Pages of the Heart ~ Guest Post by Author Ruthie Lewis

The story of Fireflies is a special one, but even more special is how it came to be. My love affair with books began early. The school or local library was a world beckoning the search for “happily ever after.” I fell in love with those words, and adventures that led to them. I couldn’t resist the urge to try putting words to paper, a kid’s imagination.

So I thought.

Even though I knew I really enjoyed it, and the words flowed easily, it wasn’t until later adulthood that I recognized it as a passion. The story’s not uncommon but what do you do with a passion even after you recognize it?

My adult-discovered and recovered passion only a blossoming bud, I sat writing in my journal one night as I was finding my way through dark, gut-wrenching circumstances, and wondered how many of these books with blank pages I’d filled with words penned from my heart. As I thumbed through the pages, I realized that I’d never stopped writing – I just hadn’t let stories in my imagination have any play, let alone find their way to paper.

How could I get all the heart that was in these journals in book form?

During this time - after several years of gasping for breath and reinventing my life - I was in the process of becoming a Life Coach. My experiences and all that I’d learned were recorded in my journals, so it was logical to envision my first book as non-fiction.

I had also pursued studying writing and was pleasantly surprised when my love for fiction began to re-emerge and was told by my writing mentor that “You have a bent for fiction.” Then, came the moment that sealed the deal. When the fiction portion of the study was nearing an end, I received an email from my writing mentor: “Wow!! I so enjoyed reading this. Your writing is getting so strong. I’m not kidding. You keep persevering because you have a future here, and I don’t say that to just anyone!”

That was the gust of wind beneath my wings; it allowed me to let my love for fiction live, while a whirlwind of light-bulb moments flickered like fireflies in the night sky – one of which was that Jesus himself spoke to the hearts of people in parables; stories.

My non-fiction metamorphosed into fiction. As wings began to sprout into a soaring, powerful story, the day came when its title, “Fireflies” burst into the midst of it all like a 4th of July sparkler. Faith Hill was a guest on a popular program and performed her hit song, Fireflies. It was melting all over me like a chocolate fountain, when the author of the song was introduced. She revealed the story of how the words were penned. In the middle of a mothering and laundering afternoon, she sat and poured out her heart as she wondered what had happened to her dreams and if her husband even had a clue what they were or knew who she really was before he ever met her. It was my story – and the story of so many other women who wonder what happened to the woman she was before she ever married, before life screamed “have-to / supposed-to.”

Fireflies is for every woman who has ever wondered who she would be if she’d never married; if she’d pursued her passions, whether married or unmarried; if she had listened to her heart rather than trying to live up to who everyone else implied she should be.

I’ve come across so many books that may be clever, written by a recognizable name, and may be entertaining, interesting and contain knowledgeable content, but if it’s not pages from the author’s heart, it won’t carve its way into the reader’s heart. I am part of an online group that was asked the question: What book most impacted your life the most? The result was a huge list of great books, which confirmed what I have found: The books people talk about the most are those that impacted the emotions and thinking patterns of a life.

Because heart to heart is how the ink on a page impacts a life and the world.



Ruthie is an author, speaker and life coach. She resides in Edmond, OK and is the mother of two amazing grown sons, and a daughter who was a life-long dancer and brought light into the lives of everyone who knew her, and now dances with Jesus.

[Order Fireflies at RuthieLewis.com]

I’m so different now, so different from the naïve high school senior full of heart and dreams.
Like a firefly whose very being lights up a summer night like a Fourth of July sparkler,
my soul’s light was at its brightest.

Tammy and Charla have been friends since childhood, but lost touch when life took them separate directions. In their time apart, both women have found themselves in situations far beyond their control.

Tammy Trovich had been full of dreams, but had sacrificed and forgotten them all. Truth collides with her head-on when she realizes she’s been caught like a firefly in a proverbial jar, living a life of have-to and supposed-to, when all the while, freedom was only inches away.

Despite many obstacles, Charla Calibrisi thinks she’s living her dream as a news anchor, but when her husband’s aggressive behavior mirrors her dark past, will she allow the truth she has buried to be excavated, or will she be buried with it?

Trapped in a jar with their lights dimming, both women wrestle with their devotion to the sanctity of marriage. To what limit will Tammy and Charla let their lives grow fainter before their light is extinguished—unable to emanate even the faintest glow?

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Shewanda Pugh

Shewanda Pugh is a native of Boston’s inner city, though she now lives in sunny Miami, Florida. She has a bachelor’s degree in Political Science from Alabama A&M University and a Master’s in Writing from Nova Southeastern University. Fueled from a young age, her passion for crossing societal boundaries like race, class and culture, is the inspiration for both her cluttered bookshelf and her writing. When she’s not busy obsessing over fiction, she can be found traveling, nursing her social networking addiction or enjoying the company of loved ones.

Learn more about Shewanda at/on: [Her website] [Facebook] [Twitter] [Her blog]


The Passion for Writing - From Shewanda's Pen
Where does your passion for writing come from?
From within. It's innate and fed by a constant need to read, communicate, and create.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
Red. Red's the color of passion and fury; it's the color that draws the eye.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I write everyday, 365 days a year, no matter how I feel, no matter what else is going on in the world.


[Buy your copy of Crimson Footprints at Amazon]
When an insecure, bi-racial woman begins a cloak-and-dagger love affair with a Japanese American man, she is intent on keeping her bigoted family in the dark—albeit with devastating consequences. On the night of her brother’s murder, Deena Hammond stumbles upon Takumi Tanaka, lost and on the wrong end of a .32. After rescuing him from the certain fate driving through the hood in a Porsche will bring, a sweet kind of friendship begins. A balm for her grief. Maybe, Deena likes to think, it happened the day her white mother killed her black father. Or maybe, it was always a part of them, like DNA gone bad. Whatever the case, Deena knows that her family would never approve, hell, never acknowledge her fast-growing love for Takumi. And had he never made love to her that way, in that unraveling, soul-searching sort of way, she could’ve done the same. But love’s a devil that way. So, their game begins. One where they hide what they are from everyone. Anyone. And Tak understands this—for now. After all, Deena’s career hinges on the favor of her mentor and boss, his hard-ass of a father. And the Hammond family is already stretched thin with grief. Yet, each step Deena takes toward family and career brings her closer to an acceptance she’s never had. And away from him.

Excerpt from Crimson Footprints

“I wish that I didn’t want my family’s love so bad. I wish I could be one of those people who wore leather jackets and didn’t give a damned.”

Tak shot her a look. “You’d be musty if you wore a leather jacket in this heat.”

Deena grinned. “You know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “Who doesn’t want a decent family, Dee? It’s not much to ask for.”

Tak paused to pluck a seashell from the sand. Chipped and polished by time, it shone under the glint of a fast setting sun. “I don’t know the answers,” he said. “But they seem to be in things like this,” he held up the shell.

She frowned. “I don’t follow.”

He shrugged. “Well think about it. What’s a shell? It’s just a—a hard, protective outer layer.” He hurled it in the ocean. “The same is true with family. They’re an outer layer, a protection from the world. At least that’s what they’re supposed to be.” He paused. “Think about what happens when you screw with an animal that has one of those hard shells. What does he do?”

“He goes into it.”

