurtures the plan toward success. The viable plan moves ahead of its underdeveloped kinsman when it includes processes researched and applied (if only in mock sessions) to your company’s need. This does not by any means imply that every researched possibility will succeed. It does mean that you are eliminating as many unnecessary pitfalls as possible.

So what does all of this mean? It means that regardless of which avenue of publication you seek, YOU must have a viable business plan in place as your guide toward realizing your goal of success.

You can find her on the web at:

http://www.lindabeed.com/ / MySpace / On Assignment Reviews/R U Living On

FEATURED AUTHOR: Lisa Gabriele

Lisa Gabriele is a Canadian native currently residing in Toronto, and has also lived in New York and Washington, DC. Her experiences on both sides of the border provide a fresh, authentic voice. I am wondering if you have any plans to review the book or interest in speaking with the author. She is available to discuss the Canadian view of the “American Dream”, the challenges of writing from the perspective of a mother without being one herself, and the powerful bond of sisterhood that shapes her writing.

THE ALMOST ARCHER SISTERS

Georgia “Peachy” Archer Laliberte and her sister Beth, couldn’t be more different from each other. While Peachy has settled down on a farm in Canada with her husband and their two sons, Beth has established a glamorous life in New York City as a television star. Peachy doesn’t begrudge her sister’s success—she always makes time to act as Beth’s personal therapist and cheerleader. But after she is betrayed by her own sister Peachy skips town for Manhattan, leaving Beth to deal with family responsibilities while she tries on her sister’s extravagant lifestyle. Forced to live in each other’s shoes for a few days, the Archer sisters see each other in a new light, and come to a greater understanding of each other as they mend old wounds and repair their relationship.

What would you like your readers to take away from your book?

The Almost Archer Sisters is about choices women make; to stay in the small town or leave for the big city, to get married, to stay single, to have children, to delay motherhood or to walk away from it altogether—all choices facing Beth and Peachy. It’s also about forgiveness. I hope readers find some kind of connection with my characters as they negotiate these choices, thereby getting some clarity on their own. Or maybe I hope they find a respite; time spent pondering the fictional problems of the fabulous Archer sisters is less time spent stewing over real ones.

What did you learn while writing this book?

This book took a long time to write, perhaps because the first few drafts were written from Beth’s perspective, the single, screw-up who lives in New York. When I jumped ship and wrote the final draft entirely from Peachy’s perspective, I took a crash course in motherhood from my single-mom sister, and first reader. I loved being the “mom” narrator, and --forgive me real moms who wake up at 2, 3, 4 in the morning to clean up a baby’s sick-- but writers and mothers are not very different. While writing a book, a writer’s characters are never far from top of mind. We’re always thinking of them, worrying about them, wondering where they are, what they’re thinking, wearing, doing. Like a mother, a writer structures their day around the needs of the book, lovingly shaping the characters and stories, paying attention and respecting the book’s needs. But after a mother raises the kid and launches him or her into the world—the mother continues to fret, stew, worry, and fear. The writer does too, but, admittedly, about far less important things, such as an Amazon rank, or whether people will roll their eyes at the acknowledgements. So, I guess that’s where moms and writers differ.

What is the hardest part about the writing business?

Getting the attention you feel your book deserves—not for you but for your book. The dream of every writer is for their book to find its readers. Connecting is a natural human need. Writing is connecting and since most writers suck at connecting in normal ways, we try our best to chip away at any blocks standing between us and readers who might love our books. But it’s a monolithic, difficult job, removing those blocks—the hardest part of the business.

What’s one thing about writing you wish other non-writers would understand?

Carrying around an imaginary world and juggling made-up people and their fake concerns in your overstuffed head for months and years at a time, is not a normal way to live. Nor is it something you can force yourself to want to do. You are either bent in such a way that that seems like an appealing, if not necessary, way to spend free time, or it’s not. And if it’s not, good. If you are bent that way, then make getting that stuff out onto paper your number one priority for a few months. If you find that enjoyable, great. You’ve got yourself a beloved hobby at the very least. At the very most, it’s an entirely satisfying way to make a decent living.

Our theme this month is THE BUSINESS OF WRITING. Most new writers don’t know about the business side of writing, what advice can you offer on this important part of writing?

The business side of writing is changing dramatically, not unlike the music industry. So anything I say about that will probably be obsolete in a few days, so I’ll just say this: get an honest agent. My agent never tells me what I want to hear and she doesn’t raise my expectations. She works hard to get my books in the right hands and then she tells me the truth about what’ll happen next—usually, “I don’t know.”

But, seriously, my advice, don’t sweat the big advances. It sounds great to get a low-six-figure advance for your first book but if it doesn’t pay out (and chances are it won’t) publishing houses won’t be lining up to publish your next book or books. Think about your literary growth and longevity. Unless it’s in the HIGH six-figures. Then cash that check.

What are three things you wish you'd known before you reached where you are now?

1) Autobiographical writing is a dead end. Push yourself to inhabit the life of someone else, always.

2) You family won’t care that you’re a published author. You still have to visit your nana at the old age home. You still have to remember your niece’s birthday. You still don’t phone often enough.

3) Being a young (ish), single, female author doesn’t do as much for your love life as being a young (ish), single, male author.

Was there ever a time in your writing career you thought of quitting?

No. I mean, I’ve thought that I might be out of ideas, but I haven’t imagined quitting. Besides, few would care except my accountant, who would quietly clap under his desk.

Do you have any advice for the aspiring writer?

I’d rather get advice from an aspiring writer than give it—he or she could remind me, again, why I still do this.

What is the best lesson you have learnt from another writer?

Be totally and ridiculously enthusiastic about your own work.

Five questions about books:

One book you’ve read more than once.


Anagrams by Lorrie Moore. I’ve possibly read it five times in total and refer to it a few times a year.

One book you couldn’t put down until you finished.


Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. Thrilling, sad, funny, arch, and beautiful. Lost a whole weekend to it years ago.

Which book made you laugh:


Home Land by Sam Lipsyte, one of those books where if you don’t laugh, too, we may not hang out much.

Which book made you cry:


Ants on a Melon by Virginia Hamilton Adair. Her husband inexplicably committed suicide. These poems are about her bafflement and anger.

Which book do you wish you’d written.


A tie between Liar’s Club by Mary Carr and Don’t Let’s Go To The Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller. If you’re going to be a writer raised by epically self-centered, abusive, hilarious, eccentrically insane--but lovingly wise-- alcoholic parents, then producing these books should be your karmic reward. Those two or To Kill a Mockingbird---not because of its artistry and vision---but because Harper Lee felt sated, done at one book. And what a book!

Lisa can be reached through her website: http://www.lisagabriele.com/

I have Seen Him in the Watchfires - Cathy Gohlke

I have Seen Him in the Watchfires

By Cathy Gohlke

ISBN# 0-8024-8774-2

Publisher Moody Publishers

Genre Fiction/General/Historical

Copyright 2008

Published date 9/1/08

Where it can be purchased bookstores/Amazon

Website http://www.cathygohlke.com/Cathy_Gohlke_/Home.html

Prologue

Ma left us to go south and live with Grandfather Ashton a full year before the Confederacy fired on Fort Sumter. When President Lincoln called for 75,000 Union troops to squelch the rebellion, Pa telegraphed Ma that North Carolina wasn’t safe, that he was coming to get her, to bring her home to Maryland, to Laurelea. Ma shot back, “Ashland is my home. I’ll defend it with my last breath. I am proud of our men who will do the same on the battlefield. Do not come unless you come to enlist with them. I will not go with you.”
I wanted Ma to be proud of me, too—more than anything. And I was itching to fight, like every boy I knew, but not for the Confederacy.
I’d cast my lot with Pa and the Henrys, and with Mr. Heath, their employer, in running Laurelea as a station—a safe house, part of the Underground Railroad. I’d run escaped slaves north on the freedom train, beginning with Grandfather Ashton’s son, born of a slave woman—the boy he’d planned to sell. I’d buried my best friend, William Henry, who’d died protecting us all for the same cause.
I could not fight for states that bought and sold human beings. But with Ma and all her kin in the south, how could I carry a gun to her door?
Pa made me promise that whatever I decided, I’d stay at Laurelea to help Mr. Heath and the Henrys with the farm and the Underground Railroad, that I’d wait to enlist until I turned eighteen. “Then think long and hard,” he said, “before you agree to shoot one of your countrymen—or kin—between the eyes.”
It was a promise I sometimes regretted, but kept true, until the spring of 1864, until the day Emily’s letter came.


