Books & Stuff

A Sinner's Cry

2011-12-27T21:14:00.001-06:00

Chapter 1
Rinnnnnnng. Rinnnnng.

The sudden shrill of the phone jarred me awake. Pulling my hand from under the soft bed covers, I fumbled and patted the cherry wood nightstand in search of the sound that annoyed and interrupted my peaceful slumber. My fingers made contact with the hard receiver, as I lifted my head off my satin pillow and put it up to my ear.

“Hello,” I groaned as if in pain.

The woman on the other end screamed, “Who is this?!”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes while I averted a yawn. “You called this number, so you should know.”

I closed my eyes and lay back down.

“This is Jill Tate, you trick.”

My eyes popped open as if a fairy godmother had sprinkled dust in them. All the sleepiness I felt was gone. My body sprung up to attention as I turned on the lamp. The bright light temporarily blinded me. My heart began to pound like little staccato
drums being brutally hit. I took a deep breath and released the irritation that
threatened to consume me. Finally, I asked, after reeling my voice back into
control, “Jill who?”

“Tate.” The woman smacked her lips like she was sampling a sour piece of candy.

“You know who I am. I’m tired of you little tricks sleeping with my husband.”

“Sorry, but I think you have the wrong number,” I said as I rubbed my right eye.

“I don’t think so. I checked my phone bill and your number is all over it. Your trifling ass is sleeping with my husband, Darren.”

I sat straight up in bed and changed the phone from my left ear to the right one, trying to assure I heard what the woman had said. “Darren is not married, not the one I know.”

“Are you serious? Is that it? Really, is that all it takes for a man to get into women’s panties is to say he’s not married?”

“Sorry, but the Darren I’m seeing is not married.” My heart was beating hard inside my chest as my left hand balled up into a fist. I needed more information. I tried to think of what would be a good facial distinction to share with her to assure she had the wrong number and wrong man. “Is the Darren you’re seeing a professor with green eyes?”

“You’re not stupid. Yes, he has green eyes and I’m sure you knew he was married. All you skanks know. You’re just play a role like you don’t.”

Silence.

“The cat got your tongue, doesn’t he, sucker? You can’t say a word?” Jill’s voice echoed so loud in my ear, I had to pull the phone away to prevent harm to my eardrum.

As I held the phone tightly, my right hand turned numb. I shook my hand, trying to get the blood moving again. I was getting angrier by the minute. Beads of sweat flowed down my oval-shaped face, colliding with the tears that stained my smooth mocha-colored skin. The phone call was real. The man I loved was not mine. He had a wife. I couldn’t think nor swallow the saliva as it increased in my mouth. Activities we did together became blurred; the passion shared became foreign as I tried to remember how his hands had caressed my body. But what I felt at that moment was pain ingrained in my heart like rough sandpaper. How dare that snake make me believe I was the only one?

Normally, I was quick on my feet with smart responses when faced with uncomfortable
situations, but I couldn’t think of anything substantial to say,so I blurted out, “You need to talk to him.”

“I’m talking to you, trick, and I demand you stay away from him or your ass is grass. Leave my husband alone. He needs to be home with his wife and kids.”

I hung up the phone and sat in the same spot frozen, unable to think about what to do next. As my nerves settled, I lifted my left hand to the side of my left temple and tried to wipe away the feeling of dread that crept over my skin like little ants roaming on an ant hill. I swiped away at the tingles that nagged my right arm.

Darren couldn’t be married. I tried to reason by crossing out conversations as they rolled through my mind. Some of the conversations left more questions than answers. Why did he sometimes disappear when I needed him? Why did he sometimes rush me off the phone?

I grabbed the phone and punched his cell phone number into the phone pad. The phone rang until it went to voicemail. “Darren, please call me, it’s urgent.” I left message after message, as I lost hold of myself in my attempt to reach out to him. “Please call me back. Some woman called, Baby, and said you were her husband. Baby, please call me. I need to know if this is true.” The calls were never returned.

Darren always called back, so I was surprised he had not returned my voicemails. I began to feel the caller had told the truth. Lately, Darren had been slipping out of my bed. It seemed that he could not spend the night as he had done so many times before.

After I waited about two hours for him to call back, I lay down and cried until I fell asleep on my soaking wet, tear-stained pillow.

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

The next morning Darren arrived before nine A. M. I was headed to work. I was dressed in a red two-piece suit, but my 130-pound,well-toned body felt naked. To have someone call to say you are sleeping with their husband leaves you feeling unclean and vulnerable, like you need a bath.

Every part of you is exposed. My heart pounded through my chest at a rapid pace. The doorbell rang and I darted to the door; I knew it was Darren. As I swung the door open with much force, the slight wind circulated the cologne I had given him. The scent wafted through the front door before he did. It assaulted my nostrils and floated through them with a fierceness that made my knees buckle. Oh, how good this man smelled and how good he looked in his dark Armani suit that fitted his body as if the seamstress had made it just for him.

“Baby, I got all your messages. Let me explain.” He reached his arms out to me as if my five-foot-three stature would just fall into them. I stepped back.

“Are you married?” I asked in a pitiful, wounded voice. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes,threatening to cascade like a river down my face.

“Yes, but we filed for divorce. It’s over with us. It’s been over a longtime.” He looked down like a rat caught in a trap as he begged to be released from the contraption causing him pain. His eyes looked puffy like he had either been hit in them or as if he had not slept in days.

Slap! The sound across his face exploded like a huge wave slamming against hard steel. He tried to grab my hands to stop the sudden thrashing against his body. My hands and arms flapped out of control as they swung at him in all directions. The hits jabbed and punched him in every part of his face and chest. My mocha-colored fists began to blur as they pounded into his ribcage. He grabbed my hands to slow the rhythmic thuds that battered his chest and stomach. With the right eye-hand coordination, he was able to secure my arms stiff against his body with a firm grip. “Stop it, Denise. Stop it now.”

“Let me go!” I cried out between sobs as I tried to wiggle out of his embrace. “You are hurting me.”

He loosened his grip and I dropped to the floor in agony. Nothing could have hurt more. “Get out, Darren. Just get out.”

“You don’t mean that. I love you.”

As I looked up at him, the frown on my face thickened at the nonsense this man had spilled out of his mouth. “Love? What do you know about love, you cheating dog? I trusted you!”

Darren’s eyes widened as he bent down to my level and grabbed my hands. If he had not been holding me so tight, I would have attacked him again. He blinked back tears. “You don’t mean that. I can explain everything. Just listen to me.”

“Get out!” I screamed. “I said get out of my house!” Hurt by his deceit, my voice roared like thunder. The rumble snapped him out of his trance-like stance. Not wanting to upset me anymore than I was; he stood up,turned around on the shiny wooden floors and walked briskly to the door. As he neared the doorway, he turned back. Looking over his shoulders with his beady swollen eyes, he said, “This isn’t over.”

As he walked out, he slammed the door behind him. I sat on the foyer floor for about ten minutes. I bawled until the heat that beamed off the window warmed my skin. The sun’s hot rays were dangerous to my unprotected skin, but I couldn’t move. It caused the suit I wore to stick to my clammy, sweat-soaked body. Embarrassed by the snot that bubbled out every time I took another deep breath and let out another sob, I forced myself to get up. To do so, I had to crawl toward the hall’s table and use it like an anchor to pull up my weakened and angry body. This was the second Friday in March, my favorite month. Instead of laughter, excitement and happiness, as I planned my wardrobe for tonight’s activity with some friends, I felt like someone had knocked my teeth out of my mouth. Instead of preparation for a lovers’ weekend, I felt sad and broken. My heart felt like someone had taken a hammer and cracked it into little pieces.

