In Memory of - Octavia Butler

Octavia Butler

Science Fiction Writer

SORMAG sends out our deepest sympathy

to Ms. Butler’s family and friends.

African American History Contest

In honor of African American History Month, SORMAG is hosting a contest for our readers.

Each Wednesday for the Month of February we will feature a contest.

The contest, Do You Know Who These African American Writers are?

Below are four pictures of African American writers. The first reader to leave in the comment section the correct names is the winner of a prize pack donated by Warner books. (one win per blog/contest)

Feb 22nd Authors - Winner - Gwyenth Bolton
Authors - Sean Young, Zora Neale Hurston , Stacy Hawkins Adams


















Feb 15th Authors




















Feb 8th Authors - WINNER - Candace












W.E.B. DuBois, Deatri King-Bey, Maya Angelou, Bettye Griffin


FEB 1st AUTHORS - Winner - Kim W.














Gwyneth Bolton
Gwendolyn Brooks
Ann Clay
Fredrick Douglas

Do you know the title of something these writers wrote? Check out the contest at - See Ya On The Net - LaShaunda's Blog for another chance at winning.

SORMAG would like to thank Time Warner Book Group for donating the prizes for this contest.

Click on the links and read a sneak peek of the books.

Prize Pak - 1

I'm Just a DJ...But It Makes Sense to Me by Tom Joyner
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/16/1594830762/

With Ossie and Ruby (audiobook) by Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/77/1594833354/

B.B. King Treasures by B.B. King and Dick Waterman
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/76/0821257242/

Prize Pak - 2

Single Saved and Having Sex by Ty Adams
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/11/0446578223/

Lift Up Your Hands by Gloria Pruett
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/12/0446578231/

Just a Sister Away by Renita Weems
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/83/0446578940/

Prize Pak - 3

Cinnamon Kiss by Walter Mosley
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/67/0316073024/index.html

The Wave by Walter Mosley
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/7/0446533637/index.html

What Fire Cannot Burn by John Ridley
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/26/0446612030/index.html

Prize Pak - 4

Dream Boogie by Peter Gualnick (The Story of Sam Cooke)
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/67/0316377945/

Sins and Secrets by Carolyn Chambers Sanders
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/90/0446693855/index.html

The Amen Sisters by Angela Benson
http://www.twbookmark.com/books/94/0446531537/

FEATURED AUTHOR - Phyllis Bourne Williams

Shades Of Romance Magazine: Please give the readers a brief bio on you the person and the writer.

Phyllis Bourne Williams: Basically, I’m a storyholic. I love writing, reading or listening to a good story. There’s always a book in my purse and an audiobook in the car’s CD player.

I started my writing career as a reporter for newspapers in Ft. Wayne, Indiana and Palm Beach County, Florida. After writing about cops and crime all day, I couldn’t wait to escape into the pages of a romance novel.

In addition to books, I’m also hooked on knitting. I live in Nashville, TN with my husband.

SORMAG: Tell us about your current book?

WILLIAMS: In A Moment on the Lips, Wall Street wizard Melody Mason hides from her fast-paced career in rural Tennessee. Her former classmate Grant Price wants Melody to work for his family's Boston investment firm. As Grant attempts to lure her away, they both reevaluate their views on life--not to mention love.

At heart, it’s a book about what happens when people stop trying to live up to other’s expectations and find the courage to lead the lives they want for themselves.

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

WILLIAMS: My favorite romance authors make me hold their books to my chest and simply sigh. I hope I my book will make readers feel the same way.

SORMAG: What do you do to make time for yourself?

WILLIAMS: Knit! There’s something about the rhythmic click of knitting needles that’s so soothing and relaxing. I can actually feel the days’ stress melt away as I work a row of stitches.

Knitting also helps me with writing. When I start a new project, I make the first few stitches and think, "I'm never going to be able to turn this yarn into a sweater." The same goes for turning the first words into an entire novel. But soon the stitches begin to take the shape of a sweater and the words slowly transform into a book. All I have to do is take it one stitch and one word at a time

SORMAG: Do you do anything to promote Black History Month?

WILLIAMS: During February I read a book a day written by an African-American author. I begin stacking up books for the month in November. By February 1, I’m like a little kid on Christmas morning.

SORMAG: How did it feel to hold your first book?

WILLIAMS: Surreal. I look at my name on the cover and still can’t believe it’s me.

SORMAG: What aspect of writing do you love the best, and which do you hate the most?

WILLIAMS: I love when the words come faster than I can type. I dislike having to cut scenes that I think are great, but don’t really move the story along.

SORMAG: What’s something you wish you’d known earlier that might have saved you some time/frustration in the publishing business?

WILLIAMS: I wished I’d trusted myself more and followed my instincts.

SORMAG: What should a new writer know about the publishing business?

WILLIAMS: Get yourself a copy of, “What’s Next? What Every Author Needs to Know Before, During and After Receiving The Call”. It’s a booklet put out by the New England Chapter of Romance Writers of America and covers the entire process.

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

WILLIAMS: I can be reached at phyllis@phyllisbournewilliams.com or through my website at www.phyllisbournewilliams.com.

EXCERPT - A Moment On The Lips

A Moment On The Lips

Phyllis Bourne Williams

Chapter One

“It’s an offer you can’t refuse,” he said into the speakerphone.
Grant Price leaned back in the leather office chair and locked his hands behind his head. His persistence was about to pay off.

It had taken him weeks to track down elusive, Wall Street legend Melody Mason to a nowhere town in Tennessee. Then he’d pulled together the ultimate compensation package to lure her to his family’s Boston-based investment firm, including a signing bonus, penthouse condo, and company jet privileges.

