Tag: authors

Writers Wednesday – Chapter 8: The Women with Blue Eyes

Chapter 8: “Something You Should Know”

E: You need to come in

Tina: I know. I’m sorry. I will.

E: I’m serious T. Don’t miss another session or I’ll have to report your ass :-/

Tina: Lol. I won’t.

Although she had added a smiley face and “Lol,” to Erica’s text message, in real life she rolled her eyes. Erica was cool but she was still a therapist and Tina was still her client. One more reminder text, call, and email and Tina was going to scream. Before Az showed up again, she never missed a session but that was before she knew what she knew. And even though Erica was the most down-to-earth, most friendly homegirl-type therapist she could have asked for, she still couldn’t tell her everything.

Tina rubbed her temples with her thumbs. She was sitting in her car outside of the office deciding on what to do. Maybe Erica’s right. This is crazy. I need to just go home. Tina started the car. Freddy had turned up nothing on Jason anyway. She couldn’t help him if she wanted to. The sound of a new message appeared. Damn Erica.

Janiyah: Miss Bernice wanted me to ask if you were on your way.

Tina sighed in relief. It was just Niyah.

Tina: On my way now 🙂

Janiyah: K 🙂

“I know where he is.”

Tina dropped the phone and jumped at the sound of Az voice. He had made his body smaller and was sitting in the backseat of her car.

“Don’t do that!” She shook her head.

“Sorry.”

“You always say sorry and then you keep doing it.”

“I know where he is. You can stop him.”

“Why? Why me? Why can’t you just let me live my life?”

“I told you. Ronnie opened a door when he agreed to work for Big Sam.”

“What’s she got to do with it? Besides, Ronnie’s dead, as you already know,” Tina sighed. To be an angel he sure was simple minded.

“Ronnie may be dead, but a door is still open. You are still connected. This is your purpose. It’s what The Power wants.”

Tina shook her head.

“He’s visiting his parents in Oak Park. From there he will head to a friend’s house, but they aren’t there.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Tina looking at Az through the rearview mirror.

“It’s too late for his friends but you can save him if you hurry. He’s wrapping up now. I can show you the way.”

“Okay but how am I supposed to stop him?”

“Be creative. You’ll figure it out.”

Az vanished, leaving an address on Tina’s GPS that will lead her to Jason’s parents house. But the address vanished and a map of the city with red lines appeared.

“What the…?”

Tina tapped the GPS system, trying to get it to go back to the address.

“It’s too late for that,” said the GPS lady voice, “he has already gone. Follow the instructions on your screen. Hurry. There is not much time. Turn left on Columbia Boulevard.”

Tina rolled her eyes, knowing the voice was really Az. She picked up the phone to send Janiyah a text.

Tina: Not gonna make it in time for dinner. Tell Miss Bernice I’ll pay extra. See you in a bit.

***

Amy stood by the window of her office and shook her head. Tina had left fifteen minutes ago but was still sitting outside in the car, her hands moving around.

“Hey Fred?”

Freddy packed up his things to go. It was the end of the day and the rest of the staff had just left.

“Come over here a sec.”

Freddy walked over to the window and stood next to Amy, both of them peering out the window through the blinds.

“What’s she doing?” asked Amy, frowning.

Freddy watched in surprise as Tina waved her hands and appeared to be talking. “Is she on the phone?”

Amy turned to face Fred. “Do you see a phone? She’s talking to herself, again!”

Freddy sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t want to believe it was true. He knew she was seeing Erica. He had recommended her after Ronnie’s death. Maybe it was too early for her to be back. Amy turned back to the window.

“Told you,” she said, her arms folded.

Fred walked away from the window and pulled his cell from his pocket. He didn’t care for Amy too much but damn it if she wasn’t right. He put the phone up to his ear as it rang, shaking his head at Amy still peaking through the window. She was so nosy. He turned his back, grabbed his belongings and headed for the door as the line picked up.

“Hey Erica. It’s me. You got some time? There is something I think you should know.”

Chapter 9, “The Car Accident”

Are you new to this series? Click here to start from chapter one.

African American Images on Book Cover Premades!

If you’ve been following this blog for the past five years you know one of my biggest complaints has been the lack of African American/Black themed premade book covers. And guess what? I found a few!