“Right. He retreats.” He thumbed the shell thoughtfully. “Now imagine if you were to rip the shell off a turtle and expose him. What do you think you’d find?”

Deena cringed. “Something soft and hurting.

“And dead, if not close to it. So, our hypothetical turtle, who’s able to stand our shell transplant, needs another shell, another form of protection. And so do you.” Tak handed the grooved and sand-polished subject to Deena. She looked down at it.

“So, how’ve I been surviving all this time? What’s my shell?”

Tak grinned. “Tell you what. I’ll let you know when I crack it.”

Copyright by Shewanda Pugh

Lattes, Location & Writing - ChickLitGurrl Talks

[freecodesource.com pictures]

Back in February while I was still in Lubbock, I dreamed about being back home in Lake Charles, LA and all the time I would spend in cafés, sipping on the decadent lattes I love and writing.

I moved back to Lake Charles on March 1.

I have been in no cafés since my return.

I have had no decadent lattes.

Just the sexy coffee I make at home.

Why?

A lot of things, mostly being tired from the move, dealing with a lot of emotional, mental, spiritual, physical baggage in the transition from TX to LA. Mostly being from trying to get my mind to work so that I could focus on my dissertation. Mostly being from trying to find ways to supplement my income.

But the truth, the real truth?

I had no desire to write.

Cafés have always been inspirational places for me. I think to be a writer is to be nosy, and I am a nosy person. LOL. I like to sit in a corner of a café, laptop on, latte hot, and watch and hear the people around me. There is something about the grinding of coffee and the frothing of milk and the mundane snippets of conversations and eyeing the books people carry back to tables to peruse and seeing how people dress and interact that excites me and revvs my creative energy to perform.

But it had been ... and has been ... a long time since I felt the urge to write. Since I finished Into the Web back in December 2011, there has been little creative writing. A short story here or there, but no novel and no desire to write one either.

I don't call it Writer's Block. I don't believe in Writer's Block. I believe there's a time to write, and it's either there or it's not. Yes, I could make myself write, but I know me, and I know it would be crap, and though people constantly say that writing is more about rewriting than the actual initial writing of a book, the front-end excitement and preparation I do before I ever put a word on the page helps me to not have to do 100 revisions of a work.

I know that life has a way of getting in the way and keeping me (and others I know) from writing, but as a fiction professor once told me while I was part-time teaching and working on my creative thesis, "If you can't find the time to write NOW, you will never find the time to write." At the time, I laughed and thought, When would I ever be a writer, student, teacher, and thesis writer? Enter me being a writer, doctoral candidate, full-time teacher, and dissertation writer. Good words to live by: you should never think of or wish for something that can come back and bite you on the arse!

Life has gotten away from me. Even while in the midst of this, I never thought, Perhaps I'll go to the café and be inspired to write as I thought I needed to be sparked first to write before I went to the café.

Fortunately, in the last week or two, while I've been writing little 79-word stories daily that originated after I submitted one to Esquire's Short Short Fiction contest, I've felt that passion churn in my belly and in my heart and in my mind.

But I shouldn't ... and you shouldn't ... wait until you get the spark back to go to places, to do the things that can inspire the writing to come forward. Lattes and cafés have always been a part of my writing world. Even while in Lubbock, I noticed I was more apt to write (creatively and academically) if I was up early in a café, spending my morning around caffeine and books. Those two things should have never left my life because writing IS a part of my life.

If there are places, things that are integral to your writing life, take part in them, experience them as much as you can, especially when you feel the lull in your writing spirit, for they can provide the literary nourishment you need to put fingers to keys and CREATE.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Ruthie Lewis

Ruthie is an author, speaker and life coach. She resides in Edmond, OK and is the mother of two amazing grown sons, and a daughter who was a life-long dancer and brought light into the lives of everyone who knew her, and now dances with Jesus.

Think avalanche! — Unstoppable devastation; loss; reshaping of the entire landscape - a GPS repositioning. That’s what happened to Ruthie’s “perfect” life. Just when life was getting good, devastation and tragedy quaked, burying her.

Only a mother’s love encapsulated her with the strength to dig out, gasp for breath, and seek the fire to comfort and warm.

Peace and abundance was the fruit that bloomed, as she never took her eyes off the sometimes, tiniest spark of light, enabling her to take the next breath. Would she, or even could she follow that spark - or lay down and die?

Choices — there’s always a choice. Now, that spark of inner light is a flame, brighter than any firefly’s glow, emanating through Ruthie’s writing, speaking and Life Coaching, empowering others to connect with their inner light, that will survive an avalanche. You see, though the landscape is drastically altered, the majestic mountain stands.

Learn more about Ruthie at/on: [Her website] [Facebook Fan Page] [Twitter] [LinkedIn]


The Passion for Writing - From Ruthie's Pen
Where does your passion for writing come from?
It’s hard to put any passion into words. It’s a part of who you are. I knew very young that I loved words and loved stories, and began writing them very young. In my mind, it was just something fun. Unfortunately, like most women, it wasn’t until middle age that I realized it was a passion and a part of who I was. In fact, most women never realize their passion. That’s why one of my favorite questions is: “If asked what your passions were as a child, would you even know now what they were?” The world’s expectations rob us of who we are and of the fulfillment our passions are meant to bring to our lives. Even after I began to realize writing was a passion, I didn’t acknowledge it as my calling until faced with devastating life circumstances. I made the choice to pursue the truth facing me and the result, years later, was “Fireflies”, and the impact it is meant to have on others.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
Purple; no doubt! It’s my favorite color, but there’s something about purple that seems to encapsulate every color of the universe.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
Your passion is always a part of who you are. Keeping it burning is actually why I wrote Fireflies and what I speak about. It’s all about keeping in touch with your inner light. We are all beckoned from a very young age to conform to what the world expects from us and consequently, most choose to follow that mandate instead of the light we were born with, and allowing it to light our way to the fulfillment of our passions.


[Fireflies is available for pre-order at RuthieLewis.com]

I’m so different now, so different from the naïve high school senior full of heart and dreams.
Like a firefly whose very being lights up a summer night like a Fourth of July sparkler,
my soul’s light was at its brightest.

Tammy and Charla have been friends since childhood, but lost touch when life took them separate directions. In their time apart, both women have found themselves in situations far beyond their control.

Tammy Trovich had been full of dreams, but had sacrificed and forgotten them all. Truth collides with her head-on when she realizes she’s been caught like a firefly in a proverbial jar, living a life of have-to and supposed-to, when all the while, freedom was only inches away.

Despite many obstacles, Charla Calibrisi thinks she’s living her dream as a news anchor, but when her husband’s aggressive behavior mirrors her dark past, will she allow the truth she has buried to be excavated, or will she be buried with it?

Trapped in a jar with their lights dimming, both women wrestle with their devotion to the sanctity of marriage. To what limit will Tammy and Charla let their lives grow fainter before their light is extinguished—unable to emanate even the faintest glow?

Excerpt from Fireflies

Prologue

I’m so different now, so different from the naïve, high school senior full of heart and dreams. Like a firefly whose very being lights up a summer night like a Fourth of July sparkler, my soul’s inner light was at its brightest.

My love affair with books had caused me to fall in love with the words happily ever after.