Grant grinned as he propped his Bally-clad feet upon his polished oak desk. She’d go for it all right. He and Melody were two of a kind. Although he hadn’t seen her since college, he knew when it came to business she was like him – competitive and downright ruthless.
“So what do you say?”
“No.”
Grant jerked ramrod straight in his chair and planted his feet firmly on the plush carpeting. He took the phone off speaker and snatched up the receiver.
“Pardon me?”
“I said no.”
Blindsided by her casual dismissal, Grant scrambled to recover. “If there’s something about the package that’s lacking, I’m sure we can negotiate and come to terms.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Is this about what happened between us in college? Because if it is…”
She interrupted before he could finish. “I assure you it isn’t.”
Grant didn’t think so. Melody was too shrewd to allow personal feelings to interfere with good business. Still he had to be certain she wasn’t nursing an old grudge.
“Offers like this don’t come along everyday. Perhaps you should take a few days to mull it over.”
“There’s nothing to think about. My answer is no.”
A click sounded in Grant’s ear and he glared at the phone in disbelief. “What the?” She’d actually turned him down. In fact, she’d barely heard him out.
He was still staring dumbfounded at the telephone when his father knocked on his slightly opened office door. The older man smiled broadly.
“Is it time to uncork the champagne?”
Grant looked up at the patriarch, who led their family as well as the country’s largest African-American owned mutual fund firm. Like his son, John Price stood over six feet tall. At sixty-nine years old, deep lines etched his brown skin and gray battled to overtake the black in his hair.
Still his father’s business acumen was as keen as it had been thirty years ago when Price Investments began operations. Through hard work and sheer determination his father had turned the firm into an industry leader. Now millions of small investors entrusted everything from their children’s college funds to their retirement to Price Funds.
John Price had dedicated his life to the company. Grant knew his father expected nothing less than the same devotion from him.
“Well?” The elder Price asked in the booming voice known to make grown men cower.
“She rejected our offer.” The knots in Grant’s stomach constricted as he watched displeasure replace his father’s victorious grin. He hated disappointing the old man.
John Price seated himself in a chair on the other side of Grant’s desk and sighed heavily. “What happened?”
“I wish I knew.” Grant reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. Shaking the last two out of a bottle, he gulped them down dry.
“Maybe her hands are tied by a noncompete clause in her old contract.”
Grant shook his head. “It expired six months ago.”
“She knows she’s a hot property. Maybe she’s holding out for a better deal?”
“No doubt she’s had plenty to sift through,” Grant said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his desk. The tempo kept time with the pounding in his skull. “There was something about the way she sounded on the phone. I can’t put my finger on it.”
He reviewed the situation aloud, to see if his father could detect anything he might have overlooked. “Okay, so we know she abruptly resigned from her job last year and dropped out of sight. But, why?”
John Price propped his elbows on Grant’s desk, tenting his fingertips. “Nobody knows, but according to the grapevine, she took a leave of absence and a few weeks later turned in her resignation. I heard her former company tried everything in their power to keep her.”
“It doesn’t make sense. She’s at the top of her game, and she turns her back on a tremendously successful career. For what?”
“You were friends in college. What do you think?”
“Well, we weren’t exactly friends?”
His father eyed him sternly. “Don’t tell me this deal got screwed up over some juvenile love affair?”
“Nothing like that.” Grant couldn’t help chuckling. He could call what went on between Melody and him a lot of things, but a romance wasn’t one of them. The idea of him and the serious bookworm he remembered was ridiculous. “The only thing between us was a rivalry.”
The expectant look on his father’s face indicated he required more of an explanation.
Grant pushed away from his desk and began pacing around his office as he continued. “From freshman year until the day we graduated, Melody and I were locked in a fierce battle of one-upmanship. We competed against each other for awards, honors. Everything.”
“Wait a minute. Is she the same girl who beat you out for student government president and a space on your school’s brain bowl team?”
Grant stopped mid-pace and frowned at his father’s selective recollection of events. “I did happen to best her once in a while, you know. I snagged the internship with the Federal Reserve Bank and graduated with a higher GPA too.”
“No need to get defensive, son. All I’m asking is are sure she isn’t holding the past against you?”
“She says she isn’t.”
Grant glanced down at the half dozen financial magazines scattered across his desk. Melody stared back at him from the covers. The photos were nearly identical. In each one she wore a stiff designer suit and a crisp, white shirt. Her black, bone-straight hair was smoothed back from her heart-shaped face into a knot at the nape of her neck. Everything from her humorless amber eyes to the slash of red on her unsmiling lips was all business.
Though she’d apparently given up the thick spectacles, she looked as uptight now as she did back when they were students at Howard University.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she ever threw her head back and really laughed, allowing her raven mane to tumble down onto her honey-brown shoulders. He imagined those serious golden eyes of hers sparkling with passion, then quickly banished the thought. It didn’t matter. He needed her in his boardroom, not his bedroom.
Grant picked up an old issue of Black Enterprise and examined her image closely. “What’s your deal, Melody?”
His father cleared his throat. “More importantly, what are you going to do to rectify the situation? I don’t have to remind you that your Miss Mason would have brought countless new investors and millions of dollars to the firm on her name alone.”
Grant’s first instinct was to tell his father Melody was not his Miss Mason, but he knew his father well enough to know once he had an idea stuck in his mind there was no changing it. “I’m well aware of it.”
Melody’s track record wasn’t something of which he needed to be reminded. In their business, it was legend. Despite the ups and downs of the stock market, the mutual fund Melody had managed for her former firm continuously beat the S&P 500. A savvy investor who had stashed ten thousand dollars in it a decade ago would now be a millionaire.
“Well, then you’re also aware that I was counting on you to come through. I don’t want to turn on The Bloomberg Report and hear about her going to Vanguard or Fidelity.”
The elder Price rose from his chair. “In a few months, I’ll be seventy.”
Grant nodded. According the company by-laws, his father’s retirement was mandatory the day he turned seventy-years-old.
“I have to know the son I choose to succeed me can handle the job.” John Price leveled a stare at Grant. “Your failure in this matter will definitely factor into my decision.”
Subtlety certainly wasn’t his old man’s forte, Grant thought. The presidency of Price Investments was a carrot his father had dangled in front of his boys since they were youngsters. And like a horse with blinders on he’d always chased it.
Grant had given up his own dreams for the promise of running Price Investments. It was too late to turn back now. Like it or not, the company was both his destiny and his duty.
He held up his hand. “Wait, Dad,” he said. “I’m not ready to give up just yet.”
“What’s your next move?”
“Put the champagne on ice, and order the nameplate for her office door. She doesn’t know it yet, but Melody Mason is coming to Boston and Price Investments.”
#
Melody Mason rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed.
“Another job offer?”
Hanging up the phone, she nodded at her best friend, Joyce. Ever since she’d retreated to the childhood home left to her the grandmother who had raised her, there had been a steady stream of employment opportunities. When was corporate America going to get the message? She wasn’t interested in returning to her old life.
Not now. Not ever.
Melody plopped down in the kitchen chair across the table from Joyce, and then remembered what she’d stood to do before the phone rang. “Oh, I was going to make tea.”
Her friend stopped her before she could get up. “I’ll do it. You’ve got puppets to knit.”
Melody sat while Joyce pulled a box of tea bags from the pantry and turned on the burner beneath the kettle. The usually soothing click of her bamboo knitting needles did little to quell Melody’s excitement over the blast from the past she’d just received. Grant Price. She hadn’t seen him since her undergrad graduation.
“What are you grinning about?”
“I’m not grinning.” Melody glanced up from the yellow yarn to the scrutiny of Joyce’s curious glare.
“Are you sure there wasn’t more to that call than a job offer?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” Melody replied a bit too quickly hoping Joyce didn’t detect the defensiveness in her voice or notice she’d nearly dropped a stitch.
Besides, the call was only about a job. That’s all. A job she had no intention of taking no matter who was offering it. Neither money nor a silly crush on a guy who used to be hot in college would sway her decision. She’d been blessed with a second chance, and she wouldn’t squander it. This time she’d focus on the truly important things in life.
“What kind of perks did they try to entice you with this time?” Joyce opened the cabinet door, but shut it when she saw it held skeins of red wool yarn instead of mugs. She opened another, which was stuffed with balls of cotton fleece yarn.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Melody dropped the strand of yellow yarn and joined in orange to form the bill of the duck puppet she was making. “Try the bottom cabinet on your right.”
“I don’t get it. Every time I turn around somebody offers you a dream job with a fat salary.” Joyce retrieved two mugs, dropped in the tea bags and filled them with water. “How can you be so blasé?”
Melody broke from her knitting long enough to add a generous squirt of honey to her tea. “Easy. I’m not interested.”
She blew on the hot tea and took a tentative sip. She doubted she could make even her best friend understand why no amount of money enticed her. Some things were more important than money.
Her gaze settled on Joyce. Her extraordinarily pretty features played out on flawless dark skin. She hadn’t changed much since she’d been crowned homecoming queen over twenty years ago. She was still beautiful, and continuing to turn heads everywhere she went.
The two of them had been inseparable from the time they were little girls. Physical opposites Melody was as tall and thick as Joyce was petite and pixyish.
Joyce was the beauty, and Melody was the brain.
While being referred to as pretty or smart may have appealed to some, both had similar reactions to the labels others had thrust upon them: “It ain’t what it’s cracked up to be” they often laughed.
Joyce married immediately after high school and remained in town, while Melody went off to Howard University on a scholarship, then on to Harvard for her MBA. Through the births of Joyce’s four children and Melody’s climb up the career ladder, they had maintained their connection with frequent phone calls and e-mails.
“Aren’t you the least bit tempted?” Joyce asked.
Melody recalled Grant’s deep baritone on the phone and suppressed a shiver. If his authoritative tone was any indication, he hadn’t changed since college. He was still a man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. Not this time.
Even if he was every bit as handsome as she remembered, not Grant, nor anyone else for that matter, could persuade her to return to the rat race. Her career had already cost her too much.
She’d spent her twenties and most of her thirties crunching numbers behind a desk. Now at thirty-nine, inching closer to forty, her chances of having a husband and family dwindled with each passing year. Her grandmother used to warn her about the consequences of making a hard bed. Now Melody had little choice but to sleep in hers. Alone.
“The only thing tempting me is this homemade coffeecake you brought over here,” she said, putting her knitting aside. “I wish you’d quit fooling around and cut me a piece.”
“Girl, I thought you’d outgrown your sweet tooth.” Joyce chuckled and passed her a plate bearing a hunk of cake, then helped herself to a significantly smaller slice.
Melody’s stomach growled in anticipation. In the year since her health scare, she’d managed to clean up her diet, stop smoking and start exercising.
However, she knew there was no way she could ever resist the temptation of sweets. They were her weakness. There wasn’t a cookie, cake or pie invented she could walk past without sampling, and she carried ten extra pounds on her size twelve frame to prove it.
Cutting into the thick, pecan laden cake with her fork, she caught a whiff of cinnamon as she put it into her mouth. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to savor the rush of sugary sensations assaulting her tongue.
“Delicious,” she declared.
“I was downtown earlier, and I drove past the old toy store building,” Joyce said.
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What did you think?”
“I barely recognized it. I swear it looks like an entirely different place.”
“That’s because it is a different place. My place.” Her place. Pride filled Melody when she thought about her new venture. She’d purchased the building that had housed the long abandoned toy store upon her return. With the help of a contractor, she’d revived the dilapidated eyesore. Now in just a few weeks, her yarn shop, The Knitty Gritty, would open for business.
“It used to be the ugliest building on the town square. Now it makes the renovated town hall look shabby.”
“I can hardly wait to open.”
“Is everything still on schedule for the grand opening?” Joyce sipped her tea and grimaced.
“I went over my checklist earlier, and so far it looks good.” Melody chewed on her bottom lip. “And you can make all the faces you want, I don’t have any coffee. Green tea is better for you anyway.”
Joyce took another sip of tea. Apparently giving up on acquiring a taste for the brew, she slid the offending cup to the center of the table. “You’re going to be a smashing success.”
Melody signed. “I want The Knitty Gritty to be more than just a yarn store. I’m hoping to create an environment for knitters to steal some time for themselves to unwind or maybe just work on their latest project.”
“Well, the word is already out. You’ve got half the women in town digging out their mother and grandmother’s old knitting needles.”
Already down to her last bite of coffeecake, she motioned for Joyce to divvy her up another slice. “So what’s going on with you? Any word on your college application?”
Melody watched her friend’s eyes cast downward and feared the worse. Devoting the past two decades to raising four children and boosting her husband’s career, Joyce had delayed pursuing her own educational goals.
“Not yet,” she replied unenthusiastically.
“Then why so glum?”
Joyce blew out a tired breath. “I don’t know. It’s been years since high school. I can’t even remember the last time I studied. Maybe I should forget the whole thing.”
Reaching across the old, but well cared for table, Melody clasped her friend’s hand. “That’s just nerves talking.”
“I hope so. Plus, to say Kevin isn’t wild about the idea is an understatement.”
Melody nodded, but kept her lips buttoned. She and Joyce were tight, but it wasn’t her place to offer marital advice. “Everything will work out,” she finally said, giving Joyce’s hand a squeeze.
“I know this sounds selfish, but I’m glad you aren’t taking those jobs. I like having you around.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