Late May, 1864
Chapter One

Our worst spring storm broke on the edge of midnight, a river thrown from the sky. By dawn the Laurel Run had overflowed its banks and was busy stripping the lower fields clean. I knew it even as I lay in my bed, listening to the downpour.
Maybe it was the wind and thunder, or maybe my mind so bent on worry for our new crop, but I never heard the parcel thrust inside the parlor door, never heard so much as a knock or footfall. When, at first light I found it, battered and beaten, bound by twine, I knew that the messenger had taken care to keep it dry. But the seal on Emily’s letter was broken, proof that somebody knew our business.
It wasn’t that violation that made the heat creep up my neck as I tore open the letter.
It was the first words Emily’d ever penned me: “Dearest Cousin Robert.” She’d written on Christmas Day—five long months before. Still, it was a miracle that it had come at all, the mail from the south being what it was.
“Yesterday,” she wrote, “I was visited by Lt. Col. Stuart Copeland, of the 11th North Carolina, lately a prisoner, exchanged from Fort Delaware, Pea Patch Island. Lt. Col. Copeland informed me that Papa—Col. Albert Mitchell—there, I’ve written his precious name—was chest wounded, and captured at the battle of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, 3rd July, along with his remaining men from the 26th North Carolina. He said that Papa, like so many prisoners at Fort Delaware, suffers gravely from smallpox.”
It was the first news she’d had of him in over a year, and she was desperate to know if he lived . . . “I beg you, by all the love of family we have ever known, to forget the estrangement of this maddening war and do all you can for Papa.”
I raked my fingers through my hair. It was a hard request. I’d turn the world over for Emily, if given the chance, but Cousin Albert was another matter. I figured him to be the reason, or a good part of the reason Ma never came home.
“Gladly would I go myself,” she wrote, “but the railroads are a shambles, and Uncle Marcus is not well. I do not know if he will see the spring.” I couldn’t imagine Ashland without Grandfather, or Ma without him—and why was all this left to Emily’s care? She was no older than me. I took up the letter again.
“I would send Alex, but Papa sent him to school in England for the duration of the war, and we have heard nothing from him in two years. The blockades prevent all such communication.”
I felt my jaw tighten, remembering Emily’s younger brother. Alex’s first priority was always Alex. I couldn’t imagine him risking life and limb to help anyone, his father included, if it meant he’d inherit Mitchell House, and possibly Ashland, sooner. That was his life’s goal, even before his voice began to squeak.
“As you can imagine, this horrible war has taken its toll on us all, especially your dear mother. I promise that Cousin Caroline will want for nothing that I can provide in this life as long as I live and am able to care for her. If there is any way you or Cousin Charles can come to her aid, I urge you to do so. But I beg you to see about Papa first.”
My heart raced to think of going to Emily, and to Ma, that they might need me, might want me. It was the first news I’d heard of Ma in months. I tried to conjure their faces, but they wouldn’t come. I remembered that Emily was a younger, darker version of Ma, that Ma’s eyes were blue, and Emily’s brown. But four long years had passed since Ma’d left, longer still since I’d seen Emily, and there was not so much as a tintype to remind me. I forced myself back to the letter.
“With this letter I enclose a parcel of comforts for Papa. I have no hope that they would reach him if I sent them directly to the prison. We have heard such stories of the prison guards. . . ”
I set the letter on the parlor table and counted the days since the battle of Gettysburg. After ten months, stuck in a Union prison—chest wounded, and with small pox—I couldn’t hope that Cousin Albert lived. But for Emily’s sake, and for all she’d done and bound herself to do for Ma, I vowed to heed her plea, to go and see, and do my best by him.

