Another Virtual Book Tour for Sydney!

Follow me around cyberspace as I blog about Devil's Orchestra here, there and everywhere!

http://www.sydneymolare.com/calendar_II.html

Thanks to: Virtual Book Tours for Authors

Afraid to Live and Afraid to Die...

My title thought hit me out of the blue a few days ago. How many of us don't live like we want because of our own fears yet we aren't ready to die either? Ironic indeed.

What, exactly, is the problem with our mental hard wiring? Why do we allow outsiders who are unknown/contribute nothing to our well-being to control our destiny? Why get all bent out of shape when you get a bad review. Consider the source, evaluate whether the content is worthy and realistic but don't let words written by a "shadow human" stop your show.

My mother was a fearful woman. She always told me I could do anything, yet she was afraid to do almost anything unless I pushed her. I wanted her to try so many things but she died having never flown, ridden a cruise boat or traveled outside of the country. Vacations were always long driving events. Fly and lay around in a hotel and chill? Uh uh. Wasn't gonna happen. If you didn't have an agenda, you were wasting your time, her time and that was NOT allowed.

I oftentimes now wonder where her fears came from and why she allowed them to hold her back. But I also know she couldn't have always been this fearful. My uncles told me stories of her riding horses, working with animals. In fact, she had a scar where she fell from a horse. Where was THIS mama as I grew up? I never saw her. I think she lived her adventures through me since I love challenges and would jump into a situation without a parachute in a heartbeat.

But one thing I do know, writer's you can't be afraid to live the life you want. Somebody is, so why NOT you? Because when you die, unlike money, you CAN take those great stories with you.

Think about it.

I May be the next candidate for the Witness Protection Program...LOL

Why?

Well, it all started around 6:30 AM on my radio show You Don't Know Jack!

Carol and I had author, Dennis Griffin, who just happened to have written a book entitled Cullotta, based on the real life mafia crime figure, Frank Cullotta.

At ~6:35 and 45 seconds, give or talk, is when the fun really began...

It seems that Frank is alive and well BUT in the Witness Protection Program AND Frank sometimes shows up with Dennis at his book signings AND Frank currently has a standing contract on his life. Now I didn't know all this very essential-need-to-know information when I asked Dennis if he'd like to do a joint book signing...

OK, Is this wild or what???

Dennis even hosts Mafia tours in Las Vegas AND he and Frank jump on occassionally to the thrill of the customers. I can see the tour bus exploding just after Carol and I buy our tickets.

Check out this photo of Dennis. He looks like a mafioso himself, huh?

Anywho, join me at www.blogtalkradio.com/sydneymolare to hear what Dennis has to say about possibly getting "whacked" and other good stuff. He also will join us this Sunday @ 2pm EST for the "Books Instead" on You Don't Know Jack!

Pray that we didn't reveal any info to the bad guys....

Can't say we don't keep it interesting... LOL

The Sexiest Man Alive author, Diana Holquist

I had the great pleasure to host Diana on You Don't Know Jack's radio show. I'm sure you guys will enjoy her just as much as I did...

I love to write. That’s pretty much all I do. Ask my family about the undone laundry, the un-bought groceries, and the fact that I rarely find time to get dressed in the morning. Actually, if you train your family right, they won’t notice any of these things. "Popcorn for dinner again, mom! Cool," say my filthy children. God bless them, they don’t know what panty hose are.

Oh, my poor husband.What else do you want to know about me? I love kids. I love cats. I love chocolate. (Not necessarily in that order.) I live outside of Philadelphia now with my husband, two kids, and one cat.


You can visit Diana's website at http://www.dianaholquist.com/


SEXIEST MAN ALIVE

Synopsis:

Jasmine Burns has always wanted to know the name of her one true love. Her sister Amy is a psychic who can read the name of a person's true love, but she's always refused to tell Jasmine hers...until one day Amy needs Jasmine’s help bad.

When Amy finally gives it the name, Jasmine can't believe it. How is it possible that her one true love is People Magazine's SEXIEST MAN ALIVE, one of the biggest box office movie stars around, and a fixture on the red carpet? Shy by nature, Jasmine envisioned warm nights spent cuddling in front of the tv with her beloved, not the frightening flash of a paparazzo's camera as he chases her down the street. This can't be true!

For once in his life, Josh Toby wants to be taken seriously as an actor. He's sick of playing either the boy toy or the action star—he wants parts he can sink his teeth into. So he's done the scariest thing he can imagine—he's accepted a part on Broadway in "Romeo and Juliet". The problem: no one can know it's him or it will turn into the second coming of the Beatles.

The solution: an undercover disguise at the hands of budding fashion designer Jasmine Burns, the most charming, genuine, and delightfully eccentric woman he's ever met.Before long, chemistry sizzles between the shy wallflower and the most recognizable movie star in the world. But can true love really blossom between two polar opposites?

Check out the trailer: YouTube

Guest blogger- Michael Simon

I hope everyone's holiday was wonderful! Today, we have author, Michael Simon dropping in. Michael is the author of four novels, the latest being The Last Jew Standing. Visit his site at http://www.michaelsimon.info/.

Living with Your Main Character
By Michael Simon

As the fourth of my Dan Reles novels gets launched into the universe, I think back on how Dan came into my life. I was a struggling New York playwright, hoping to buy fame, fortune, and more important, immortality, by writing a crime thriller. I had no trouble finding secondary characters for the book, villains and colleagues often modeled on my co-workers in the probation office in Austin. Neighbors and stoolies and girlfriends.

But a main character is harder. He has to be vivid, and also three-dimensional. Distinct, but dynamic, changeable.

For many of the supporting characters, I had an image in mind, often a real-life acquaintance, just as often an actor, a face and a voice onto which I could graft a personality of my own creation. (Torbett was played in my mind by the actor Joe Morton.)

But the main character was harder. I knew he’d be with me all the time, for years.

So I started with the old acting technique, the magic “if.” To get to the character, I imagined what I would be like, if I were living under his circumstances.

To start, I’d be about three inches taller, an even six feet. I’d have broad shoulders, and an extra seventy pounds of muscle. Instead of being stooped with the posture of someone who spends his life in front of a computer, I’d be stooped with a boxer’s musculature. And I could punch. And I’d have the power of arrest. And a gun.

Dan’s mother left when he was ten, leaving him in the care of his emotionally distant ex-con father. So I’d be tough, jaded, and damaged.

An image came to mind, far enough from me that I could see him. A cross between, say, Nicolas Cage and Adrian Brodie. He developed a speech rhythm. He became real.

He lived in my brain for nine years.

Michael was also my guest at You Don't Know Jack blog and radio show. Visit: www.youdontknowjack.blogsavy.com and www.blogtalkradio.com/sydneymolare to read and listen to more Michael.

Talk to your food? Intuitive Cooking with author Dyan Garris!

Hello everyone. Today we have a guest, author/clairvoyant Dyan Garris, whose latest release in her Voices of the Angels series is: Talk to your Food: Intuitive Cooking.

For many years, Dyan Garris has been counseling clients in order to help them positively move forward in their lives. She is clairvoyant, clairsentient, and clairaudient. In addition, Dyan is also what is known as a voice recognition psychic and trance channel. This means that she can help her clients via phone, which is how she conducted her readings throughout her career.

Growing up in Illinois, Dyan became aware of her clairvoyance, and other gifts, at a very young age. She spent years learning how to appropriately use these gifts for good and to help others.In 2005 she created a CD series of music and meditation for self-healing, relaxation, chakra balancing, and vibrational attunement. Her interest in music began as a child. A blind piano teacher taught her to “feel” music and “see” through different eyes and influenced her at a young age. Dyan continued her music studies with the violin. Through the violin, she learned how easily music vibrates throughout the body and, hence, all of the chakras. This was her first lesson of how the power of music and sound could be used for healing.

New Age recording artist and creator of a music and meditation CD series for vibrational attunement, Dyan Garris is the author of the innovative cookbook, Voice of the Angels Cookbook – Talk To Your Food! – Intuitive Cooking. This is not just an ordinary cookbook. The artist calls it an adventure in opening one's creative centers.“Intuitive cooking is listening to your inner voice and hearing what your body wants to be fed,” explains Garris. “Communicate with your food so that it can transform from raw ingredients into what nourishes you on every level. We all have the ability to create that which resonates for us in a complete, healthy way. It’s vibrational attunement of mind, body and spirit using food, rather than sound frequency, as in my CD series. This does not necessarily translate into lettuce and tofu,” she continues. “You learn to make what your body wants in a loving and delicious way. My goal is to teach people to feed not only the body, but the mind and spirit, as well. Turn ordinary food into something special. Talk to it!”