The Red Sox had dug themselves a hole not even a grand slam home run could help. Grant shut off the satellite radio in his rented Camry and hoped he’d have better luck.
Not that he’d had a choice. He couldn’t strike out with Melody again.
A year ago the woman had the financial world at her feet. What on earth made her come to this place? The town, located about a half hour from Nashville, was barely a blip on the radar.
Though she sounded firm on the phone, he was sure he could change her mind. Everyone had their price. And there wasn’t anything he wasn’t willing to pay to bring her into the firm and make his old man happy.
Grant rubbed his lower back and squirmed in the driver’s seat. The nagging ache had started up again this morning on the company jet during the flight to Nashville and hadn’t let up. His doctor had warned him repeatedly to change his lifestyle in order to reduce his stress level. No chance of that happening anytime soon.
He’d read about executives who sat around swank country clubs in tennis whites making deals over three martini lunches, but he wasn’t one of them. He reported to the office every morning at seven and rarely left before midnight. A jammed-packed schedule and fast-food meals wolfed down at his desk were all part of his business. He hadn’t taken as much as a day off in years.
Like his father and brother, Grant worked his butt off.
Besides, his stress level would drop dramatically after he convinced Melody to come to work for the firm. The sooner he returned to Boston with her, the better.

Melody felt the knitting needle slip from her hand and caught it before it hit the floor. She pushed the pig finger puppet she was knitting aside.
She gently massaged her weakened left hand with the right. Sometimes her left side seemed to have a mind of its own. She wasn’t surprised when it went out on her, however she would never get used to feeling not quite in control.
“At least your reaction time is getting better,” she muttered to herself.
A knock sounded at the front door, startling her. Although she been home for months now, she was still surprised when someone dropped by out of the blue to say hello. The friendly, small-town practice was only one of the things that had drawn her back to her hometown. She’d lived in her New York apartment for years and had never even met her neighbors.
Knowing how she loved sweets, folks often brought a homemade treat along. Her mouth watered at the possibility it was her grandmother’s best friend, Ruth, and one of her blue-ribbon winning peach cobblers.
“Coming,” she yelled in the direction of the door, which she’d left open to allow the summer breeze to drift through the screen door.
Melody took once look at the man darkening her front entrance and froze.
“What are you doing here?”

ARE YOU READING THESE - FEB

Best Kept Secrets
by Rochelle Alers

BET
ISBN: 1583146709

Waving from the Heart
by Ann Clay

Prioritybooks Publications
ISBN: 097536345X



With This Ring
by Sean D. Young

BET
ISBN: 1583145788

EXCERPT - With Pride of the Buffalo

With Pride of the Buffalo
By Deborah DeShields

With Pride of the Buffalo - a historical-fiction novel about an African-American Buffalo Soldier.

Born in slavery, Amos Jedidiah Hankins has never known freedom. As a young man, his enlistment in the U.S. Army 10th Cavalry leads him to a new love and into battle with an enemy he must learn to respect. As the Indian Wars progress, the Indians name the black troopers Buffalo Soldiers. It is with pride that the name is accepted. Amos becomes a leader among his men and is awarded for his bravery in the line of duty. But it is only at the moment he receives the Congressional Medal of Honor that he begins to understand the enemy and the true meaning of the freedom for which his own father fought and died."

Chapter One

"There be silence in the face of death, silence that brings even the strongest man to fall to his knees. The Lord alone knows the grievance of the man who sleeps and He alone can bring peace to his troubled soul." Papa's words echoed in my head as I stood at his open grave wondering how it would be to lie in the ground with your eyes forever closed to the morning sun. With heavy heart I listened to the words delivered by the white preacher as he spoke of the dreadful war that had taken Papa from us just days ago. In my mind I pictured how it would be in war, fearing for your life while at the same instance being compelled to take that of another. Papa took a bullet to the head and I could only pray death had come quickly.

Tears of sorrow filled my eyes. With a trembling hand I wiped them with the sleeve of my Sunday shirt. Had Mama seen that I had soiled the white cloth she had spent hours stitching together, she would have scolded me with a click of her tongue against her teeth. I looked over at her briefly. She was standing at the edge of the open grave, a red rose in one hand, a fistful of black dirt in the other. A look of grief was etched on her face.

Mama was a handsome woman though age was upon her. Her coarse black hair had threads of silver strewn here and there, and she kept its length braided and tied to the top of her head with a strip of white cloth. Her build was small yet she had a slight belly protruding under a heavy black skirt, evidence of having birthed eight babies over the years.

"Oh, Lawdy!" she moaned as the dirt fell from her hand, landing with a dull thud atop the pine box holding Papa's remains. The preacher said Papa wasn't in the box--that he had gone on to a land where he was fit and free and would know nothing but happiness for eternity. Papa used to talk about being free. Free to live wherever he wanted to live. Free to be whatever he wanted to be. He talked of holding title to a piece of land and how much better our lives would be if we were allowed to earn as much pay as a day's labor was worth. I suppose some saw him as a dreamer.

I saw him as a man filled with hope and spirit and the sincerest love for God Almighty. There was never a doubt in my mind that from the moment he first closed his eyes to life, he stood at the right hand of the greatest Master of all time. And he was free. Still...I mourned his passing....

What's Happening at SORMAG in February

February is the month for lovers and lovers of African American history. SORMAG is excited to be able to celebrate African American History month. We’re sponsoring a contest that begins February 1st. We hope you’ll stop by each week and be a part of our contest.

We have some new authors to introduce to this month. One is making her debut in the romance genre. Remember to stop by and welcome them into the world of writing. They look forward to hearing from you, so don’t forget to leave a comment for them.

What are your plans for African American History Month? How do you celebrate? How do you pass on the history. Let’s Talk about it this month. Share your memories of black history month.

SORMAG is reviewing again. Check back on the 15th for new reviews. Did you miss the January reviews? They’re still available.

If this is your first visit to SORMAG, we welcome you and invite you to come again. Aren’t familiar with the blog concept, its not that hard. Just scroll down and read. Or look to your left and there are links to all the subjects for this month. Enjoy the blog and tell us what you think. We always welcome comments.

See ya on the net,

LaShaunda
Shades Of Romance Publisher

BOOK CLUB SCHEDULE - FEB

Feb 6 - Go Work Da Dollar – Spong E. Akowe

Feb9 - The Wages of Sin - Audrey Forrest Carter

Feb13 - Unbreakable - A Guide to Understanding Marriage and Relationships -
TOI MOORE with Gregory Moore

Feb16 - THE WAVE - Walter Mosley

Feb20 - Backroom Confessions - Rose Jackson-Beavers

Feb24 - Son of Perdition: Book Three of Ahab's Legacy - Louise M. Gouge

Feb27 - Single, Saved and Having Sex - Ty Adams

The online book club introduces you to two authors each week by
sending out a chapter excerpt of their books.

To join the book club - sormagforum-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

If you would like your book featured again in our book club, we are
currently scheduling for 2006. All genres are welcome. Contact sormag@yahoo.com for guidelines.

Feature your book in our online store - For the low price of 15.00
your book will be featured for MAR

Check it out - http://www.sormag.com/store.html

Would you like to be a FEATURED AUTHOR?
http://www.sormag.com/AUTHOR.html

Please feel free to forward this information on to other book lovers.

LET's TALK ABOUT IT - African American History Month

What are your plans for African American History Month?

How do you celebrate?

How do you pass on the history.

Let’s Talk about it this month.

Share your memories of African American history month.