How could I celebrate love when the love I had was not real?

After I pulled up on the table, I walked to the living room like a dead man taking his final walk right before being electrocuted. I grabbed the phone when I reached my destination. I gathered all my emotions,put them in check and breathed in hard as I prepared to talk calmly to my secretary. When the secretary answered the phone I told her I would not be in and then called my mother. Standing there, listening to the phone ring, I breathed in hard to control the sad, squeaky voice laced with pain that had become routine when I was upset. When I heard my mother pick up the phone I said, “Hello.”

“Denise, is this you?” my mother asked in a soothing voice, reflective of soft jazz.

The words lingered in my throat.

“Denise. Honey, what’s wrong?”

I felt like a little child who needed the comfort of her parent. At the sound of Mother’s voice, I gathered strength and whispered with a childlike soft voice,
“Mommy, I need you.”

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

Before leaving to visit Mother, I showered again to knock the sweat off. As the water battered me in all the right places, I grabbed the soap and let the sweet smell of strawberries soothe me. I dried off, oiled my body down with Shea butter and put on a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Brushing my sweaty, long, brownish-black, damp hair into a ponytail, I dabbed some brandy-colored lipstick on to mask how drained and broken I looked. I grabbed my purse, searched for the car keys, located them on the table in the foyer, put on a light jacket to ward off the thin chill in the air, set the house alarm and left. I drove thirty-five minutes to mother’s house.

As I drove to Mom’s, it occurred to me that Darren had provided so many signs of another woman being in his life. There were times he would leave early, arrive at my house at awkward unscheduled times, not answer his phone after he checked to see who was calling and the big one, going into the bathroom while lifting his finger to his mouth to shush me as he shut the door before talking on the phone. He would later explain it was the Dean of Students or the president of the college. Like a fool, I believed him because I didn’t want to think he was seeing anyone else. I took the reasonable route and put my wild imagination into the back of my mind where I allowed it to stay under lock and key.

As I drove down the highway with plenty of time to cry again, I dried the tears that ran down my face with the back of my hand. Every now and then I banged my open hand against the steering wheel to punish myself for getting caught up, which was something I promised myself I would never do. One thing was certain: If I lived through this pain, I could make it through
anything.

Want more? Click here for only $4.99- http://www.amazon.com/A-Sinners-Cry-ebook/dp/B006PIMPTA/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325038539&sr=1-2

Prioritybooks Publications Presents New Author Stephanie Acon

2011-11-25T21:56:00.002-06:00

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**
November 2011

Wake Me up Please!

With the closing of one’s eyes, the subconscious can sometimes play cruel tricks on us. Images of us falling or in danger can engulf the mind, and leave us waking up in a cold sweat. When those moments happen, we are often relieved to realize that our escape from such terror comes with the simple task of opening one’s eyes. However, what happens when you do open your eyes and the realization that the nightmare is your reality becomes apparent?

In Stephanie Acon’s debut novel, Escape from a Nightmare, she paints a vivid portrait of vulnerability, fear, and what happens when people are in desperate need of guidance, but refuses to seek it.

When Gabriana first met Scholar, their attraction to one another was palpable. Wanting to maintain their connection, Gabriana deserted her family, friends, and dreams, in an attempt to give Scholar all the support and attention that she felt he needed. But with her normal surroundings gone, all Gabriana was left with were the familiar nightmares to keep her company. Often involving the people she love, her dreams would sometimes act as premonitions, warnings of things unknown, or fragments to a life forgotten. But as she’d gotten older she learned to discard her dreams, and focus on supporting her up and coming hip hop artist boyfriend, Scholar. But as each nightmare becomes more intense, Gabriana struggles with dealing with the horrors of her reality.

Stephanie Acon’s riveting portrayal of a broken woman struggling to grab for the pieces of her fragmented life touches those of all backgrounds. With elements of hip hop culture, Christian guidance, and the familiarity of approaching crossroads and knowingly choosing the wrong path, makes this novel a must read for people of all beliefs, views, and dreams.

Editor’s note: For more information about Escape from a Nightmare, or to schedule an interview with Stephanie Acon, call Prioritybooks at 314-306-2972 or write to prioritypublicity@yahoo.com. You may also contact the author at: scacon007@gmail.com. The book is available at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com. If it is not on the shelf ask for it.

For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Kendra Koger
Phone: 314.306.2972
Website: www.prioritybooks.com
Email: prioritypublicity@yahoo.com

2011-10-11T23:14:00.001-05:00

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**
October , 2011

A Sinner’s Cry

When Denise Reese was awakened out of her sleep by her cell phone ringing, she didn’t realize that it was the first sign of her world crumbling. Through the whisper of a stranger, the man and relationship that she held dear was now fully compromised. Feeling distraught and alone Denise decided to find solace in the arms of her mother and the church that she had been lapse from. Attempting to find redemption, the newly appointed pastor James Davis tries to lead his flock through the dissension within the walls of his church. While Pastor Davis and Denise Reese struggles to find an equilibrium in their lives, they also begin to examine the attraction between each other.

Rose Jackson-Beavers weaves an intricate tapestry of desire, lies, and conviction in her novel A Sinner’s Cry. By creating a dichotomy between the relationships of man and woman, God and church, and sinner and saint, the reader is given a realistic view of the struggles of multiple people who find solace in and out of a church’s holy walls. Using the protagonist as a tool of realistic morality, the reader is able to observe the mistakes that can easily befall one, while realizing that no problem is ever just black or white; there are always various hues of gray. The author pens a bold novel that tows the line between desire and love for a mature audience.

As the Denise Reese attempts to climb toward redemption, her stumbles remind us all that as humans none of us are perfect. However, it is the way we get back up that defines our character. Whether you are weak or strong, Rose Jackson-Beaver’s book, A Sinner’s Cry helps lead the reader to the forgiving power of God, whether struggling saint, or crying sinner.
_______
Editor’s note: For more information about A Sinner’s Cry, or to schedule an interview with Rose Jackson-Beavers call Prioritybooks at 314-306-2972 or write to info@prioritybooks.com. You may also contact the author at rosbeav03@yahoo.com. A Sinner’s Cry will be released in November 2011. Pre-Orders are being taken at www.prioritybooks.com. The book will also be available at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com. If it is not on the shelf ask for it.

For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Kendra Koger
Phone: 314.306.2972
Website: www.prioritybooks.com
Email: prioritypublicity@yahoo.com

Partying With Rose

2011-09-02T12:38:00.000-05:00

Come Party With Me and other Best Selling Authors

Rose Jackson-Beavers is one of the authors that will be featured at OOSA's Pajama Book Jam on October 29, 2011, in St. Louis, Missouri. Rose is the author of 4 books and the publisher/owner of Prioritybooks Publications. She also is the owner of the Family Enhancement Center, a non-profit organization that focuses on enhancing the lives of families through a variety of programs. Currently, she is a literary columnist for a local newspaper. In this column she recommends books to read to avid readers in several communities and cities.