The cookbook is available at the author’s website: http://www.voiceoftheangels.com/, where Garris posts an inspirational Daily Channeled Message.

The cookbook includes twelve channeled messages, such as, "The Secret Recipe of Life," “Ode to Popcorn," and numerous "Intuitively Speaking" paragraphs .The book comes with a warning: This is real food! A variety of original recipes are included, from sinfully rich “Love Bars," to "Healing Soup," easy fish recipes, and skillet suppers, incorporating enticing blends of colors and flavors. The author's Greek heritage shines through in such recipes as "Easy Baklava Roll-Ups."Garris learned to cook from her grandmother. “She didn’t measure anything! I would ask, ‘How much?’ She replied, ‘Some.’ ” This fueled Garris’ curiosity about food preparation. Her family’s restaurateur background allowed Garris to further develop her culinary skills. “I’ve been talking to my food for as long as I can remember!”

It's coming...

Satisfy Me Again (978-0758221919 )

Folks, it is with pleasure that I announce my upcoming anthology novella, Satisfy Me Again, will be released December 2007!

My novella, Matinee, also known as book 2 of this anthology is my first paranormal work. I truly enjoyed how I stretched my imagination forming the various characters in this story.

Here is a quick synopsis:

Mina Sinclair has witnessed a mob shooting AND the mob knows who she is and where she lives. She is quite aware of this once the "stranger" shows up at her house requesting that she be quiet, avoid the police and a suitcase full of cash for "any inconveniences." Mina wasn't slow. She knew hush-hush money when she saw it...and she also knew the mob had a short memory. No gentleman's deal was valid when they saw fit to change the terms.

Mina took the loot and hot-footed it out of town, ending up in St. Paulus, a small logging community. Of course, she had no job, no clothes and no transportation. But she did have a good bit of money--even if it was dirty--that she could put towards her dream: Owning her own business. After juggling the figures, that dream transitioned into: Finding a place she could live and work.

As luck had it, there was an empty building in St. Paulus--an old XXX theater. Mina felt the building had "good bones" and bought it immediately. Of course the mind-blowing orgasm she had in the film room probably had something to do with it.

What Mina doesn't know is the old theater is inhabited by its former owners--John and Cal. They've been cooped inside the walls for thirty plus years...and are horny as hell. The Reinitiation into Sex, aided by an unsuspecting Mina, has them jubilant...as well as upping the ante.

Join Mina, John and Cal for this hot, illicit and ethereal ride.

Let's Celebrate!

Wanted to drop you guys a line to let you know that my short piece "Uma" was selected by Zane to be in the upcoming Purple Panties: The Eroticanoir Collection anthology.

Just when I thought it was a no go too. I'd encourage any fellow authors to submit, submit, submit. Competition is good for the soul and validates your writing, or it does for me in my mind.

ALSO, heard from Kensington Books (Satisfy Me/Satisfy Me Again) and I have been asked to be part of another novella collection. Guess we are meeting the advances. LOL. Satisfy Me Again will drop in either December or January and I'm guessing the next novella collection will be at least a year in the distance.

I'm also getting good feedback on Payback, Inc., my work in progress which is slowly consuming my mind. Who knew I could be as devious as I'm becoming **wicked laugh**. As always, Payback is still posted on the myspace blog, www.myspace. com/sydneymolare (Click on the blog link) as well as being graciously hosted by my author soulmate, Sylvia Hubbard at www.sylviahubbard. blogspot. com.

That's it. Smooches and remember, I'd love to have you join me on my Global Blog Tour! Just drop me a line.

Peace out,

PS: For this impromptu celebration, if you bring the champagne, cognac, wine, MD2020, Boone Farm or a 40...I've got the cups

Syd

Sydney Molare' Books...Fiction that satisfies the soul...
Website * Blog * YahooGroup * MySpace* Radio

Kim Robinson- family dedication

Dedication from the Roux in the Gumbo

Watching the shell that remains of my maternal Grandmother, devoid of her vibrant life, her encouraging smiles and constant conversation was the final factor in my decision to vote with the rest of the family to let her expire. We could not allow her to continue to endure so much pain.

Throughout her entire life this woman took good care of any and everyone who came into her world. It just does not seem fair. Then again, how often was fair a factor for black people?

Anyone who had ever been in the company of her spirit would know that she would not want to exist this way–her body twisted from multiple strokes, her limbs failing, and the cancer eating away at her spine. This was more than any soul should have to bear. To starve her to death seemed so cruel, yet it was the only legal way to let her pass on. The fate of someone who had fed half of Los Angeles was to starve to death.

Helen, whom everyone called ‘Mother,’ would feed anyone who was hungry. She always said, “Anything I give, God will make sure I get back tenfold.” You had to know her to understand her way of thinking. Maybe this book will help to clarify and glorify a woman who is certainly an angel in heaven. When she died, she left seven children, twenty-four grandchildren, and thirty-eight greatgrandchildren.

Mother was the kind of woman that no matter what you did she is “gonna” still love you unconditionally. Don’t get it twisted now, she would be the first to tell you when you did wrong, but still be there for you.

Anyone could knock on Mother’s door or come into her café, and say they were hungry and she would feed them. If you needed clothes, she would take you to her second-hand store and clothe you. Many people took advantage of this, but she knew exactly what was going on. More often than not, when these people got on their feet, they always came back to repay her. Some said they could never do enough for her. Her good deeds were often the catalyst in helping them get their lives together.

Mother always said, “Folks is folks. There are good white folks and good black folks. There are bad white folks and bad black folks, She also said, “Every person’s life is like a pot of gumbo, you get out what you put in.

Gumbo is a very popular Louisiana dish, a kind of soup. There must be a million variations on how to make it. Every person who makes it thinks theirs is better than the next. I have seen people arguing over what is the best way to make this dish. Just like life, everyone has some input on what would make the next person’s life better. Some people want more sausage, more shrimp or no shrimp. Some want crab or oysters. Some prefer more spice, more
file’(feelay). One thing they all have in common is a Roux (Roo).

Roux is the gravy base and the foundation of this dish. It gives the soup its flavor and is what makes you get that second bowl.

Everyone has a Roux in his or her life. Someone who influenced every step they took, and in some way gave their life direction.

Mother was my Roux.

In order to see into this incredible woman, you have to know what came before and what came after. That is where we are going in this book. Let’s go, it is going to be an adventure.

Laissez les Bon Temps Rouler
Let the good times roll!

http://therouxinthegumbo.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/therouxinthegumbo http://www.kim-robinson.com/
http://www.jadorepublishing.com/ http://us.f501.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=Kim@kim-robinson.com http://us.f501.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=kimscrew@yahoogroups.com

Laissez les Bon Temps Rouler with Kim Robinson this week!

CAN YOU SMELL WHAT KIM ROBINSON IS COOKING? It's gumbo!

Good People, we are welcoming Kim Robinson, author of The Roux in the Gumbo, a fascinating book chronicling her family. Sit back and enjoy a taste of Kim and her family gumbo! ~Syd


Hello everyone:

I want to thank Sydney for being so gracious and inviting me to swap blogs. Please stop in at my blog and myspace and check her out. http://therouxinthegumbo.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/therouxinthegumbo


With the winter months coming, everyone needs to put something warm on their stomach. I am going to share a famous recipe that has been in my family for over 200 years. This recipe kept my grandmother’s restaurant busy, and the Hollywood studios used to cater it in. They say it has healing in it.

I am also going to share a little history about Gumbo and a little poetry.

So get out your biggest stock pot and let’s start cooking. I also prepare my gumbo at book club events. You buy the food and lets get cozy in the kitchen and while you watch me put my foot in it, you can ask me questions about my book, “The Roux in the Gumbo,” which is my family history, or my cookbooks, Food for the Soul and Sweet Satisfaction which features two hundred authors.

I will also give you some juicy excerpts from my upcoming book Street life to Housewife, my life story about how I came to share my testimony in churches across the country. Find out how a drug dealer, addict, madam and call girl washed her sins away.