FEATURED AUTHOR - Cheryl Talley Moss

SORMAG: Please give the readers a brief bio on you the person and the writer.

Cheryl Talley Moss: I'm a native of Gary, Indiana, but I've lived in Texas for the past twenty years. I have been writing and expressing myself all of my life. I made it a career choice after surviving cancer. I honed my skills as an Ethnic Hair & Skin Care Specialist during my twenty-five years experience as an Award-Winning Cosmetology Stylist/Educator. Over 20 years ago, I was employed as the assistant to the chemist of the Research and Development Department at the oldest African American owned manufacturer of cosmetics and hair care products made especially for African Americans. I became the first African American woman to own a full-service hair salon in shopping mall in Mesquite, Texas in 1992. It was also the same year I became a cancer survivor. I believe God spared my life for a reason, and I'm determined to share all the gifts and talents He has blessed me with. In 1999 I wrote, self-published, and sold over 6 thousand copies of my self-help book, Healthy Hair Care Tips for Today's Black Woman, the black woman's guide to healthy hair. My current book, Sooner or Later, is a romance suspense. I recently released Cheryl Talley Moss Healthy Hair and Skin Care Products. I named part of the line: Georgia's Girl, in honor of my late mother. I'm currently happily single. I was married for 29 years and I have three adult children. In my spare time, I enjoy gardening, traveling, sewing, listening to music, and designing jewelry.

SORMAG: Tell us about your current book?

MOSS: Sooner or Later is an entertaining romance suspense that deals with real issues such as sexual assault, obesity, discrimination in the workplace, infidelity, and baby momma drama.

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

MOSS: I want my readers to realize that we all have issues. The sooner we deal with whatever causes us hurt and pain, the better off we will be.

SORMAG: What makes your writing style unique?

MOSS: My experience in the cosmetology industry has taught me to write in a simple and descriptive manner.

SORMAG: What do you do to make time for yourself?

MOSS: I'm a very organized person. I make time for myself by scheduling time for myself.

SORMAG: Why did you choose the self publishing route?

MOSS: I've been self-employed since 1992. Self publishing was another way to fuel my entrepreneurial spirit.

SORMAG: What's something you wish you'd known earlier that might have saved you some time/frustration in the publishing business?

MOSS: Publishing Healthy Hair Care Tips for Today's Black Woman was very expensive because I subcontracted all of the prepress work. Before I published my second book, Sooner or Later, I learned how to do everything myself ¦from developing the concept of the book cover to actually doing the book layout.

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

MOSS: I love hearing from my readers. They can contact me by visiting my web site: www.CherylTMoss.com. I appreciate the time you took out of your busy schedule to conduct this interview.

EXCERPT- Sooner Or Later

SOONER OR LATER

by Cheryl Talley Moss

Chapter One

Taryn Carter jumped into her midnight blue Mazda Miata and sped out of the parking lot of the downtown office building owned by Cannon, Collins, and Jeter, the most prestigious corporate law firm in Dallas, Texas. Taryn had been a law clerk at the firm during her last year of law school. But she'd been hired as an attorney after graduating number two in her class from the meritorious DFW School of Law. Even though Taryn had received numerous job offers from across the country, she chose to remain at CC&J. Taryn met her late husband, Attorney Joe Carter, at the firm. Unfortunately, Joe had died tragically in an automobile accident a few days after they had celebrated their first wedding anniversary. Taryn was considered CC&J's most promising attorney. For the last five years, she'd been knee deep in trials, and her track record was impeccable. During her entire career, Taryn had only lost one case, but that case had been impossible to win because the company she represented unjustly terminated a morbidly obese employee. Immediately after the case had been assigned to her, Taryn recommended her client offer a generous settlement. But the plaintiff had refused to settle out of court because she was certain she had sufficient proof that being overweight didn't hinder her work performance. Well, by the time the trial was over, the jury had been convinced enough to award the plaintiff two million dollars.

A week earlier, the firm had hosted an extravagant dinner to announce officially that Taryn had made partner. Also, the Dallas Morning Post had covered the ceremony the Bar Association had recently sponsored to announce its naming her ‘The Best Litigator in the City’.

It was around eight-thirty in the morning, and because of the drizzling rain, the streets were slippery. Driving fast and frantically, Taryn momentarily lost control of her car, but she quickly swerved to the next lane and avoided a rear end collision. After asking God to help her stay focused, she moved into the right hand lane and merged onto Interstate seventy-five north. Ordinarily, she loved driving the five-speed sports car her father bought her for graduation because it allowed her to maneuver in and out of traffic easily. At that moment, however, she wished she had driven her Mercedes today because of the rainy weather. Several attorneys at the firm offered to drive her to the hospital, but she had assured everyone that she could get there safely on her own.

As usual, traffic was terrible during rush hour, and the drizzling rain made it even worse. Taryn glanced at the speedometer and could not believe she was driving thirty miles per hour because it seemed as if her car was barely moving.Ten minutes earlier, Taryn’s brother, Trey, had phoned her at work to let her know their father, Robert Hamilton Sr., had suffered a heart attack, and he was being rushed by ambulance to Medical City University Hospital where Trey was a pediatrician. After driving for about fifteen minutes, Taryn realized that Trey could be in touch with the paramedics while their father was being transported. Instantly, she felt a strong urge to call her brother to get an update on their father’s condition. Ironically, as soon as she reached for her cell phone, it rang.

“Please tell me that he’s gonna make it, Trey,” she demanded nervously.
“Pray, Taryn, it doesn’t look good. Dad is unconscious and they haven’t been able to stabilize him. I have to go! They’re bringing him in now,” Trey said in a rush and hung up the phone.

Taryn prayed as the drizzling rain transformed into a boundless downpour, and traffic came to a sudden halt. What now? Please don’t let it be an accident! But an accident is exactly what occurred. When Taryn heard the blasting sirens of police cars approaching from the service road, her memory was reverted back to another rainy day…

Thirteen years earlier

When Taryn was sixteen, she went to the local mall to shop for presents because it was a few days before Christmas. She finished making her purchases around four-thirty in the afternoon. Jamar, a high school friend of her brother’s, approached her while she was walking to her car. Taryn had known Jamar since she was twelve years old, and she had a serious crush on him since the moment they first met. Jamar loved to draw portraits. Whenever he was home from college, Jamar would come to her house to visit. Taryn looked forward to seeing him and viewing his new sketches. She loved his friendly personality, and she admired the way he took pride in his appearance. Jamar was a fashion trendsetter. When most kids across the country were wearing baggy jeans, Jamar started wearing fitted jeans with plaid, preppy, shirts tucked inside his pants. And the next thing you knew, all of the guys in the neighborhood started to imitate him. Jamar was just cool like that. Jamar had been the starting quarterback for the University of North East Texas. Several broadcasters on ESPN had reported that he was a top candidate for the Hiesman Trophy. But he lost his shot at winning the illustrious award. You see, Taryn’s father, the head football coach for UNET, kicked him off the team two weeks earlier because he tested positive for cocaine. Jamar insisted that he had experimented with cocaine the one time. Coach Hamilton was sympathetic to his situation. However, the decision was out of his control. The school had a zero-tolerance policy concerning drugs. Furthermore, Coach Hamilton had repeatedly warned the players that drug usage would end their football career at UNET.
Taryn was very happy to see Jamar because she had been constantly wondering how he was doing. No one had heard from him since he was expelled from the university. “Hey, Jamar,” Taryn said, giving him a hug.

“What’s up, Baby-girl?”

She grinned as she held up her shopping bags. “Nothing much. Just shopping for a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for the folks.”

“I was about to go to Burgers & Stuff for something to eat. You wanna go?” Jamar asked.

“Sure,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll follow you. I’ll meet you at the front of the mall.”

Jamar shook his head. “You can ride with me. My jeep will be much safer in this drizzling rain.” Jamar noticed that Taryn was hesitating, so he smiled and quickly continued, “C’mon, girl. Stop trippin’. I’ll bring you back to your car as soon as we finish eatin’.”

“Okay, I’m parked right over there” she said, pointing toward her vehicle. Then she walked to her car and put her packages into the trunk. When Jamar drove his car beside Taryn’s parked car, she opened the car door and hopped into his SUV.

“So how have you been, Jamar?” she asked as he drove out of the parking lot.

“Okay, but I’ve been better.”

“Look, I want you to know Dad told me that cuttin’ you from the team was one of the hardest things he had to do. He said that he believed you when you told him that you only messed with drugs once.”

“Yeah—right,” Jamar mumbled sarcastically, rolling his eyes at her.

“No, seriously, Dad loves you like a son, Jamar.”

“If he loved me like a son, he would’ve had my back, Taryn!” he shouted.

“C mon now, Jamar. You know he had to do his job,” Taryn said as she turned around in her seat and looked at the street sign. “Hey! You should’ve turned left back there.”