Mismatched - Laura Major

Mismatched
By Laura Major

Arriving home from the jog, Tessa jumped into the shower to refresh herself. After enjoying a long shower, she pulled back the shower curtain and reached for the towel hanging behind the door. She was drying off her body, when the phone rang. What is this? Groundhog’s Day? Tessa thought. She stepped from the shower and walked through the bedroom, wrapping the towel around her as she went.
“Hello?” Tessa answered on the fourth ring.
“What are you doing?”
“Hi, Mom. I was just getting out of the shower, why?”
“Oh, it is Sunday, isn’t it? I see you still think gallivanting with your friends is still more important than supporting your relationship with the Creator?”
“You know I was jogging, not gallivanting. Besides, I was appreciating the Creator by communing with nature.” Even Tessa, standing in the center of her bedroom, was impressed with that quick retort.
“We’ll see how witty you are on Judgment Day.”
“Despite knowing how much you love to lecture me, I had planned to call you when I finished freshening up.”
“What could possibly entice you to bestow a little unprovoked attention on your mother?”
“You first. Why did you call?” Tessa asked ignoring the sarcasm. Preparing for the reply, she sat on the edge of her bed.
“I was checking on when you’d be by to finish helping with the rummage sale preparations.”
“I won’t be able to make it, something—”
“What? I should have known.”
“-something came up, but I’ll be there next weekend. However, I did arrange for Cara to come by today. That’s why I was planning to call you, so you’d know to expect her.”
“You know what they say about idle intentions. As usual, you’re too late. Cara’s already here.”
“So you’ve got your help then. Now, Cara’s not your daughter. You can’t badger and ridicule her. Be nice.”
“I am the perfect hostess. Besides, she’s been around long enough. I don’t have to give her any special treatment.”
“Well, I’ve got to go, Mom.”
“Fine. See you next weekend.”
Tessa hung up the phone knowing she wouldn’t hear the end of it from Cara next Sunday. She went back to preparing for her date. Once the process was complete, Tessa emerged from the bedroom refreshed and ready to enjoy the midday blind date. She entered the living room carrying white anklet socks in one hand and a pair of white oxford tennis shoes in the other. She wore a khaki mini skort and a sleeveless red polo shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a long wavy ponytail and her makeup was natural. Unsure of what to expect and no idea of where she was meeting this new bachelor, Tessa grabbed her backpack purse and exited the apartment, locking the door behind her. Walking down the hall, she knocked on Justin’s front door before using his spare key to let herself in. She opened the door when she saw a white blur whiz across her field of vision and disappear into the bedroom.
“Oops, sorry,” Tessa called out.
“Yeah, right. Don’t you mean, ‘Sorry I didn’t barge in sooner’?” Justin hollered back from the bedroom.
“Exactly, next time I’ll know better.”
“I should have known this was coming after I walked in on you last week.”
“You’re running late. Don’t we need to get going?” Tessa called out before she made herself comfortable on the sofa.
“I’ll give you the address. This isn’t a double date, remember?”
“Yeah, but you haven’t told me who I’m meeting and where.”
“Wait until you get there. He knows what you look like, so he’ll approach you.”
“You’ve been real secretive lately, and I don’t like it.” Tessa picked up the remote and aimlessly began to surf the channels.
“Come on it will be fun.” Justin walked out of the bedroom wearing blue jeans and a navy t-shirt.
“You’re wearing that?” Tessa asked suddenly feeling a little overdressed.
“What is that you’re wearing, a miniskirt?”
“It’s a skort. Should I change?”
“No. You look athletic. That’ll work, but I hope you’re good at staying on your feet. I’d hate to see you scrape up those pretty legs of yours,” Justin said with a smirk.
“Looking athletic is one thing, but being athletic is something else entirely. You better tell me what we’re doing.”
“Not a chance,” Justin replied heading to the kitchen counter. He wrote something on a piece of scratch paper. “Here’s the address. You better get going. Leila should be here any minute. Then we’ll head over after you.”
Tessa stood and took the piece of paper from Justin’s hand. Reviewing it, she recognized the street but couldn’t think of what would be there that was worthy of a first date. She left the apartment and drove to the address on the scratch paper. Upon arriving, she couldn’t believe where Justin’s note had directed her. Pulling into the parking lot, Tessa parked and began sifting through her purse in search of her cell phone. She found it, dialed and waited for an answer.
“Hello, Tessa. Are you there already? Leila just arrived and we’re heading to my car now.”
“Justin! Why are we meeting at a roller rink?”
“Come on, Tess. It’ll be fun.”
“I haven’t skated since we were kids.”
“Yeah, those were some great times.”
“Let’s focus, Justin. Smelly rental skates and cheap food isn’t my idea of fun. This is worse than the burlesque show. You’re doing this on purpose.” Tessa slapped the steering wheel for emphasis even though no one could see her.
“You need to lighten up. You’re thirty-one, not fifty-one. Now get in there and find your date.”
“I don’t know what he looks like, remember?”
“I already told you I selected him from your list of favorites. Besides, as I’ve said before, he knows what you look like. Now, go.”
Before Tessa could respond, the conversation was over with a click. She stepped out of the car and into the humid sunlight that only a Jersey Spring could provide. With a thumb on the remote, Tessa locked her car and headed to the rink’s entrance. Once inside, she ordered her rental skates and handed the attendant her debit card.
Looking at the card and back at Tessa he began, “You’re Tessa Dennison?”
“Yes, why?”
“Well, your admission and skate rental have already been paid for,” the attendant replied and handed back her card. “Also, here’s a gift card for the snack bar, because that’s already taken care of too.”
Tessa didn’t understand. “How can this be?”
“It’s included in the party package. Someone in your party arranged it. It was kind of weird, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“How’s that?” Tessa was very intrigued now.
“Well, the guy who arranged it paid for two parties, each one to accommodate only two people. Why not make it a party of four?”
Tessa couldn’t help but smile when she replied. “Well, it’s not your average party. Thanks for the info.” Tessa grabbed her skates off the counter and walked away completely amazed at Justin’s ability to address every detail.
Sitting on a bench near the rink, Tessa unlaced her tennies and slipped them off. Bent over to unlace the skates and slip her feet into them, she noticed a pair of skates approaching her.
“Tessa?”
Looking up, Tessa replied, “Yes, that’s me. You must be Niceguy73.” Tessa was relieved that she recognized him from her favorites list. Niceguy73 was just as he had described himself in his online profile, but his picture didn’t begin to capture his handsome charm. He was at least six-foot-two with a shiny cocoa brown head and hazel eyes. Aside from that beautiful baldhead, Tessa couldn’t overlook those bulging muscles that stretched the seams of his gray khaki slacks and black polo shirt to their limit.
“Please call me John. Can I help you up?” Before she could reply, John grabbed her by the elbow and raised her to her feet.
“Whoa, I haven’t finished tying my laces.” No sooner had Tessa finished her sentence than she felt her feet slip out from under her. John tried to regain grip of her arm. She began flailing her arms in a wild circular motion when her right skate jerked into John’s ankle, causing them both to collapse to the floor. Tessa held her breath. She had narrowly missed hitting her head on the bench.
With legs intertwined, John looked over at Tessa. “Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way.”
“Be prepared. I’m sure there’s more where that came from. Are you okay?” Tessa asked, reaching over to tie her laces.
“Yeah, but if you don’t mind, I’ll let you get up on your own,” John replied while he rubbed his ankle.
John managed to rise to his feet first. Using the bench to brace herself, she looked up to notice Justin grinning down at her from the glassed-in skybox lounge. Tapping John on the shoulder, Tessa pointed at the skybox. “That wasn’t there when I came here as a kid. What’s up there?”
“That’s the snack lounge. They added it when this place went through major renovations a few years back. There’s a pool table up there to occupy those who’d rather rack up balls, instead of bruises.”
“Well, depending on how I do out there, we may need to retire to the skybox to nurse our contusions over a drink,” Tessa teased and motioned toward the rink.
Tessa and John slowly shuffled toward the lockers to put away her shoes and other belongings. Putting the locker key in the pocket of her skort, Tessa smiled at John who was watching her every movement.
“So are you ready to brave the rink? Or would you rather warm up on the carpet?”
“Let’s go for it.” Tessa felt a burst of spontaneity.
“Ooh, I like a lady who’s willing to take risks. Let’s go.” John grabbed her arm before she could change her mind and headed toward the rink. Justin did it again, Tessa thought when she recognized the retro eighties music that played overhead. It was amazing how enjoyable this date was turning out to be despite its kiddy appeal. She chuckled to herself while watching skaters of all ages, sizes, and skill levels glide across the smooth floor. When Tessa and John neared the rink’s edge, John gave her one last smile before he pulled her in front allowing her to precede him. Feeling a little apprehensive, Tessa slowly stepped onto the rink floor. Obviously, anxious to get out there, John stepped onto the floor behind her, giving her a little push as he grabbed hold of her waist. They began to skate around the circular rink. Feeling that Tessa was comfortable, John let go and grabbed her hand.
“So you like risk, eh?” Tessa asked while keeping her eyes in front of her.
“In my line of work, it comes with the territory.”
“What line of work is that?”
“I’m in emergency response.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I train different government personnel on how to respond to different emergencies.”
“You mean terrorism?”
“That’s one example, yes.”
“That’s pretty impressive. That explains the build.”
“Yes. I have to be ready for anything.”
After several laps, Tessa found herself torn. John was really interesting and good-looking. He encompassed a rare balance of brawn and intelligence. Daniel, on the other hand, possessed razor-sharp ambition, and he also was easy on the eyes. Justin may have started out a little weak in this matchmaking game, but he was right. He was definitely getting the hang of it.
“Hey, where were you just now?” John gently tugged her hand to bring her back to reality.
“Just thinking how nice this date is turning out to be.”
“After three weeks of e-mails through the dating site, are you really surprised?”
This having been the first time that Tessa had ever talked to John, she knew she would have to think fast to keep her secret.
“Not that I’m a serial online dater, but I’ve been at it long enough to know that not everyone is how they present themselves.”
“The same holds true for some in the real world, too.” John smiled at her and continued. “During our e-mail exchange, I was thinking that you might be too good to be true. But if you don’t mind me saying so this soon, you are even better than I imagined.”
“I don’t know what to say.” In actuality, it was too soon, but Tessa knew that John was working from a level of intimacy different from her own. She found it interesting that Justin could win this stranger over by impersonating her. It gave her insight into how he perceived her and what attributes she possessed that Justin thought others would find attractive.
“You don’t have to say anything. Do you want to check out the snack bar?”
Grateful that John wasn’t pushing for a response to his declaration, Tessa jumped at the chance to change the subject. “I’d love to. Let’s go.”
John let Tessa lead him off the floor, when she stopped suddenly and turned to him. “We should probably put on our street shoes.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine trying to climb the stairs of the snack bar in these things.”
After making it back from the lockers with their street shoes in place, Tessa and John arrived at the skybox snack bar. Inside the bar, the walls were decorated terra cotta, and paprika red with black trim. The east and west walls were painted red while the south wall behind the bar itself was the color of terra cotta.
Standing in front of the menu billboard hanging just over the bar, the couple surveyed the options in silence.
“Have you decided what you want?” John asked while reaching into his back pocket.
“Yes, but why don’t you tell me what you want and I’ll order while you grab us a table?” Not wanting to explain why the snack bar was complimentary, Tessa hoped John would agree to her suggestion.
“Okay, sure. Here’s some cash.” John handed her two twenties from his black leather billfold after giving her his order.
“That’s not necessary,” Tessa said pushing the money away.
“Please, I’m a gentleman. Take it.”
Tessa knew it wasn’t worth an argument.
John left her with his money and headed to the lounge area in search of an empty table. Tessa turned her attention back to the snack bar and found her place at the end of the line. Waiting behind a mother who couldn’t decide on the most nutritious snack for her kids, Tessa sensed someone approaching on her right.
“How’s it going?”
“It’s going well, despite your attempt to sabotage this date.” Tessa knew Justin couldn’t resist interrupting to check his handiwork.
“What are you talking about? Roller skating is a creative first date.”
“Yeah, if we were twelve.”
Before Justin could reply, the mother finally made her selection and began looking in her purse to pay the tab.
“You’d better order. You don’t want to keep Bigfoot waiting.”
“Ha,ha,ha. Just remember, you selected him from my favorites. I didn’t know you had such great taste in men.”
“You didn’t leave me much to work with honey.” Justin smiled and turned on his heel, heading back from where he came.
Once the mother parted with her money and stepped to the side, allowing Tessa room to walk up to the bar.
After paying for and retrieving her order from the pickup counter, she turned around to search the lounge area for John. She spotted him waving at her. He sat only a few tables away from where Leila and Justin appeared to be playing pool. Had he witnessed her exchange with Justin?
“Was that guy bothering you?” John asked when Tessa arrived at the table.
“Why? Would you beat him up for me?” Tessa teased.
“That depends. What would you do for me?”
“Hey! Since when does a lady have to repay her suitor for defending her honor?”
“Sorry, hon, that extreme form of chivalry has gone the way of the corset.”
“Since when?” Tessa wasn’t sure he was teasing anymore. To avoid meeting his eyes in wait for his reply, Tessa sat the tray down on the table.
“Well, when you fight for equal pay, the right to choose, and burn your bras, you can’t expect men to still throw their coats over puddles so you can avoid getting your feet wet.”
Tessa, stunned for a moment, began to eat her hamburger in silence. Then a smile emerged as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Care to play a little pool?”