Life Is What You Make It

To be a woman around times of slavery
You are subject to many acts that are unsavory.
In order to be able to keep your head up
through the depravity
You have to command from your soul
a certain kind of bravery.
The only true freedom that you have
no one can enslave
With your brain you fight back,
even if outwardly you behave.
For the people who keep you back and bound in chains
You pray to God that one day they will know this pain.
They can put chains on your arms, your legs,
and even your behind
But the thing that can’t be restrained is your mind.
Keep the curtains drawn on the windows of your soul, your eyes
Don’t let them see the strength that is inside,
your pride.
Say your prayers every day; hold on to your faith
Just in case, the after life is the place,
The place where you get your taste
Of the good life that our oppressors don’t appreciate
But with some hustle and creativity
you might not have to wait
And the days and nights in this life
don’t have to go to waste.
Life is not how you take it
Don’t spend all your time looking for answers
Your life is what you make it.

MY FAMILY’S GUMBO
3 lbs. snow crab, cleaned and washed
15 chicken wings, cleaned and washed
1 lb. chicken gizzards, chopped fine
4 lbs. diced smoked sausage (Hillshire Farms).
Fry lightly to remove some fat
3 lbs large shrimp, peeled and deveined
4 packs dried shrimp
2 lbs. baby shrimp
4 stalks of cleaned and diced celery
3 diced onions
3 packs of onion soup mix
2 cans of okra; preferably “Trappeys” brand. Drain off liquid and fry in ¼
cup of oil. This removes the slime
gumbo file’ (ground sassafras leaves)
seasoning salt
black pepper
celery salt
prepared rice
Roux:
1 cup of vegetable oil
1 cup of flour

If you prefer a thicker soup, add more flour. Heat the oil over medium
heat. Sprinkle flour over grease while constantly stirring, so as not to scorch,
based on your preference. I prefer a nut brown or caramel color. Some people like a darker roux. You can always taste as you go along. Set aside.

Gumbo

Use a large stockpot. Fill half way with water and set on high to boil. You
can divide ingredients into 2 or 3 smaller pots. I prefer this method, because it
takes a while to get the water to boil. It will also decrease the chance of your
Gumbo sticking to the bottom. There is nothing worse than a burnt pot of
Gumbo. “Chile just thinking about it makes me want to cry, Gumbo is
something that every time it’s made it just gets better as you add or take away
ingredients to tailor to your taste, much like a fine suit of clothes. Other
variations have bell pepper, tomato puree, oysters, crawfish, rabbit, turkey or
chicken, parsley, green onion and garlic. I could fill this book up with various
ways to prepare this dish. Do not be afraid to experiment.

Add gizzards, onion, celery, onion soup mix, dried shrimp and sausage.

When it reaches a rapid boil, reduce flame to low and cook for an additional 20 minutes. Add Roux and stir. Add chicken, crab legs, okra, black pepper, seasoning and celery salt. Be very careful with celery salt, it can overpower the other flavors. Add 1 teaspoon to entire pot. You can always go back and add more. Boil for 35 to 40 minutes. Add shrimp and boil 5 minutes more. Remove from heat add 1 teaspoon of gumbo file to each pot.

Serve in a bowl over rice.

Sprinkle file’ to taste. Do not be afraid to get your fingers dirty. Also, do
not forget to suck the gravy out of the crab legs before you open them up.

Laissez les Bon Temps Rouler
Let the good times roll!
http://therouxinthegumbo.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/therouxinthegumbo http://www.kim-robinson.com/
http://www.jadorepublishing.com/ http://us.f501.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=Kim@kim-robinson.com http://us.f501.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=kimscrew@yahoogroups.com

Tamara Grant's Last Stand....

for this tour anyway...LOL. Syd

**********************************

I sincerely hope that you enjoy the story that I have crafted for you. You've had a chance to meet me and get to know some of the characters in Promises Made, Promises Kept. The book takes you on the journey of a family that could be yours, mine, or the next door neighbor.

The characters experience love, heartache, and the need to make decisions that will affect not only themselves, but the family as a whole. Readers will definitely be transported back to their teen years with Mia to experience first love, friends, family, and that familiar feeling of being too young to be grown, but to old to be a kid.

Promises Made, Promises Kept guarantees to bring you a well crafted story that can be related to by all. The story is meant to be a catalyst for conversation between mom and their teens. As an author, I promise to bring you stories that have real 3-D characters that experience some issues that we may not want to talk about. I have to. It's my duty. I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't challenge you or hold that mirror up to our society and what's really going on!

So what are you waiting for? Go ahead and get your copy of Promises Made, Promises Kept today! And please don't hesitate to visit http://www.tamargrant.com/ and leave me a message to let me know what you think. I always answer my emails!

Tamara Promises Made, Promises Kept

http://www.tamaragrant.com/www.myspace.com/maraangel

Aunt Lena has PLENTY to say...

Aunt Lena

Family has always been important to me. There is no way that I would ever turn my back on my family. So I knew what I had to do when my sister was not in her right mind to care for my niece. I love Mia as if she was my own. She and my son were raised like brother and sister instead of cousins. It's hard enough to be a single mother raising a son, and now added to the mix is me taking care of my niece while my twin sister, Patrice gets herself together.Really, Mia's father should be here taking responsibility for his own child. But you can't squeeze water from a rock. I wonder what he was thinking leaving the way he did? This child needs him desperately. Don't get me wrong, Mia's a good girl, but kids nowadays have a big chance of making that turn down the wrong road. That's why I keep my own son, Mookie so close to me. I know what happens when these young kids mess around in these streets.Mia can stay as long as she has to. My home is always open. I'm just praying everyday that my sister understands that there is a good reason for her to take the medication that her doctor prescribed for her. She needs to be stable enough to be a parent to her child since Mia's father is obviously not going to step up to the plate. I just pray for the strength to raise these two kids to do their best and be positive and productive. I know things can get crazy and it's no joke out in these streets. If my job in the family is to be the peace maker, then so be it. I know I just have to make things work out for the best.

Promises Made, Promises Kept

http://www.tamaragrant.com/www.myspace.com/maraangel
Available on sale at http://www.tamaragrant.com/http://www.amazon.com/

Cliff...I'll never understand a man's logic

Cliff

What kind of man just walks out on his family? I guess I never knew that man could be me. I was suffocating and there was no way that I could achieve my goals if I continued to live under the same roof as Patrice. I love that woman. I love my daughter. There is only so much that one man can take though. The threats, the abuse, the yelling and screaming. It wasn't what I envisioned when I dreamt of that happy home that we all want.Patrice and I have been together since high school. She was what I saw in my future. There was no one else. There was just no way to make her understand that. You just can't rationalize with her. She gets into these rages and then all hell breaks loose. One minute she's this sweet, loving woman. The next, she's attacking me violently and accusing me of things I didn't do. We're supposed to take the Bar Exam soon. How are we supposed to concentrate on accomplishing all that we planned if I can't be in the same room as you half of the time?Don't get me wrong, I would never put my hands on a woman- EVER! But Patrice drives me to that point where I want to hurt her. That's when I knew that it was time to go. I won't be gone for long though. Right now, I have to clear my head and get on point to pass this exam. I- I mean, we had a goal of becoming lawyers and I intend on making that happen so that I can provide for my daughter. My child is the best thing that ever happened to me. And to be honest, I thought that motherhood would make Patrice mellow out, but I was wrong. So I've made my decision to go stay with my mom and get on my feet. I know that I have to still provide for my family even if I'm not there, so I'm committed to doing that. I just hope that my daughter can understand the type of sacrifice that I'm making here and that there will be no ill feelings between us. I promised that I would be back for her, and I always keep my promises.

Promises Made, Promises Kept
http://www.tamaragrant.com/, www.myspace.com/maraangel Available for sale at www.tamaragrant.com and amazon.com

Check out my novel "Promises Made, Promises Kept"! ISBN 0-931761-33-6 http://www.tamaragrant.com/
Or leave a comment for me on www.myspace.com/maraangel
Tamara Angela Grant

Mia sets things straight...

Mia

Life is so unpredictable. Here I am trying to pick up the pieces of my family when I'm supposed to only be worried about things that teens worry about. You know things like what boy I like or what I'm going to wear to school tomorrow so I can look real fly. But no, I have to figure out how my otherwise normal life went into a tailspin.