Jamar didn’t say anything. He just glared at her, and flicked on his turn signal.

“Why are you getting on the interstate?” Taryn asked after she realized Jamar was about to get on the highway.
Jamar continued to drive in silence.

“Just where are you going, Jamar?”

“Shut up, bitch! Your punk ass daddy ruined my life! Now I’ma ‘bout to ruin his by killin’ yo ass!”

Taryn blinked with surprise. “Please pull over so that we can talk! You don’t wanna do this, Jamar,” she pleaded.

Jamar slapped her hard across the face with the back of his hand. “Didn’t I tell you ta shut up?”

Taryn’s eyes widened and her ears rang. She didn’t realize her lips were bleeding until she wiped the tears from her face. When she saw the blood on her hands, she panicked and tried to open her door.

“I know you not tryin’ ta jump out the car!”

“I wasn’t gonna jump, Jamar!”

“You must think I’ma damn fool!” he yelled before he punched her in the ribs with his fist.

Taryn doubled over in pain. This fool is crazy. He really must be on drugs. I’m gonna die if I don’t do something, she thought. Taryn also thought about how her family was going to be disappointed in her for getting into Jamar’s car in the first place. Then she remembered talking to her father on her cell phone while she was in the mall. If I can distract him for a moment, I could call for help. Dear Lord, please help me!

She believed God must have answered her prayers because the drizzling rain immediately stopped. When Jamar turned off the windshield wipers, Taryn slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and curled her fingers around her cell phone. She then pressed the send button, and prayed her father would answer.

“Please think about this! Think about your family, Jamar! I swear to you, if you let me go, I won’t tell anybody!”

“You must think I’m stupid?”

“No, I know you’re not stupid, Jamar! But can you just tell me why we’re going south on Highway 80?” she yelled.

Jamar ignored her as he continued to drive. “Why are you getting off at the Big Town exit?” Taryn asked in a loud voice. Dear God, please let someone hear me!

“Shut up!” he shouted.

“All I want to know is why you’re getting off at Big Town, Jamar!”

“’Cause you and I are gonna see a movie.”

“The movie theater is closed, Jamar!” she yelled in exasperation.

“Shut the fuck up! If you say one more word, bitch, I’ll kill yo ass right here!” Jamar shouted as he pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at her face. He then drove to the back of the vacant theater and turned off his lights.
Taryn wanted to scream. She was so scared she started shaking. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Her mouth wouldn’t open. She just stared at him absolutely speechless. Please hear me, Daddy.

Jamar circled the vacant parking lot several times before he parked the car and got out. When he walked around to the passenger side of the car, Taryn lunged into the driver’s seat, opened the car door, jumped out of the SUV, and ran as fast as she could. But Jamar was faster. He caught her by her ponytail and repeatedly threw punches to her upper body. Taryn slumped over and pretended she was losing consciousness. She just wanted him to stop hitting her. Thinking that he knocked her out, Jamar pushed her to the ground. He knelt over her, snatched her jacket apart, and yanked her blouse open. Then he pulled up her skirt, ripped off her panties, and spread her legs.

BOOK WINNERS - JANUARY

Book Winners for JANUARY are:

Friday - 13

Mary Griffith

Patsy Nelson

Friday - 20

Eugenia Renskoff

Vanessa Johnson

Friday - 27

Cindy Appel

Mahaira

Jackie Young

Deatri King- Bey

Send me your mailing address, and book choice - sormag@yahoo.com and I'll put your book in the mail.

Below are the choice for JANUARY.

Waving From The Heart – Ann Clay
The Wave – Walter Mosley - Marilynn Griffith
Wednesday Woes – Gayle Jackson Sloan
Obsession 101 – Michelle McGriff - Patsy D. Nelson
Original Love – J.J. Murray
Make Me Hot – Marissa Monteilh
What You Won’t Do For Love – Wendy Coakley- Thompson
Destiny Disguise – Angie Daniels

Thank you for your support.

LaShaunda
SORMAG

Would you like to donate a book to our winners:

Send to:

L.C. Hoffman
7127 Minnesota Ave
St. Louis MO 63111

FEATURED AUTHOR -Tamika Johnson

SORMAG: Please give the readers a brief bio on you the person and the writer.

Tamika Johnson: Well…let’s see. I am a professional speaker specializing in the areas of bullying, dating violence, domestic violence, and discovering one’s personal best. I am the founder and CEO of Leading Lady Enterprises which is an umbrella organization to four different sub-divisions: Leading Lady Publications, Miss Christian United States Pageants, Forever A Conqueror Productions, and Worship Café (coming 2006).

Most important, I am a mother of one special little girl named Andraya (means Courageous), who was my motivation for getting out of a very unhealthy marriage and work on my self-esteem issues. It is because of her that decided to really look deep within myself and attack the issues that kept leading me to destructive relationship.
I am also very excited to be engaged to an incredible man who is supportive and loves me just because I breathe. Isn’t that what we all dream for ladies?

Tamika, the writer, is someone who has always been an avid reader! I love Romance! Beverly Jenkins is one of my all time favorite authors; I have all of the books she has ever written.

SORMAG: Tell us about your current book?

JOHNSON: “He Loves Me Not, but I Love Myself!” is a young woman’s guide to understanding and conquering dating violence. At the age of fourteen I found myself in an abusive dating relationship. A relationship packed with verbal, emotional, sexual, and physical abuse. Yes…I was only 14! I am from a good home and background as both of my parents are preachers, but I still found myself in this destructive relationship.

Each chapter specifically targets an area of dating violence: verbal and emotional abuse; sexual abuse, and physical abuse. Each chapter begins with my own personal story and then gives factual information on how to deal with a certain aspect of abuse. The book also includes a Parent’s Discussion Guide at the beginning of the book, as well as space for reflection after each chapter. There is also a relationship inventory, dating bill of rights, and listing for all of the domestic violence coalitions in the country.

“He Loves Me Not, But I Love Myself!” is written for the young woman 13 and older who feels that there is something in her relationship that just isn’t right; this book is for the parent who wants to be proactive and talk to her daughter or other loved one in her life about dating violence. This book is for someone who has a friend in an unhealthy relationship and you want to know how to talk to her. This book is for the church group or school book club who wants to shed some light on this growing issue. This book is for ANY woman who may be in an abusive relationship.

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

JOHNSON: Statistics tell us that for every three teenagers you know, one of them with be a victim of dating violence before they get out of high school!!! It’s a lot to swallow, I know, but the great thing is that statistics are always changing. I pray that parents and other concerned adults will be inspired to converse with the loved ones in their lives; that the young women who read this book with say “HE doesn’t have to love me, because I love myself!”

Once we open up the lines of communication and send the message that “Love Shouldn’t Leave Bruises!” statistics will change for the better!

SORMAG: What do you do to make time for yourself?

JOHNSON: I escape through good books! After I put my daughter down to bed, I try to give myself a good hour of quiet reading. I am also a performer, having worked professionally as an actress, dancer, and choreographer, I love to put on some good gospel music and dance before the Lord.

SORMAG: Do you do anything to promote family literacy?

JOHNSON: Absolutely!!! Literacy is so important. I created a program called “Spotlight: Learning on Center Stage!” which is a Performing Arts based program designed to promote reading and interpersonal communication skills among elementary school age children.

SORMAG: How did it feel to hold your first book?

JOHNSON: The first thing I did was drive over to my mother’s place of employment to show her. Don’t we always call mama first? The moment was surreal. I would compare it to holding my daughter for the first time, I’d spent nearly nine months cultivating this incredible project and when it was finally in my hands….it was just beautiful. My publishers, Neshee Publication did an amazing job with the cover.

SORMAG: What aspect of writing do you love the best, and which do you hate the most?

JOHNSON: I love getting lost in the story. I have just completed my first Christian Romance Novel entitled, “Meet Me At the Altar,” which will be available in September 2006, and I couldn’t wait to get to my computer each night and get lost in the lives of my characters! I view my stories like a movie, I can hear the character voices, see their facial expressions…it’s great!

What I hate most, is the editing process. It can be so tedious reading and re-reading one’s work to make sure the grammar is correct and that the storyline flows. Oh my…it be so painful!!!

SORMAG: What’s something you wish you’d known earlier that might have saved you some time/frustration in the publishing business?

JOHNSON: Oddly enough, I would say take your time and create a marketing plan. I was so excited to have my first book published, and after it was in my hands I realized that I had not done much to promote the book. No one knew about it! Creating the marketing plan has so many benefits as it makes you think about who are going to sell your book to, how you are going to inform them of this, and your budget. Here are some good books to add to your personal library:

Bestselling author Mary Morrison has written a very comprehensive and FREE self-publishing guide on her website: www.marymorrison.com. It is a good starting point.