Beetiful Book Covers

“Launched in 2013 by Stefanie Fontecha, Beetiful Book Covers offers African American premade book covers.”

Cover Your Dreams

This one is not exclusive to AFAM but I’ve seen several covers featuring black men/women. The prices are low so this may be useful for Indie Authors on a budget.

Marion Designs

This one looks a bit more upscale with professional photos.

Designs by Rachelle

It appears this site also occasionally features diverse photos in its premade covers.

Learn more about how to get the best out of premade covers and what to look for HERE. 

Do you know of any more we can add? Drop a comment on the table if you do and let us know!

New Words

It was either the fresh smell of an expanding vocabulary or the sweet taste of new words on my tongue. Or perhaps the way they moved around in my mind. It was the way they sounded, like soft wings flapping against the air and the effortless inspiration they stirred while teaching me their foundations. It was 6th Grade English, 8th Grade Creative Writing, AP Literature in High School, and African American studies in College. Ms. Lang was a little woman with a big appetite for dissecting poetry and she fed us well. New words have always been motivational in provoking me to write. I would come home from school with an armful under the flap of my notebook and feast on multi-syllable honey. I would string sentences together that really made no sense because all I really wanted to do was use the words. All I really wanted to do was “simile” sentences on paper like hanging linen that I could sit back and watch as they dried. Metaphor them into something digestible. I would sit there highlighting words I didn’t know. Forget parties, all I wanted to do was crack open the mind of an author and anatomize his usage of irony. I was the sole proprietor of time that day and it never seemed to move as long as I was building. Eventually, I no longer depended on organized schooling for my fix. Instead, pocket dictionaries and thesauruses found a home in my backpack as new words found a home in my poetry. To this day I look forward to different ways to use overly used words, synonyms that could be used much simpler and give my palate something new to get excited about.

Writers Wednesday – Chapter 7: The Women with Blue Eyes

Chapter 7: “Angel of Vision”

Paschar licked her lips and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress as she stepped over the body, closing the door behind her. The electricity from his soul caused her entire body to pulsate and the blue in her eyes to shine bright. The fresh human essence had her entire body shaking, like one giant orgasm bursting from every crevice of her body. She wanted to run, jump, leap into the air. Travel the planets and back down again. Her prowess and senses were magnified after each hit. Pas walked with confidence; her head held high as she moved her hips from side to side. Red was her most favorite color to wear with this skin. Something about the hue against this dark body, so different from her real form.

Passerbys, men and women alike, stared. Paschar smiled, they always did. Human’s were fascinated by such blue, crystal pupils against such brown, creamy skin. In real life, Pas thought human bodies were disgusting. She hated the soft, gooeyness of the flesh. How it bruised and bled so easily, how it fell apart and crumbled with each passing day. Pas hated the rotting flesh on bone, but she did come to love dark skin tones. Other pigments didn’t make her heartbeat like melanin. With it, she could extend life in this body and still feel like the angelic entity she was. Every soul she consumed slowed the aging of the body.

Paschar entered El Che Steakhouse and Bar restaurant and followed the ray of blue that led to the booth in the corner where six women with blue eyes sat, smiling and their ethnicities ranged from Korean to European, and from Hispanic to Japanese. None of them were black like her. Only she had the privilege of wearing African skin.

Pas snapped her fingers, causing the patrons to freeze in their places. Forks, spoons, and knives floated in the air, waitresses stopped in mid-step with full trays, children’s smiles were pasted on their faces, and people’s heads were buried in their cell phones.

“Hello, ladies. By the look in your eyes I can tell you’re feeling what I’m feeling,” she smiled, shimming her hips. The women laughed.

“Indeed,” said the Korean woman, slapping high-fives with the woman next to her.

“Don’t get too excited. Az is on our trail.”

The Puerto Rican blew a breath, “Su problema.”

“Pain in my ass,” complained the Japanese woman.

“You need to eat,” continued Pas. “More than usual. Keep your energy up. Men, women. I don’t care what you have to do, eat and live. The stronger the worship, the stronger we are in battle. The more you eat, the stronger you’ll be if something goes down. You need to have these people eating out the palm of your hands.

“Or your ass,” laughed the Japanese one and within seconds Paschar’s hand was wrapped around the woman’s throat and choking her up against the wall. She had just had a hit and her energy was strong. The woman squirmed and squealed as her face contorted, revealing snippets of her true mermaid image.