You could say that it started when my dad walked out. No goodbyes. No "I'll see you later." He just didn't come back home. No warnings. No closure.Living in a two parent home wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but come on, who doesn't want that? Sure my parents were always at each other's throats and they were arguing all of the time. I wonder if they ever knew that I was listening in when they argued? There was a lot of love in my home too, but I guess it wasn't enough to keep my dad at home with us.

So now I'm pissed 'cause my dad rolled out on us. he could have let me know about how my mom flips out though. I heard my aunt, who is her twin sister, say something about her needing to take the medication that she is prescribed. Maybe that's why he left. Shit, I really don't know what's going on anymore. All I know is that I prefer to chill at my aunt's house where shit ain't so crazy. I get a little piece of mind there. I love both of my parents, but I'm too young to have to deal with their mess.My dad breezes back through and promises that he's going to be back for me. Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll be just fine without you here.

My mom promises that she will get herself together and be a better parent. But that's in between puffs of weed and when she doesn't have some random man coming in and out of our house.Really, I don't believe either one of them. I'm just glad that I have my aunt and my cousin here with me to have my back!

There's been so much going on in my life already at 16 years old, what else could possibly happen next?

Promises Made, Promises Kept
http://www.tamaragrant.com/www.myspace.com/maraangel

Available for sale at http://www.tamaragrant.com/ and amazon.com

Tamara Grant guest blogging this week...

People ask me when did I know that I wanted to write. My answer- when I learned to read.

Writing is not a hobby to me, it's my passion. I'm an avid reader, so I love to get caught up in the worlds that other authors create for me to enjoy. There is nothing better than picking up a book and time stopping as you say to yourself, "I just have to know what happens next!" You're flipping through the pages, about to burst because you have to know what the character is going to do next. Now as a writer, I can bring people into my world, into my realm of thought and hook them the same way that my favorite authors do for me. Writing is a beautiful thing. It allows me to not only express myself, but to be therapeutic for my readers as well.

People are reading my work and saying, "I've felt the way that Mia did when I was that age," when they talk to me about my debut Promises Made, Promises Kept. They have come to me and talked about my characters as if they were as real as you and I. It always makes me smile, because that's the way I feel when I read the authors that I like. My characters will always be people with real problems and feelings. I'm intrigued with the way that people react and interact with each other. The characters in my books will not always make the right decisions and things will not always end happily ever after. They will be in conflict with each other and themselves. They will be hooked on drugs, promiscuous, walk out on their spouses and families. I promise, if you don't find yourself in my characters, you will find someone that you know. My characters are not necessarily based on real people, but they are based on real emotions that we all will feel or have felt before. That's why you will be able to connect and cheer for them!

Promises Made, Promises Kept is the first of many books to come. There are plenty of stories floating around in my head. I hope that the literary world is ready! So sit back with your hot cocoa or your steaming cup of tea and get ready and grab one of my books! Tamara Angela Grant has much more on the way and I'm here to stay!

Check out my novel "Promises Made, Promises Kept"! ISBN 0-931761-33-6
http://www.tamaragrant.com/
Or leave a comment for me on www.myspace.com/maraangel
Tamara Angela Grant

Tamara Grant will be the guest blogger this week!

Tamara Grant, author of Promises Made, Promises Kept will be the guest blogger this week! So sit back and enjoy what she had to say. You might find your next "must have" read!

Syd

Bamboozled?

A cousin of mine recently accused me of writing about our family in my short story collection, Somewhere In America. This surprised me. Yes, my book is about the outlandish things humans do, but is it primarily about my family? No, indeed!

Anyone that knows me knows I believe in F-A-M-I-L-Y. And to break the family code and spread our business to the massess...uh uh. Ain't gonna happen.

Honestly, when I was writing Somewhere In America, I was venting. I was trying to deal with a difficult situation and letting my fingers exude my stress positively. At no time did I want to spotlight my family issues in print. And let's be honest here. Foolishness is universal.

Like my back cover says..."You'll see your family, your friends, your spouse...you might even see yourself!"

Guess she saw herself, huh?

Peace out.

Sydney
http://www.sydneymolare.com/

Love...Redux

I originally posted this over at my friend Minnie Miller's blog:http://msprissy-dreamweaver.blogspot.com/ but after yesterday and the ridiculous comic book sex references, I was stressed and needed to read this again. I also wanted my fans to also read what I had to say BUT there is more, much more I had to say in my visit with Ms. Minnie. You'll just have to travel over to Ms. Minnie's blog to read it for yourself though. LOL.

Syd*************

LOVE!

Something that everyone desires to have tons of. It's amazing how the routine thought process is that love is a "woman's" thing. Not true. Hide behind the gruff exterior, clamp down on your emotions, but men love L-O-V-E as much as any woman.

But how do we view love? Do we have a healthy view? Respect, everyone feels they are getting what they deserve out of the relationship? Or is it toxic? Let's just say things are...lacking, for whatever reason in whatever area.

A few years ago, my agent submitted a romantica novella I'd written to various publishing houses. I'll never forget the comment one company, I think it was Avon books, gave me: Great imaginative writing, just not "romantic" enough.

Now my friends (i.e. local critic group) thought the piece was a killer. The sex was sizzling, the situations over the top...A WINNER. Then, I'm told it wasn't romantic enough.An eye-opener indeed.Made me rethink my whole love viewpoint. Made me rethink the focus of my "romantica."

See, in my writing experience, toxic love sells, especially in the AA community. Sad but true, but I'm finding that the more one-night-stands, infidelity, and degrading sex/toxic love you can put on a page, the faster the check arrives in the mail. That had to change. I've made a commitment to my writing fans that sex will either be paranormal (ghosts) or within the confines of marriage.

Unrealistic?

Not really. I was reared in a two-parent household and my parents were married 44 years until my mother’s death this year, so out of all the people in the world why wouldn't I believe in deep, committed love?I do and I plan to stay true to my True to Life Colors.

Syd

Sydney Molare' Books...Fiction that satisfies the soul...

http://www.sydneymolare.com/,

Do you MySpace? http://www.myspace.com/sydneymolare; http://blog.myspace.com/sydneymolare

Sex has gone down the tubes...

I am rarely surprised at human nature, but this tidbit I just learned has floored me. Have any of you heard of the terms: Supermanning or Spidermanning?

Now, I was just like you. What is this comic book stuff about now and what does it have to do with sex? Well, it's NOT good.

First of all these terms apparently are from a song by Soulja Boy entitled "Crank That" who, amazingly has the #1 song this week on all the charts--R&B and Pop according to Yahoo.

Here are the ugly details:

Supermanning- When a woman turns you down for sex, the man waits until she is asleep, then comes on her back. He then pushes/shoves the sheets onto her back covering the come. It dries and when she wakes up, the sheets are stuck to her...like a cape. Ridiculous.

Spidermanning- You're having sex in the "doggie style" position, when the man climaxes, he captures his come in his hand and spits on the woman' s back so she will think he has ejaculated there. When she turns around, he slaps her in the face with a hand full of semen.

Are you as pissed as I am right now?

Why are people so interested in toxic love? Why is this degradation so "embraced" by the younger people? I can't imagine either of the above scenarios.

**Let me calm down, my blood pressure is rising...**

Give me your thoughts..

Syd

Are you a sports mom?

I can't speak for anyone else but I am the proverbial soccer, football, basketball, track and field, baseball, will whoop you if you say anything bad about my kid mom.

I am the average sport's enthusiasts worse nightmare. I'm the wild-haired woman running up and down the sideline, screaming for you to move the stroller--complete with sleeping baby--out of my way when my kid is about to kick a goal.

I'm the woman standing up, blocking your view in the bleachers when my kid makes a great hit on the running back.

I'm the woman chewing the umpires butt down to gristle when he calls a strike.

I am the woman heckling the referees when they call a foul.

And I'm definitely the woman about to burst your eardrums when my kid is crossing the finish line, first or not.

You see, I LOVE sports. Football is my favorite. I watch games galore and go into a funk when February rolls around. Yet, I can't seem to get into the arena football at all. Just seems worse than high school to me. I am excitable anyways and when it's my flesh and blood playing, it just increases my excitement.

I know many think I need a dose of Prosac...but it ain't gonna happen. And if you say too much, we'll exchange words and...I really don't want to show up on YouTube as a video but I MUST do what I must do to protect my child's honor, right? LOL.

