Even Salt looks like Sugar Audiobook

I have been MIA on social media lately and I’ll return to my regular blogging soon. In the meantime, the Even Salt Looks Like Sugar is available now in audiobook. If you are a first time audible user this book is free with the 30 day trial.

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>>Click here to order the Audiobook<<

Not into audiobooks? This book is available as an ebook at several retailers.

Buy from your favorite online store here

Buy from Amazon here

Purchase a signed paperback from my website here


Texas, I’ll be at the Trill Healing and Wellness Space in Stafford TX (about 40min from Houston) on November 30th for a signing and book reading of Keep Yourself Full. If you are in the area, I would love to have your support. This is our chance to meet/catch up. Don’t have this book? No worries! Grab your copy now from my website by clicking on the link in my bio. See you soon. Special thanks to Trill Monday Night Markets, Enlightened Souls, and B Infused Natural Detox Waters and more.

Short Story Sunday – “Falling Stars”

“In our universe, a star explodes and dies every single second and there’s you, worrying about work tomorrow.”

Tasha sighed and signed out of her Twitter account. It amazed her how exactly those words had summed up her life. Technology was a trip.

Curtis: Hello love.

Tasha: Not a good time.

Tasha slid the smartphone under the covers as her husband entered the room.

“Hey babe,” he said planting a kiss on her lips. She watched him walk away. Completely compact with everything she’d ever wanted in a man. As he slipped out of his shirt she took the opportunity to admire the dark chocolate, toned physique of her child’s father. Standing 6’1 the man had beauty and brains and had swept her off her feet ten years ago and everything else had been storybook. In less than a year they were married, Carson was born six months after that and their combined salary afforded them the luxury of the two-story house sitting comfortably between two large Oak Trees in Elmhurst Illinois.

Tasha hated those trees. They had somehow become the mocking occasion of her perfect life. Successful real-estate agent, wife, mother, and homeowner and yet here she was, stuck between two men; both just as large and overwhelming as those trees. She’d have to remember to have at least one of them cut down. Their existence, how they mocked her very life, was too much to take.

Anthony walked off, discarding of his clothing on the bathroom floor and wrapping a towel around his waist. “What time you getting off tonight?” he yelled.

“Nine, this case is really kicking my butt.” There it was. Another lie. It was her fourth lie this month. She knew because she counted. It was difficult at first, but whenever she thought about rolling around on the floor with her boss it became much much easier.

Curtis was nothing like Anthony and that reality was perhaps one of her greatest fears and pleasure too. More so than the betrayal, the lies, even more so than the sex was that these men couldn’t be any more different. It was that, their differences, that Tasha loved even more than getting caught. She smiled wickedly. Why did the thought excite her so? She’d built trust with Anthony and how she capitalized on that trust. Taking advantage of their years she played the men like strings. Pulling and tugging on their position in her life and manipulating the occasion.

Tasha met Curtis when she was just an intern at Curtis & Law and he was well aware that she was married. Tasha preferred it this way and often beamed with satisfaction. If ever there was an occasion to sleep around she’d found it. If ever there was a secret to deceit, she’d cracked the code. Her life with Anthony was secure and she made it clear she would never divorce him. Curtis was OK with that and vowed that their time together was nothing more than a thing.

Curtis: Tash, you there?

The text alert startled her and Tasha scrambled to mute the phone alert before it became noticeable. One downfall to cheating was extreme paranoia, everything was exaggerated and Tasha was sure the muffled sound of the phone could be heard through the sound of the shower. Peaking down at the screen she rolled her eyes. This was starting to get old real fast. He knew he had no right to call her that. Only Anthony called her “Tash.” Curtis had professed his love last night and somehow thought it gave him free reign to be the first man in her life. She thought she’d made it very clear that would never happen. Maybe I should just call off, thought Tasha. The dread of the workplace had become intense. Any occasion to which she had to see Curtis face in public sent her cascading through mental turmoil and she felt she would explode.

“In our universe, a star explodes and dies every single second..”

Tasha scrolled her Twitter timeline once more. Her  addiction to technology had her constantly checking her phone. Or was it nerves?

“…a star explodes and dies every single second..”

Is this what death feels like? she thought. Am I dying?

Anthony was her everything and her heart broke at the thought of what this would do to him if he ever found out and yet, the thought was quickly erased by another lie.

Please, I’m tripping. Men do this all the time. Tasha told herself to soothe the bruise of adultery seeping from her pores.

Anthony walked out of the bathroom. A towel wrapped around his waist and another one he used to dry his hair. Goodness, that’s a beautiful man. Tasha thought.

Curtis: Meet me at the spot, One hour.

Startled, Tasha scrambled to answer her text.

“Tell Curtis you’ll be late this morning,” smiled Anthony, seductively approaching his wife.

Tasha smiled a wicked smile. Poor Ant, he would never know. It amazed her how color had such an impact on the way people saw the world. Anthony would never suspect a culprit in the proper, brown haired, blue-eyed white boy that is his wife’s boss.