He was my first love. I remember the butterflies tickling my innards uncontrollably, every sight and sound swirling around me. I loved his thick, Beatles-style, blonde hair. His medium height was tall for me. His thin body carried broad shoulders. Something about broad shoulders makes a guy appear so strong, and I suppose ignited a feeling of being protected.

The first date came complete with the first red flag. It was so confusing, the way he was barely acknowledging my presence. It was a school event, and as we approached the entrance, Eric swung open the door and walked in, allowing it to swing shut right in front of me. Not only had he not opened the door for me, he entered with an arrogant demeanor, not even holding it open long enough for me to grab it. It wasn’t just a slip up. But typical of my nature, combined with sweet-Christian-girl teachings, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, followed right behind him, and pretended it didn’t happen.

Time passed and red flags continued to herald my attention, but hidden in the shadows of his enticing words: “Tammy, we’re meant to be together,” and “No one will ever love you like I love you.”

I desperately wanted to believe it was his heart and chose to paint each red flag the attractive color of love.

Or were they painted with my quest for approval by becoming what I was taught I should be?



“Now I pronounce you man and wife.”

And with a kiss, Mr. and Mrs. Eric Trovich paced back up the isle with smiles, accompanied by The Carpenters; “We’ve only just begun, white lace and promises.” My ticket to happily ever after.

I just didn’t know that one of the most devastating decisions in the world is to walk into a marriage you’ve gambled your very being on.

One of my favorite things as a little girl was running barefoot, chasing elusive fireflies, toes feeling the cool, freshly mown grass in my grandparents’ backyard. The flashing lights, magical, twinkling from their being, sparked dreams emanating from my own light.

In the moment again, seeing the lights, smelling the grass, feeling it between my toes, hearing the crickets; I see it—the perfect picture of the soul light in each of us, ignited by the mere finger of God, the essence of who we are, our purpose meant to light the world.

One of the first things I discovered about fireflies was how easily their light could be removed. Hardly a day goes by now that I don’t think about how I marveled as my mother showed me how to delicately remove the tiny but bright light and pretend it was a diamond. I placed it just right on my finger, sparkling like a diamond wedding ring.

I chased the fireflies, gathering them one by one into a mayonnaise jar my grandmother had saved. I punched holes in the top and watched the lightning show as they circled, flickering lights hitting the glass wall over and over, slowly dimming, desperate for oxygen, life.

One evening, I couldn’t watch the desperate captivity any longer. I unscrewed the lid to see how fast they would escape the jar. I was mesmerized by how they continued circling and slamming into the glass, oblivious the lid was off.

I so wanted to tell them, the lid is off; fly, fly, you’re free! Then I noticed one’s light becoming brighter again. It seemed as though she made a couple of rounds whispering to the others; the lid is off, the lid is off, then following her rekindled light to freedom, out she flew.

The rest scampered at the bottom, succumbing to the lie they could not free themselves, and eventually their sad death—freedom only inches away.

It took the near death of my own light to recognize the invisible jar that held it captive—made of distorted limitations. Just as I had watched each firefly’s light slowly dim as it accepted its plight, I also succumbed to false limitations by a slow ingestion of half-truths, dictating my role as a woman instead of illuminating the inner light of who I am, forming the lid on my captive jar.

There was no greater purpose than to become a submissive wife and perfect mother. There was no way I wouldn’t live my happily ever after—Love never fails, right?

It was up to me, because I was his wife and that was my job. So I relentlessly continued to try.

My journey walked me through the doors of mid-life when the whole truth caught up with me, banishing half-truths as I soaked in a tub of lavender bubbles. I couldn’t squelch the tormenting voices that whined, Whatcha gonna do now? Whatcha gonna do now?

Doubts, grief and fear tangled tight around me. Tears cratered into the bubbles as truth seeped through the scars of my heart like water finding a pinhole—like the holes on the lid of my jar.

I called Charla. “We have to talk. I know what I have to do.”

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Karen Templeton

Since 1998, Karen Templeton has written dozens of heartwarming, family-oriented titles for Harlequin Books, including RITA-award winners A MOTHER'S WISH (2009) and WELCOME HOME, COWBOY (2011). An East Coast native, this mother of five sons has called New Mexico home for nearly thirty years.

Learn more about Karen at/on:

[Her website] [Facebook]

The Passion for Writing - From Karen's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
Passion? Not sure that’s the right word, since passion can, and does, burn out. Just as with relationships, it takes a lot of work to continue doing something that, at least occasionally, you really, really want to walk away from. :-) Writing, or at least writing well, is hard. And often frustrating, when the brain might cough up an idea, but the words to express that idea are hiding in the crevices, sniggering and refusing to show themselves. Sigh. That’s not to say I don’t have moments when a scene falls together, or a character “says” something I had no idea was going to come out of his mouth, and I’m like, “This is the best job ever.” But do those moments compensate for alllll the others when I want to email my editor and wail, “I can’t do this anymore!”

Um…sometimes?

And yet…I do feel that writing is – for now, at least – a calling. My calling, anyway. Why? Because my stories are about healing, about people overcoming all sorts of obstacles that would keep them from finding and accepting love in their lives. At their most basic, these are stories about good triumphing over evil – grief, fear, feelings of unworthiness, anything that would keep someone from embracing the best that life has to offer. And that’s what keeps me slogging away on a project during those dark times when I have no idea what I’m doing, or even what I’m supposed to be saying. Because above and beyond entertaining my readers – which is, of course, my primary goal – if I can perhaps encourage or inspire a few along the way, as well, then it’s all worth it. In spades.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
A rainbow. :-)

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
Again, it’s not passion, but a sense of purpose that’s thus far seen me through forty or so books. And I’m only a vehicle for that, not the originator. I’m a firm believer that there is only one Creator, and that the more we humans get ourselves out of the way, the more the divine Mind, or Soul, can shine through us. So whenever I’m tempted to feel discouraged I remind myself – vehemently, if necessary – Who’s really doing the work, and that there is no impediment to His perfect expression.

In other words, writing isn’t about me. I’m just the intermediary. :-)

[Pre-Order Today at Amazon!]

Releases August 1 on eHarlequin.com (ebook and print)

From the moment four-year-old Ryder Caldwell laid eyes on his parents’ housekeeper’s tiny baby girl, he was a goner, determined to protect the little girl forever. But as childhood melted into adolescence, so did those protective feelings, forcing Ryder to end their relationship before they made a mistake. But how could he have predicted that his rejection would send Melanie Duncan running into his brother's arms? Now, ten years later, Mel has come home-and she's not alone. She was always the woman Ryder couldn't forget-and now she's accompanied by the child he hadn't known existed. And suddenly the good doctor can see everything he's been searching his whole life to find...right in his own backyard....

To read the first chapter of THE DOCTOR'S DO-OVER, head to Karen's website!

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Morgan Mandel

You’ll find romance in Morgan Mandel’s mysteries, and vice versa, since she loves mixing genres. She’s an active member of Chicago-North RWA, where she’s served in many capacities, including president. She was also the library liaison for Midwest Mystery Writers of America, and belongs to Sisters in Crime and the Electronically Published Internet Connection.

Her latest paranormal romantic thriller is Forever Young: Blessing or Curse, Book One of the Always Young Trilogy, available in Print, Kindle, Nook, Smashwords and more. Other available novels by Morgan Mandel include the romantic suspense, Killer Career, the mystery, Two Wrongs, and the ever popular reality show romance, Girl of My Dreams.