So what about you? You a sport's enthusiast for you kid?

Hear me roar!

Actually this is an invite to hear my radio interview!

Roar...talk...make the leap, people!

But, if you have the time, take a listen to my interview with Writer's Life chat @ http://www.blogtalkradio.com/WritersLifeChats/2007/10/05/writers-life-chat.

Get inside my head...

Syd

Payback has been moved...

If any of you are looking for the next installment in my WIP Payback, Inc., I've moved it over to my MySpace blog. The language was a bit spicy for some so if you can handle the storyline, join me at : http://myspace.com/sydneymolare. As always, please leave feedback!

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Many of you know October is Breast Cancer awareness month. As a woman who has fibrocystic breast disease, surgical biopsies and cyst removals, this disease is never far from my mind. But so far, I've been one of the lucky ones whose "lumpy-bumpy" breasts are noncancerous.

With all these things on my mind, I wanted to give away four Victoria's Secret gift card to just celebrate all things feminine. No, no purchase necessary. Just stop by and leave a comment on any of my blogs and that will do. I'll draw a name each week.

And remember, think pink!

LaDonna Tutt stopping by to tame a hide or two...

LaDonna Tutt, author, moderator and dominatrix extraordinaire will be sizzling our sensual senses over on my erotic blog- Pout Erotica, www.thepout.blogspot.com .

LaDonna...who knows what she'll have in store, but hold onto your honey or your battery powered toys...you'll probably need them soon.

She'll be there beginning later on tonight! Stop by and leave a comment!

More Penelope Flynn!

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Need the real truth on the Book Industry?

• Believe that book stores are the ONLY way to go?
• Believe you aren't REALLY an author if you are independently published?
• Want to know the really skinny?

Join me at You Don't Know Jack! www.youdontknowjack.blogsavy.com and ask a question or two!

Introducing Penelope Flynn!

ARE YOU BEING “VICK”TIMIZED?


With the fervor of the Michael Vick dog fighting scandal on the wane, I thought it would be a good time to discuss the real issues…the important issues that have sprung fully-formed from the media circus.

Now, I am no hater of dogs. I have some four-legged friends of my own but my focus is not on the dogs but on the man who got “dogged-out”.

Early on when the story just started receiving national attention, Michael; Vick was quoted in some periodical saying:

"I'm never there. I'm never at the house," Vick said. "I left the house with my family members and my cousin. They just haven't been doing the right thing. The issue will get resolved."

By law, Vick is accountable for his property even if he was not present and could still face charges.
"It's unfortunate I have to take the heat behind it. If I'm not there, I don't know what's going on. It's a call for me to really tighten down on who I'm trying to take care of. When it all boils down, people will try to take advantage of you and leave you out to dry. Lesson learned for me," Vick added.


Sound familiar? To way too many of us it does. You know…despite all the trials and tears you go through to succeed, no matter how many hours you put in and the levels of sacrifice you suffer, there’s always that cousin or brother or friend who can’t wait to tell you how easy you’ve got it. They’re the ones who are always “crying poor mouth” and can’t seem to stop reaching for a handout. And God forbid if you ever say “no” to one of their requests. Then you’re the stuck-up bitch, the hatin’ sell-out, the selfish arrogant asshole.

Imagine poor Michael Vick, still trying to “keep it real” with people who’d just as soon sell him out as they would change their clothes. It’s not too much of a stretch to believe that all those hangers-on secretly hated him. They were most likely jealous of his talent, jealous of his money, jealous of his fame. They probably couldn’t wait for him to fall from grace so they could say, “See you’re no better than we are. All your money, your talent, your fame. It didn’t protect you from this shit.”

And of course Michael was right. He was left standing high and dry. No one even knows the names of the self-serving turncoats who lived off Michael’s dime then pointed their greasy fingers at him when the water got hot. But they’ll all remember Michael.

Now the real homework is to flush out the parasites in your own life…to kick over the rocks and reveal those scurrying creatures to the light of day and send them packing. You know the ones in your life that only support you when it’s beneficial to them. Or who always need help but never seem to offer any to anyone else. How many of these people are sapping away your energy, you life’s blood, your happiness? Take a long hard look at the people in your life and ask yourself…Are you being Vicktimized?

~A Penny for your thoughts… Penelope Flynn

© Penelope Flynn

Get Ready, Penelope Flynn about to heat up the house!

Hello guys! Author Penelope Flynn will be my next guest on my Global Blog Tour. She'll be making her presence known later on today. So sit back and relax 'cause Ms. Flynn is an erotica/romantica author whose writing will give you a "love hangover."

Smooches!

Payback, Inc.- 2nd installment

Here is part 2. Oh, you MUST read part 1 to understand Part 2. :)
***************************************************

Slippery pussies.

Sweaty balls.

Perfume floating over the musk.

Cigarette smoke.

The odors blended, wrapped around me as I opened the bar door. My nose twitched, head throbbed harder. Wished I’d swallowed an aspirin, drank a V8 and hit the bed. But I’d taken the cheddar so it was time to do the do.

The bar was crunk. Booty clapping. Slow grinding. Laughing. Indecent propositions.

The smoke choked, invaded hair, clothes and pores. Music thumped, the speakers obviously turned up to LOUD AS HELL.

My head pounded harder.

The shuffling crowd on the dance floor got my attention as I positioned my hips on the stool.
They hovered around a couple. Spotlit. Jamming by themselves. The man, damn what a specimen he was—huge, dark and nattily dressed. His partner was no slouch either. Every man in the room would give her the street title, dimepiece. Their bodies writhed, contorted to the pulsing samba beat.

Touch. Back away. Brush. Hump.

But this samba wasn’t the usual. They’d put added some Caribbean flavor in the Latin dance—exaggerated pelvic movements and thrusts. Dry-fucking.

My labia twitched as the man’s tongue slid down the woman’s neck, saliva trail glinting in the dim light. Long fingers massaged her stomach before skimming up, cupping her fabric-encased breasts.

I crossed my legs, stopping the sexual impulses trying to grab a foothold. Why waste time on shit going nowhere? Besides, I wasn’t here to get laid but to do a job on Mr. Hunk himself. John Pendergast. The mark. A cheating husband who I’d being paid—very nicely, I might add—to get the goods on by his wife. My partner, Schi, was the woman he was all over. The dumb fuck.

Lick.

Nibble the ear.

Squeeze the ass.

Whisper sweet bullshit in her hair.

That’s it baby.

I sipped my Singapore Sling and snapped shots of their antics with my spypen. I had two back up pens in my purse. No client will ever say we underwhelmed them, that’s for sure.
The music ended with the John’s lips pressed obscenely between the valley of the Schi’s tits.
This joker been at this crap so long, felt his game was so tight he didn’t look around; try to hide. His dirt was out front where any one vaguely interested could witness it for themselves.

The hair rose suddenly on the back of my neck.

Cold fingers scratched up my spine.

My nose lifted, became one with its mammalian cousins.

Sniffed.

Cayenne pepper. Fecund earth. Metal. Blood.

The scent was no stranger to me. It meant only one thing: Trouble.

I straightened as I scanned the room, my hand lightly fingering the shank in my purse. Flat, hard plastic with an edge grinded down to razor thinness, it breezed past metal detectors but could slice to the bone.

My radar honed in on one specimen striding confidently my way. Strobe lights illuminated his form in snatches.

John Coffey in The Green Mile.

Gone dark tan.

Plus an earring.

Satan in a suit.

Danger seeped from his pores, fluoresced like neon daggers.

I let my eyes slide past, turned back to the bar, uncrossed my legs, fingered the shank again. He took the stool next to me. Cologne teased my nostrils. A hand was placed open-palm near mine.

Looking up, my eyes were captured by a pair of hazel ones surrounded by a goateed, caramel face.

“I’m Meylon. Let me buy you a drink?” The voice and exterior didn’t match. He looked GQ smooth but what I heard told another story. Gritty. Rough around the edges. Hood gone to school. Gutter been upgraded. Menace to society cloaked in a high end suit.

An unwanted distraction.

“Mo, and I’ll have another Singapore Sling.” Ignored the hand and tossed back the last of my drink, my brain screaming Watch his ass!

I should be scared…but I’m not. Cassieta Modine ain’t afraid of too much. Just God and a gun and he’s neither.

He glanced at the sweaty couple leaving the floor. Bodies fused.