“You have forgotten what is at stake here,” Pas addressed the table. “There is no redemption for us. Semjaza is gone.” She felt the knot rise in her throat and the tears threaten to spill from her eyes at the mention of her leader. Damn human emotions.

“Arakiba,” she continued, giving the names of their leaders, “…is gone. Rameel, Kokabiel, Baraqijal, Armaros, gone. All of them!” Pas slammed her fist against the table and the women jumped. The Japanese woman continued to squirm as she suffocated up against the wall.

“Two hundred of our brethren fell that day.”

Paschar let the Japanese woman go, her human body falling to the floor, coughing and choking.

Pas walked the length of the restaurant, zooming in and out of focus, floating from one end of the room to the next, the anger in her veins amplified by the energy from her last victim.

“Their eternal souls locked away until their essence burns forever.” Her voice grew deeper, and pink wings grew out of her shoulders. “They failed,” she boomed, her voice like thunder. “We will not fail! Rise sistars. Rise!”

The women stood, their ethnicities changing, disfiguring the human flesh, now like clay, and exposing their true images. No longer were they six beautiful women all ranging in skin tones and race. Now Paschar looked into the face of a mermaid, a fairy, a troll, a white-winged horse, a griffin, and an imp. Paschar looked from one creature to the other and she changed too.

Pas real body was light pink and humanoid, resembling that of a woman from the chest down, her face that of a man. Different shaped circles cover her pink body, entry points to absorb energy. Paschar’s hair is dark pink and her feathered wings are light pink like her skin. Her pupils are tiny slits, like that of a snake, shining blue. Light emanates from her, shining a bright pink glow.

Paschar (pu-shar) is her name, angel of vision, once tasked with guarding the veil between the physical world and the heavens, between consciousness and unconsciousness, between awareness and illusion. She once saw the beauty of visions from the Almighty and projected these into human consciousness. Now, she is limited, capable only of seeing physical beauty, extracting energy from mortal man, and projecting illusions. Her authority was stripped from the heavens and placed on that of the Earth.

Paschar reigned over the creatures before her as if she could control them, but the truth was Pas had no real power and she growled in anger and frustration of her circumstance. The fall had weakened her, weakened them, and now there was no chance at redemption. Yah had forsaken them, cast them aside for pieces of rotting flesh. How dare he cast his own from eternal glory and offer it to the beast that is man? The slits in Paschar’s eyes thinned and the blue rays grew wider, brighter.

“Remember who you are,” she growled. The creatures responded by screeching, singing, growling, and shooting fire from their nostrils.

Pas snapped her fingers and the customers unfroze, the creatures turned back into beautiful women, and Pas skin was no longer pink.

The clinging sound of new patrons entering the restaurant sounded and four black men walked in, their eyes already on their table. The seven women smiled, just as beautiful as they were before, and Paschar smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, licking her lips and marveling at the brown skin.

She didn’t even have to turn around. She saw them first and her stomach growled.

It was feeding time.

Chapter 8 “Something You Should Know”

Are you new to this series? Click here to start from chapter one.

Helping Indie Authors Amid the COVID-19 Pandemic

I’ve been spending my social distance-time staying at home as much as possible, reading books, writing books, catching up on some scriptures, enjoying time with my family and binging my favorite TV shows. Earlier last week I got an email from someone whose email I don’t remember subscribing to, but, it mentioned the point that Self-Publishers are small businesses too.

And I concur.

Small businesses are taking a big hit amid the COVID-19 crisis and I thought I’d share a way we can help Self-Publishers in this time of uncertainty.

Buy the author’s book directly from them if you can.

If the author has a website, purchase a paperback or digital version of the book from the author’s website. If you are an author and you don’t have a website or you’re not selling through your website, Joanna Penn’s article here goes into detail on how to set up a store.

Something to keep in mind:

Amazon pays authors royalties for print and ebook sales. A royalty is a percentage of a sale. An ebook going for $2.99 at 70% according to Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing will make the author $2.09. This means the author will have to sell at least 10 ebooks to make $20 and still have to wait a month to see that.

“If you publish through traditional publishing, royalties can take many months to arrive. You can’t control the schedule of payment and you don’t get any details of the customers.

