Saturday, December 13, 2008

2009 and other stuff

So we're talking about doing some booksignings next year. I think in the summer. Am I wrong to hope something happens so I can't do it? Like getting transported to an alternate earth where they don't do any public appearances...ever! Hahaha. Yes, I'm terrified. Maybe Dahlia will be so wrapped up in her sweet bundle of joy, she'll forget about little old me and won't drag me out there.

Road travel. I hate it. My brother just bought a new trailer. He drove it from house to house of family and friends showing it off. I asked him what was up with not bringing it by my street, but he said he didn't want to take out several houses trying to get down my block, so what could he do? I thought about saying excuses, excuses. So I went to see that thing. Nice! But I won't be adding it to any of my stories that's for sure.

He showed me this fold out chair that could turn into a bed, said this is where you will sleep when you come with us on vacation. I looked at him like he's lost his damn mind. No, Jordyn doesn't like road travel. He knows this!

Soon I'll get some other excerpts up on here. And who knows, I might actually think of something interesting to write about. If the above bored you to tears though, don't hold your breath. Lol.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Taking Joy Cover

I'm soooooooooooooooooooo happy with my cover for Taking Joy. I hope you like it too.


Boy oh boy. Kids!

So yesterday, my brother calls to chit chat. He hardly ever calls, and neither do I. We just don't have a lot to talk about. I think he waits until he has some story or something to share. I was right. He did.

His youngest child is finally old enough to "cook" in his opinion. At Thanksgiving this year someone, made this really soupy banana pudding (ew!) that my brother's daughter liked. So she wanted to make some, and my brother thought it was a good idea. Of course he buys pudding you have to cook rather than instant. So he goes back to the store to get instant and they make it together, etc.

Well a few days later, the taste for pudding hits again, and my niece decides she'll cook the pudding my brother bought the first time. The instructions called for cooking it all in a sauce pan. So when my brother comes walking in the kitchen, he finds his daughter earnestly making pudding in a frying pan. She said that's what she figured sauce pan meant. Lol. He said no matter how he scrubs that pan, every time he heats it up, he gets a whiff of pudding in the air.

Oh the joys of kids. At least I'll have an interesting story to put in a book some day. Gotta love real life.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Taking Joy

I had posted to my publishing site asking my readers what they thought of my latest work and got really positive responses. Those who responded, thank you so much. You are much appreciated! So here's a little snippet of the story.


Chapter One

“What about dancing?” he suggested.

“Dancing?” She cut her eyes over at him, her lip curling. “You’re not talking about the kind of dancing where I take my clothes off while drunk, funky men whistle and call out lewd stuff to me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

“Darren, you done lost your damn mind.” She rolled her eyes at him and scanned her card so she could pass through the turnstile. He trotted behind on her heels. “I’m not taking my clothes off like that for nobody.”

“Come on, Joy. Think of our son.”

“Our son?” She wanted to punch him in his face or shove him in front of the train just pulling into the station. But where would that get her? In jail, and her baby boy in foster care. Not happening. The doors slid open, patrons exited and she slipped on board before the driver shut the doors.

The car, as usual, was packed with bodies, and one or two had skipped their morning shower. The ripe smell of underarms and sweat permeated the air. Joy squirmed through the crowd to find an unclaimed pole to hang onto just as the train pulled off. Darren’s arm moved above her head to grab the pole, and his body pressed hers from behind. She jammed an elbow in his gut.

“Damn, Joy.” He shifted to her side, rubbing his stomach. “You didn’t used to be this mean. Back when—”

“Don’t start, Darren, please.” She blew out a breath, turning her head away. “Back when I was too stupid and too in love with you to see what a joke you are, is what you should be about to say. You spout off ‘our son,’ but you don’t pay a bit of child support. And you have the nerve to stand there and suggest I get a job dancing. I can’t believe you.”

He blanched at the accusing stares of the older women sitting in front of them. “Come on, Joy. Keep your voice down. Everybody don’t need to be in our business.”