Morgan also contributed two short stories to The Corner Café: A Tasty Collection of Short Stories.

Learn more about Morgan at/on:

[Her blog] [Excerpts and Links to Morgan's Full Length Books] [Facebook] [Twitter]

The Passion for Writing - From Morgan's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
For years I worked as a legal secretary, taking orders. I was also an avid reader. Then I chanced upon a program by RWA members at my local library. I discovered that authors were real people, with real lives. Not only that, though they followed directions about formatting and crafting quality books, ultimately they were their own bosses.

I couldn’t be in control at my day job, but I could be in control of at least one area of my life. I could write what I wanted, when I wanted. That was over 15 years ago, yet my passion for writing continues.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
When writing’s going well, the color’s a serene blue.

When I run into writer’s block or am editing for the umpteenth time, yet still finding errors, the color turns red.

Writing isn’t always smooth sailing under a clear blue sky, but it’s my passion.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
Online writing groups, such as BBTCafe and DorothyL, plus the semi-monthly meetings of Chicago-North RWA are wonderful motivators. It’s great to be amongst people with common interests and goals. Also, every time I attend a writing conference and listen to the guest speakers, I feel energized and ready to tackle the toughest manuscript.

Still, I have to admit there are times when I’m just not in the mood to write, so I don’t force myself. I know the urge will come back even stronger later, because it always does. Something inside compels me to reach out and share my stories with others.

Thanks for hosting me at your blog today, Shonell.





[purchase today]

Morgan’s latest full length novel, Forever Young, Blessing or Curse, is about a 55 year old widow who takes a pill to be 24 forever. Dorrie’s beautiful and young, but getting old isn’t the only way to die. A chance discovery has her fleeing for her life.

She’s about to find out how wrong she is.

Excerpt from Forever Young

A limp object lay sprawled in the parking lot where Dorrie was to meet her husband. It looked like, no it couldn’t be...

Pulse pounding, she hit the brakes and flung open the door. A few steps, and she stood staring in disbelief at her husband’s still form. That red streak didn’t belong in Larry’s salt and pepper hair, nor should it mar his olive skinned cheeks, and trickle onto his white cotton shirt.

She groped in her purse for the smartphone. Fingers shaking, she dialed 911. “There’s been an accident at the Life is for Living Institute. I need an ambulance. Hurry, please.”

A helpless feeling engulfed her. If only she knew first aid, but in all her fifty-five years, she’d never bothered to learn. She had to do something, but what? Bending down, knees scraping the asphalt, she touched her husband’s hand. “Larry, it’s all right. I’m here.” She wanted to be brave for him, but couldn’t keep her voice from quavering.

He whispered something she couldn’t catch, something about his iPhone.

“I found it on the nightstand, Larry. It’s right here in my purse.”

“Dorrie, I want you to keep it. Something’s…on it,” he gasped.

She bent closer. “I know honey, all those songs and photos. They mean a lot to me, too. Don’t worry, when we get home tonight, we’ll share them together.”

“No, more…Life is for Living isn’t…Forever Young isn’t…”

He struggled to speak, but his voice faded in and out. He probably shouldn’t talk. Where was that ambulance? Her husband needed help.

Larry flashed a weak smile and looked straight into her eyes. “Love ya,” he whispered.

Stifling a sob, she completed the ritual. “Love ya, back.” In their thirty years of marriage, how often had they said those words to each other?

His lips stilled. His hand slackened. His brown eyes stared unseeingly, as his face froze into a smile.

This can’t be happening. Larry, you can’t leave me. It’s too soon.

Blood rushed to her head. Roaring filled her ears. Larry couldn’t be gone. She’d prove it. Dorrie bent to kiss his lips. They felt warm and soft. He must be alive. Soon the ambulance would come, the paramedics would fix him, and he’d be all right.

She glanced again at Larry’s still form. The truth hit, sucking her breath away. She didn’t need a medical examiner to tell her what she could see with her own eyes. Larry had left and would never return. Her stomach convulsed, her chest heaved with sobs. It shouldn’t end like this, not in the middle of a parking lot. Larry deserved better. So did she.

• Kindle Link
• Amazon Print Link

In the works is Blessing or Curse: A Forever Young Anthology, about others who take the Forever Young pill. Always Young will follow, bringing back the original heroine to close out the trilogy.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Liz DeJesus

Liz DeJesus was born on the tiny island of Puerto Rico. She is a novelist and a poet. She has been writing for as long as she was capable of holding a pen. She is the author of the novel Nina (Blu Phi'er Publishing, October 2007), The Jackets (Arte Publico Press, March 31, 2011) and First Frost (Musa Publishing, June 22, 2012). Liz is currently working on a new novel.

Learn more about Liz at/on:

[Her website] [Author Facebook] [First Frost Facebook] [Twitter]

The Passion for Writing - From Liz's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
As a child, I didn’t have any way to express myself until I discovered that I could put my thoughts on pen and paper. God, I was always blushing or stuttering…so embarrassing. Once I discovered how liberating it could be to share my thoughts, I discovered a fountain of imagination. Stories that needed to be told, poems to be written, adventures to go on, characters to meet, places to go…I felt free…unstoppable.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
Indigo. I think that’s the color of imagination.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I make sure I always have a pen and notebook close by. I even have a small notebook in my purse in case I get a good idea for a story. I love writing. It’s something that is essentially a part of me. I can write while raising two very rambunctious boys, so that should tell you how much I love my craft. I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t write something every day I would be the saddest human being alive. It’s like fuel for my soul. I love every aspect of the writing process. Discovering the idea. Meeting my characters. Helping them through their journey. Learning about them and myself in the process. The climax. The conclusion. The madness! Everything! I love it!





[purchase today]

For generations, the Frost family has run the Museum of Magical and Rare Artifacts, handing down guardianship from mother to daughter, always keeping their secrets to “family only.”

Gathered within museum’s walls is a collection dedicated to the Grimm fairy tales and to the rare items the family has acquired: Cinderella’s glass slipper, Snow White’s poisoned apple, the evil queen’s magic mirror, Sleeping Beauty’s enchanted spinning wheel…

Seventeen-year-old Bianca Frost wants none of it, dreaming instead of a career in art or photography or…well, anything except working in the family’s museum. She knows the items in the glass display cases are fakes because, of course, magic doesn’t really exist.

She’s about to find out how wrong she is.

Excerpt from First Frost

Bianca got out of her car and ran inside the house. She called for her mother as she searched for her upstairs in all of the rooms. Nothing. She quickly ran downstairs and was ready to go down to the basement when a strange turquoise light caught her eye. She looked out the kitchen window; she couldn’t believe what she saw. Her mother was throwing what Bianca could only describe as balls of turquoise fireballs at a woman wearing a black hood. Bianca couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she could see her pale hands and slender fingers.

Bianca tried to make sense of it all. She kept expecting to see a special effects crew to come out from behind the trees and tell her that it was all part of an elaborate prank. But no such thing happened. All she knew was that a strange turquoise flame was coming out of her mother’s hands.