***

“I can’t believe how long this week has been, and it’s only Wednesday.”
“The office hunt has really gotten to you hasn’t it?”
“You have no idea, Geoff. It’s not the hunt, but my hunting companion.” Justin whispered with his back turned to his computer.
“You shouldn’t let him get to you.”
“I know. I talked to Chambers about his attitude at the first site. But he just told me to deal with it since it’s only temporary.”
“That’s the version of his advice that’s appropriate for corporate consumption. In other words, stop your whining. Now tell me about last Sunday’s date?”
“Well, it was definitely entertaining.”
“Okay, I’ll bite, but it better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good. You know the skating rink in Edison?”
“You planned a skating date? How cute. I always thought you were a little light on testosterone.”
Ignoring Geoff’s dig, Justin continued. “I had Tessa meet her mystery date at the rink on her own. I didn’t tell her who the date was, so she arrived there totally blind.”
“So how did she know him when he arrived?”
“He was from her favorites list. Besides, he would recognize her from the picture she posted on her profile. But that’s not the important part.”
“You know I have to understand the logistics. But don’t mind me, go ahead and continue.”
“Anyway, all of the date expenses were prepaid including the skate rentals and snack bar costs.”
“Wow, you thought of everything.”
“I don’t know if you’ve been to this skating rink since the renovation, but the snack bar is actually upstairs. It’s constructed like a skybox lounge with pool tables for patrons who have no interest in skating and windows to watch the action below. They even have roller hockey tournaments.”
“What the hell? You made that up.”
“I didn’t, but the new owner did.”
“What the hell is it?”
“Think of roller derby with sticks and a puck, ice hockey without the ice, or better yet, indoor street hockey.”
“Dude, we’ll totally have to check that out. Can anyone play?”
“I think you have to join the league, you know like bowling? But again, we haven’t reached the climax.”
“Well, get there faster.”
“I’m getting there. I’m getting there. When Leila and I arrived—”
“Ha ha ha, maybe you’ll get over princess yet.”
“Please, she’s just a diversion.”
“A sexy diversion.”
“Anyway, Leila and I stayed in the skybox snack bar playing pool. We played right near the window.”
“So you could keep tabs on the date taking place below. Genius!”
“Exactly. It was like watching a reality TV show. I had a skybox view of this guy following Tessa around like a horny puppy dog.”
“Now you know how I feel watching you and Tessa all these years.” Geoff laughed.
“Screw you, I’m nothing like that. Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”
“The truth stings, doesn’t it? But please go on.”
Justin was getting annoyed but everyone needs that friend who won’t hold back. Geoff, in his own crude way, was that friend. “Like I was saying, I had the perfect view. It almost made up for the fact that Leila was kicking my ass. Why didn’t you warn me she was a pool hustler?”
“Leila is full of surprises. I thought it best you discover them on your own.”
“Yeah, I’m finding out all right.”
“So did Tessa and this guy actually hit the rink?”
“Oh yeah, but not before crashing to the carpet in a limb-entangled heap.”
“With all the touching and body movements that go on in skating, it’s just like the bumping and grinding of dancing when sexual attraction is high. Are you sure this was a good idea?”
“Hey, Tess is no athlete and they were too embarrassed after that collision. It may not have stopped the attraction but it escalated like a trickling stream, not a raging river. Besides I spent a couple of weeks getting to know this guy.”
“I hope you’re right, for your sake.”
“Stop interrupting and you’ll see.”
“I’m listening, keep going.”
“They skate through several selections of her favorite ’80s music, and then suddenly they exit the rink, heading to the lockers.”
“Ooh, I bet you were worried that they hit it off too well.”
“Yeah, until I saw them switch into their street shoes and head toward the stairs that lead to the skybox snack bar. They had a little exchange in line at the snack bar and then he left her side after giving her some cash.”
“He didn’t know it was prepaid?”
“No, I guess he didn’t, and apparently, Tessa didn’t tell him. So I left Leila briefly to check on the progress.”
“I hope you filled Leila in on your role in this caper. Otherwise, she might be very curious to know why the two of you weren’t hanging out with Tessa and her date.”
“I told her all she needed to know.”
“Ha, you’re not as pure as you’d like people to think. I like this side of you.”
“Why, because it makes you feel better about your own lack of integrity?”
“Of course, I don’t deny it. So, how did Tessa take you checking up on her?”
Justin looked around the office to be sure he was still alone. “She assured me that things were going well. So, I went back to Leila, while keeping an eye on the events that followed.”
“You mean Mr. Wonderful would show his true colors this early? What an amateur.”
“You got it. Of course, I knew it was coming. I knew he couldn’t help himself. I never developed the art of reading lips, but I could see that he talked himself right out of Tessa’s feminine good graces.”
“You could tell that just from watching them out of earshot?”
“I admit it was just a sneaking suspicion, but it was confirmed when Tessa broke my cover.”
“She what?”
“One moment they’re sitting at a table eating a late lunch, then Tessa gets up and leads him to Leila and me.”
“Did she pretend you were strangers?”
“No, she introduced us. When his eyes popped out of his head, Tessa elbowed him in the ribs and said, ‘You don’t honestly think I would meet a stranger from the Internet without bringing along a little insurance, do you?’ I tell you, it was real smooth how she turned the tables like that. Then she turned to me and said, ‘Justin, you and Leila don’t mind if we crash your game, do you?’ She leaned forward and squeezed my arm while she asked the question, and in that moment, I knew that meat head had a lesson coming his way.” Justin laughed as he replayed the event in his mind’s eye.
“No kidding, that guy didn’t know what he was in for. But how bad could a date get in fifteen minutes? Tessa should know by now you can’t crush a guy’s ego on the first day. No wonder her love life sucks.”
“Dude, you totally missed the signal. That was her whole plan.”
“Man, I don’t profess to understand that weird codependent language you two share.”
“Whatever. My point is this, what does our little Tessa hate more than anything when it comes to men?”
“Pigs.”
“Yes, but not just any pig, but a male chauvinist pig in particular.”
“Oh boy, it’s humiliation time.”
“That’s right, my man. Most women would go into a long tirade about how much better women are than men and how men would never treat their mothers like second class citizens, but not Tessa, no. Tessa, who believes that action stings far more than any words she could hurl, would rather humiliate him on his own playing field.”
“Yeah, the poor bastard, how bad did he lose?”
“Oh, I lost count after he was in the hole for two hundred dollars.”
“Aw shit, man, she had him by the ’nads.”
“Yeah, it was a blast. He hardly had the chance to shoot. One of the numerous times Tessa stood next to me eyeing her next move while she chalked her cue, she mumbled, ‘Oh, he wanted to pay for everything. Well, he’s certainly paying now.’ Leila couldn’t hold back the laughter that time. So am I right, was that good or what?”
“Dude, you took the scenic route, but it was well worth it.”

FEATURED AUTHOR: Dara Girard

Dara Girard is an award-winning author of novels that feature strong heroines, family dramas and romance. Her writing has been praised for its deft plot twists, witty dialogue and humor.

In July 2008, Power Play was released. This is the first in her miniseries The Black Stockings Society about four women, one club and a secret that will make their fantasies come true. Her latest release in the series is A Gentleman’s Offer, October 2008.

Dara is also the author of an award-winning non-fiction book for writers, The Writer Behind the Words (Ilori Press, 2007). Dara lives in Maryland.



A Gentleman’s Offer

Dog groomer Yvette Coulier dreams of living the life of the wealthy clients she services. When she gets a mysterious invitation from the Black Stockings Society and receives a pair of sexy sheer stockings, she wears them to work the next day and catches the eye of Nate Blackwell…

Nate, eager to leave the spotlight, sees this sexy siren and makes her a deal: he’ll introduce her to the rich she longs to rub shoulders with if she lets him pose as her valet. But soon these two have to find the courage to stop pretending and be real.