“Know them?”

“No.” Taut, fake smile.

“Can’t tell.” Voice rumbled, hardened. Street trying to come out.

“They put on a good show and I don’t want to miss the encore if there’s one.” Eyebrow lifted. A dare.

“Ahem. A voyeur.” He stroked his goatee.

I held his eyes. “Hey, if they don’t mind fucking in front of me, I’m damn sure gonna watch.”

“Touché.” His hands moved downward, stroked my exposed back.

This is a bold brother here. Playing me cheap.

I stiffened, removed his hand. That door had been welded shut for a while.

“My bad. Guess I’m moving too fast for you.” Palms in surrender. A seasoned playa’s move.

“For yourself, too.” Read my mind: Playa be gone.

Smirking now, Meylon turned to the bartender. “Freshen our drinks, would you?”

I shifted away, watched the couple now situated in a booth. Still at it. John’s hands were inside the V of Schi’s dress, obviously pulling her nipples, his tongue licking her lips.
I maneuvered the spypen up and in their direction, clicking imperceptibly.

Meylon followed the direction of my eyes. “That your man or something?”

I turned back to my fresh drink, kept the couple in my periphery. “What do you think?” I gave him a hard step-the-fuck-off stare.

“Looks like you’re more interested in some Bama and his woman than this hot-blooded sexy mothafucka in front of you. Not cool. Not cool at all.” Eyes like diamonds. Gutter swarmed just beneath his skin.

I scanned him from his closely cropped head to his indented waist down to his Kenneth Cole encased toes. He’d probably been told he was all that and a few buckets of KFC too. Since his groupies had already given him the 4-1-1, no need for me to add to it. “Like I said, I don’t want to miss any encores.”

He leaned closer, liquor-sweetened breath bathed my face. “Hell, we could be the encore. Mo…I so want to—”

I held up my hand. Cut him off. “Please. Give it a rest. Okay?”

I was not in the mood for some new variation of a trite come-on and I think I’ve probably heard them all. “Baby you are so fine” or “When my eyes met yours, I knew you were the mother of my children”, only problem is, they forgot to add the “So…let’s fuck tonight” to the end of them. And that’s all they wanted to do. But, I’m not interested.

Nostrils flared.

Dark pools bored into mine.

Hood was about to make my acquaintance.

Stalemate.

John and Schi suddenly rose from the booth, coats in hand.

Showtime!

Without another word, I swung from the barstool and strode towards the door.

“Hey!” Meylon called after me.

I didn’t even break stride. I had work to do.

“Hey! Mo! I know you hear me!”

Closer.

I kept walking until a hand grabbed my upper arm; stopped me in my tracks. With ease of practice, I grabbed his thumb, twisted and lifted upwards. He cussed in pain. Seeing a chair next to us, I gave him a solid punch to the solar plexus. He grunted and slumped forward. I caught him, roughly pushed his gasping body into the chair.

His eyes spoke volumes as they bored into mine.

Time shifted.

Tugged.

I tore my eyes away and without another glance, walked out the door and onto the street, Meylon’s eyes haunting me as I began the second phase of my night work.

I jogged over to my nondescript Crown Victoria and cranked the engine while watching the door. John’s Mercedes was parked five cars up.

They exited the club still doing the “my new Boo” shit, hugged up tighter than welded metal. Schi gave a discreet “thumbs up” sign before he seated her in the car. I let a few vehicles pass by before I pulled out to trail them. A busted taillight— courtesy of yours truly— made surveillance an easy task.

Ten minutes of riding, plotting…trying to rid the memory of Meylon’s eyes from my mind before they pulled into the Grommet Hotel. I whistled. This hotel started at two-fifty a night. That John Pendergast would spend that kind of money on a woman he just met spoke volumes.

I parked across the street from them, grabbed my suitcase purse and strutted towards the entrance. The attendant opened the door, a pleasant greeting sliding from his lips. John retrieved his key from the desk clerk. I strode towards the elevators, my progress hidden from the front desk. They followed on my heels, entered together.

“Floor?”

“Ah…” John looked down at the key, “ah…twelfth.”

I pushed the correct button. John ignored me, began fondling Schi before the doors closed completely. That’s all right. His exhibitionist ass will know who I am in a few.

The elevator slid smoothly upward before stopping with a ding. I held the door open button, watched as they shuffled out, arms wrapped around each other like a cocoon. I followed, stopped and stared at the arrow signs. Made it appear to anyone watching I was trying to locate my room.

The cocoon ambled down the hallway to my left. John fumbled with the key then finally got it right. I retraced their steps.

Adrenaline was surging. It was the put-up-or-shut-up point of the game. If our plan played out like I hoped, John should be washing his balls, anticipating Schi riding his swollen dick.

A light knock.

Schi immediately opened the door. No words. None needed. The toilet flushed as I sat my bag on the nightstand.

John stumbled out, erect cock leading the way. Pulled up short when he spied me.

“Who the hell…what the hell…” Confused eyes vacillated between me and Schi. “What’s going on here?”

“Baby, I thought we’d finish the night off with a bang!” Schi walked over, boldly began massaging his pole through his shorts. Girl might be many things but shy ain’t one of them. Kisses rained down his neck and chest for added persuasion. “I thought you’d enjoy a threesome. Hell! What man doesn’t?” Laughter.

He closed his eyes. She pulled his rod free. The war in his head played out on his face then, his traitorous body overrode his sensible mind; consented to anything and everything.

That’s my boy.

Schi maneuvered him onto the bed. I joined the party, rubbed him all over his chest, ran my fingers through his bush. Rough hands pushed into the neckline of my dress, freed my tits. John moaned low while Schi stroked, bit his chest.

While John sucked my tits, I reached behind me, removed two sets of handcuffs. Schi never stopped biting as I passed one set over John’s closed eyes. I mouthed the numbers.

Snap.

John’s eyes flipped open. Before he could fight, we snapped the other end to the iron headboard.
That was good. Ropes could be messy.

Pupils dilated. “What the fuck is going on! I don’t do no freaky tying up shit! Turn me loose!”

We ignored him, grabbed a leg, planned to handcuff his ankles to the footboard. This joker read our minds. He thrashed out; feet swinging wildly.

“Watch out!” I yelled just before his foot connected with Schi’s chest. She thumped onto the floor. Hard.

“What’s this shit about?!” Spittle flew onto my face.

This beyotch better be HIV negative!

I was angry now, punched his punk ass in the stomach, silencing him. Grabbed a now-complacent foot and handcuffed the ankle to the footboard. Repeated with the other ankle before checking on Schi.

She was shook up, but otherwise unhurt.

“What…is….this…about?”—gasping now, eyes wide—“My… money… is… in… my…wallet.”

I tsked him. “This is not about money, at all.” Not from him, anyway.

“Well…what is it about?” Voice grew stronger, meaner. “I mean, I pick up this bitch at a bar,” –eyes darted to Schi— “and you join us and tie me up. If it’s not about money, then what the fuck is it about?”

Funny thing about me and Schi. You can think we’re bitches all you want. Just don’t call us one.

Schi shimmied over to my bag, retrieved a short whip.

“Wait, girl. Don’t mark him up!” She was a take-no-prisoner witch when angered. And calling her a bitch will do it every time.

“I’m not gonna mark this asshole up. I’m just making sure that Mrs. Pendergast gets her money’s worth. Grab the damn camera!”

I did so with a smile.

“My wife!” John sputtered. “What the hell does she have to do with this?” We waited. Head finally cocked to the side; realization dawned. “I’ll pay you double what she’s paying you! How much is it?”

“Save your money, sweetie. After you called me a bitch…I’d do this for free.” Schi’s saccharine smile didn’t reach past her nose.

“You bitches, you! I’m gonna get you for this! You don’t know who you’re fucking with!”

I shook my head. Screw yourself into a tighter corner.

John pulled, pushed and wiggled in an effort to free himself. Waste of time. We were that good.

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

I positioned the camera. Schi slapped John’s exposed rod with her bare hand. His mouth opened in anguish. Schi positioned her fat nipple close—but not too close—to his open mouth. I chuckled as I snapped. It looked like ole boy was taking a break from sucking, ecstasy etched on his face.

Schi sat on his chest, inched her body forward. John bucked, knew what was about to go down. She stopped scant inches from his mouth, thigh-locked his face. On celluloid, it’d look like he was going downtown, especially when Schi arched her back and palmed her own breasts.