Kimberley Brooks, Author of “He’s Fine…but Is He Saved?” also has a self-publishing article on her website: www.kimontheweb.com.

How to Self-Publish and Market your Own Book by African American Authors Mack and Sara Freeman: http://www.sarafreemansmith.com/books.html

Christian Writers Market Guide, by Sally E Stuart

Publicize Your Book, by Jacqueline Deval (Dedicates a whole chapter to creating a marketing plan)

Also, make sure you file for a Library of Congress Number. It’s free and must be done before your book is published. If you think libraries would be interested in your book, you have to have one of these numbers!!

Distributors are another thing I would tell self-published authors about. If you want to get your book into major bookstore chains, libraries, etc. You will want to get a distributor(s) to help you do this. Some distributors that I have seen used over and over again are the following:

Midpoint Trade Books
(includes Ingram, Spring Arbor, and Baker & Taylor)
27 West 20th Street Suite 1102
New York, NY 10011
(212) 727-0190
www.MidpointTradeBooks.com

Lushena Book Distributors
1804 W Irving Park Rd
Chicago, IL 60613
(630) 238-8708

African World Book Distributors
2217 Pennsylvania Avenue
Baltimore, MD 21217
(410)383-2006

SORMAG: What should a new writer know about the publishing business?

JOHNSON: In addition to the information I just gave, I would say to believe in the work you publish. You’ve got to believe that what you are publishing is great, if you don’t you won’t be able to sell it.

I would also advise a new author to talk to other authors in the business. I have obtained so much valuable information just by emailing a best selling author. You may not get a response right away, but if you are patient you will make some great connections with those who have already made mistakes and want to help you avoid them.

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

JOHNSON: Websites: www.tamikajohnson.com; www.misschristianunitedstates.com
Email: leadingladyenterprises@yahoo.com
Mail: P.O. Box 35, Worton, MD 21678

EXCERPT - He Loves Me Not, But I Love Myself

"He Loves Me Not, But I Love Myself!

A young woman's guide to understanding and conquering dating violence"

by Tamika Johnson

He Loves Me…
He Made Me Feel Pretty
“Come here blackie!” Swish! Goes the bitter wind as it rolls across the playground and cuts into the skin of the young girl being whirled around by a group of three boys.

Obeying the orders of her mother, the dark skinned girl has buttoned up, and her hood is tied securely around her neck. Her mother would never know that the very instruction given to protect the young girl from the cold Utah winter was being used to humiliate her. One boy, the ringleader, has his hands wrapped tightly around the strings of her hood and is swinging her around and around on the thick ice. She whimpers as other hands feel her budding breasts through her coat.

Crack! The ice begins to break.

“Why are you so black?” The ringleader asks as he releases his hold and sends the girl flying through the air. The ice cuts into her fingers as she skids to a halt.

“Leave me alone!” She screams struggling to stand up and run from the milky white hands grabbing at the collar of her winter coat. Her knees hurt from hitting the ice; her lungs burn as she fights to catch her breath. Blackie, Whoosh! Swish, Crack, Blackie! The words and the wind mix with the sound of the cracking ice and the girl’s screams of terror. LeavemeAlone!LeavemeBlackieAlone!LeaveME!Whoosh!Crack!Alone!

Thud! Her foot connects with something hard. It seems all activity halts, and everyone stops what he or she is doing to stare at the young boy writhing in pain on the ground. The outside teacher appears suddenly and yells at the girl for fighting. She finds it strange that the teacher did nothing to stop the group of boys from grabbing her and throwing her around the ice, but now they are sending her to the principles office. No one seems to care as the young girls stutters to explain the nasty words said to her. “I don’t care what they said to you!” the teacher exclaims as she tries to soothe the ringleader.

The ringleader is holding his jaw and crying. The girl looks down at him tossing to and fro like a fish out of water. Her toe is stinging from the cold and the impact of her foot connecting with his jaw. She finds it odd that instead of feeling fear or remorse she is strangely calm and feels victorious. For the first time in her young ten years of life, she has stood up for herself. “I think you broke my jaw you B---!” He screams as the teacher runs into the building to get the principal.

“I hope I did break your jaw, I bet you won’t mess with me anymore will you?” the young girl says as she walks away, to sit at her desk, and wait…

That was me fifteen years ago waiting for someone to understand my dilemma; to see behind my smile and confident façade and rescue me. Looking back on my childhood I do not have many memories of looking in the mirror and liking my reflection.

Sure, I have wonderful parents who told me I was beautiful, but I did not believe it. What I remember is an overwhelming sense of shame. The feeling of disgust one gets from being touched inappropriately at the tender age of five. The feeling of suffocation one gets from being kissed without permission. I remember feeling “unpretty” as the TLC song says.

By the time I met him, this self-awareness (or lack thereof), was evident in my outward appearance. I either wore clothing that was tight and revealing or three sizes too big in an attempt to hide my body. He made me feel pretty.

We spent every free moment together during the school day, sometimes sneaking out of class to meet in the hallways to steal kisses and caresses. He made me feel pretty. With him, I wasn’t “blackie” or the “only black girl in her class.” With him I was beautiful and envied because all of the other girls wanted him.

There are many reasons why young women find themselves trapped in abusive relationships. I have narrowed them down to three:

Everyone else is in an unhealthy relationship, so abusive relationships seem normal.
I hate to sound like a parent when I say that teens aren’t experienced when it comes to relationships and that almighty L-Word, love. However, I am able to say this with merit because I was in an abusive relationship. We learn what is acceptable and unacceptable by experience. In other words, we live and learn.

Have you ever wondered why it is so easy to “cut off” a friend who has betrayed your trust? The answer is because you have had many more years experience in the field of friendship. You have been developing friendships since pre-school or kindergarten, and you have learned the differences of a good friend versus a bad friend.

Now what experience do you have with dating? Not much. And again, I don’t mean to be the parent, but your friends haven’t had much experience either, so if you are getting advice from them, or looking at their relationships, you are probably not receiving an accurate picture of what a healthy relationship looks like. A healthy relationship is one where both partners are able to:

· Be respected, mind, body, and soul.

· Have opinions and ideas and express them without fear of being ridiculed by the other.

· Have needs and know that they are just as important as the needs of their partner.

· Live without fear, verbal, emotional, sexual, and physical abuse at all times.

· Spend time with friends and family without being pressured by their partner’s jealousy or insecurities.

· Have disagreements that do not result in violence or hurtful exchange of words.

Female competition causes young women to put up with unhealthy behavior.
Why is it that when a female walks into a room, she is immediately sized up by the other females in the room? Have you ever looked at a female and felt a sense of competition? “Her hair is too long,” or “I look better than she does because I’m thinner than she is,” or “She thinks she’s cute!” Isn’t it funny that all of these thoughts go through our heads, and we may not even know the female?

You would be surprised at the number of teens that tell me they stay with an abusive partner because “all of the other girls want him, and I’ve got him!” Truthfully…when I look back on my relationship, this is one of the reasons why I stayed.

Lack of Self-Confidence.
Another word for self-confidence is self-value. The message behind self-value is this: what you value, you take care of. You don’t allow people to destroy the things you value. If a young woman has a lack of self-confidence or self-value, then it is easy to see why someone who makes them feel pretty would have so much power and influence in their life.

It is easy to see why a young woman with little to no self-esteem would be easy prey for an abusive boyfriend as I was.

Once you have finished reading this book, my goal is that you will understand that your past does not define your future. You may have legitimate reasons for having a low self-esteem. Things may have happened in your childhood as they did in mine; people may have told you that you wouldn’t amount to anything or that you were worthless, but know that you do not have to be a victim for the rest of your life…this is not your destiny. You were born for greatness. You were born to achieve and triumph…to be a conqueror.

By reading this book you have taken the first step of conquering your situation, you have chosen to educate yourself.

Let me be the first to say, “YOU GO GIRL!”

JANUARY REVIEWS

RATINGS:

1 Star - POOR

1 ½ Star - FAIR

2 Stars - OK

2 ½ Stars - GOOD

3 Stars - VERY GOOD

31/2 Stars- GREAT

4 Stars - EXCELLENT

41/2 Stars - EXCEPTIONAL

5 Stars – SUPREME

BOOK OF THE MONTH

Goodbye Heartache
Doris Johnson

Dafina Books
Kensington Publishing Co.
ISBN: 0-7582-0900-2
Published: February, 2006

Contemporary romance
Rate: 4-1/2 stars – EXCEPTIONAL
Reviewer: Connie Quarles

I love a book that has both romance and suspense and “Goodbye Heartache” is just that type of book. Kudos to Doris Johnson on a sensational book which offers romance, suspense, pain, and family healing.

Ava Millington is a history professor who lives a quiet, sedate life at the end of a deserted street until the mysterious black SUV appears in the vacant house next door.