What would you like your readers to take away from your book?

A Gentleman’s Offer is the second book in my Black Stockings Society Series about four women, one club and a secret that will make all their fantasies come true. When I write, my main intention is to entertain. From this story, I hope readers take away that if you’re willing to take the risk to go after what you want, wonderful things can happen.

What did you learn while writing this book?

I learned the history of hosiery. We have to thank Englishman Reverend William Lee for creating the stocking industry in 1589 by inventing the knitting machine. Although there is evidence that stockings date back to 280BC they were hand knitted and his invention not only allowed an industry to bloom but expanded the types of stockings to cotton, wool and silk. The queen was so protective of Lee’s creation that death was the punishment to anyone who tried to smuggle it out of the country.

I decided to select stockings as a theme for the series because they are an ultimate feminine item that is sexy and powerful at the same time.

What is the hardest part about the writing business?

Keeping sane. Really. It’s a crazy business and there’s a reason the industry is known for having alcoholics, crazies, divorces, alienation, jealousies and suicides. Fortunately I’ve never faced any of these misfortunes, but for those who like a well-ordered life stay away from the writing business. There’s no regular paycheck and there are a lot of ups and downs. But to put it plainly, the hardest part about the writing business for me is maintaining the balance between being a creative person and a business person.

Authors have to wear two hats. On the one hand, as a writer, you write the story alone and it’s all about creativity; however, once the manuscript is completed you’re thrust out of your solitude into the crowd. You have to deal with many other people-- your agent, editor, publisher, publicist, sales team, booksellers, readers, etc…

Successful, healthy authors learn how to maintain this balance. You have to prioritize what you want from your career and what you’re willing to sacrifice. It’s a personal choice.

What one thing about writing do you wish other non-writers would understand?

It’s funny you should say that because I rarely meet non-writers. Eighty percent of the population wants to write a book and/or be published. What would I tell them and the few non-writers out there? That writing is a passion and ideas aren’t books. Ideas are worth about a penny because everyone has them. It’s not about a one sentence idea or even a page. It’s how you write the story that counts. How you turn that idea into a 300 page novel that people want to pay for. That’s impressive and that’s what writers do.

Our theme this month is THE BUSINESS OF WRITING. Most new writers don’t know about the business side of writing, what advice can you offer on this important part of writing?

I wrote my book The Writer Behind the Words: Steps to Success in the Writing Life specifically to answer that question. Aspiring authors need to know that they are entrepreneurs with a product (a manuscript) to sell to a buyer (publisher). They may decide to hire a middle man (an agent) or go directly to the buyer. Therefore they need to do their homework and find out how their product can benefit the publisher/editor or agent. How does their product make an editor or agent’s job easier? For example is their manuscript free of errors? Well formatted? What the publisher or agent is looking for?

People who succeed in any business tend to be problem-solvers. They don’t point out obstacles they create solutions. Be the problem-solver. Start a new trend if you don’t like what’s out there; add a new spin to a dying market. Publishers need books that will make them money. Be the author who can do that. Give them books that they can market and sell.

If you don’t care about making money then you’re free to write whatever you want and self-publish. You’ll save yourself a lot of heartache and rejection, plus it’s an honorable tradition.

What are three things you wish you’d known before you reached where you are now?

I rarely look back. I sent out my first manuscript when I was twelve (I know it sounds crazy, but I was very ambitious) and didn’t get a contract until thirteen years later. I’ve made mistakes, but they made me wiser so I don’t regret them.

Too many aspiring authors know too much about the industry and don’t want to make any mistakes so they don’t take risks. But if they follow all the rules they can’t uncover new worlds or go in fascinating new directions. Many manuscripts are well-written, but they’re flat, without passion because the author is too worried about outside influences (what their critique group thinks, what their grandmother will say). Trust your instincts and if you fall down, get up and write about it. Every experience is a chance to grow.

Was there ever a time in your writing career you thought of quitting?

I’ve never wanted to quit writing, but I’ve often wanted to quit publishing (especially during that thirteen year stretch before I got a Yes). Publishing can have its hassles--the rejections, the revisions, the publicity etc… but I love what I do and can’t imagine doing anything else. Fortunately, I have a support system that helps me keep my sanity in this crazy industry. I tell aspiring authors to make sure they have someone who truly believes in them when they can’t believe in themselves. If that person isn’t around, then have one good enemy. I would suggest they read Holly Lisle’s excellent article “One Good Enemy” where she shares how an enemy led her to writing success.

Do you have any advice for the aspiring writer?

Buy The Writer Behind the Words or get it from the library. I put a lot of personal information into this book with the sole intention of providing constructive advice and tips for aspiring writers. But, if they don’t want to buy the book, they can go to my website where I have several articles posted. My one advice is to stop the excuses and keep writing no matter what. You’re not going to live forever so go after what you want now.

What is the best lesson you have learnt from another writer?

I learned that you have to have a life beyond writing and never confuse your work with your self worth. I knew a writer whose entire life was focused on her career—how well her books were doing, her reviewers, her competitors, her covers--and she focused on this at the expense of her marriage, her health, her friends and life in general. She’s no longer writing because she crashed and burned. Because I started early, I know that I can only write the best books I can and once it leaves me I let it go because I can’t control the rest. My writing career is what I do, not who I am.

Five questions about books:

One book you’ve read more than once.

Only one? That’s a painful question to ask a reader like me. Hmmm…Tim by Colleen McCullough
One book you couldn’t put down until you finished.

Again only one? The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas

One book that made you laugh.

Anyone but You by Jennifer Crusie

One book that made you cry.

I don't read books that make me cry, plus I'm not much of a crier.

One book you wish you'd written.

None. I'm an avid reader and take off my writing hat when I read. So I read with pleasure and no envy for another author's gift.

How can readers get in contact with you?

They can reach me by snail mail at: PO Box 10345, Silver Spring, MD 20914,
email: contactdara (at) daragirard.com or sign up for my newsletter by visiting my website: http://www.daragirard.com/.

DARA HAS DONATED A COPY OF HER BOOK TO A LUCKY READER. LEAVE A COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN.

FEATURED AUTHOR: Pat Simmons

Talk to Me

by Pat Simmons

Christian Fiction
Urban Books
ISBN-10: 1601629729

Noel Richardson is perfect, but genes don't define a man. The CEO of a St. Louis non-profit organization, Noel is deaf as a result of a fire works explosion. He's captivated by Interpreter Mackenzie Norton's graceful hands. Plus, Mackenzie's exquisite, a steadfast believer, and head strong, but a misinterpretation separates them.

PROLOGUE

On Thanksgiving Day, at nine-thirty in the morning, I fell in love. It was swift and irrevocable. In other words, I lost my common sense. Without warning or fanfare, I succumbed to Mackenzie Norton’s allure. Love is such a strange emotion—never enough time to savor all the sweet moments. It’s hindsight now that I’ve lost her.

Sometimes the memories taunt me, other times they provide comfort. When my eyes close, Mackenzie appears. Her brown eyes twinkled, causing a sexy glow to spread across her face. Her hypnotic trance released strong vibes that were undeniable. She was such a puzzle, allowing me the pleasure of seeing how her pieces fit together. Inside the church walls, she was sober. With me, her mischievous antics would issue challenges.

Mackenzie. The way she commanded her body possessed my senses. Thank you, God, for my eyes to see. With deliberate movements, Mackenzie’s hands beckoned to me, sprinkling magic along the way. Long, slender arms danced with the grace of a swan.

For the initial five seconds I laid eyes on her, I dismissed her until she demanded my attention without trying. A gentle spirit tempered her powerful personality. Yes, Mackenzie’s magnetism was undeniable. She became my teacher and I, her willing student. I chuckle at the memories.

Mackenzie had the most enchanting smile. Ah! Did I mention her lips? They were my worst distraction and her best asset—shapely and full, in a natural pout. They moved like a musician manipulating his instruments. Have I mentioned she was a feisty, five-foot four-inch beauty who was committed to her convictions?

Glistening skin reminded me of wet brown sugar—my attraction. A head of messy curls was her crowning glory. On any other woman, the look would’ve been scary, but it was Mackenzie’s trademark—stylish, sassy, and sexy.