She knew that her mother sometimes read old dusty books on witchcraft, but she didn’t know she had actual powers. She thought about all the little quirks her mother had. Things that Bianca thought were essentially Rose. Her mother talked to plants and trees. She would sometimes stare off into space as though she were looking at something in another world. Something only she could see. She read tarot cards to random people and would tell them things about his or her life as though she were reading an open book. Bianca always thought she just made really lucky guesses. She chose not to believe in this other world and everything it stood for. Magic represented a life out of the norm, and Bianca desperately wanted to be normal. Just like everyone else.

Bianca pulled herself out of her thoughts. As she looked at the blue and green flashes in the backyard, she quickly realized that this was something she couldn’t escape. Normal was no longer a part of her world. Normal was no longer an option for her.

Bianca didn’t know what to do. She was frozen in place. She was afraid to distract her mother for even a second. She ducked behind the screen door; at least this way she could still hear what they were saying to each other.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come?” the witch shouted.

“Oh, I knew you’d be back,” Rose replied.

Bianca slowly lifted her gaze and peeked above the screen. She saw her mother standing behind the shed on the left side of their backyard. The witch was still too far away for her to get a good look at her, but Bianca could tell that she was on the far right corner of their yard.

“Where’s the book?” the witch demanded.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rose replied with a smirk.

“Don’t be coy with me. You know very well what I’m talking about.”

“Sorry. I can’t help you.” Rose’s breathing was becoming more labored and she was drenched in sweat…obvious signs of exhaustion, but Bianca could tell by the look on her mother’s face that she wouldn’t give up.

“The wards in the museum are impressive. I couldn’t get past them. But maybe…she’ll know where the book is,” the witch said as she looked in Bianca’s direction and threw a sickly olive-colored fireball at the screen door.

Bianca shrieked and jumped out of the way. The screen door fell off its hinges and landed on the kitchen floor with a loud thud.

“Bianca!” Rose screamed.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Maryann Miller

Maryann Miller is an award-winning author of numerous books, screenplays and stage plays. She is also a freelance editor and script doctor, and is the Theatre Director at the Winnsboro Center for the Arts. Her short story collection, The Wisdom of Ages, is available as an e-book and paperback. In addition, she has written several other books: Play It Again, Sam, a woman's novel; Open Season, the first book in a new mystery series that features two women homicide detectives in Dallas; a suspense novel, One Small Victory; and a young adult novel, Friends Forever. All are available as e-books and in paper.

Learn more about Maryann at/on:

[Her website] [Blog] [Facebook] [Twitter]

The Passion for Writing - From Maryann's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing has always been stirred by things that happen in society that bother me, such as prejudice and injustice or the horribly unfair things that happen to people. Even before I thought about creating stories, I always worked through issues by writing about them.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
The color of my passion would probably be red. People joke about seeing red when they are angry about something, and I think that applies to me. The social issues I am prodded to write about usually do make me angry; a woman being dumped by her husband, a gay man who isn't accepted by his father, the unfair use of deadly force by police officers, and any other form of discrimination.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I don't have to do much to keep the passion burning, I just need to make myself sit and write when the fire is hot, so to speak. Like so many others, I write because I can't NOT write, so there is always something inside me prodding, "Get to the keyboard, get to the keyboard."





[purchase today]

Three stories; four men whose lives take unexpected turns. Meet Samson who wonders what is down that country road that draws people so. Should he get in that old truck and go see? Mel and Rube have been having dinner at the Leavenworth Grill every Wednesday for years. One day the menu changes and so does life for Mel. Tom would give anything for his life to change. Can he beat back the effects of a crippling stroke by sheer force of determination? Growing old is not for the faint of heart.

Excerpt from The Wisdom of Ages

MAYBE SOMEDAY
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this story was inspired when my husband and I were on a road trip, and I saw an old black man sitting under a tree watching the cars go by. The story was one of those rare gifts from my muse, and came to me in one great rush that needed little rewrite or editing. The story placed third in the Page Edward's Short Fiction contest in 2004.

 
*****

Samson sat in the meager shade of the small Mimosa tree that graced his front yard, watching the traffic on old highway 79. Granted, there wasn’t much, but every now and then a shiny new car would pass, heading toward the resort Samson knew was somewhere down the road. Or a car full of teenagers would zoom by, the boys laughing and tossing their empties out the window. And as many afternoons as he’d spent out here, it never failed to surprise Samson how much things had changed. On a good day he could count up to a hundred cars going by. Times used to be when one donkey cart coming down the road was cause for celebration.

Those had been the good years. The years Samson had worked for Mr. Watson until he’d given Samson this little piece of land for his own. Some folks thought Watson had lost his mind, giving away his land like that, especially to a black man. But Watson had never treated Samson like most white folks did, the ‘good ol’ boy’ routine that never quite covered the slight hesitation as white flesh met black in a handshake. Watson never hesitated as a man or a friend, and the memory creased Samson’s weathered face in a smile.

But the smile wasn’t just for Watson. It was for Molly and those six youngsters who had been so much a part of the goodness of those years. He wished he could have filled their bellies as easily as they’d filled his heart, but they’d never seemed to mind. They’d always laughed the place up, and any occasion, large or small turned into an opportunity for fun. When the peddler came down the road, the pots and pans clanking in time to the clip clop of his horse’s hooves on the dirt road, the children ran out clutching their dimes, eager to see what new toy or sweet the old man had. You’d’ve thought a carnival had come to their front door.

Then all too soon those good years had passed. One by one the youngsters got up and left. Then Molly had, too. Not of her own choice of course. A body has no choice when it comes to dying, so Samson had been alone these past twenty years. Wasn’t too bad though. Once he got used to listening to the radio instead of Molly and learned how to make passable biscuits. But acceptance didn’t dispel the loneliness that crept up on a man in the dark of night, and Samson wondered if he was destined to carry that loneliness to the grave.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Linda R. Herman

A native of South Georgia, Linda R. Herman, has been in love with the written word since she learned to read. She's been writing entertaining stories since elementary school and currently writes in many genres, most specifically Contemporary.

The writer is a wife and mother who works full-time as an emergency 911 dispatcher.

Learn more about Linda at/on:

[her website] [Facebook] [Twitter]

The Passion for Writing - From Linda's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing stems from my love for reading.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
Red. I love the color red. "My heart bleeds and with that passion, I pen stories that parallel reality." Blood is red, right? LOL

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
My imagination runs WILD! There are many variations of a good plot, but it's the characters who tell the story. Characters are who readers fall in love with and remember long after the last punctuation mark. So, I'm always thinking of new characters...people I'd like to meet...and some I'd rather not, LOL.



[purchase today]

Undeniably Torn was co-written with Tinisha Nicole Johnson, and it tells a modern day tale of a love triangle spun out of control.

Nigel Alexander has everything a woman desires in a man. He's educated, wealthy, smart, and all so sexy. The only thing is, Nigel knows he's all that and he's not ready to settle down, no matter how persistent Isis, his long time bed bunny, is.

Isis Cross is convinced that one day Nigel will stop his "catting around" and choose her as his bride. After all, she is equally educated, wealthy, smart, and attractive. She could have any man of her choosing but her heart chose Nigel years ago and Isis is not about to give him up.