Why did you choose to be participate in this literary event? In the St. Louis Metropolitan area, which includes so many municipalities and small cities, there are limited opportunities to attend literary events. Partly because it is difficult to get people to come out to support authors, and not many organizations or individuals sponsor activities. As an author and a lover of literature, I would like to see more activities that grant readers an opportunity to meet their favorite authors and discover new ones. Finally, have you seen the line up? LOL! The storytellers featured are awesome. I considered it a privilege to be included.

What is your favorite pajama party game/memory? My favorite pajama party game is Truth or Dare. It's a fun way to get people to talk.

Describe your favorite pair of pajamas? My black lace nightie with the spaghetti straps.

What are you most looking forward to at the Pajama Party? As an author I haven't had many opportunities to share my work in the way I would like to because of the many hats that I wear as a publisher. I'm always at my desk doing one hundred other things for authors that I publish; as a result my personal work tends to suffer. I always put others first. I believe this Pajama Party will give me an opportunity to introduce myself to other authors and readers.

Today until September 7, if you purchase A Sinner’s Cry, you can buy Finding Forever, Ghetto Luv, Still Ghetto, or Sex on the Second Floor for $5.00 each, plus shipping. In addition, all names of those that purchased a book will be put in a drawing to win a basket of computer supplies.

http://www.prioritybooks.com

2011-02-12T23:24:00.003-06:00

Stop Lying

I hate when people try to ruin another person’s reputation because of jealousy. Don’t malign others because you are not at your best. Stop trying to tear down another successful sister because you are unhappy. Mostly, stop spreading lies. Eventually what you do to others will come back & sister, karma is not fun. Boomerang Theory- read it!

2010-12-20T23:32:00.006-06:00

Please check out new articles as a Writer for the Examiner with a focus on Unemployment in St. Louis, MO. Check me out and subscribe to the blog and continue to visit me there too. I will still blog here but I can get paid for writing here: http://www.examiner.com/unemployment-in-st-louis/rose-jackson-beavers

Happy Holidays & Merry Christmas to each of you!!

2010-11-05T21:50:00.001-05:00

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE** November 11, 2010

For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Kariem Abdul Haqq
Phone: 314-537-4169
Publisher’s website: www.13thamendmentfreedomweek.com
Email: kahaqq@sbcglobal.net
ISBN-10: 061518930X
ISBN-13: 978-0615189307
$29.95

13th Amendment Press Release

As the 2010-2011 school year is currently in full swing, and virile minds are prime for gaining intellect, author Kariem Abdul Haqq encourages students, teachers, and school administrators not to forget a very important celebration. His book, The 13th Amendment Freedom Week Manual presents a very important time that should be remembered and celebrated in schools throughout the United States.

Kariem Abdul Haqq manual is a guide that teaches administrators and teachers the importance on celebrating a large accomplishment in America’s history. Through outlining the historical impact of the 13th Amendment, and how people of all races and ethnicities are thriving because of it, Haqq reveals why celebrating it the week of December 6th is a necessity.

This commemorative week encourages the education of freedom, while learning from our past and shaping our future. As the 13th Amendment exorcised Blacks from slavery, this week encourages the mental exorcism of negativity, victimization, and strength. As the manual teaches the importance of liberation, it also shows how achieving this goal could not be possible without the help of help of many different races and paths of life; showing that the 13th Amendment was not just an achievement for Blacks, but for mankind everywhere.
As the week of December 6th approaches Haqq encourages learning institutions everywhere to celebrate this momentous feat. With historical accuracy and examples of the importance of unity, The 13th Amendment Freedom Week Manual will help students of all ages, races, and social backgrounds to learn from the past to improve their futures.

For more information please email Kariem Haqq at: kahaqq@sbcglobal.net. You may also reach him at 314-537-4169. To purchase his book visit Amazon.com and click: 13th Amendment Freedom Manual.

2010-10-27T22:40:00.000-05:00

Take someone along w/you to the polls.

A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above ground elevation of 2,346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be an Obama Democrat." "I am," replied the man. "How did you know?" "Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct. But I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be a Republican."

"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?" "Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are -- or where you are going. You've risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but somehow, now it's my fault."

COMMENT:You are hearing from political pundits that the party of President Obama, the Democratic Party will not do well during the upcoming election. It's an easy call based on historical fact (the party in power always loses seats). A big reason according to a poll by the Pew Research Center is that we (minorities) tend to not vote in mid-term elections. Let's change that. It's clear that the Republican Party has no interest in helping the President fix the economy or anything else and if they regain power the country will be in far worse shape. We all know that the withering attacks that this President faces daily are really racially motivated. In spite of how the media couches their words we know that white (tea party) America does not believe he should be President under any circumstances.

The President has done some good things and he deserves our support. This could be the most important midterm of our generation, encourage your family and friends to participate; the party that got us into this mess are trying to compound what they did, do not allow this to happen. If the Democrats lose control of the Congress the Republicans will not help Obama to govern, thus he becomes a lame duck and the country will be headed over the cliff.

I don't know who wrote it. I like it though.

2010-04-26T14:00:00.008-05:00

A Mother's Reflection (Handbook & Journal)

What if your child ran away from home, what you do? What if they went to a family member or friend’s home and that person decided to turn your child against you because deep down they despised you? What would you do? Carletta Washington never dreamed that her worst nightmare could ever come true. Nor could anyone tell her that her family would betray her trust but they did. In her newest book, A Mother’s Perspective, she shares what happened to her child and what you can do to prevent the same village she hoped would protect her child from doing the most harm.

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**
April, 2010
For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Kendra Koger
Phone: 314.306.2972

Who’s in Your Child’s Village?

Many people are familiar with the African proverb of: “It takes a village to raise a child.” Though some have relied on this method of child rearing, others might not have anticipated the importance of their children’s village. Carletta Washington is all too familiar with the concept and the dangers that lie in wait in the special village of our children’s lives.

In Carletta Washington’s book A Mother’s Reflection: Protecting Your Child from Harmful Influences, she allows complete transparency into her journey of becoming a mother, the feelings of loss and negativity when the child she loves rebels and flees, and the redemption she feels by the silver linings that came with this torrent of clouds.

Through sharing her own personal experiences, Washington shares a tempest of information that could not only help mothers that are dealing with similar experiences, but to help point the warning signs of potential behaviors and influences that could be detrimental to your child’s well-being.

By revealing the importance of a healthy and encouraging atmosphere for your child, Washington also encourages the need to examine what things are in our children’s villages that might cause them to become self-destructive. Within the confines of this powerful read, Carletta Washington encourages parents who are in the process of raising their children into responsible adults, and heeds: “Who is in your child’s village?”

A Mother’s Reflection: Protecting Your Child from Harmful Influences is published by Prioritybooks Publications of St. Louis. For more information about the book or its author, write to prioritypublicity@yahoo.com or to Carletta Washington, at www.education4all@hotmail.com. The author is available for interviews, book signings and on-line chats with book clubs. A Mother’s Reflection can be purchased wherever fine books are sold. If you don’t see it on the shelf, please ask for it.

2010-02-02T21:46:00.003-06:00

A couple of months ago I asked my readers and friends to vote for my blog for an award. It is a literary contest. With your nominations we were selected as a nominee for Literary Blog. I enjoy writing and expressing myself here. As a result of sharing my feelings about life, writing and everything else, I have had 33, 000 plus visitors based on my site meter for the year of 2009. I love writing and appreciate each of you for visiting, lurking and or commenting. If you don’t mind, I would love for you to vote again for me for best literary blog. The voting starts now through March 15th. You can only send in one vote per email to aambcvoting@gmail.com. Just say I cast my vote for Prioritybooks Literary Blog.