During our quiet time, we mouthed promises to each other. We honored each word with sincerity and care, vowing not to break one. It happened anyway. Mackenzie was to blame, or maybe I was.

One evening we savored the quietness. We were being silly as we watched the sunset at a deserted playground. I spoke aloud a wish as I pushed Mackenzie on a swing. “I miss dancing. The final song I heard was Donna Summers’ “Last Dance.” How prophetic. More than anything I wish we could dance the night away,” I had told her.

Mackenzie dug her heels into the ground, halting the swing. Turning around, she finger-kissed the sadness, disappointment, and pain from my eyes. “I promise, Noel, one day, we’ll dance.” I didn’t hear her, but I knew she was sharing a secret when she always touched me. Now our chance will never come. I hate broken promises.
It had nothing to do with me being one of twenty-eight million Deaf Americans. It wasn’t from birth. I was almost sixteen years-old when the doctors delivered the tragic news to my parents that I had lost my hearing. They were in shock. My mother cried, knowing my family lacked the skills to communicate with me. I’m lucky—no, I’m blessed—to be alive, unlike my childhood buddy, Keith Morrow, who died in the freak explosion near a fireworks plant. He was an only child.

Anyway, I grew accustomed to interpreters signing at events, but it was Mackenzie’s contagious enthusiasm that sucked me into a storm, whirling me into the eye of the hurricane. Never had I witnessed an interpreter wrapped up in so much pleasure and total involvement in communicating what was happening around me. Not only did I see and feel; Mackenzie made me believe I could hear the choir’s rendition of “My Life is in Your Hands,” a Kirk Franklin song I had never heard.

My heart jumped at a thunderous rumble inflicted by Mackenzie’s imaginary wooden drumsticks, pounding invisible drums and tapping fictitious cymbals. With confidence, her fingers stroked pretend piano keys. Her expression, most humorous, depicted the altos’ deep voices and the sopranos’ melodious high pitches.
Who knew that when I stepped into that church, I would enter utopia? Suddenly, I felt like praising God for what I had—my eyes to gaze, hands to enjoy her soft skin, and a heart that throbbed faster when she was close. At that moment, for some unexplained reason, I thanked God that I was deaf. Can you believe that? I thanked God for allowing the worst event to happen in my life, because it made me the happiest. How else would I’ve met a woman whose love was fierce and unconditional? Then months after our meeting, I, Noel Richardson, lost Mackenzie Norton.

LET ME EXPLAIN HOW IT ALL HAPPENED....

Pat Simmons is the first recipient of the Katherine D. Jones Award for humility and grace. She’s a Jesus baptized Believer and received evidence of the Gift of Holy Ghost. She is a news writer and assignment editor for a St. Louis television station. She is the co-publicist who handles media publicity for the yearly Romantic Times BOOKLOVERS Conventions. Pat holds a B.S. in Mass Communications from Emerson College in Boston , MA . She recently celebrated her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and she is the mother of two college students. Her hobbies/interests include digging up dirt on dead people while researching her genealogy.

Web address www.patsimmons.net/

Read excerpts at http://www.talktomebook.blogspot.com/

THEME: The Business Of Writing - 1

Three Steps To Becoming a Successful Author

http://nicholassparks.com/WritersCorner/Success.html


Behind the Scenes: Writing as a Business

http://www.writingforward.com/freelance-writing/behind-the-scenes-writing-as-a-business


Selling your writing

http://www.writerswrite.com/journal/oct99/wd1.htm


Book Marketing

http://www.bookmarket.com/


Tax info

http://www.bus.lsu.edu/accounting/faculty/lcrumbley/tax_aspects.html

FEATURED AUTHOR: Margaret Johnson-Hodge

Margaret Johnson-Hodge is the author of several books that have received national acclaim. She is the recipient of the Reviewer’s Choice Award as well as a Blackboard, Essence Magazine and Black Expressions Best Seller.

“A New Day” made Mosaic Magazine’s “What’s Hot Top Five Fiction” List five (5) times and Margaret has garnered rave reviews from Publisher’s Weekly, Booklist, The Quarterly Black Review, Essence Magazine and Ebony Magazine.

Her seventh novel, “A Journey to Here” was released to great reviews and earned her an “Author of The Year” nomination. “Red Light Green Light” is her 9th published novel.

Red Light Green Light


Craig Stevens is forty-five years old and a recovering crack addict. Forty-one days clean when the novel opens, his world is rocked when one fateful September morning, 9/11 happens. With everything falling down around him, thoughts of an old love—Gazelle—come to mind. He sets out to find her, to make sure she’s okay. However, the pitfalls along the way don’t make it easy. With vivid detail and a gritty landscape, Red Light Green Light is the Butterscotch Blues of crack addiction, taking you through it and beyond…

What would you like your readers to take away from your book?



Even when a situation seems utterly hopeless, there is always hope.

What did you learn while writing this book?

I learned drug addiction hurts loved ones to a much deeper degree than the person who is actually addicted.

What is the hardest part about the writing business?

A true artist wants to keep 'growing' and not turn out the same kind of stories. Unfortunately, you risk not only disappointing your readers, but loosing them as fans. And, often a publisher doesn't want you to write something different. They prefer that you stick with your ' formula', so sometimes find yourself between a rock and a hard place.

What one thing about writing do you wish other non-writers would understand?

When writing a story, I don't decide what happens to the characters or not. The story itself decides that. And sometimes the 'ending' isn't the way a reader would like it to be, but it's the truth of that story.

Our theme this month is THE BUSINESS OF WRITING. Most new writers don’t know about the business side of writing, what advice can you offer on this important part of writing?

Writing the book is only 20 percent of it. Selling the book is 80. Be prepared to get out there and sell your book like the rent is due!

What are three things you wish you'd known before you reached where you are now?

I can honestly say nothing. My choices, based on what I knew and didn't, often have a lesson behind them. If I'd known some things sooner, I would have missed out on some important lessons.

Was there ever a time in your writing career you thought of quitting?

Yes, when I was pregnant with my children. I had some extremes experiences both times. I spitted, non-stop, through the entire pregnancy and had a queasy stomach for the first three months. I felt so miserable, writing was the last thing on my mind.

Do you have any advice for the aspiring writer?

Write the best story you can write at that time. Be honest about your writing and strive to make it better. Lastly, keep the faith that your story is one that should be not only written, but shared.
What is the best lesson you have learnt from another writer?

My mentor, Brenda Connor-Bey Miller, told me that just like she extended a hand to help me when I was an aspiring writer, it's my duty to do the same for whomever comes after me. It's called 'Passing It On'.

Five questions about your book:

1. Why does an intelligent grown man chose to pick up a crack pipe?
2. What is it about crack that makes people loose their humanity?
3. How does someone who doesn't believe in God find the faith to stay clean?
4. Why does rehabs fail more times than they succeed?
5. If your mate was an addict, could you stay with him?

You can visit Margaret at - http://www.mjhredlightgreenlight.com/

Never Say Never Cause Sometimes We Do The Very Thing We Said We Would NEVER Do! - Julia Thomas

Never Say Never Cause Sometimes We Do The Very Thing We Said We Would NEVER Do!
By Julia Thomas

ISBN# 978-1-4257-9386-9
Publisher Xlibris
Genre Inspirational Fiction.
Published date November 15Th 2007
Where it can be purchased Xlibris.com Amazon.com
Website www.myspace.com/juliasaysneversaynever

It is part of human nature for us to seek ultimate happiness and to want more than what our eyes have ever seen. As life is never perfect, people tend to get frustrated about their lives, and in the process they eventually lose their sense of purpose. “Never Say Never” is a compelling new novel about the lives four young women of a colour whose friendship dates back to childhood. It presents the story of how their lives emerged from early adolescence into adulthood. Through the pages of this work, readers will meet an unforgettable quartet — Amanda, a successful doctor, LaNae an entrepreneur, Monique, a hairstylist, and Celeste, an educator — and through each of their stories, they will witness the obstacles that comes with careers, their own search for meaning and happiness, and ultimately discover their relationships that evolve around family, friendship and love. Through friendship, these women grow and evolve, both individually and collectively. The message of this book is clear: You might not know yourself as well as you think you do or know what you want out of life and everything that shows up unplanned is not an unfortunate thing.