My panties wet as I watched.

John panted, watched me. Smelled my sex, his deflated erection rising to attention.

Schi changed positions, leaned towards the stiffening cock. John pushed upwards, fooled himself into believing this shit was real. Schi’s hair fell forward, shielded her lips and the top part of his rod. From my sideview: straight up fellatio.

And half of the estate goes to Mrs. Pendergast!

Schi wrapped the whip around the base of his rod, gave the shot a sex-frenzy feeling. Like he and she were really into this thing. John grunted, shifted around, tried to locate her mouth obviously was really into this thing.

After filling up two memory cards, Schi slid off the bed, began putting on her clothes.

“What? That’s it?” Frowns sprouted. “I’m really not getting any? This is really for my wife?” Fear returned to his voice.

“Yep. You’re not and it is.” I returned the camera to my purse.

“What about the keys? You aren’t going to just leave me here like this, are you?”

Eyes vacillated again, until finally discerning the answer.

Let the groveling begin!

“Please. Please. Don’t do this.”

John rattled the cuffs, arched, yanked and pulled. I never turned to look at him, my job now finished.

His anger returned like a tsunami.

“I’ll get you bitches! I’ll cut your hands off and slit your throat! You don’t know who you’re fucking with!” John screamed at my back.

Give me a dollar for every time I’ve heard that statement or one of its variations, and I’d be a damn millionaire.

“Ready, girl?”

Schi straightened her clothes and stood.

“Ready.”

We walked out the door without another glance at John. He continued shouting obscenities at out back. The door clicked shut, we high-fived each other and sista’ strutted towards the elevator.

Ahhhhhhhh. Another lying/cheating/philandering asshole bites the dust.

We were hugging when the huge shape rounded the corner.

Face hard.

Eyes locked on mine.

Intent: obvious.

The alarm clock screamed.

Payback, Inc.- 1st installment

Well guys, while I'm waiting for my next guest to arrive, I wanted to get some feedback on my WIP entitled, Payback, Inc. Would love to hear if you think my main character is too "masculine." But here it is:

CHAPTER 1


The atmosphere in the bar was electric. Smoke hugged the ceiling like smog; strobe lights barely penetrating. The speaker’s volume was obviously turned up to LOUD AS POSSIBLE. It took great effort to think, much less converse.

The crowd on the dance floor was gathered around a couple. Center stage. The floor all to themselves. The man was extremely tall, dark and impeccably dressed as was his partner, an equally tall, mocha-colored, blonde bombshell. Their bodies writhed to the samba music. Swing in. Swing out. Twirl. Spinning tops whirling across the floor. But this samba wasn’t the usual. They’d added an African flair to the Latin dance—exaggerated pelvic movements and thrusts. Dry-humping.

My lower lips twitched as the man’s tongue followed the curve of the woman’s neck, saliva glistening in the light. Fine-boned hands massaged her stomach then skimmed up, ever…so…slowly to cup her fabric-encased breasts. I crossed my legs in agony; gave the barstool a futile private lap dance.

As the hormones zinged through my body, I reminded myself of why I was there in the first place. Him. The mark. The errant husband sexing it up with whoever, whenever. This whole scene was courtesy of his wife — the one footing my bill.

Hands shaking, I snapped a few shots of the couple’s antics with my spypen. The music ended with the man’s lips—succulent lips meant for licking, biting, sucking, kissing—pressed deep between the valley of the woman’s breasts. In fact, his lips had me so ensnared, I failed to sense the danger behind me.

Big danger.

Turning back to the bar, I found my eyes captured by a pair of hazel ones surrounded by a goateed, enigmatic face. Cologne teased my nostrils. Strobe lights illuminated him in snatches. From what I could see, I liked—caramel, tall and built like a male brickhouse. Danger should have been tattooed on his forehead like a neon sign. He was the kind of man your mama warned you to watch out for...the kind of man you wanted to sheet wrangle without even knowing his name.

I should be scared, but I’m not. Cassieta Modine ain’t afraid of too much. Just God and a gun and he’s neither.

He glanced at the couple leaving the floor, bodies fused. “Know them?” His deep voice rumbled like a cello plucking my backbone.

My eyes darted to the couple then back. “No.”

Who is this man?

“Looks like you want to.” No facial expression. Danger pheromones strummed my nerves.

“Naw. They were just putting on a show. I don’t want to miss the encore if there’s one,” I flipped, determined not to be ruffled by this unnerving stranger.

“Ahem. A voyeur.”

I coughed over my drink before regaining some composure. “Not really. But, hey, if you don’t mind screwing where I can see, I’m damn sure gonna watch.” I struggled to sound confident.

“Touché.” His hands lightly touched my exposed back.

This is a bold brother here. Putting his hands where nobody asked him; assuming was okay with me…I don’t tell him to remove his hand.

“I’m Meylon. Let me buy you a drink.” His lips parted; showed blinding white teeth that belonged on dentures.

“I’m Mo. I’ll have another Singapore Sling,” I tossed back along with the last of my drink.
He placed the order while his fingers continued their light assault over my back.

“Mo, huh? The only Mos I know are guys. Is that short for anything?”

Here we go. I usually get this question when I give them my name and it always rubbed me the wrong way.

“Meylon. Is that short for anything?” Sarcasm dripped from my voice.

“No. It’s the name my mama gave me. You?” Eyebrows lifted, daring me to lie.

“We’re in the same boat.” The lie slid from my tongue easily.

I glanced at the couple now situated in a booth. Still going at it. The man’s hands were now inside the V of her dress, her tongue flicking over her lips.

Damn!

My stomach clenched involuntarily. I needed another photo but how the hell was I gonna get one with Mr. Meylon breathing my air in as I breathed out?

Meylon followed the direction of my eyes. “You sure I’m not intruding?”

I turned my legs back to the bar, keeping the couple in my periphery. “No. Why’d you say that?”

“Looks like you’re more interested in them than me. That’s a first,” he laughed, motioning to the bartender to refill my drink.

Waiting for my next drink, I scanned him from his closely cropped head to his indented waist down to his Stacy Adams encased toes. His statement was probably true.

I sipped the potent nectar before replying, “Like I said, I don’t want to miss any encores.”

He leaned closer. “We could be the encore. Excuse me for being so forward, but Mo…I so want to be up in you.” His liquor-sweetened breath caressed my face.

Goodness!

Two pairs of eyes locked on each other; smoldered with sexual energy. My pelvis tilted; the alarm in my head screamed. I squeezed my thighs tighter, gulped of my drink, tried to hide my jangling nerves.

Then he licked those lips.

Goddamnit!

Mental images of his unclothed physique made my body flit hot, cold. Flashes of his lips nibbling
on my earlobe, my neck, up and spine, my toes, my ni—Stop it, girl! Stop it!
I inhaled and exhaled slowly, the AC cooling the flash sweat coating my upper lip, rimming my
hairline.

My attention was mercifully diverted as the couple suddenly rose from the booth, coats in hand.

“Your friends are leaving,” Meylon said in my ear, his breath searing my lobe.

I leaned back; slowed the pace. “They aren’t my friends,” I emphasized.

He straightened and opened his jacket. “Mine either,” he growled just before the nose of the .45 cleared his coat.

Shit!

Guns, particularly ones I’m not holding, are something that do scare me.

Then, the couple was upon us.

Meylon ignored me as he slid from his stool, stopped in front of the man.

“What the hell are you doing?” My body tensed, eyes looked for any opportunity to disarm him quickly.

Meylon sneered, aimed the gun at the mark’s chest. “Oh, this how it is? You think you can run around and screw my woman and this woman and that? I’ll kill you!”

Someone screamed, “He’s got a gun!” People surged towards the exits.

The man’s face was contorted in fear. The woman’s, a portrait in fright—eyes wide; mouth in the proverbial “O.” The man roughly pulled the woman between him and the gun.

You chickenshit, you!

I had to get control of the situation.

Front kick to the gun hand.

Chop to his exposed neck.

He grunted but he held onto the gun.

Damn!

I punched his head, his neck and chest; felt the solid thuds.

But…they didn’t seem to faze Meylon.

It was a confirmed fact when he pimp-slapped me with the gun. I flew backwards; thudded into
the bar. Crazed eyes pinned me to the floor.