Joy fell silent studying her baby’s daddy. Looking at Darren with his braids and his jeans hanging off his hips, his shirt hanging open to show his T-shirt, one would never think he was thirty-five. He looked no different than the teenagers she saw hanging on the streets or playing their loud music on the subway.

Darren hadn’t held down a job since she first met him. He preferred the easy way to make his money, stealing and hustling. She couldn’t exactly look down on him for that. Back in their days of dating, she had done her share right along with him. He had introduced her to that world, but when Travon came along, that risky lifestyle was out the door. She just couldn’t figure out why Darren hadn’t seen the light yet, why his heart didn’t break every time their baby had a need they couldn’t provide for.

“Okay, Darren, I admit, you’ve pulled me through some rough times over the years, you and your crazy schemes. But I can’t live like that. Travon deserves better. I do too.”

“So what you saying?”

She dropped her head, closed her eyes and rubbed them. When she turned to glance in the opposite direction to keep from laying hands on Darren, two men caught her attention, who looked so alike they could be twins. She stood in the middle of the car, and they were at one end. Yet, both of them were staring right at her through a gap in the bodies.

They were both smoking hot, black wavy hair like a raven’s wing, one with longer hair extending down to his shoulders and the other’s short-cropped. Both had dark-colored eyes she couldn’t see clearly from that distance. They dressed like they had money, expensive suits that didn’t even attempt to hide all the tight muscle. She had found white guys hot before in passing, but that was it. These two men made her mouth water, especially the one with the sweet expression and kindness in his eyes. What they were doing slumming on the subway, she couldn’t imagine. Or why they found it necessary to stare at her.

She glanced down at her clothes, second hand from the thrift three blocks from her house. Her figure wasn’t all that either. She was a little too wide in the hips, and her hair was a battle for people with more skill and money to tame it. So what did they see?

“What you looking at, Joy?” Darren interrupted her reverie.

“Nothing.” She turned away from the men.

Darrren reached out and caught her chin. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t do anything for Travon? That you wouldn’t pick up a job that wasn’t exactly respectable to provide for him?”

At that moment, she had this weird feeling, like her answer was of interest to someone other than Darren. She glanced up to find the twins passing by. Her knees went weak. They towered above her, easily six foot five, give or take an inch. She chewed her lip and nearly squawked when one of them grabbed her ass.

“Hey!” she shouted. Neither man stopped. They kept walking. The train stopped, and they were gone. She dismissed them, and swung around to face Darren. “Yes, I’ve already proven that I would pick up a job I hate to take care of my son. Speaking of jobs, I lost mine yesterday. Do you have a few dollars so I can make the payment on my phone? Need that to get calls from potential employers.”

He scrounged around in his pockets and pulled out a twenty. “Sorry, this is all I’ve got. Everything I’ve worked on for a while has fallen through.” They stepped together off the train and headed up to the street. Downtown was wall to wall. The only plus Joy could see was that the air was fresher. Somewhat. Now she had to contend with exhaust fumes, but a breeze blew and birds flitted in the trees across the street at the park. Darren stroked her arm to get her attention. “Look, how about you come do a job for me tonight. It’s small, but you’ll make a hundred.”

“A hundred?” She stopped walking. That would pay the phone bill and put a few dollars in her pocket. Maybe she could save a few before child care benefits ended. Things weren’t desperate yet, but they would be if she didn’t get another job, and she knew from experience how bad it could get. She willed away the memories from last summer when social services threatened to take her son. Never again! But the jobs Darren ran weren’t the right way either. “Let me think about it?”

He shrugged. “Whatever, Joy. I’m offering you a way out, to make some money. If you don’t do it, I can get someone else.”

That pissed her off. “Why the hell can’t you do it and give me the money? He’s your son too!”

Darren backed away, holding his hands out from his sides. “You got my cell number, Joy. Hit me by five. No later.” The crowd swallowed him up.