Cole Dumont has been running from his past all his adult life. But an injury forces him to reevaluate his career and his life. He returns to his childhood home to face the ghosts of his past.
Can two people face their past without losing something very special between them? What other secrets do their friends hold that can jeopardize their relationship? Will they face their demons or run. These questions can be answered when you pick up “Goodbye Heartache” and read it for yourself.


White Christmas
Marilyn Lee

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
ISBN: 1-4199-0483-3
Publish Date: December 2005

Interracial Erotica
Rating: 3 STARS – VERY GOOD
Reviewer: Kaia Alderson

Seven years ago, Mark McCall promised Taylor Danford a very special “white” Christmas. That promise and a string of others fell to the wayside when Taylor’s rival announced she was carrying Mark’s baby and won the ultimate prize of wearing Mark’s ring on her finger. Now, Mark is divorced and Taylor is determined to re-claim the white Christmas “gift” that she had been denied all those years ago.

In this novella, Marilyn Lee continues to build on her reputation for writing the hottest erotic sex scenes. Along with her vivid “blow-by-blow” action sequences, she does a wonderful job of physically describing the small town to which Taylor returns. However, the sex is what made the story for me. I had to turn off the central heating despite the cold outside. But, I found her description of Taylor’s physical “attributes” rather limited and repetitive.

If you’re looking for a short, hot read to enjoy with your honey, this is the one for you.


The Flip Side of Money
Earl Sewell

BET Books/Sepia
ISBN: 1-58314-640-7
Month Published: November 2005

Mainstream Fiction
Rating: 4 Stars - EXCELLENT
Reviewed By: Shelia M. Goss

Earl Sewell is back with another page-turner: The Flip Side of Money. He cleverly uses the premises two’s company, three’s a crowd with the unforgettable characters Tabetha Murphy, Gilbert, and Marlon.

Tabetha’s love life was on a roller coaster ride until she met Gilbert. Gilbert showed her unconditional love and provided her with a stable home environment. He became a father figure to her son. All of that is jeopardized when a blast from her past comes back into the picture, Marlon. Marlon is the father of Tabetha’s son and bomb rushes his way back into Tabetha’s life. Their son uses his relationship with his father to get between Gilbert and Tabetha. Instead of Tabetha stepping in and communicating with her son about his new attitude towards Gilbert, she allows her son to continue disrespecting Gilbert.

Marlon purposely sets out to cause friction between Tabetha and Gilbert. Tabetha gets swept up in the “what ifs” and it leads to more problems in her now rocky relationship with Gilbert. On the surface, Marlon appears to be a changed man. He now spends quality time with his son and sets out on a course to win Tabetha’s trust and heart. During Tabetha’s confused state of mind, her and Marlon draw closer while things get worse between her and Gilbert.

Will Tabetha allow a man from her past destroy her future with Gilbert?

Mr. Sewell does a wonderful job of showing how one decision can affect multiple lives in the Flip Side of Money. I found myself engrossed in the story from the beginning.


Flirt
Carmen Green

Dafina Books
Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 0-7582-0865-0
Published: October, 2005

Contemporary Romance
Rate: 4-1/2 stars – EXCEPTIONAL
Reviewer: Connie Quarles

I love reading about the Crawford Family. They are quite an interesting bunch of folks and whenever I read one of Carmen Green’s stories about one of them, I want to go back and re-read the couple I have and the ones I missed. “Flirt” is no exception.

Sydney Morris has spent her entire life pleasing her father even when that meant giving up the chance to know her mother.

But Merry Morris is determined to let Sydney know that she loves her and leaving a sex toy store for her in her will seems to be the perfect solution. But can shy and backward Sydney Morris be able to step outside of her comfort zone to become the owner of a sex toy store? Not if her father has anything to do with it and not her neighbor has any say in it either!

Drew Crawford has worked hard to prepare for the opening of his restaurant. He was told that the owner of the sex toy store had died and it would not be reopened. But to his dismay he finds the pretty stranger the new owner of the store. After one of his relatives observes the friction between the two he declares her to be Drew’s future wife. But all Drew wants his to make her shut down. Will he stoop to use their attraction to each other as a means to get her to do what he wants? This story stands on it own. But if you are wondering about the rest of the brood, don’t worry, you will see them helping Drew with the restaurant and his love life.


The Last Temptation
Gerald K. Malcom

Q-Boro Books
ISBN: 0-9753066-8-5
Published: August 2005

Rating: 4 Stars - EXCELLENT
Reviewed By: Shelia Marie

The Last Temptation is the debut novel by Gerald K. Malcom. The book focuses on the relationship of Traci Johnson and Jordan Styles.

Jordan is successful and doesn’t mind spoiling his woman. Although he feels that Traci is the woman he wants to commit to, he still finds himself in close encounters with other women. He puts himself into several situations that cause Traci not to trust him. His pride gets in the way and he allows her to think the worse. Will he be able to convince Traci that all is not what it seems?

Traci questions Jordan’s commitment to her. Her insecurities results in bad decisions. She finds herself torn between her love for Jordan and her love for an ex-boyfriend, Solomon Jackson. When Jordan finds out about Solomon, Traci attempts to reassure Jordan of her love and devotion are unsuccessful.

Solomon is determined to have Traci “any means necessary.” He feels that his money is enough to win Traci’s allegiance and heart. Traci is tempted by her past feelings for Solomon.

Jordan’s secretary, Deanna, uses the downward spiral of his relationship with Traci to get closer to him. With all of the problems him and Traci are having, Jordan is tempted to pursue a sexual relationship with Deanna.

Will Traci and Jordan be able to fight these last temptations to be with one another?

The plot held my attention and I was able to finish the book within a few days. The Last Temptation is urban fiction with a romantic twist.


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FEATURED AUTHOR - Tracy Foster

SORMAG: Please give the readers a brief bio on you the person and the writer.

Tracy Foster: I’m creative, outgoing, and obviously love writing. I’ve been living in St. Louis for 4 years and everyday I live life to its fullest.

SORMAG: Tell us about your current book?

FOSTER: This Bitch Is Crazy is a fast paced, easy to read dramedy filled with wild escapades, mischief and a little sex. Clarke Harvey, a thirty-something woman has made a mess of her charmed life and doesn’t know-or want to know-how to fix it. Readers will not be disappointed.

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

FOSTER: My book is a roller coaster ride of incredible events, and it’s funny as hell. I hope that readers will like that the characters are authentic in their pursuits giving my book a realistic feel. I want readers to identify with Clarke. Truth be told there’s a little of her in all of us.

SORMAG: What do you do to make time for yourself?

FOSTER: I turn off the phone, the tv, and enjoy the silence.

SORMAG: Do you do anything to promote family literacy?

FOSTER: I volunteer at a reading program for school age children.

SORMAG: How did it feel to hold your first book?

FOSTER: Its hard to put into words, saying I was ecstatic is an understatement. I felt like I had accomplished a huge dream and to think that it’s just getting started is unbelievable.

SORMAG: What aspect of writing do you love the best, and which do you hate the most?

FOSTER: I love writing not only does it relax me but it also allows me to share my stories with others. And I don’t feel pressured to keep writing. As of now there are no complaints about sitting down and putting my thoughts on paper.

SORMAG: What’s something you wish you’d known earlier that might have saved you some time/frustration in the publishing business?

FOSTER: Persistence, persistence, persistence.

SORMAG: Why did you choose the self publishing route?

FOSTER: I wanted to make sure that my first book was going to be done without any compromises, so for me self-publishing fit my plan. Not only that, I want Foster House Publishing to serve as a vehicle for other authors who are interested in getting their work published as well.