Amanda’s Introduction and
Family Tree I

Why is it that all little girls want to grow up to be strong, beautiful wives?
Is it because from the moment we arrive, our mothers start dressing us in our cute Sunday outfits? You know, it all begins with your first pair of lace socks and pink or yellow pair of ruffled-butt panties. Before you know it, you’re shopping for debutante and prom gowns, and let’s not leave out the most important part, the fine date.
It’s all about being cute enough and smart enough to meet the right man. Do you know anyone that was able to obtain that tall order? Sure you do, but they’re not sharing their secret.
My name is Amanda. I’m thirty-one years old, and I haven’t made any progress since I danced the night away in my emerald green prom dress. For that matter, neither have my three best friends—Celeste, Monique, and LaNae.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re happy, but we’re single. We’re professional, attractive black women with nice (fat) bank accounts, and we’re still single. Yes, we’ve tried and made many, many mistakes. I wonder, does it all go back to the summer of ’79 when we, the Cougar Cats, as we called ourselves, made a pact with each other to never date outside of our race, to never date anyone with kids, to always be our own boss, and to never marry a man whose income was below our own?
It can’t be that. We were black and proud and knew that some superfine athlete was going to take us all the way to the top with them, or at least hold the ladder while we climbed to the top on our own. We’d seen several black men climb to the top with a football or basketball in one hand and a blond-haired, blue-eyed chick on the other.
How is it that they have the right formula to get that man to the altar? What gives? Can you also explain to me why having a chick that’s not his same race on his arm causes a black man to feel like he’s made it? You know what just came to me? It’s not only the man that feels like he’s made it, but it’s every other black man that sees him and thinks that that’s a part of success. You can count on one hand the number of successful white men who have picked up a colored woman at the gas station, a drug store, or a bus stop; took her home to meet his family and he’s talking about a wedding date . . . I don’t think so . . .
Who’s going to be brave enough to ask someone that’s living that life the question why”?
Hell, I’m not, but I sure wish someone would. There has to be a few single black males out there looking for a soul mate in the form of an Egyptian Black Queen. Me and my chicks (Celeste, Monique, and LaNae) got together and decided to share our personal lives with you. It may bless your soul to know that you are not the only woman in the world to make poor decisions or just plain stupid mistakes, all in the name of love, lust, and the fantasy of a life of happiness ever after. This is our story in our words and situations we’ve shared or worked through with each other. We are the first to admit and confess that we came up short in fairy tales and magic class (we went to the beach that day and missed the review). There are no ruby slippers that can get
you out of a mess, but you can put on a pair of red pumps to make your man forget he’s mad at you; that magic works about thirty minutes. Then he’s asking you when did you get the shoes and how come he’s never seen them before and who else have you been wearing them for? For some of us, we are treated to an unexpected ride in a tornado. The details of that adventure are a few chapters away, so stay tuned. We’ll learn there’s no Prince Charming just around the corner waiting for us. He won’t ride in on a horse, snatch us up, and ride us off into the sunset. Mostly he’s coming on a bus, and you’ll need to loan him fare to get home. The closest you’ll get to seeing a Prince is by standing in line to get front row tickets to his concert. If you’re wearing purple you might catch his eye but instead of a kiss or a touch of his hand, he may bat his eyelashes at you and throw you his pocket hanky.

Now about those frogs . . . You find yourself spending all your free time at your local fishing hole trying to pick the right frog to take home and make a life with. Ha!
Next thing ya know, people are talking about how you smell due to all the ugly, smelly frogs you’ve been making out with and kissing. My sisters, let me hip you to a thing or two: they stayed frogs. You’d do better to find someone down on his luck. Give him (and yourself after the frog adventure) a bath, a haircut, and enroll him in adult school. Then keep him on ice till the wedding day because one of your skanky friends will not care where you got him from or what you had to do to get him straightened out. They’ll see fresh meat and want him for themselves.
Question, “How did men figure out that a dog would be his best friend, but women can’t figure out that a human cat is never going to be her best companion?”
Okay, that’s a funny joke; and if you’re not laughing, you’ve mostly had too many bad cat women experiences in your life and you need to do something about it.

All right, back to fairy-tale land. Balls are wonderful to attend if you’re not fighting off your mean stepsisters or you don’t have to witness Prince Charming dancing the night away with your skanky ex-best friend because she’s promised to make him feel like a king before the night’s over. Finding love is no fairy-tale experience. You have to make sound decisions, and any improvements that need to be made should start with you. You should ask yourself and know how you feel about yourself: do you have a healthy love for yourself? What do you know about men and dating, and do you have reasonable expectations about what is available and obtainable in the wonderful world of relationships, dating, and marriage?
Now that you know where I’m coming from, let me tell you a little bit about me and how I became the woman I am.

I, Amanda Kelli Winters, am a doctor. I bring life into this world, and I just wonder sometimes if I’ll experience this joy for myself in the traditional way. Yes, with husband in tote. Marriage is supposed to be forever. I’ve been told that once you start to resign yourself to the realities that you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with this one person, you’ll start to ask yourself, is this love and all that comes with it enough for you? And check this: if you’re thinking it, he’s been thinking it. I’ve had a few relationships, but none so far that I thought would take me all the way to the finish line—you know, the altar.

My family was very poor; we lived in East LA. My father had health issues, so he could only work a part-time job. When he did put in eight-hour days, he might not be able to work for the next two days. The one or two times my father saw a doctor, they would only allude to its being a problem with his respiratory system. My dad, Daniel, didn’t have an insurance plan. Therefore, there wasn’t any treatment that he could receive on a regular basis. Every now and then, he would have to go to White Memorial’s emergency room for an oxygen treatment. The doctor’s suggestions were always the same: take it easy and learn to live with a respiratory disease. My
mother, Elizabeth, and her mother, Grace, cleaned houses for a living. I guess it was clear that there wasn’t much money, so we were always five dollars short and fifteen minutes too late for everything. Ma was very beautiful; she had a light in her eyes that brightened up a room like sunshine. She never stopped hoping for a better life for me and a healing for my father. My mother told me that when Dad was younger, he spent a lot of time working in the coal mines of Kentucky with his grandpa. But Dad had problems with the dust and had to give it up. She also said my dad loved playing sports, and in high school, he tried to play everything. But he never had the stamina to compete, and by his late teens, everyday household chores took away all
his energy.

My grandma, Grace, and my great-grandma, Betty Jo, set the beat and tone for the music that our family would dance to. They used to say, as long as you can hear the music, the dance is not over. In other words, life is going to be hard, but if you keep walking toward your hope in the future, in time you will arrive. Betty Jo was a quiet woman and had a special light in her eyes too. It reflected hope and peace. Betty Jo was one of the housekeepers at Mr. Ross’s plantation, and because they were understaffed, she could pick up extra money by working in the fields after a regular day’s work. One evening, Betty Jo was caught in the fields after the sunset and a couple workers raped her. Because it was dark and it wasn’t just one man, she couldn’t name her attacker, the father of her child. Nine months later, more attention came her way as everyone—from the town to Mr. Ross—wondered who would the baby look like and how would Betty Jo survive this hardship. Outside of her own family, there wasn’t much help for a single mother; and while help was needed, it would come in its own time and way. Betty Jo would hang as close as she could to the plantation owner, Mr. Ross, AKA the Boss. Betty Jo liked his speech pattern, and when she was alone in the field, she practiced the phrases that he’d used that day. Prior to the attack, Betty Jo let it slip out to Mr. Ross that she wanted to move north and go to school and find a respectable job. Mr. Ross looked at her and said, “Good for you. Do you have money saved for your travels and school?” Betty Jo said, “Some, but not enough.” Mr. Ross said, “Don’t put the wagon ahead of the horse. Be wise, not foolish. Don’t run off half cocked. Make a plan, follow it, and in time, you’ll be on your way.” Betty Jo wanted to improve her manners and etiquette. She had an appreciation for words and wanted to improve her reading and writing. When she put away the books that were left out, she’d flip through them before returning them to the shelf.
She’d collect and remove the old newspapers lying around the house; she told anyone who asked that she needed it to help start the fire in her fire pit at home. Mr. Ross had a soft spot in his heart for Betty Jo because she appeared to be kind and helpful beyond what was required of her as an employee. It hadn’t gotten past him that she was trying to learn, and he caught her reading his books on a few occasions. Mr. Ross hoped Betty Jo’s secret dream would come true too. Needless to say, when he heard of her attack in the fields, he let it be known that if he ever found out who the attackers were, there would be hell to pay. He stated that Betty Jo was one of his best workers and what happened to her was a major setback in the household. But the truth was, it was an unjust act on a young woman that he quietly respected.