* * * *

Joy strolled through the department store, with the application in her hand, filled out but not turned in. She had worked in a coffee shop and had become addicted to an iced caramel macchiato. How was she going to get her daily fix now?

Kavanagh’s was out of her price range—not over the top in prices, but not what she could regularly swing either. She loved the smell, the atmosphere, the marble floors. The dresses even fit over her hips, and were made bigger so she could pretend she wasn’t a size fourteen. “This store was made for me,” she whispered as she flicked through the assortment of thong panties on display.

“May I help you, ma’am?” a saleswoman asked behind her.

She didn’t bother to turn around, before moving on. “No, thanks.”

At that moment, while she teased her fingertips with silks from who knows what country, she had a thought. What was the point of handing over another application to be turned down for lack of experience or because she was inflexible with her hours. She couldn’t be on call, night and day, with no reliable babysitter and no family that could watch Travon—another lesson learned. She had been through too many horrible sitters, even one who had left her son as an infant in the basement while she was upstairs watching her soap operas. Had she not come when she did, he would have choked on his own vomit. Tears filled her eyes remembering.

He was older now, and she didn’t have to be as afraid, but that didn’t stop the emotion from choking her from time to time. She needed a better plan than that, maybe one that would help her to make enough money to take some time off and attend school.

When she ran her hand over the dresses for the second time, she stopped. Kavanagh’s had security guards and cameras, but she knew for a fact that the guys sometimes got to watching women more than they watched what was happening. And when she got a whiff of the too flowery perfume that had just sailed by on their favorite ass to ogle, temptation got the better of Joy.

She moved to the bras. Every one was over ten bucks, but they had the kind that were stylish without that awful underwire that bit into one of her sides. She fingered the lace while watching the beauty. Just as she expected, the camera in this section rotated. The security officer in the back room was probably already jacking off.

“This is wrong,” she told herself. “I shouldn’t even think about it. I’m not like Darren. I don’t want this life for Travon.” But her fingers still slid the nearest bra into her purse. She didn’t even know if it was her size.

Her stomach fluttering, she followed the woman to the jewelry section. Bells and alarms in her own head told her to leave right now, but she resisted. She checked the camera, and just like before, it turned to follow the woman. A flip of her blond hair, pouting pink lips, and the guard in this area zipped to her side to chat her up.

Joy swallowed hard. This area was trickier. There were two cameras and the guard. Besides that, the best stuff was locked behind a counter. Kavanagh’s had become famous for their exquisite jewelry at affordable prices, even the real stuff. Joy nearly chewed her lip off taking in the gold and silver. With any one of them, she could buy groceries and pay the phone bill. She could even get Travon some new clothes that weren’t hand me downs.

Walk away, Joy.

The sales girl took out two trays of jewelry and sat them on the counter. Pouty Blonde began fussing about their quality while the woman rolled her eyes and turned to help another person. Joy slipped on sunglasses and moved to look in the mirror closer to the counter. The guard was practically drooling.

“How does this look on me?” the blonde woman asked the guard.

“Perfect.”

Joy tried not to gag. She put the glasses back and moved as casually as she could manage to the watches. These would sell okay, she knew. They weren’t too expensive, thirty or forty, but it was something. She considered settling for two or three, and then the guard was called away. The phone rang, and the salesgirl answered with her back to the trays. Joy couldn’t believe her luck.

She hurried over, and when Miss Thing wasn’t looking, Joy stuffed a few rings and bracelets in her pockets. Only after she was halfway to the front door did she remember the camera.

No! Please, no! The camera was always trained on the woman. Snatching what she had right next to the woman insured she had been seen. Her throat dried, and she could already see the prison doors slamming shut and Child Protective Services taking her son.

Her vision blurred. She leaned against a counter and rubbed her forehead. Maybe if she threw her purse away... No, it had her ID in it and her fingerprints. All the police had to do was run them. Years ago, she had worked as a janitor in a secure building. All employees had had to give their fingerprints and take drug tests. Her information was sure to be on file somewhere, just waiting for her to screw up.