So where does Rayna Payne fit into this perfect union Isis has created in her mind? In Isis' opinion, she doesn't but Nigel is quite smitten with this Southern Belle. In fact, he thinks Rayna just might be the one for him.

What Nigel doesn't know about Rayna, Isis is prepared to bring to the light. But how far will Rayna go to keep her past in the dark?

When all is said and done, who will be the last woman standing at Nigel's side?

Excerpt from Undeniably Torn

Nigel leaned over to Rayna, after his Dad stepped away. “Babe, I’ll be back before you know it, so don’t you go anywhere.” He pecked her on the cheek.

Although caught off guard, Rayna was appreciative that Nigel was so attentive. She turned around, in search of a restroom, when a familiar face approached her.

“So we meet again,” a feminine voice sang.

Rayna looked up to find herself standing face to face with Isis. It was just the two of them.

“Yes, how are you, Isis?” Rayna smiled sweetly while sizing up her competition. Isis was a very beautiful woman. Buttermilk skin that gave way to her mixed heritage covered her tall, slender body.

Her hazel green eyes held an air of mystery and sensuality. Even her pearly whites were perfectly straight. Model material definitely.

“I’m fine.” Isis stepped forward, closing in the small gap between her and Rayna. She lowered her voice. “But, I think we both know this little, uh, girl talk isn’t going to be about exchanging pleasantries.”



Rayna smirked facetiously. She then looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was in hearing range before she replied. Staring directly into Isis’ eyes, Rayna whispered, “So, let’s skip the bullshit and get to it.”

Isis was a little surprised by Rayna’s choice of words. She had her pegged as the good ol’ country bumpkin. Apparently, she was wrong. There was a lot more to Rayna than a sweet smile and polite conversation.

“What’s your relationship with Nigel?” Isis demanded to know.

Still smiling and not breaking eye contact, Rayna answered. “If you didn’t have an idea, you wouldn’t be asking. Would you?”

Isis’ blood boiled. How dare she be so cocky! Isis had a good mind to slap the smirk off Rayna’s face, but something in the other woman’s eyes stopped her. It’s as if Rayna was not only staring at her, but through her.

Isis cleared her throat. “I don’t know what Nigel has told you about us, but let me assure you, friends don’t do what he and I do.” Isis smiled coyly, waiting for a response from Rayna, but she offered nothing, not even a change in her facial expression.

“So, you enjoy your little fling.” Isis stressed the latter. “I’ve watched many come and go out of Nigel’s life, but I’m still here.”

“You know, Isis, that’s kind of sad. In fact, it’s downright pathetic. If Nigel was feeling you half as much as you’re feeling him, you wouldn’t have to watch so many others come and go. It would be all about you, but it’s not.” Rayna watched Isis’ beautiful face twist in anger and crumble. “Be careful when you walk away. I’d hate for you to step on your face.” Rayna started to walk off, then stopped and turned back toward Isis. “Oh, and thanks for the uh, girl talk.”

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Deidra D. S. Green

Deidra D. S. Green is highly sought after as a lecturer, educator, and presenter. Her command of the podium, extensive knowledge base, and ability to effectively communicate, has both informed and captivated audiences. They leave challenged, inspired, and wanting more.

Deidra was born in E. St. Louis, IL to the proud parents of Robert W. and M. Catherine Smoot. She is the eldest of the three children; her younger sister Robyn Kaye has been resting with God since 1999. Her baby brother Patrick Schayne, is an educator, author, and a dynamic speaker. Deidra, her two children VcToryann and Kamerron, and her brother reside in Atlanta GA.

Deidra has continued her literary prowess as a freelance writer, literary coach, ghostwriter and professional editor, as well as authoring several books for all age groups. In 2009, she founded The Mahogany Writers Exchange, a writing group for adults interested in honing their writing craft. Other works by Deidra include:

• From the Outside In (non-fiction, true crime)
• My Forever Airplane (children’s non-fiction)
• Smallest Superhero (Children’s fiction series)
• Smallest Superhero and the CBU (Children’s fiction series)
• Epiphanies While Driving (inspiration/motivation)
• Closet Issues: A Poet’s Journey into the Dark Places (prose/short stories)
• Wordsmithin’ (poetry)
• Twisted Sister (Adult fiction, first installment of Anthology of a Trick)

Learn more about Deidra at/on:

[her website] [Facebook] [Twitter]

The Passion for Writing - From Deidra's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing emanates from my love of words. I am in awe and understand the power of the written word. And as many writers before me have said, I have always written; not for the viewing public, but for myself. Writing has been my peace in the storm; my respite from anything and everything that has gone on in my life. Regardless of my emotions, whether happy, sad, excited, ambivalent, writing is how I have always expressed myself. Writing for me is like breathing. Without it, I would cease to exist. The passion for writing derives from that internal place, that place of knowing...

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
If my writing were a color, it would be black. Some people see black as a flat, one dimensional color. But black is a penetrating color and mixed with anything changes the context of what it is mixed with. Black has depth and dimensionality, and dependent on whether there is a shine put on it, can be reflective...

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I keep the passion burning for my relationship with storytelling because I genuinely enjoy it. I don't write for pride or vain glory. I don't write for money or fame. I write because I was gifted by the Most High with the gift of expression through the written word, through storytelling. When a person writes from an honest, unadulterated and pure place, the rest follows.







[purchase today]

A five-year-old little girl is brutally murdered by her mother’s boyfriend. His true identity is questioned and questionable from the very beginning. Her mother, a social worker, is found culpable but is not the primary killer. The people responsible for her protection have ultimately failed the little girl… and not just once. The story makes national headlines and is covered on every major news station in the local area. The media doesn't have the whole story, but someone else does. She is looking From the Outside In.

[coming soon!]

Twisted Sister is a mind-bending tale of love, cruelty, friendship, and revenge. The story opens with Holly and Blythe – two African American twenty-somethings that are on the way to the top of a prestigious financial management firm. While Blythe is “lucky in love,” Holly is a self-imposed single that is focused on solidifying her career, not on finding Mr. Right. To make matters worse, a failed engagement that still haunts Holly cripples her every time she tries to make a new relationship work.

That all seems destined to change, though, when Blythe discloses that a new associate named Trent has developed feelings for Holly. Not only is Trent seemingly successful, kind-hearted, and financially secure, but he is also every woman’s dream – athletically built with chiseled and handsome features.

After a sexually charged first date, followed by a whirlwind undercover few weeks of dating, Holly’s romance comes to a screeching halt. Even though she knew that inter-office dating was frowned upon, Holly had been sure that her office romance had gone unnoticed…until one of the partners called her out and gave her an ultimatum: a successful career or Trent.

When Holly makes the decision to break off her relationship with Trent, she could never have dreamed about the nightmare that awaited her as a result of leaving him. Kidnapped, drugged, and raped at knife point, Holly has every chance to wilt completely at the hands of her captor. However, after a sudden twist of grace leaves her alive and standing outside of her apartment high rise, the strong will to fight that lives within her soul sparks to life, enabling her to vow that she will not let her tormentor get away with what he has done.