Finally a friend of mine who is an author has written a daily activity book, Begin Your Day with Christ. Her name is Adrienna Turner. If you don’t want to vote for her for Female Author because you haven’t read her book check her work out and if you like it vote for her too.

Cast your vote by emailing aambcvoting@gmail.com for Best Literary Blog- Prioritybooks and Best Female author- Andienna Turner.

I thank you in advance and please watch me for an Online Story I will write on my blog called, On the Brink of Madness. It will start on Monday, February 8th.

2009-12-31T13:30:00.001-06:00

Happy New Year Book Lovers

To Your Family From Ours

2009-12-24T12:45:00.005-06:00

2009-08-07T23:14:00.000-05:00

Meet Prioritybooks Publications Newest Author

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**

August 7, 2009

For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Rose Jackson-Beavers
Phone: 314.306.2972
Publisher’s website: http://www.prioritybooks.com/
Email: rose@prioritybooks.com

Surviving Sexual Indignities through Redemption

After surviving years of rape from the trusted men in her life, Renita Marie Lamkin was sure the she would never recover from the abuse and likewise never be able to trust men. From sexual abuse, to a failed marriage rife with adultery by both partners, Renita Lamkin believed that she would never love again, or be able to enjoy the warm embrace of a man. In Holy Moly! The Spirituality of Sexuality Rev. Lamkin explores her past sexual pains, and proves that redemption and true sexual gratification is attainable.

Lamkin beautifully weaves her sorrowful stories of sexual abuse with the redemptive words from the Bible. Through the thoughtfulness of her terminology, and the transparency of her past, Reverend Renita Lamkin’s Holy Moly! The Spirituality of Sexuality is sure to abound the lines of gender, age and religion. Lamkin’s own personal story of sexual abuse, misdeeds and now sexual redemption within the confines of her marriage are inspiring and easy for all to relate to.

Not only does Lamkin provide her struggles of a past that is wrought with sexual betrayal, she also provides the reader with solutions toward a trustful and joyous intimate life. Not claiming to be an expert, she offers tips and advice that helped her and others in the past. Regardless of a couple’s marital status, Rev. Lamkin’s words offer help and power to transform any and all relationships.

Lamkin’s honesty is a refreshing breath of air that allows the reader to relate to her story, without the fear of feeling condemnation. Renita Lamkin’s experiences range from rape, to sexual adultery, thus allowing her to have a profound voice that speaks to many without the sense of judgment or damnation. Rev. Lamkin proves that no matter how hurt a person can be from sexual oppression, love and intimacy is still possible; and waiting for all who are willing to accept it.

For information about this author or to set up an interview please email Prioritybooks at info@prioritybooks.com or the author at www.renitalamkin.com .

2009-07-22T23:12:00.004-05:00

Where are senior activities on the south side in Chicago?

Help! My aunt called me last night crying because she is so lonely. Even though she is married and have grown kids, she said sometimes she does not feel like living because she is so lonely. She is a senior citizen about 63, I think. She said that hubby works all day, and when he comes home, after 45 years of marriage, he eats and goes to bed. She said all she wants is someone to talk to.

I think people stop taking her calls because last summer she almost died on the operating table and they gave her too much morphine. Well, although she survived, it seems that she has a memory problem. She repeats the same conversation, revisits the same topics, and ask the same questions every time she talks to you.

But I love her dearly. At this time in her life she should be a part of senior activities? Shopping with them, dancing with them, etc.

Does any one have any contact information so that I can contact a senior citizens' organization who could pick her up at least three times a week. Seniors hate to feel isolated and lonely? She lives on the south side about 15 minutes from downtown Chicago.

2009-01-22T20:36:00.000-06:00

God Saved His Life

By Rose Jackson-Beavers

In Kareem’s words, It doesn’t matter how, why or when you find God, but it’s important that you do find Him.” Now, he wants the world to know that he knew God even before he was ever incarcerated. He was young and smart, yet easily impressed by the wrong things. He was this way because he wanted to support his mother and siblings. After his father left his family to fend for themselves, he felt he had to be a man, so he turned to the streets to save his family from economic depravity. Kareem graduated from being a sweet, honest young man to a hardened street thug. He sold drugs and did whatever it took to make a dollar. It didn’t start that way for him, but the more seasoned thugs told him that in order to survive Charlotte’s hard streets of crime he would have to become coldhearted. See, if you are coldhearted you can’t feel the pain of what your negative choices have done. Unfortunately, for the young seventeen-year-old, being in the streets and being a part of a powerful negative element made him realize that if he didn’t do something he was going to die early.

Knowing no other way to undo his negative ways, he got on his knees and asked God to save him, to take him off the streets. He needed God to help him because the streets consumed him with all of its evilness. God answered his prayer, and three months later he was arrested for selling drugs and being a part of what was called the West Charlotte Posse street gang.

Kareem informed Rose Jackson-Beavers that he had no regrets about being incarcerated. He was paying for his sins, and God saved him from certain death. That is where he felt he was heading, if God had not intervened. The kind of life he was leading would eventually land him in one of three places—the grave, jail or hospitalized in a perilous condition.

Although God gave him another chance, unfortunately for Kareem the system didn’t. He wasn’t treated fairly. As most young African Americans are unjustly convicted, so was he. For one thing, he was transferred from juvenile to adult status illegally. With nearly seventeen years in prison, he was known as the youngest member of the alleged notorious West Charlotte Posse of Charlotte, North Carolina. Robbing drug dealers, selling coke and even heroin, Kareem appeared before a federal district court judge as a juvenile. He received forty-five years and was sent off, not to a Federal Juvenile Correctional Institution, but to a Federal United States Penitentiary where the government sent all alleged hardened criminals. He has been incarcerated for an extended period of time as a direct result of unjust laws and a district court judge abusing his discretion by illegally allowing him to be tried as an “Adult” defendant and not as a “Juvenile” defendant.After settling down enough to see his way through the fog of the underworld life and ways of thuggism, Kareem devoted himself to a life that leads to positive growth and development. He credits his journey of change to his personal relationship with Jesus Christ and The Autobiography of Malcolm X…. Now with a passion for writing, Kareem has completed his first novel, Death, No Exceptions!

Death, No Exceptions! is a story of uncompromising revenge. The story is not an attempt to glorify the street way of life, but to paint a picture to readers about how far some human beings will go to hurt and harm others over material things that are here today and gone tomorrow. Tomblin wanted to show just how much damage and pain an individual can cause when he/she is being motivated by the negative spirit of uncompromising revenge.

Kareem said he wanted to help others stay out of jail and do the right thing. He encourages fathers to remain visible and involved with their children. He does feel that if his father was in the home and had pulled his coattail he would be a different person today.

He also feels that God works in mysterious ways. He asked God for a publisher and a way to make an earnest living. He went back to school to get his General Education Diploma and earned a certificate equivalent to an associate’s degree and he spends more than three hours everyday in the library studying law or anything he can get his hands on. He believes that education is the key to success in life. Though he knows that had it not been for imprisonment he would still be an uneducated young man. In wanting to help other teenagers navigate away from the streets, he works with and counsels young men entering into the prison system. For some it is not too late to change.