While she stood there wondering what to do, someone walked up behind her. A hand rested familiarly on her waist, and a deep voice whispered in her ear. “You want to come with me?”

She wanted to say no and run, but her legs wouldn’t work. He propelled her forward. She shuffled along too shocked to resist, her brain befuddled. Instead of the security office like she expected to await the police, he led her down a hall and up a short flight of stairs. Back here, the store was even nicer. They spared no expense in the wall hangings, the plush carpet and the richly appointed office. Oh no! The man was taking her to the big boss!

Still behind her, he moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her into a seat. She sat ramrod straight, hearing the door click closed behind her. When the man came into view and sat down, she thought she would hurl. The bad twin sat across from her. Or rather, the man from the subway who had the longer hair of the two.

He smiled. “Hello.”

She couldn’t find her voice.

“Not talking?” The man was too handsome for her own good. Upon closer inspection, she found he had violet eyes. She’d never seen such a color in a man’s eyes. He had long black lashes so thick women must cry with jealousy over them.

But instead of the kindness she had seen in his brother, there was only coldness in this one. He reared back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk, with the other hand across his mouth. He appeared to be considering his next words, but something told her he had already worked out what he would say, and what he would do to her. She held onto consciousness with supreme effort.

“I—”

He held up a hand. “No, no, let me. You didn’t mean to do it. A demon just took hold of you. A friend coerced you, perhaps the loser from the subway who tried to get you to dance for him.”

She gasped. “You don’t know me.”

“No?”

“N-No.” She hated the stutter. It signaled to him that his scare tactic would work. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the man looked bigger, his shoulders wider than they had seemed on the train. The only mercy was that he was sitting down.

She had thought too soon. He stood and moved around his desk to perch on the edge. Now, he towered over her. His taut thigh muscle crowded her, the bulge at his crotch even more so.

“A-Are you going to call the police?” Better to get right to it.

“You have a son. Travon, isn’t it?”

She choked back a scream.

He went on. “He’s three. No other family, deadbeat dad whose way of paying child support is getting you into things you don’t want to get into. You’ve had a string of jobs, none lasting long, because you’re in the tragic situation of having no higher education, no skills and the only positions you land want you to work hours that eventually clash with your ability to get a babysitter. Am I close?”

“Um...” What the hell was she to say? He could not have guessed all of that or found it out in the moments after she grabbed the jewelry, could he?

He leaned over and tipped up her chin when she would have stared down at her clenched hands for the duration of the meeting. “Final nail in your coffin...If you go to jail, there will be no one to care for your young son. You thought two weeks of not having him last year was hard. This would be far worse.”

She sobbed, great hulking ones that had her bent in half and clutching her stomach. He pulled her to her feet and crushed her to his chest. His lips descended along her neck, and his hands were too possessive at her waist.

“You have to ask yourself what Darren asked you in the subway car just this morning, Joy. What are you willing to do for Travon?”

On Writing

Last night I was reviewing my first works, the Urban Ladies series. It was supposed to be six in that series, two short stories each of three ladies. I haven't done the last one because a new mood struck me at the time, and all I wanted to do was get Loving Jiro written and released.

But as I re-read about Chelle, it struck me how raw she is, how she doesn't care what you say or do, she's who she is and will say whatever comes into her mind. She's like a perfect candidate for the Alpha werewolf. I loved re-reading her story. I was actually reading the second of her stories, Chelle Hunting. Lol. I was thinking of Good Will Hunting when I came up with that title. No connection or resemblance, so I don't know why.

The opening scene takes place in Wicky-Mart where she works. Yes, I was thinking of Wal-Mart when I wrote that, but on a smaller scale and cheesier. Haha. I would love to do longer works with this kind of heroine, except that I'm not this kind of person in real life, so it's a tough job keeping that attitude throughout, which is why I made it a short story in the first place and wrote in installments.

But don't fret if you like that kind of thing. I will finish that last installment if it kills me.