Tasha: I need a few hours. (wink)

Curtis: OK love.

***

“Tell Curtis you’ll be late this morning,” Anthony smiled but his blood raced. She had been with him again. He could tell by the racing of her eyes. How they searched him, bouncing back and forth between him and the cell phone she kept tucked underneath the covers. He smiled, hoping it would calm her nerves some. She was a mess and he wondered how long she would keep this up. How much longer could she take hurting herself to hurt him? How much longer would she take him into her arms, poisoning their love with the kiss of her lips? How much longer would he let her?

Anthony smiled again and let the dry towel fall to his ankles, his throbbing manhood at full salute. He would be with her again for the last time, or so he told himself. He approached her, watching as she sneaks text on her phone before pushing it back into the sheets. Anthony watched her racing eyes and let his body cover hers, hoping to calm her. At least for tonight. He swallowed hard and kissed his wife on the lips, tasting for the last time the flavor of deceit.

10 Ways to Write an Unforgettable Memoir | Shayla Raquel

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Check out this most excellent post from Shayla on writing a memoir. Number One is a most important point. I always wanted to write a memoir but I stopped writing the drafts and deleted the sneak peeks I’d shared with my email list (so embarrassing lol) and decided to start over. I’ve learned so much since then with one of the major things being the difference between a memoir and autobiography.

1. Learn the differences between a memoir and an autobiography.
A common mistake is to pour your heart and soul into a book and market it as the wrong genre. An autobiography is a chronological telling of your life, but a memoir hones in on a specific timeline or event. It doesn’t mean you can’t have flashbacks or backstory; you can. But you must understand the big and subtle differences between the two before you write, publish, and market your story.

Ask yourself:

  • Does my story reflect on my entire life (autobiography), or a key aspect, theme, or event (memoir)?
  • Does my story start at the beginning of my life and progress to the end (autobiography), or does it start anywhere and move around in time and place (memoir)?
  • Does my story require hours of fact-checking (autobiography), or is it more personal, requiring less fact-checking (memoir)?

“A memoir is how one remembers one’s own life, while an autobiography is history, requiring research, dates, facts double-checked.”

—Gore Vidal, Palimpsest

Read more of Shayla’s Guest Post by clicking through to the original post here.

Inciting Moment: What It Is and Why You Should Care

What is an inciting moment? Andrea breaks it down.

A Writer's Path

by Andrea Lundgren

Recently, I was explaining the concept of an inciting moment to my five-year-old (he’s a bit young, but one might as well start early, right?), and it got me thinking about how critical the concept is.

Some writers may call it an inciting incident, and others have probably never heard of it, including the idea without any formal title or understanding of how it works, but the inciting moment is what happens to make the world of the story change. One of the many rocks dropped in the story-pond that set off a series of ripples. It’s the spark that jolts the story to life.

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Writers Wednesday – Chapter 3: The Women with Blue Eyes

Chapter 3

Wait! Be sure you have read chapter one and two.


“Ronnie, no!”

Tina shot up, swung her legs off the bed and snatched her robe from the hook on the door. Pulling it tighter around her body she was in Janiyah’s room in an instant and rocking the seventeen-year-old in her arms like an infant. There was no explanation needed and no sound escaped either of the women’s mouths except the whispering words of comfort coming from Tina.

“Shh. It’s alright now. It’s alright. It’s over.”

She rocked and rubbed the young woman’s head with her eyes closed. This was her routine. Running into Janiyah’s room in the early mornings, though she didn’t think it would have lasted this long. She also worried she could not sympathize with her sister’s daughter, now her own. To lose your baby brother in such a violent way was one thing, to witness his murder was another thing. And then, there was the other thing.

Tina’s cell was singing in the room downstairs. Peering down at her exhausted teenager, she quickly untangled her body and let the girl fall sleepily back into the sheets and covered her before running downstairs, into her bedroom and silencing the phone before it woke up the other kids.

Hmm. Tina looked down at the tiny screen. That was odd. What was the office doing calling her so early?

She looked toward the window. She still couldn’t believe the city had settled and despite four people living here, the house was still too big. No amount of money could bring her nephew back though, even if it did help to raise his brother and sisters. The money was good. She couldn’t lie. It felt good not to have to worry about bills or pray she didn’t have to investigate some asshole just to make ends meet. Tina loved this time of day. Early, when the sky was still dark, the sun not yet peeking through. Tina threw herself back into the bed and called the office back.

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me so early in the morning.”

“What?” Tina’s smile faded, and she sat back up in the bed.

“When did this happen?”

Tina got out of bed and balanced the cell between her ear and shoulder as she slipped on a pair of slacks. Trying to do the same with a blouse was not going to work.

“Hold on a minute…”

Placing the phone on the bed she slipped on her shirt and put the phone on speaker.

“The phones are blowing up over here. Officer Parks said she started getting them as early as last night,” said the caller.