Another thing that God did for him was send a prisoner to where he is housed who hailed from East St. Louis and often read the East St. Louis Monitor newspaper. It was the East St. Louis Monitor that contained an article requesting submissions for Prioritybooks Publications. Not only did the publisher reach out to him, he found that he was working with a Christian who not only talked about God, but encouraged him to remain faithful to Him. Now, almost ten months later, he is a published author with several books coming out to help teens remain focused on the positive way of life. He does intend to write about thug life but not without telling the truth about how the streets will wax your heart cold. All of his work will lead people to understand that God is calling them to save their lives.

Kareem is thankful for God, his family, Prioritybooks Publications and the East St. Louis Monitor. He is grateful that God made it possible for the newspaper to be in the hands of another prisoner at the right time. He also prays that God will lead an attorney who is willing to look at his case and the documented evidence to free him from bondage. Finally, Kareem hopes that readers will enjoy his books and put them in the hands of young men who need to know that all that glitters is not gold. If pure gold is what they desire, they should look to God who promised us that if we live for Him we can walk on Heaven’s Golden Streets.

For more information about Death, No Exceptions! or to schedule an interview with Kareem Tomblin call Prioritybooks at 314-306-2972 or write to info@prioritybooks.com. You may also contact the author: Kareem Tomblin #10119-058, Federal Correction Center, Post Office Box 52020/Unit B-2 Bennettsville, SC., 29512. Death, No Exceptions! is available at http://www.amazon.com/, http://www.barnesandnoble.com/. If it is not on the shelf, ask for it.

2008-12-25T02:05:00.001-06:00

2008-12-11T10:54:00.000-06:00

Coming February 2009

2008-11-27T13:58:00.001-06:00

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**November 19, 2008

Prioritybooks signs Kareem Tomblin

For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Rose Jackson-Beavers
Phone: 314.306.2972
Publisher’s website: http://www.prioritybooks.com/
Email: rose@prioritybooks.com

LOCKED UP BUT NOT DOWN

With nearly 17 years in prison, he was known as the youngest member of the alleged notorious “West Charlotte Posse” of Charlotte, North Carolina. Kareem Tomblin was sucked into the thug way of life at a young tender age. Robbing drug dealers, selling coke and even heroin – Kareem found himself before a federal district court judge as a “Juvenile”, received 45 years and was sent off to not a federal “Juvenile” correctional institution, but to a Federal United States Penitentiary – where the government sends all alleged harden criminals. He has been incarcerated so long not just on the basis of being a hard-core young ex-thug, but as a direct result of unjust laws and a district court judge abusing his discretion by illegally allowing him to be tried as an “Adult” defendant and not as a “Juvenile” defendant.

After settling down enough to see his way through the fog of the underworld life and ways of “thuggism”, Kareem devoted himself to a life that leads to “positive” growth and development. He credits his journey of “change” to his personal relationship with Jesus Christ and the autobiography of Malcolm X…. Now with a passion for writing, Kareem has completed his first novel, DEATH, NO EXCEPTIONS!

DEATH, NO EXCEPTIONS is a story of uncompromising revenge. The story is not an attempt to glorify the street way of life, but to paint a picture to readers about how far some human beings will go to hurt and harm others over “material things” that’s here today and gone tomorrow – like coke and cash…. Tomblin wanted to show just how much damage and pain an individual can cause when he/she is being motivated by the negative spirit of uncompromising revenge.
Prioritybooks Publications is a book publishing company that started as a result of the owner, Rose Jackson-Beavers desire to control her own publishing destiny. Since its’ inception in 2005, she has published more than 20 authors including herself. Prioritybooks has also expanded its services to include advertisements, Press Kit Preparation, Target Market Press Kit Distribution, Target Market Promotional, Mailings and publishing workshops.

###
Editor’s note: For more information about Death, No Exceptions, or to schedule an interview with Kareem Tomblin call Prioritybooks at 314-306-2972 or write to info@prioritybooks.com. You may also contact the author at Kareem Tomblin #10119-058, Federal Correction Center, Post Office Box 52020/Unit B-2 Bennettsville, SC., 29512. Death, No Exceptions is available at http://www.amazon.com/, http://www.barnesandnoble.com/. If it is not on the shelf ask for it.

2008-08-05T01:32:00.000-05:00

Back by Demand- Available August 15, 2008

I am re-releasing this book after 6 years. In October 2000, I released my very first book. The book is based on my feelings about many issues such as weight, domestic violence, family issues, infidelity, and so much more. The book also includes poetry. There was a time when I could stand before an audience after I ended a presentation and recite a poem I made up, off the top of my head. I included most of them in this book.

People seemed to enjoy my poetry and many said that they loved hearing/reading my take on various issues. After I wrote this book I was offered a job as a columnist for a magazine and one as a newspaper columnist.

Ironically after releasing the book I found that even though we immediately sold 500 copies I thought that I was finished. I had no information about being an author, selling books, or marketing. Selling 500 books in less than three months without promoting it felt good. It never occurred to me to keep going.

After selling out, I finally decided to read the book again. When I read the book I was embarrassed. I counted more than 30 errors. That's after hiring two editors. Plus the interior design was horrendous. So I put the book on the shelf and forgot about it.

Two years after writing the book, it ended up in many teenagers' hands. Often teens I did not know would show up on my job to discuss some of the essays. There is one about my brothers and how having a good relationship with them impacted my life. At least three 15 year old girls at different times found my job and came on site. As they requested to meet me, two were teary-eyed as they told me how my essays on brothers moved them. On several more occasions teens arrived on my job to tell me how they loved this book. Also several preachers said they used materials out of this book for their sermons. Even with all of this, I still did not know to go back and do a reprint.

During the past years, so many people requested a copy and I would say, sold out. That felt good. When I decided to become a publisher, I studied the craft, study and read everything to learn as much as I could. Still, it never occurred to me to go back and improve this book and re-issue it. That was until last year.

I was selling books at the Black Expo in St. Louis. People were purchasing my other books when a book seller came to my table and asked if I would sign a book for a customer. The book seller said I sold out my few copies that I had in 2000 and didn't even remember having this one. Well, I walked over to the customer and tried to get her to purchase my latest work which I thought was better written. The conversation:

"Hi, I'm Rose the author of Backroom Confessions. It is a novel about social workers and the drama they experienced as they try to solve their clients issues."

"Hello, nice meeting you. Would you sign this book?"

"Sure but that's my early work, and I think you might enjoy this one better."

"I want this one." Looking at me as if she had found a national treasure and I was trying to take it. "I like this book."

I signed the book; she paid and walked away from the vendor engrossed in the book. It was that very moment that I decided that I would redo the book and get it back out.

Finally, I wrote the book for adults. But teens emailed me, sought me out, requested the book at stores, etc. Talking about writing a book that missed the intended audience, I have learned so much........

2008-04-15T22:05:00.000-05:00

Coming Soon...................

2007-12-17T18:42:00.000-06:00

Meet Xavier Pierre, Jr.

1. Tell us about your novel.
Lovers Anonymous is autobiographical but covers only about 9 months of my life. Those were the last nine months of my active addiction. There are, however, many flashbacks to past events that give important insight into the thinking of my main character. Unfortunately, I can’t say more without spoiling it for my readers.

2. Who should read your books?
Anyone struggling with addiction will appreciate my book because it’s written from the point of view of an addict. My book has also been a blessing to those involved with an addict. Other readers may simply be curious about what goes on in the mind of a womanizer.