 Excerpt from From the Outside In

Chapter 1

It’s very quiet where I am now. I can no longer hear the thud of wet dirt, and the lingering trickle of the last pebbly remainders left on the grave diggers’ spade. At first, the noise was loud, and if I could feel, I would have been very scared. But as the hole started to fill up, even the full spade of dirt seemed far off. I wasn’t afraid of the sound… I couldn’t be. If I could breathe, I would have been holding my breath. But I can’t breathe anymore. It’s actually been a while since I breathed on my own. My ability to see ended a long time ago too. I couldn’t see like everybody else sees; you know, through my own eyes. But I could see in a way. I could see from the outside in. I could see me; lying in a wooden box; made fancy with gold trinkets, and little cupid like angels decorating my new home. I could see the burgundy velvet dress, matching Raggedy Ann hat, and big bow that slightly hid my head that was so crooked. My head hurt then, and I remember the pain. It hurt sooo bad…. I could see all the flowers around me, and with my mind, I could smell them. I had to use my mind to remember what flowers smelled like. My nose no longer worked…it was broken; broken to the point that it no longer had a bridge, broken.

I couldn’t see the shoes I was wearing because the box I was in was only open enough to see the top part of my body. The bottom half of me was covered by the box, and the flowers on top of the box. That was probably best. I had to say goodbye to that half of my body oh so long ago. And even though I can no longer physically feel, I can remember. My memory hurts… I don’t want to talk about that anymore right now.

Before the darkness came, I could see the little chapel. There was no music. I saw the man in the front saying something, but they were words I didn’t understand. It sounded as if he was talking about me, but not really talking about me. I saw the people in the seats; some of them I knew, some I didn’t. I saw my grandma. She had a big smile on her face. She seemed to be in her own world; rocking a little from side to side as if she had her own happy song in her head. I saw my Auntie, who I hadn’t seen for a very long time.  She left home before I was born. I’ve seen her mostly in pictures. But I remember her, and she never forgot me. She remembered every birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and every other holiday. She always seemed to remember me… and she remembers me now.

I saw my Grandpa. He was wearing his favorite suit with the preacher’s collar and big shiny cross on his neck. He was quiet, looking straight ahead; not left or right but straight ahead. The top of his body was really stiff, but at the bottom, his right leg seemed to have a mind all it’s on. It was bouncing up and down really fast, like he was nervous or something. Maybe it was hard for him to see me like this. Maybe…

I saw another man I’d only seen one time before. He looked really sad but I’m not exactly sure why. He was holding a picture of a baby girl who looked a lot like me… like I use to look…but I’m not sure.

And I saw my mother; sitting on the third row. I wondered why she sat so far away from me… why she wasn’t looking at me… why she wasn’t crying for me… Did she miss me?

I’m tired now. I want to rest now.  Someone else will have to tell the rest of the story for me; it’s only so much that I know; only so much that I remember…

Besides… I was only five years old when I was murdered.

Excerpt from Twisted Sister

The evening was drawing to a close and Holly and Blythe waited outside Ms. Catherine’s for a taxi. Blythe lived on the east side of town with her boyfriend and Holly lived closer to midtown. They would need to take separate cabs but as always, agreed to text or call each other as soon as they made it to their respective residents.

The ladies hugged as Blythe jumped in her taxi and headed home. It wouldn’t be long before Holly’s taxi arrived. Holly waited in front of Ms. Catherine’s. She could still hear the music pouring from inside the restaurant. There were plenty of couples out; some arriving at Ms. Catherine’s and some leaving… cozied up next to each other, hugging or holding hands, moving in rhythm to their next destinations. Although it was a week night, there was plenty of activity downtown.

Suddenly, Holly had the feeling she was being watched. It wasn’t like the quick glance someone would take as they passed you by but more like an unbreakable stare.  She looked around but didn’t notice anyone noticing her. Although there were a number of people on the street and Holly was not alone or isolated, she hoped the cab would hurry and arrive.

Instinctively, Holly was on high alert. She repositioned herself closer to the door of Ms. Catherine's and physically leaned against the building… that way; no one could walk behind her and catch her off guard. She continued to scan the street and people in front of and around her. Holly didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone somewhere was watching her.

Holly was becoming increasingly unnerved as she stood in front of Ms. Catherine’s. The night air was brisk, giving Holly a chill. The people around her continued to go on with their lives, the music continued to pour out of the restaurant, and Holly continued on high alert. Finally, the taxi cab pulled up. It couldn’t have arrived soon enough. Holly was relieved to climb into the back seat, lock the door and make her way home.

She didn’t engage in conversation with the cab driver, she was much too on edge for idle chatter. She just wanted to get home.

The cab moved swiftly through the dimly lit streets. Holly was glad for the free flowing traffic; so different than it was during the hustle and bustle most typical of the work day.

Even though the taxi ride was smooth and uneventful, Holly was still having a hard time relaxing. Her body was tense and her mind was filled with speculation. Holly still felt a little chilly; the goose bumps on her arm still raised from the briskness of the night air. Then she realized why. She had inadvertently left her suit jacket hanging on the back of her chair. Any other time Holly would have instructed the driver to turn around so she could retrieve her jacket. But Holly had been so uncomfortable and still a little on edge, she made the decision to just call Ms. Catherine’s when she got home and have them hold it until she could get back there in the next day or so to pick it up.

The cab arrived in front of her building. Without an exchange of words, Holly paid the driver, and made her way out of the vehicle. Holly’s focus was getting her keys out of her clutch, and getting into her apartment as fast as she could. As she scurried toward the door to her building, her phone began to buzz. Taking the phone from her purse, she instantly recognized the number. It was Blythe. Holly was fumbling with the keys and trying to answer the phone when she saw him… it was Trent… standing in the darkened shadows cast by Holly’s high rise luxury apartment building. Holly was shocked.

The Passion for Writing Series: Author Eva G. Headley

Nominated Indie Author of the Year Eva G. Headley resides in the UK. She is a passionate author and poet who loves writing inspirational novels and short stories that have unexpected endings and juicy storylines. You can learn more about Eva by checking out the following sites:

• Website
• The Write to Inspire
• Twitter
• Facebook

The Passion for Writing - From Eva's Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion comes from the ability to create characters that breathe and become actual people in my mind and the minds of my readers. I love the fact that my characters are created from my fears, fantasies, and failures. It’s a real place that I love to write from, and it's fueled by real emotion. I am able to close my mind to my own reality and dig deep into myself to live through the characters I create using my vivid imagination to create a place, a situation, and a scenario that readers can relate to.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
I would say RED. It's passionate, dangerous, and daring, but it's also the colour of redemption, help, and love.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I keep the passion burning by asking myself what would my character do in a certain situation. It's not what I would normally do, so it's exciting to explore situations I would not encounter personally.

[purchase today]

A story about connections, disconnections, and the loves and tragedies that dwell between

Ria Jackson thought she was making the right choice when she relocates to New York to fulfill her dream. She leaves behind the love of her life Shawn Matthews in Los Angeles. What she soon finds out is her choice to leave brings about devastating effects. Left alone, Shawn Matthews reunites with Andrea Lasalle 'a rebound'. They become lovers quickly, but Shawn cannot get Ria out of his mind-she has a hold on him. Shawn's loyalty to his brother Kenny is put to the test when Shawn finds out he is a drug addict. After a heated scuffle, Shawn kicks Kenny out of his home, hoping Kenny work on getting a life. This leaves Kenny on the streets looking for revenge. Andrea thinks she has the man of her dreams but fails to realize to have him she will lose her own soul and become a possessive lover. When Ria returns to Los Angeles, a love triangle forms between Ria, Shawn and Andrea. Weeks before a wedding, tragedy hits, leading everyone to believe it was a murder not an accident.