If you publish independently through online publishers like Amazon, Kobo, Apple, Google, and other distributors, you will get your money sooner — but it will still be 30-60 days later and once again, you don’t get any details of the customers.”

Authors who sell direct can buy author copies of their books in bulk at a discount, sell those books from their website and fulfill the order themselves. The author also gets to see who their customers are which helps them to build a stronger relationship with them.

I wouldn’t be keeping it authentic if I didn’t also mention authors will have to account for shipping, state tax, and whatever website fees are associated with their platform of choice. The benefit, however, to selling direct is that the author doesn’t have to wait 30-60 days to get paid.

If the author got ten print book sales at $20 through their author website, they’ve already made $200 and $200 in the age of COVID-19 can be very helpful to families. Consider that most Indie Authors with day and night jobs are either working from home or not working at all. People are being fired, furloughed, and layed off left and right. Besides this, if we are being honest, some Indie Authors don’t even see $200 in royalty checks from Amazon from their Self-Published books.

Of course, there are pros and cons to everything. The major pros have already been stated, you are helping a small business to keep going at a time when money is scarce for everyone. The cons for authors include:

  • Not having the sale go toward your Amazon sales or ranking.

 

  • You must have the right to sell through your website first. You can’t, for example, sell your digital book anywhere outside of Amazon while enrolled in the KDP Select program and if you are signed with a publisher (includes Indie Publishers) you might be restricted from selling your print book through your own website depending on the details of your contract. You will have to check this and see.

“Many authors are so obsessed with chart rankings on Amazon that they forget the point is to reach readers who love our books — and for many of us, make a living with our writing. Selling direct enables readers to support us and money to arrive in our bank accounts quickly — but you will not see a spike in your Amazon rankings. So what do you really want?” – Joanna Penn

Here are ways to help Indies Amid the COVID_19 Pandemic:

  • Buy Directly From the Author (from their Website) If You Can.
  • Those ebook sales do add up. If you can’t afford the print book, buy the digital book.
  • Be sure to leave a review on Amazon so the author can attract more readers and get more sales.

Read Joanna Penn’s entire article “How To Sell Your Books Directly To Readers And Get Paid Immediately” here.

Book 2 is on the way! Get started on Book One.

Order a Signed Paperback* Here

Get it in ebook here.

*Due to the COVID-19 Pandemic, stay-at-home, and shelter in place policies I am shipping books in shifts so I don’t have to keep going out. If you want to be included in this week’s shipment, be sure to place your print book order today so you don’t miss it! Paperbacks are signed and includes my author seal.

Want more Indie Author Tips? I’ve written over 50 articles sharing my tips, process, and publishing journey as an Indie Author. You can find them on this page. Enjoy!

Writers Wednesday – Chapter 6: The Women with Blue Eyes

Chapter 6: “Jason Who?”

“Higher daddy, higher! Push me higher!”

The four-year-old swung her legs back and forth, feeling the wind on her face. Jason smiled. Amarie was a fun junkie like her daddy.

“I don’t think you ready for this though Marie baby. You ready for this?”

“I’m ready, I’m ready. Higher daddy!”

Jason stopped the swing and placed his hands on each side. He stepped back, pulling Amarie back, high into the air, his hands still holding on tightly to the swing. Amarie laughed and giggled. Jason let go, letting the swing fly through the air as Marie screamed. Jason laughed.

“Told you, you weren’t ready!”

As the swing came back to him, he stopped it, helping Amarie to climb down.

“Come on baby, let’s go feed daddy.”

“That was amazing!” shrieked Amarie, still feeling giddy.

Jason smiled. Kids were something else. One minute they are asking you a million questions and the next they little geniuses.

“Amazing huh? Spell it for daddy.”

Amarie twisted her lip and Jason couldn’t get over the cuteness. She was his little chocolate drop, her skin taking on her mother’s dark complexion instead of his lighter one. Her brown, course, hair was in ponytails with yellow barrettes adorning the braided ends. Jason and his baby mama didn’t always get along, but he admired how she always kept his daughter fresh and looking like a little lady. Not too many little girls still wore pigtails these days. While moms kept her cute, Jason kept her smart. He taught her beauty on the outside meant nothing without beauty on the inside. “And beauty,” he taught her, “come with brains. Don’t just be a cutie, be smart too.”