3. What was the reason for writing this book? Did you see a need for this book?
Writing this book was intensely personal. I started to write short stories for my fiancée as a means of revealing myself to her. I decided to share some of these with a close friend and she was so impressed that she suggested I turn it into a full-length book and publish it. My initial reaction was, “absolutely not,” but I continued to write for myself as a form of therapy. Over the course of this project, my reasons for completing it have multiplied. I truly believe that telling my story can make a difference in many lives. My first concern is all the addicts living without hope. My message to them is, “If I can do it, anybody can.” But I also want to give a voice to victims and co-dependents. By giving them access to the deepest thoughts of an addict, I hope to convince them that they are not the problem. They are not to blame.

4. Looking at the book now, what surprises you?
The biggest surprise for me is how good the book is. I never thought I could be an author. But I still remember reading initial drafts of the first few chapters and thinking “Damn this is good!” I actually had a hard time believing that I had written it. After some editing, the first three chapters were expanded to four, and there was a period of a few months where I didn’t write at all. But during that time I would read those chapters every single day, just amazed that this was something I had actually written, and completely convinced that it was just a fluke. I was actually afraid to continue because I didn’t think I’d be able to maintain the same quality of writing. Eventually, and with the encouragement of my friend Tammy, I got over my fear and started work on the next four chapters. To my complete amazement, the words just flowed from my mind.

The other surprise is how people are drawn to me after reading my book. Not only do they feel intimately connected to me, but there is a certain warmth that I absolutely wasn’t prepared for, considering the content of my book.

5. Who is your audience?
Considering the mature themes covered in my book, it’s obviously intended for adults over 18. However, I strongly encourage parents to read the book and consider giving it to their teenage children IF APPROPRIATE. If a parent knows that their son or daughter is sexually active and using drugs, giving them a copy of my book certainly can’t make the situation worse and my cautionary tale might be just the thing to turn them around. Eventually I intend to publish a teen-friendly version of the book. That will probably happen after the sequel is published.

6. Where did you get your inspiration for your book?
My fiancée Alicia is my inspiration. Were it not for her, there would be no book. The genesis was the honesty on which our entire relationship is founded. From the beginning, we shared our deepest and darkest secrets. As I struggled to express myself, I found it was easier to share my life experiences in the form of short stories and we would talk about the stories I had written.

7. What advice would you give to aspiring authors?
To be a good writer, you have to love reading. To be a good author, you have to fall in love with your own writing. You also have to love the process. The most you can ever hope from a first draft is to see the potential of the finished product. That’s just the way it is. So you have to edit, rewrite, rearrange, polish, and sometimes start all over again. If you can’t learn to love that process, don’t become a writer, because even the most experienced writers labor over their work.

8. Tell us something about you?
Today I’m so completely different from the person described in the book. I enjoy very healthy relationships and deep friendships with many women. I’m particularly interested in talking to young people, male and female. Almost all of my friendships are long-distance.

9. What’s next for you?
The next project is to finish the sequel to Lovers Anonymous. I hope to have it ready early next year. In addition, I have the outlines of five novels so I have enough work for the next few years. As a side project, I’m working on a compilation of my poetry and photography. Eventually I would like to have my own talk radio show where listeners can call in and discuss the challenges they are facing in their daily lives.

10. Do you feel your topic will help others? Why?
Absolutely. In addition to alcoholism, my book deals with so many controversial topics. One of the most rewarding aspects of having written this book is the lives that it has already changed. One reader was able to let go of many years of pain and confusion that was keeping her from enjoying fulfilling relationships. My book gave her insight into the mind of the “love of her life;” a man who treated her in a way that closely paralleled how I treated a young woman in my book. Though she left that emotionally abusive relationship over a decade ago, she had wanted an explanation (if not an apology,) and my book gave her exactly that. One male reader from the Caribbean could closely identify with a lot of my conduct and it inspired him to reevaluate how he treated women in the past. But the most inspiring story so far is that of a young woman who found the courage to escape from sexual bondage and alcohol abuse as a result of reading a copy of my book I gave her as a gift.

11. Where can readers purchase your books?
At the moment, my book can be purchased on Amazon.com, other on-line sites and directly form me. My publisher and I are working hard to get the book in as many outlets as possible.

2007-11-23T01:37:00.000-06:00

Question?

Have you ever fallen in love with a character and could not get them out of your head? If so, how did you get rid of the feelings and move forward to the next character?

2007-11-23T01:28:00.000-06:00

Putting Your Best Foot Forward While Interviewing

I received a phone call from an author who had blown a television interview. Apparently after 30 plus takes they told her that they would contact her later. She knew that they wouldn’t. Not only could she not answer questions about her life, she froze and forgot what her book was about. She was so upset because she realized that she lost a great opportunity to be seen by thousands of people. Plus, she felt that the host would never call her back and so far she was right.

I immediately contacted my publicist and asked her to take this author and two others through media training. I learned many things from participating in the training. Often times when you are being interviewed you plan what you are going to say, but what is just as important is what you don’t say. Not only is it important to have good talking points and good verbal skills but you must also have great non-verbal skills. The ability to communicate both verbally and non-verbally is essential. Nonverbal communication is often referred to as body language and includes gestures, expressions and postures.

Here are some do’s and don’t to help you navigate through the interview.

Do:
· Maintain eye contact with the person who is interviewing you. This is a sure sign to the interviewer that you are focused on what they are saying.
· Sit up straight and lean forward to show that you are interested in what the person is saying.
· Keep your hands folded on your lap or on the arm of the chair when listening to the interviewer.
· Smile when appropriate.

Don’t:
Don’t pick your cuticles.
Don’t slouch or slide down in your chair.
Don’t tap your fingers nervously.
Don’t fiddle with objects on the desk or near you.
Don’t ignore the interviewer by looking away from them.

Finally, know your subject matter. It is easy to forget information, but you can lessen your chance of this happening by practicing in front of a mirror. Maybe practice does not make perfect all the time, as said, but at least it will make the interview better. Practice these tips and you’ll appear as a confident and assured person while putting your best foot forward.

2007-10-18T00:47:00.000-05:00

Chapter 1
“Pain in the Neck”

I opened my eyes and saw nothing. It was pitch black. I was in extreme pain and I had no idea where I was. My heart started racing as panic set in. “Breathe, just breathe, nice and slow, deep breaths,” I said to myself, measuring out the words as I fought against the terror. Okay, I had to start with the basics and work out a solution. “My name, what's my name?” I waited for an answer but none came. “What's my fucking name?” I screamed the words inside my skull and waited. A painfully long moment later the answer came: “Xavier! My name is Xavier.” Damn! I'd been through this before but it never took me this long to remember my name.

I was lying on my back in a narrow space about two feet wide. Using my hands, I could feel broken glass on the bare wood surface I was lying on. Every movement caused extreme hurt everywhere, but the worst pain was in my neck and I had great difficulty moving my head. I had no idea where I was but whenever this happened, I usually woke up in someone else's bed. Several times, I had even woken up in my own room and not recognized where I was. It was always scary but this was infinitely more terrifying. For all I knew, I might be at the bottom of a mineshaft… or worse. Wherever I was, this was very bad. The panic started again as I considered the possibility that I had been buried alive.

“Easy now, slow down, deep breaths.” I had to remain calm. Half expecting to feel the inside of a casket lid I reached up into empty space. That simple movement hurt like hell, but I was relieved to find that I wasn’t in a coffin.