[purchase Welcome to Fake City HERE.]

Eva also writes flash fiction. Her Hollywood Heels series kicked off with Welcome to Fake City!

About the Hollywood Heels series:

Will Lalah Valentine ever become the actress she is dreaming of being and kiss her Hollywood crush George Clooney? This is a witty and funny insight to the lives of those in the Hollywood entertainment industry. HH is a flash fiction series published under Write to Inspire Publishing's Sweet Bites imprint. Two episodes in the series will be released monthly.

 Excerpt from Tied to the Soul

Shawn reviewed the room and the open suitcases, then he handed the bouquet of flowers to her. As Ria hugged him, he embraced her firmly in his arms and kissed the side of her neck. The distance he had been trying to portray was coming back to bite him. His body was yearning for her. Just the thought of her being absent from him was already breaking his heart. He took the flowers back from her hand and threw them by Ria’s suitcases. He wanted more than to kiss her neck.

Shawn did not want to let Ria out of his life; his mother was gone and Ria was all he had to be his back bone when things got tough. If he could show her how much he loved her, maybe she would change her mind. As they embraced in a passionate kiss, his hands moved down to unbutton her jeans. Shawn managed to unbutton the first button when Ria pulled away. He looked at her as she released herself from his embrace, denting his ego. Shawn tried to search Ria’s eyes for a reason, but she refused to look at him.

“I-I still got loads to do and these beautiful flowers need to go in some water,” Ria said as she nervously left the arms of Shawn and went to pick up the flowers. Shawn wanted to say more, but Ria’s reaction was making it hard for him to be open. Ria was the only person he could be weak with, and he found strength in that. In Ria he saw his wife to be and the future mother of their children. He did not want to be selfish and force her into abandoning her dreams for his.

“Okay well at least come with me. We’re gonna do something a little different for lunch today.” Shawn said.

“Oh, but I’m so tired, Shawn.”

“It won’t take long, I promise you. Come on, you won’t have to do a thing. Anyway, I have everything prepared for today so...”

“You...have something prepared? This should be interesting.”

Ria was surprised. Over the past few weeks, she had wondered whether he was ever going to acknowledge her at all on her last days with him. Ria slipped on her flip-flops with expectation as they both headed out to the car. She began to grow with excitement and the tiredness withered away. She looped her hands with Shawn’s and kissed him on the cheek. Shawn opened the car door and waited for Ria to slip onto her seat. As Ria looked into Shawn’s eyes, she could tell that his mind was occupied.

As they both settled into opposite sides of the car, Ria smelt the aroma of chicken. She turned her head toward the back of the car to locate where the smell was coming from. As Shawn drove, she looked at his face, trying to read into his facial expression and thoughts. Shawn continued to remain focused on the road.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” Ria asked.

“No, go ahead.”

In the past few weeks, the radio had become Ria’s best friend, especially the smooth jazz station. As she turned on the radio, she twisted the dial straight to the station.

“You seem to be listening to this station a lot lately.”

“Yeah, it’s nice and relaxing. You don’t like it?”

“Urr, it’s all right I suppose. It’s a bit like elevator music.”

“Elevator music?” Ria exaggerated a laugh in an attempt to change the awkwardness between them. “You aren’t listening right. This is smooth jazz. Good quality music.” Ria said.

“Sounds just like elevator music to me, put you straight to sleep. That’s why you’re so tired all the time. I’ve noticed any time you put that music on, within ten minutes you’re sleeping, with your mouth open and everything. Knocks you right out.” They both laughed.

“It relaxes me from stress. Am I drooling? A good sleep makes you drool, you know honey.” Ria said.

“Baby, I saw you drooling so bad one time, I had to put a bucket under your head. I thought you were gonna drown the whole apartment.”

Ria laughed so much that tears began to stream from her eyes. The moment reminded her of when they were in college and used to tease each other.

“Really, at least I don’t be snoring down the whole block. One time you were snoring so loud, I woke up and thought we were having an earthquake. The bed was shaking, the whole house was moving. I almost ran downstairs and hid under the table. But I’m not mad at you it’s just the after-effect of my lovemaking, honey. I just thought I’d chip that in so you don’t get it twisted.” Ria said as she also laughed.

“You kinda getting good at this now, aren’t you?” Shawn said at Ria’s quick comeback.

“I’ve learned from the best.”

As they reached the beach and parked, Shawn went to the trunk and took out a picnic basket and a table cloth.

“Oh, so that’s where that smell was coming from? What else you got in there?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

They found a spot to settle, and Ria helped with the small picnic Shawn had laid out for her. He handed her the beach mat for them to sit on and placed the basket in the middle.

“This is nice, Shawn.” She looked at him, waiting for a response, but he just smiled vaguely. Ria sighed and focused her attention on her surroundings. All the mixed signals Shawn was sending confused her. She looked at the waves of the ocean and wondered why God had them so free and full of beauty.

Ria also observed the bird’s that flew in the sky; it had seemed that they were dancing with the clouds as though it was a game.

Soft music flowing from the little portable radio Shawn had brought with him freed her thoughts from the sky. She reached over to where it was. Shawn looked at her as she took it, smiled, and shook his head, already knowing what station she would tune into.

“As long as you don’t sleep on me, you’re allowed,” he said.

While they sat on the beach mat, they both reached for the food. Ria observed the menu by picking each container up.

“What type of picnic is this? Where are the sandwiches?” Ria asked with amusement. Shawn grinned. “I got what you like but no sandwiches.” They both dug into the fried chicken and rice, which was neatly organized in polythene containers.

The transparency of the ocean turned dark blue as the sun descended onto the horizon, turning the sky shades of yellow and orange. This blended into the soft jazz music playing from the portable radio. The Isley Brothers’ “Living for the Lover in You” came on.

“Hmm, this is my song. Let’s dance.” Ria reached a hand out to Shawn while licking the mayonnaise off her thumb from the potato salad. Shawn hesitantly accepted her invitation and held her hand as he got up. She drew him close to her, and Shawn, slightly embarrassed, looked around the beach to see if anyone was watching them.

“This is really something different, Shawn—a picnic and a dance on the beach.”

They moved slowly, grooving to the jam that was sweetening the mood. Ria knew Shawn was not the type to dance in public. After she pulled away from his advances earlier on, she could feel that distance returning. As the song came to an end, Shawn loosened his grip on her waist.

“Ria, we need to talk.”

“Shawn, do we have to? I really don’t want to spoil a good evening. I haven’t got the strength to argue with you tonight.” Ria said softly.

“No, we are not gonna argue. I promise.”

“All right. What is it?” Ria folded her arms defensively.

“We have been together for seven years now. I’ve loved each and every moment of it, the good times and the bad times...”

Ria’s excitement grew.

Is he going to propose? Ria thought as she unfolded her arms and took his hand in hers and widened her eyes.

“... I love you and you’ll always be in my heart. There will be no other woman that could or will take that residence. As you are moving to New York, I have been thinking a lot about us and our relationship and the changes it will make to our lives, and I think we should...”