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

FOSTER: Tracy@tracylfoster.com, www.Tracylfoster.com

EXCERPT: The B*tch Is Crazy

Never Where You Work,
Never Where You Live

I rented an apartment around the corner from Mama’s house and
found a job working as an executive administrative assistant for a
brokerage house in downtown Chicago. I didn’t know one thing about
the stock market, but my resume was impressive. It didn’t hurt to have
Professional Football League all-pro players, a Professional League
Baseball MVP, and a Phoenix city councilman as references.
I knew I had the job five minutes into the interview; the men who
were interviewing me were seeing dollar signs. With connections like
mine, they were praying that I could bring in some big accounts for
them. But that wasn’t my angle. I needed a job, plus I didn’t want to mix
business with pleasure. Those were words to live by.
Living in Chicago again was a major adjustment. My wardrobe
needed winterizing, to the tune of forty-five hundred dollars. I was so
comfortable living the suburbia life of Arizona that on more than one
occasion Mama had to remind me to lock my car doors.
And that job was working me! They treated me like an errand
girl–with an emphasis on girl–and I knew that before long I would snap.
That thing they gave me on the first and fifteenth of each month called
a paycheck didn’t do justice. If it hadn’t been for my monthly allowance
from Vince, my ass would have been a paycheck away from homelessness.
I was writing my bills when the phone rang. The caller ID read
“Falana Love.”
“Hey, girl? What’s up?” I asked.
“Clarke? This is Kevin.” Kevin was Falana’s newest beau.
“Is everything all right?” I answered, panicked.
“No. But Falana’s fine.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I think your girl is cheating on me.”
Oh, my God! How did he know?
Falana had just moved back home as well. When she got there, she
had discovered that Thomas, her old boyfriend, had also moved back.
Even though she was newly engaged to Kevin, she couldn’t let Thomas
go.
“He’s so fine,” she’d say. “He’s just so fine.”
“Look,” I said, getting back to Kevin. “Why are you calling me
from Falana’s house? Did she give you a key?” I already knew the
answer.
“No, she didn’t,” he stuttered. “She told me to take her keys to her
mom about a month ago, and I made a copy.
“Good thing,” he continued, “I came in here looking for proof and
I found a condom in the trash basket.”
“Kevin, you need to leave ASAP. I don’t know anything about some
condom in the trash basket, but I do know that Falana’s gonna kick your
ass when she finds out.”
“But, Clarke,” he started.
“Clarke, my ass. You’re dead wrong to be in her place. She’s going
to flip a switch. Do you hear me? Leave now!” I yelled.
Oh no! There was going to be drama, and I wasn’t even there to
see it.
I started dialing as fast as a telemarketer. I called Falana’s mama,
her granny, her aunts, her uncles, the beauty shop, Thomas’ house, and
everywhere in between. Since I was the drama queen, I had to make sure
that I had all of the pertinent phone numbers of The Committee in case
of an emergency. This was most certainly an emergency.
No one knew where Lana was. I paced, trying to figure out my next
move, when the phone rang.
“Hey, girl, you looking for me?” Falana inquired.
I could tell she was in a good mood, but I was about to ruin all
that.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I told you earlier that Thomas and I left work early to hang out.
Remember?”
The Committee knew that I had an unforgiving memory. I didn’t
forget anything, so I was kind of insulted, but I didn’t have time to be
mad.
“Look, Kevin just called me. He’s been in your apartment snooping
around and found a condom in the trash basket.”
“Girl, stop playing ’cause you ain’t even funny. Kevin doesn’t have
a key to my place, so what you’re saying couldn’t have happened.”
“Did you just hear what I said? He made a copy when you told him
to take the keys to your mama. He called me from your place, and he
was going through your shit.”
The line was silent.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
“We’re at my cousin’s watching TV. She’s cooking for us.”
“Well,” I started.
“Damn it!” Lana whispered.
“What?”
“Kevin’s ringing the doorbell.”
“How you know it’s him?”
“’Cause I’m looking dead at him.”
“Where’s Thomas?”
“He’s right here too.”
“Call me back.” I hung up and called Zsa.
“So I guess Thomas doesn’t know that Kevin and Falana are
engaged?” Zsa inquired.
“Nope.”
“What is wrong with Falana? Is she crazy?”
“Yep.”
“How is she getting away with seeing the both of them? Hasn’t
Thomas seen that big-ass rock on her finger?” Zsa asked, flabbergasted.
“I told Falana to break it off with Kevin, but her procrastinating ass
keeps putting it off. This is how people get beat up.”
“Beat up? People get killed every day for much less.”
“I know that’s right,” I replied.
Falana was playing a dangerous game, but this was typical Falana.
Finally, at midnight, Falana called back.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Girl, it was major drama. Kevin was screaming and yelling.”
“Can you blame him?”
She just kept talking. “Then Thomas asked what was going on
’cause I was his girl. Then Kevin said I was his fiancée. They both
looked at me. I looked at them and tried to talk to Kevin, but he lunged
at Thomas. Then Thomas kicked his ass all over my cousin’s living
room and left.”
Falana took a deep breath and continued. “After Thomas left, Kevin
started crying, asking how could I do this to him. I just slapped his
face.”
“You what?” I said. I knew Falana would cuss someone out, but she
would have to be mad beyond belief to slap somebody.
“I asked him, ‘How dare you?’ That’s what yo’ stupid ass gets. You
had no business going into my apartment with a key that you weren’t
supposed to have.’”
“Damn, Falana.” Kevin was a good guy, and even though he was
wrong, I felt sorry for him.
“Forget him!”
“Damn,” I repeated.
We were chatting away when my phone clicked. “Hold on, Lana.”
It was Kevin. “Please, Clarke,” he begged, “help me out. I still love
Falana. I want her back.”
“Kevin, you tripping. I don’t know how I can help you out of this. In
fact, I’m through talking to you ’cause I have Falana holding on.”
“Please,” he begged.
“Kevin, I’m not your friend, I’m her friend. I can’t help you. You’re
on your own.”
I clicked over and told Falana what happened.
“He’s crazy,” she said. “He’s been calling everybody. He even
called Thomas to talk to him.”
“Falana, Falana, Falana.”
“Oh, shut up. You got drama twenty four-seven, so don’t even try
it.”
“Don’t get mad at me ’cause you got busted. Today was one for the
record book.” We both had to laugh.
I was dead tired at work the next morning. Staying up half the night
talking to Falana had my ass dragging all day. I was hoping that no one
would say anything to me ’cause I was going to let them have it.
There were only three black people in my office: the receptionist,
the mailroom clerk, and me. I wasn’t high up, but as an admin, I had
the highest position of the three of us. For that reason, those white
tards thought they could say anything and get away with it, but I wasn’t
having it. I had let them know, subtly and not-so-subtly, not to try any
of that modern-day slavery oppression B.S. on me. I was an articulate,
fly-as-hell, intelligent black woman, who was still paying on a college
degree that took me five years to get.
My co-workers thought that I was some militant Black Panther
chick, but that wasn’t it. I refused to work on Martin Luther King Day. If
they got President’s Day, then I was taking MLK Day off. I thought that
that was quite fair. They looked at it as some kind of silent protest.
Nevertheless, I was quite taken aback when I was at the microwave,
minding my own business, and another executive assistant walked up
to me.
“Hello, Clarke,” she said.
“Hi,” I responded.
I could tell she was checking me out, but I was fly as always with
an Anne Klein navy pinstriped pantsuit, light-blue button-down shirt,
stockings without runs, and AK navy pumps to match. I had it going on
every day of the week.
“You know, I’m surprised that management hasn’t written you up
about your appearance,” she started.
I took one look at her homely, all-cotton dress; knee-highs; run-over
pumps; and granny sweater.
I asked her what she meant.
“Well,” she said, not looking at me in my eye, “your hair is blond,
and we all know that that’s not your natural hair color. Maybe you
should tone it down a little; it’s so ethnic.”
This heifer clearly did not know me. I had taken my hair color down
a few notches since I got back to Chicago. I wasn’t platinum blonde; I
was more of a honey blonde.
“I’m surprised, too.”
“I’m glad you understand,” she said, relieved.
“’Cause Lord knows that if they started writing up women in here
for hair color, all the admins would have something in their files.”
“What?”
“I use Clairol, just like you and everybody else in here does. So why
is it ethnic for me and natural for you?”
“I just meant . . .”
“I know exactly what you meant,” I said, cutting her off. “The next
time you mean anything else, I’m going to human resources with a
discrimination lawsuit. Do I make myself clear?” I moved within an inch
of her uneven, rimmed glasses.
She slowly backed away. I got my popcorn and walked to my
desk.

Word about the incident got around fast. From then on, my coworkers
avoided me like the plague and I liked it that way. I knew that
I wasn’t well liked in the office, and I didn’t really give a damn. The
brokers that I worked for weren’t liked much either, so we all got along
very well. I was still suspicious of them, though, so that’s why I made
sure that my work was impeccable. I did my job well, and the clients
loved me. That was the main reason I still had a job.

Books Books and More Books

As a thank you for those who stop by and leave a comment, I’m offering a FREE book. Each week two lucky winners will win a book.

Each comment you make puts your name in the hat. (legit comments please)

The best part you choose the book

Good luck

Below are the choice for JANUARY.

Waving From The Heart – Ann Clay
The Wave – Walter Mosley - Marilynn Griffith
Wednesday Woes – Gayle Jackson Sloan
Obsession 101 – Michelle McGriff - Patsy D. Nelson
Original Love – J.J. Murray
Make Me Hot – Marissa Monteilh
What You Won’t Do For Love – Wendy Coakley- Thompson
Destiny Disguise – Angie Daniels

Winners are:

Friday - 13

Mary Griffith

Patsy Nelson

Friday - 20

Eugenia Renskoff

Vanessa Johnson

Friday - 27

Cindy Appel

Mahaira

Send me your mailing address, and book choice - sormag@yahoo.com and I'll put your book in the mail.

Thank you for your support.

LaShaunda
SORMAG

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L.C. Hoffman
7127 Minnesota Ave
St. Louis MO 63111