“Bitch, you’ve lost your damn mind!” he snarled.

I knew this wasn’t a Matrix moment as I watched his finger slowly cock the gun, my fight or flight instinct suddenly…paralyzed.

What about our conversation?! What about how you wanted to be all up in my stuff?! my mind screeched.

His eyes held mine, a muscle twitching along his cheek.

His shoulders relaxed; he stared at the floor then back at me.

Then he shook his head.

I relaxed, felt a reprieve, readied mentally for my next attack

A smile, showcasing those beauteous lips and teeth which…morphed into a snarl as his hand lifted; finger squeeze the trigger—

SSSSTTTOOOPPP!

The dream ceased.

Breathe.

Everyone knows that if you die in a dream, you’re dead for real.

Breathe.

The curtains fluttered from the central air; the luminous second hand on my clock ticked on my nightstand, affirming I was still alive.

Breathe.

Suspended between consciousness and sleep, unable to will myself to move, speak or even open my eyes. Ineptness. A state in which I’ve always been afraid. Scared of…I don’t know. Maybe ghosts communicating with me. Maybe the devil holding me captive. Maybe of being suspended in this state…forever. I pushed those thoughts to the side; willed myself to not be afraid because I knew I was alive. The incessant ticking was a constant reminder.

Breathe.

Yet, I almost died. A black belt in judo, numerous self-defense training sessions and I…choked. This helplessness gnawed my brain, worried my soul. Would I fail when I needed me the most?

Breathe.

Get it together, Mo! What was that sissypunk crap you just pulled? You badder than this! You ain’t never ever been nobody’s punk!

Correct.

I slowly calmed; heart rate followed suit as the dream world slowly pulled me into its depths.

Rewind...

Ms. Minnie continues to do her thing!

I fell in love with The Seduction of Mr. Bradley and worked it until it breathed. It is a love story between conflicted individuals. Bill Bradley is bisexual. I learned an interesting development while writing this novel. Brokeback Mountain—a film from a short story by Annie Proulx about “...a forbidden and secretive relationship between two cowboys.”—won three Oscars in 2005.

According to IMBC.com, Ms. Proulx was born August 22, 1935. I was born May 16, 1936. She finished Brokeback Mountain December 2005; I completed my first draft of Mr. Bradley near that same period and published November 2006. In the end, my hope is that this novel blazes a path to a greater understanding of and by humankind.

Thank you so much for reading my Hist/story. And Thank You, Sydney for the opportunity!

Minnie E Miller
Author of The Seduction of Mr. Bradleywww.millerscribs.comwww.myspace.com/minnie_ewww.msprissy-dreamweaver.blogspot.com/

Ms. Minnier E. Miller continues...

My flavor for the paranormal manifested in my spiritual soul while attending the première musical, The Phantom of The Opera. That little outing was very very expensive—I took two others with me—but well worth it...

I saw sooo many possibilities in Phantom. It was as if my muse took flight. I just hung on and followed it. I was already working on a manuscript titled Precious Angel; I changed the titled to Blue Lady Rising. I've been writing that MM for 10 years! I'm still rewriting it. I put her aside and started writing Catharsis, a book of three short stories: two were about vampires and the third, Connecting, was a love story. I'm not too pleased with that one. Catharsis was my first venture into self-publishing. It kicked my butt, and made me question my sanity, but I put it out there anyway.
Minnie E Miller
Author of The Seduction of Mr. Bradley
http://www.millerscribs.com/
www.myspace.com/minnie_e
www.msprissy-dreamweaver.blogspot.com/

Minnie Miller Continues to Shine!

My creativity had pushed to the forefront of my mind in 1976. I enrolled in The Chicago School of The Art Institute—the “Tony” art school.

At the school, my activist mind came alive. African Americans were being ignored, although there many very, very talented artists in our groups, especially our young men. I was mad as hell and said, “I’m not taking anymore,” and left after a three semesters. I met an African American lawyer while working at the ACLU. I became his secretary. In his private practice, he was the lawyer for the Black Panther Party. That's a book in itself. I have years of journals hidden away. I won’t go into it here.

Minnie E Miller
Author of The Seduction of Mr. Bradley
The Seduction of Mr. Bradley
http://www.millerscribs.com/
www.msprissy-dreamweaver.blogspot.com/ www.myspace.com/minnie_e

Let's Welcome Author Minnie Miller to the Stage!

I have been writing for many more years than the fourteen I consider my serious literary period. A little history about me.

My last full time job was with the Office of the Mayor of San Francisco as special assistant to his press secretary. While there, I coauthored The San Francisco Mayor's Summit for Women, Summit Report 1998. I retired in 1999, left San Francisco, landed in Atlanta, Georgia, and worked in the City Council's Communications office as a freelancer. Heeding a whisper from my subconscious, I returned home but couldn't sit still. To my amazement, NBC5 Chicago, WMAQ TV hired me part-time in the newsroom. The news junkie in me loved it.

Minnie E Miller
Author of
The Seduction of Mr. Bradley
http://www.millerscribs.com/
www.msprissy-dreamweaver.blogspot.com/ www.myspace.com/minnie_e

Simply Sydney Global Blog Tour!

Get ready to be entertained, folks. Beginning next week, I'll began my Simply Sydney Global Blog Tour. That's correct, beginning next week, I'll have a myriad of fellow authors, publicists and book affectianos here talking about, what else? BOOKS!

And don't forget, I have a few other blogs, so I'll keep you informed of who is starring where. It should be a load of fun and will introduce you all to great new reads. Hope you'll stick around for the ride.

Syd

How long should a sex scene be in a book?

Guess you can tell I'm back to writing. All true, but I'm still reading my 2 - 5 books a week also. Well this novel I'm reading now--Nameless Book--has a threesome that, I swear, takes up 3 chapters. I kid you not. After reading all that rubbing, and kissing and **********and********* for doggone near 30 pages, I was exhausted just like the characters.

And don't get me wrong, it wasn't that the writing wasn't up to par. It was. I just wondered if it was overkill and kinda of pushing the envelope to let the menage-a-trois become the plot versus the action/adventure plot it began with. Here I am ready for the next sex session while forgetting the reason the book was written in the first place.

So, how long (minutes reading or pages) do you think a sex scene should be. Would 30 pages be too long for the same characters? I would love to hear from you.

Hello World!

Wow, folks, it's been a minute since you've heard from me. I was hit hard, hard, hard by the death of my number one supporter and encourager--my mother--in May. My writing muse tactfully decided to go into mourning with me and I must tell you, I've written barely a conherent sentence since that time. But then this past weekend....something just "clicked."

Seriously. I felt an easing of grief and lightness to my physical being. And let me tell you, delicately, the activities in the wee hours of the morning were....off the chain! So as my spirits lift, my writing will return. And I'm in the middle of some very "interesting" ones. Stay tuned and strap on your seatbelt. Payback, Inc. is on its way.....

Sex Weed

Think you've had some Mary J, uh uh, not until you read Sylvia Hubbard's "Sex Weed!" She's headlining at The Pout, www.thepout.blogspot.com . The two installments I've read so far will definitely hook you. So take a ride on the wild side and enjoy the read while you are at it.

Syd

Sylvia Hubbard Headlining for April!

Good folks, Sylvia Hubbard, suspense author extraordinaire will be headlining in my alter ego site--The Pout (Pout Erotica) for the month of April. Please take time to stop by. If you haven't read her works, you are in for a treat.

www.thepout.blogspot.com

10 Things You Didn't Know About Author Sheila Goss

1. Although my name is spelled "SheLia," it is pronounced exactly the same as the more common spelling "Sheila."

2. Ideas for my books come to me in my dreams.

3. As much as I love to read, I can't read while a car or plane is in motion because it makes my head hurt.

4. According to my Aunt Carole Lee, I've been reading since I was four.

5. My first published work was not a novel, but a poem back in 4th grade.

6. I wanted to be a Southern University Dancing Doll, but was too scared to try out.

7. At one time, my career goal was to be an FBI agent; which is probably why I enjoy reading and writing suspense stories.

8. I have no kids.

9. I had a crush on my college professor - Mr. W. (& a crush on LL Cool J).

10. When writing in other genres besides women's fiction or romance, I use a pen name.

Visit one of Shelia's blogs: http://www.ohnosheliadidnt.blogspot.com/ or her website: http://www.sheliagoss.com/.