“Calls? What calls? I thought I told you to hold…” she said before almost slipping on a sock. She picked it up and put it on. Now if she could just find the other one. Tina wasn’t the organized type at home. What she could do at the office did not manifest in her private life. It was one of the worries she had about being a mom. Cops didn’t exactly have a lot of time on their hands. She found herself hiring a Nanny against her better judgment to help maintain that balance. She had little time for laundry and housework and now that Janiyah had her license, she could pick up her brother and sister from school. She did make it a point to be back in time to make dinner and spend time with the kids. It made her feel motherly like she was upholding her end of the bargain. Miss. Bernice was not allowed to cook for her family except on occasion and during emergencies. This sounded like one of them.

“All I know is you better get your butt down here asap.”

“I’m on my way,” said Tina looking under the bed. Where in the world is that other sock?

“Yea, I know what that means. I’ll give you an hour.

“Freddy, chill. I said I’m on my way.”

“Your on-the-way has a different meaning from everyone else’s on-the-way,” Freddy chuckled.

Tina rolled her eyes and hung up on her partner.

“Kayla…Michael…” she called, grabbing the toiletries bag on her way out the door. She only had enough time to jump in and out the shower.

“Niyah,” she called, climbing the stairs and walking the length of the hall where a giant blue M hung against a door. She banged.

“Michael…”

She turned to the door facing Micheal’s where a giant pink K hung and banged.

“Kayla…”

Turning to her left, where the door was already slightly open from earlier, Tina peered in.

“Janiyah, ya’ll come on. I need ya’ll to get up.”

The young woman stirred and sat up, a black night scarf covering her head. Her elegantly arched eyebrows shot up,

“What time is it?”

Tina smirked. She didn’t know how she did it, but Janiyah managed to be cute at every occasion, even after waking up. The nose ring she begged Tina for didn’t look bad against her golden-brown skin. Janiyah scratched at her nose as if reading Tina’s thoughts. As anticipated, her nails were freshly done.

“I need you to call Miss. Bernice, tell her I need her to come in early. Like, right now.”

“Okay.” Janiyah patted her head. “Where’s your other sock?” she laughed.

Tina cut her eyes and smirked as she turned away from the room and ran back downstairs, calling names as she descended.

“Mike, KK. Up. Now!”

As she hurried her mind flooded with Freddy’s urgent message.

Another man was found dead yesterday in the Cicero neighborhood of 145th Avenue, now the fifth black man to die in the past seven days. It happened the same as the others, in broad daylight. All the men had suffocated, found dead in hotel rooms or their own homes. The latest death is the oddest of them all. Some Insurance Company worker found dead on the floor in the bedroom of an empty home. He was still wearing his blue-collar Insurance shirt and Khaki pants. Tina pondered as the shower poured its steaming hot blessings over her body. She hated cases like this. They made her think of…them. Tina stopped moving, letting the water drench her skin. How could she have forgotten the most important piece of the puzzle? Ronnie.

Her nephew Ronnie lost his life in a drug deal gone bad last year. There was a shootout at an empty warehouse where his sisters and brother had been kidnapped and held hostage. Ronnie’s loyalty to Big Sam, the dealer who hired him, ultimately costs him his life. But Tina knew the truth. It was the year everything began, the deaths, and the sightings all over the world. Tina knew better. They had killed him. Is that why the city had settled? Who would want to admit that the impossible was possible? That they did come but were not the friendly miracle workers we thought they would be? Was her team trying to sweep the truth under the rug?

Tina’s body trembled, not from the air now cooling her skin as she stood shivering under the water, but from the truth. Tina knew that Big Sam had blue eyes and that Ronnie’s death was no accident. They had murdered her nephew, were back, and killing again.


Move on to Chapter 4!

To Be Real

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Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

“The Velveteen Rabbit,” also called “How Toys Become Real,” is a children’s novel written by Margery Williams and illustrated by William Nicholson. First published in 1922, the story was Williams’ first and most popular children’s book. If you’ve never read it before, the story is about the journey of a toy velveteen rabbit learning about love and what it means to become real.”

*******

People talk a lot about realness today, but few people understand what it means to really be real. The phrase “Keep It Real” is prominent, yet many people are not willing to hurt for it.

“He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these.”

Why is wisdom measured by old age? I suppose its because by the time your hair is gray and your knees buckle and you can’t walk as far, by then you’ve gone through enough heartache to know real. You see, you’ll never be real without going through the furnace of affliction. Yes, diamonds are beautiful, but they had to go through much pressure to get that way. The truth is that we learn early on to hate ourselves because we learn to fight against disappointment, to buck against pain, and to despise trial. We learn not to rejoice in the bad but to complain about it, never once considering that such pain is reaping strength in our favor. As a result, we end up being fake most of the time because we’re not strong enough to be weak.

“Of what use was it to be loved and lose one’s beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.”

This. This most painful, most humbling of a moment. Now, you’re real.

The Velveteen Rabbit