“Okay, so where am I?” Nothing. I had to start with something simpler. “Where do I live?” I fought hard until slowly the pieces of my identity started to fall in place. “I live in New York.” But as I thought about it I realized that was wrong. I hadn’t lived in New York for years. “I live in Haïti.” I fought the pain to gather more memories around myself like a naked refugee covering himself with whatever rags he can find. “I work for The Agency. I'm the M.I.S. Manager for the Haïti mission.” As I lay there in the dark, trying to move my head as little as possible, I started to remember. “I must be in the Flamenco. That's it! I'm behind the bar.” But that realization only led to more questions: How had I gotten there? And more importantly, where was Bryan?

To get myself up, I had to use my hands to keep my head in the least painful alignment. This meant I had to get up very slowly and without using my hands. Once I was standing I tried hard to see, but there was absolutely no light, just pure black. I was in pain, I had broken glass all over me, and I was exhausted from the effort it had taken just to get up. The only logical explanation was that this was a bad dream and I would just have to sleep it off.

After three years of being an almost nightly patron, I knew the layout of the Flamenco as well as anyone. I felt my way slowly from the bar to the restaurant. Following the wall I made my way to a table in the corner, very slowly pulled it away from the wall and lined up three of the chairs to make a bed for myself. Very gently, I sat in the middle chair and prepared myself to lie down. Again, I used my hands to hold my head in alignment to the rest of my body and I used my legs as a counter-weight. Several painful minutes later I was lying across the three chairs. Then I blacked out.

When I regained consciousness, it was morning and Bryan was standing over me. “Xavier, wake up, you have to go home.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Bryan said. “I put you to sleep in the spare bedroom and went to bed. When I got up and looked around I found you here.”

That just didn't make any sense. How had I gotten behind the bar? From the persistent pain I knew that was real, definitely not a dream.
Bryan had an unusual urgency about him. “Listen man, I don't mean to rush you but you have to get the hell out of here.” He grabbed my arm to pull me up.

“Wait! I sprained my neck, go slow.” Bryan, the best damn bartender I knew, had also been a medic so I figured I was in good hands as he helped me to my feet.

“Okay buddy,” Bryan said, “all set; now you really have to go.”

“Bryan,” I said, “I hear what you’re saying but I can't go anywhere. My neck is seriously hurt. There's no way I can drive. I have to call home and get picked up.”
Bryan wasn't happy but he could tell I was serious. “Ok, let’s go to the bar and I'll make some coffee.”

I followed him in, walking very slowly. As I sat at the bar, Bryan placed the phone in front of me and went to make coffee. I picked up the receiver, dialed home and when I heard the maid's voice I said, “Mary, where's Nelson?”

“Mr. Pouchon! Where are you?” the maid asked.

“I'm at the Flamenco,” I replied. “I can't drive. Tell Nelson to take a bus and come get me.”
Mary had been our maid for so many years that we considered her family. She was about my age. Nelson, her husband, was our driver and handyman, but more than anything else, he was our bodyguard. Since my stepfather was the one who had introduced them, they had asked him to be the best man at their wedding and he had happily accepted. Now the whole ‘Mr. Pouchon’ thing, that was my mother's idea. She was always big on protocol so from the day we moved from the Long Island suburbs to Haïti, all staff were to refer to me as Mr. Pouchon and my little sister was Miss Poupette. It was all very surreal when I was initially subjected to this at age fifteen, but I eventually got used to it.

Nelson was on his way but it would be a while so I decided to try and figure out what had happened the night before. Bryan came back with coffee and I explained the situation. “My driver’s on his way but I have no idea how long it’ll take him to get here.”

“Don't worry about it,” Bryan said. The urgency was gone. “Anyway, I'm gonna start cleaning up.”

“I'd help you,” I said, “but I can't move my neck.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, “besides, this is my mess.” Bryan turned and went towards the kitchen.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a gold lighter. I put the lighter on the bar, pulled out the last Marlboro and crushed the empty box. Needing a large dose of nicotine, I broke off the filter, dabbed the cut end on the tip of my tongue, and lit up. I inhaled deeply and took a sip of unsweetened black coffee before letting out a cloud of deep blue smoke. The instant buzz was welcome relief to my many aches and pains as I tried to survey the damage. Yes, it certainly was Bryan's mess, and what a mess it was. By the light of day it looked even worse than it had the night before.

The Flamenco was my spot. At least four nights a week I could be found sitting at the bar, playing dominos or dice. I started going there three years earlier when Bryan and Roland, along with their respective mates, Anne-Marie and Sophie, had bought the place. Bryan was a former Navy SEAL from California and his girlfriend Anne-Marie was from France. Roland, also from France, was a retired mercenary and Anne-Marie’s older brother. He had spent many years fighting all over Africa, wherever the money was good. Roland’s wife, Sophie, was from South Africa. I liked them all from the start and soon, Bryan and Roland were my best friends. I'd been there for a lot of stuff. I was there when Sophie left Roland, and I was there for the procession of Dominican girls that Roland claimed were each the love of his life.

More recently, I was living through the unlikely breakup of Bryan and Anne-Marie. I say unlikely because I couldn't believe that Bryan was serious about kicking Anne-Marie out, even though it had been a month already. Wondering if that was where I had gone wrong, I started to review the events of the previous night.
**********
“Run for your lives! He's gone crazy!” Roland was yelling at the top of his lungs, but the patrons and staff needed no urging as they stampeded up the stairs and out into the streets. Roland rushed right past me as I sat calmly at the bar on the stool closest to the stairs. Bryan was still at it, breaking glasses and throwing the Flamenco's extensive CD collection around like so many Frisbees. Then he looked around and realized that he was alone. All alone, except for the fool sitting calmly at the end of the bar. Bryan came around, walked deliberately up to where I was sitting and sat on the stool next to me. Without turning to look at me he said, “What are you still doing here?”

“Well,” I answered slowly, “I haven't finished my drink yet.” After pausing to light a cigarette I added, “And I'll want another one after this, and you know you make the best zombies.”

Bryan let out a heavy sigh of resignation, got up from the stool and went back behind the bar to fix a couple of drinks. Normally there would be music playing, but Bryan had trashed the stereo so the only sounds were the clinks of bottles as he expertly mixed up the drinks and the occasional crunch of glass under his feet. As he came back around I swallowed what was left of the drink in front of me in anticipation of a fresh one. Bryan's zombies were special; nothing at all like the drink of the same name in the official bartender's guide. The legend was that Bryan's secret ingredient was a voodoo spell given to him by a local witch doctor. That bit of lore was, of course, for the tourists, but one thing was certain: despite the drink’s high alcohol content, all you tasted was a rich sweetness. It was like liquid caramel, but it packed a mean punch. When he was done, Bryan took his seat on the neighboring stool, slid the fresh drink in front of me, lit a cigarette and started sipping his own drink.

After a few sips I asked, “So Bryan, wanna talk?” It was obvious that my friend was having a bad night and I wanted him to know that even if everyone else was gone, I was there for him.
Bryan turned to me and I could see the seriousness in his face. “Xavier, I'm angry, very angry. In fact, I haven’t been this angry in a very long time.”
I looked around at all the broken glass then turned back to Bryan. “Well, I definitely see that. What got you so upset?”