SIN - Crystal Rhodes

Sin

By Crystal V. Rhodes

ISBN# 978-1585713112

Publisher Genesis Press

Genre Romantic Suspense

Copyright 2000

Published date June 2008 (re-release)

Where it can be purchased Amazon.com and Genesis-Press.com

Website www.crystalrhodes.com


Blurb about the book:

My mother was a junkie.' These starling words are Reverend Nedra Davis' introduction to the handsome, mysterious stranger named Sinclair Reasoner, who goes by the name, Sin. It is a name that will prove to be prophetic as the lady minister falls for him. Yet, a dangerous secret lurks behind Sin's seductive smile. Unknown to Nedra who is renown for her anti-drug activism in the community Sinclair Reason
is involved in the drug trade.


PROLOGUE

“My mother was a junkie.”
The words were said so matter-of-fact that Nedra Davis wasn’t certain that she had heard them. Yet, her only acknowledgment that he had spoken was a slight shift in her seat. She registered no surprise. He registered no emotion. His eyes, still focused on her, were blank. His expression was unreadable.
He continued. “She was 25 years old when she died. I was ten.”
Simple math told her that he had been the product of a teenage pregnancy. She didn’t want to speculate, but she could guess the rest of the scenario--young, pregnant, desperate girl finds escape from the reality of her dilemma in drugs. She had witnessed it too many times, and it seemed that it was the innocent ones, the children, who suffered the most. Neglected, dejected, too often abandoned and left alone to make their own way, their futures were predictable--crime, drugs, imprisonment, and much too often, death.
There were times, however, that the outcome was different. Sometimes the lucky ones escaped the cycle of despair, using reservoirs of strength that never ceased to amaze.
Nedra studied the man sitting before her. He was one of the lucky ones.
Strikingly handsome, he was dressed, impeccably, in an expensive, double breasted, navy blue suit, his snow white shirt complemented the reddish hues in his chocolate brown skin. His hair was cut close to his head in a wavy black sculpture, sprinkled sparsely with gray. A thick, well trimmed mustache enhanced the sparkling smile he had bestowed on her when he approached her in the parking lot earlier. Coal black eyes, beneath long sooty lashes looked as if they could see straight into her soul. Sharp cheekbones emphasized a broad, flat nose. Embedded in his chin was a cleft, a deep slash of a cleft, which gave his features a rugged, masculine quality. He was about 6 feet 2 inches of masculine perfection, a man any woman couldn’t help but notice—even a female minister.
“Reverend Davis,” he continued, “This boy is the same age as I was when my mother died. His little brother is only five. Yet, this ten year old is responsible for his kid brother—feeding him, clothing him, and keeping a roof over his head, and it’s a job he takes very seriously.”
“You say you caught him trying to steal your car?” Nedra raised an eyebrow in obvious surprise at his calm reaction to such a transgression. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Actually, he was trying to steal the radio.” He chuckled, ignoring her question. “Cursed me out good when I caught him, but he’s a bright kid and as smart as hell!”
Nedra raised a brow again at his choice of words. He didn’t blink, recant, or apologize.
“He by-passed my alarm system with some gadget he made himself with a piece of wood, some wires, tape and batteries. I looked at the thing and couldn’t figure out how he did it. The kid is a mechanical genius.”
“You keep calling him ‘the kid’. Does the boy have a name?” His enthusiasm over this child had piqued her interest.
“His name is Colin Johnson. His little brother’s name is Trevor. Both of the boys are quite articulate.”
“They sound interesting.”
“They are, and they’re good kids trapped in a bad situation. That’s why I came here to your church, instead of calling the cops on Colin. I’ve heard that under you, this church has an excellent reputation in the community. You serve it well with a child care center, low cost housing, an on the job training program, a food pantry, clothes closet, drug rehab program and a homeless shelter. You name it, Mount Peter is doing it.”
“We try.”
“No, you do more than try. You get the job done. When I took that boy home to talk to his mother—” He sighed, running his hand over his face in frustration as he recalled the boy’s environment, “Nobody, nobody, should live like that. It was filthy! There were dirty clothes and dirty dishes everywhere. The smell was awful! The place hadn’t been cleaned since who knows when. There was no food in the refrigerator. The little one was there by himself—filthy, raggedy and hungry. Colin was trying to steal the radio so he could sell it for money to buy food. That’s what his little brother told me.”
“The poor little things.”
“The boys claimed that their mother was coming home soon. I knew they were
lying. I figured that she hadn’t been around for a while. I was in and out of there for four, maybe, five hours. I bought food and cleaning supplies, and made them clean up that rat trap. I didn’t see her while I was there. I took them to the Laundromat to wash the clothes, and I bought them a couple of outfits.”
“That was very nice of you.” The more he spoke, the more impressed she was
with this man. If she had passed him on the street she would have identified him as another aimless playboy, not the kind caring man sitting before her.
“Nice has nothing to do with it. As I said before, I was Colin at ten. He and his brother need help, and I want to see that they get it. I think that you can make that happen.”
Clasping her hands together on top of her desk, Nedra sighed. There was so much need for so many. It was hard to keep up.
“What can we do?”
Briefly, his dark eyes drifted away from her to the Brenda Joyce print hanging on the pale, yellow wall behind her. It was a print of a mother and child, a portrait striking in its beauty and grace. His eyes shifted back to Nedra, piercing her with their intensity as she sat watching him.
Who was this stranger? He had approached her as she unlocked the back door of the church, his deep, masculine voice calling her name. Startled, she turned and her heartbeat accelerated as she saw him standing there. He was so tall and so handsome. Her heartbeat had n’t slowed down yet.
“I’ve been going by the boys’ house for two weeks now,” he continued, “and I’ve only seen evidence once that their mother has been back in that apartment.”
“What evidence was that?”
“I’ve been leaving her notes everyday asking her to call me. She did, last night, sounding high as a kite. She gave all kinds of excuses for missing me at the apartment, and then said that she needed some money to pay the rent. But, I knew she was lying.”
“How?”
“I’d already paid the rent for three months in advance. She just didn’t know it.”
“So she wanted the money for dope.”
“What else? When I refused to give it to her, she offered to—” He shifted uncomfortably, in his chair. “Well, let’s say she’ll do anything for a fix. I refused that offer, so she offered to sell the boys to me.”
Nedra’s heart lurched. “Oh my God!”
“That’s why I’m here. Those kids have to leave there.”
“You’re right. Where are they now?”
“At home. As soon as she hung up I went by to check on them, hoping that I could catch her, but I didn’t. Trevor is the only one that I can get any information from and he said she came home briefly, then left again. I stayed with them until early this morning, went home, changed and came straight here.” He sat back in his chair allowing her time to absorb the information that he had provided.
The sorrow Nedra felt was overwhelming. She’d read about people selling their children, but the reality of what had been said stunned her. “Why haven’t you called the police about this? It’s obvious that those boys need to be removed from that house, immediately.”
“I know, but I think it would be better if you called them. The boys are traumatized enough. I don’t want them to think I betrayed them too. I thought that maybe you might have some family in the church who could take them in. I heard about the foster-adopt program you have here. A lot of your church members adopt, is that right?”
“Yes, I’m proud to say that’s true.”
“Then isn’t there some way that you can make the process of removing them from their home easier, a way that they won’t have to go into the foster care system?
Nedra paused, her mind skirting the possibilities of how she could make that happen. “I can make a call to a friend of mine and see what can be done. She’s a social worker at Children’s Services.”
“Great.” He sighed his relief.
Nedra started dialing the telephone. “She’ll need to talk with you.”
“No problem.”
Nedra smiled at him, reassuringly, as she waited for someone to respond to the ring. Nervously, she averted her eyes from his, unable to hold his piercing gaze. She was
grateful when the call was answered on the other end.
“Child Welfare, Sharon Mays speaking.”
“Hello, Sharon. It’s Nedra.” Her tone was somber. “Unfortunately, I’ve got another one for you. A Mr...”
Nedra glanced up at the stranger sitting across from her realizing that they had been talking for nearly an hour and she still didn’t know his name. “A Mr...”
He gave her a crooked smile as he realized her dilemma. “Reasoner. Sinclair Reasoner.” The smile deepened, “But you can call me Sin.”