“A-M-A…” began Amarie.

Jason tried hard to listen, but his spirit was still disturbed from the events of the other day. He wouldn’t teach his daughter the importance of thinking if he wasn’t a thinking man. I know for a fact her ass was sitting right next to me. How the hell did she end up on the other side of the room, standing up? He couldn’t remember what happened between the time he was about to tongue the woman down to when she put him out. It was weird and had him feeling uneasy. It was hot as hell in there too though. Could that have been the reason? Did I blackout from the heat?

“N-G,” recited Amarie as they made it to the car. Jason helped her into the back seat and strapped her into the booster seat.

“Did I do it right daddy?”

“Yea, baby. Good job.”

He closed her door and felt a wave of heat on his neck. Frowning, Jason turned around before opening his car door and saw no one.

“J man you are tripping,” he said outloud to himself.

“Tripping. T-R-I..” began Amarie.

Jason laughed and took out his cell.

“I’m not gonna make it out that way any time soon bro,” boomed Jason’s deep, melodic voice. He laughed into the phone. Tony was always saying something crazy.

“Naw, nothing like that. Got the little one with me. Yea. Ya’ll go ahead though. Imma stop by Moms, I can leave her there and catch ya’ll later. The steakhouse? Bet. I ain’t eating though. Jason paused as his friend chided him on the other end.

“You know moms ain’t gonna let me stop by and not eat! If Imma choose a meal it’s gonna be moms fa sho.”

He hung up and dialed another number.

“Sup old man. You at the crib? Oh yea? What she cook? Bet. I’m on my way. I got Marie with me. Yea. Aiight. See you soon.”

Jason hung up and then strapped on his seat belt. Whatever it was he was feeling, he didn’t trust it. He always talked things over with his dad. He felt fortunate to still have him in his life. Not many black men he knew could say they grew up with both parents in the home. Jason’s parents had been married for twenty-five years. That meant something to him. It also made him ashamed that he couldn’t hold onto a relationship himself. As Jason pulled out of his parking space and began to drive down the street, he prayed his mother’s cooking could help to shake the cold chill that trickled down his spine and the knot that lingered in the pit of his stomach.

***

“Internet stalking your boyfriend? Sweetie, if you think he’s cheating, he’s cheating.”

Amy laughed as she walked past Tina’s cubicle where a photo of Jason was pulled up on her computer screen. Quickly, Tina opened another tab.

“It’s not like that.”

She shook her head and crossed out the word Email on her notepad. The man was invisible online, no email and no record. He had been working for the U.S. Postal Service for three years. Before that, he attended a community college but then dropped out. Anything before that is a mystery.

Tina tapped her pencil on the desk, still unsure if she should intervene and because she had taken her prescription, there was no sign of Az to help. If she was going to help, she only had a few hours to do it and she had no idea where this Jason dude was.

“Hey Fred?”

“Yep?”

“Look up this name for me.”

Fred took the post-it from Tina and frowned. “Jason King?”

Amy laughed, shaking her head.

“Who’s he?”

“With a name like Jason King, shid,” laughed Amy.

Freddy laughed too. Tina shook her head.

“Ya’ll play too much. I don’t even know the guy. I think he may be connected to the Byron case.”

“In what way?” asked Freddy.

“I don’t know but I think he’s involved,” she lied. Trying to stop a blue-eyed fallen angel disguised as a beautiful black woman from killing him, wouldn’t exactly make her look sane.

In the new browser she typed in her company password, and pulled up Byron’s file. She looked up to find Amy staring at her. The woman cut her eyes, frowned, and looked away.

Chapter 7 “Angel of Vision”

It’s National Poetry Month!

It’s National Poetry Month!
I am Soul is 99cents on Kindle and $8 in paperback through the end of April.

Signed Paperback

www.yecheilyahysrayl.com/bookstore/i-am-soul-poetry

Amazon Kindle

www.amazon.com/I-am-Soul-Yecheilyah-Ysrayl-ebook/dp/B078FS2ZJT

What are you reading or re-reading for National Poetry Month? Here’s my list so far!
  • The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni (1968 – 1998)

 

  • Maya Angelou Poems: Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Diiie, Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well, And Still I Rise, Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing?

 

  • If Only There Was Music : The Poetry of Forbidden Love by Nonnie Jules