Bryan's eyes were cold as steel as he made direct eye contact with me. His nostrils flared slightly, and his face was reddening. To prepare myself to be as supportive as possible, I broke eye contact momentarily to take another sip of my drink. As I did Bryan spoke: “Xavier, you have no idea how much you upset me tonight, do you?”
I almost choked on my drink. In an instant I sobered up as my mind connected the dots. I'd known Bryan for years; he was one of my closest friends. I’d seen him angry many times, but NEVER like this. Apparently, Roland (a hardened killer, Bryan's brother-in-law and business partner) had never seen him this angry either. And there I was, the object of his rage, sitting no more than twelve inches from him. I had no idea what I had done, but I knew I was in big trouble. I swallowed hard then said, “Me!? What the hell are you mad at me for?” I tried to sound calm but it was futile.
Bryan glared at me. “Why did you bring that woman in here?”
******

Despite my best efforts I couldn’t remember anything between Bryan telling me he was angry and me waking up behind the bar. Earlier that evening, I had run into Bryan's girlfriend, Anne-Marie, and asked her to join me at the Flamenco. She had declined. After all, Bryan had banned her from the restaurant. I insisted because I didn't think it was that big a deal. Besides, Bryan was now fucking my ex-wife, Alice, and I wasn't upset about that. Even when my ex moved in with him and started tending bar I didn’t let it get to me, as long as she kept her distance and didn’t serve me. So why Bryan should be upset if I walked in with his ex-girlfriend didn’t quite make sense to me. I mean it's not like I was fucking her or anything. I just figured if he saw her, he would kick Alice out and patch things up with Anne-Marie. I guess at some point when we were alone Bryan helped me figure it out. So much for playing matchmaker.

I wanted to ask Bryan a few questions but I had a funny feeling about the way he had been trying to rush me out of the place, so I kept them to myself. I'd get his version of the story in a few days when all this blew over.

Eventually Max, the Flamenco's security guard, announced that someone was outside for me. I made my way, very slowly, up the stairs and out to the car. Nelson was inspecting the vehicle. He probably assumed that I’d been in an accident. When he saw me he hurried to my side with a worried look. “Mr. Pouchon! Are you Ok?”

“I'll be all right,” I said, “It’s just my neck. Help me into the car.” I handed him the keys.

Driving home was torture. Nelson's natural impulse was to get me home as quickly as possible. Every bump in the road made me feel as though we had fallen into a ditch. The only thing worse was the curves. I had to order him to go no faster than fifteen miles per hour. When I got home, Mary fussed over me and even Pop, my stepfather, put in his two cents. I spent the rest of the weekend expecting my sprained neck to get better.

By the time Monday morning came around, the pain was simply too much to bear. I called in sick and Nelson took me to the doctor, who decided to take some x-rays of my neck. The x-rays revealed I had fractured two vertebrae in my neck. “When did this happen?” the doctor asked.

“Friday night,” I answered.

“And you waited this long to come in? You’re lucky to be alive.” The doctor had a sad and grave look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. He put me in a neck brace and ordered me to three weeks of bed-rest, flat on my back. I was to have absolutely no movement for three weeks and even after that I had to take it slow. I thanked the doctor and left, and on the way home, I had Nelson stop by the store to pick up a bottle of rum, a six-pack of Cokes and a pack of Marlboros. The doctor was crazy if he thought a broken neck would keep me in the house for three weeks, much less in bed.

I actually did what the doctor said for a few days, but by day four I was going nuts. I had to get out of the house. I called the Flamenco to find out what was going on, and to my surprise Anne-Marie answered the phone. Apparently, the net result of the Friday night incident was that Bryan ended up asking Alice to leave and taking Anne-Marie back. After telling her as much as I knew of what happened the night Bryan went crazy, and giving her an update on my medical condition, I changed the subject.

“So,” I asked, “what else is going on?”

“Well, actually we have a live band playing tonight,” she answered.
Damn, I didn't want to miss that. “Really? Who's playing?”

“Remember Freddy, my daughter’s boyfriend?” she said, “He worked out a deal with Bryan. He'll be playing every Thursday night.”

“That's pretty cool,” I said. “Okay, Anne-Marie, see you soon.”

“No you will not!” she snapped. “I'm not seeing you for another three weeks. You are staying in bed.”

“Hey! Ease off,” I said.

“Xavier, I'm serious,” she insisted. “I don't want to see you until your neck has healed. Do you hear me?”

“Okay Anne-Marie, good talking to you,” I said as I hung up the phone.

Anne-Marie was a dear friend and I knew she meant well but the last thing I wanted to hear was nagging. I thought about what I should do: stay home, in bed, on my back, moving as little as possible. Then I thought about what I wanted to do: go to the Flamenco, get drunk, bring home a girl and fuck her brains out. Then I thought of a compromise: stay home, get drunk but put as little stress as possible on my neck. The problem with the compromise was that I'd been doing exactly that since leaving the doctor’s office. Fuck it! Compromises were for pussies. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? I would go to the Flamenco, sit at the bar and not move my head. Well, now that the issue was settled I needed to see to my transportation. I called Nelson to my room.

“Nelson,” I said, “we’re going out tonight.”

“What do you mean Mr. Pouchon?” was his startled reply.

“I mean that I’m sick and tired of staying in this house,” I said, articulating every word to emphasize that my mind was made up.

“But Mr. Pouchon,” Nelson pleaded, “the doctor said you have to stay in bed.”

“Screw the fucking doctor!” I shouted. “Now you can drive me or I can take a taxi, but one way or another, I’m going out tonight.”

Nelson sounded desperate. “You can’t be serious, sir.”

I was getting impatient. “How much you wanna bet? And I’ll even let you decide. You gonna drive me or do I take a taxi?”

Nelson looked perplexed. He couldn’t bring himself to take me out against the doctor’s advice, but there was no way he could let me take a taxi either. Finally he chose the lesser of the two evils. “Okay sir, I’ll take you.”

I could see he was conflicted so I tried to make him feel better. “Relax man, it’ll be fine. And you’ll be sitting next to me the whole time. What can possibly go wrong? Besides, we'll only stay out for a couple of hours.”

“Okay sir, if you say so,” Nelson answered.

We left the house around 9:00 and when we got to the Flamenco, the street in front of the restaurant was packed. Nelson double parked at the entrance and let me out. Max, the security guard, was very surprised to see me but he rushed to open my door and helped me out. I’d never seen a crowd like this in front of the restaurant before. Nelson started freaking out and asked me to wait with Max until he could park the car and get back to me.

When Nelson came, Max cleared a path to the head of the line while Nelson covered my back. Half-way down the hallway leading to the stairs that led down to the bar, there was a podium. Anne-Marie’s daughter, Martine, was sitting behind it collecting the cover charge for anyone wanting to go downstairs. Martine, a petite little fox with an angelic face and brownish-blond hair that hung all the way down to her ass, was born and raised in France. She’d only been in Haïti about six months. Freddy, a local artist, was her boyfriend, and his band was scheduled to play that night.

When Martine saw me she said, “Xavier! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you kidding?” I said, “You really think I would miss this? I had to come and show my support.” And with that I leaned forward and gave her a kiss and hug. “How much to get in?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Thanks sweetie.” I pointed to Nelson. “He’s with me. He’s my driver.”

“Okay,” she said, and waved Nelson in.
The show hadn't started yet but the bar was packed. As I entered, I could see a lot of surprised faces looking my way. Bryan was nowhere to be seen, but behind the bar there were three bar maids and Anne-Marie. The girl closest to Anne-Marie tapped her on the shoulder and pointed in my direction. Anne-Marie turned towards me with a distressed look but when she saw the big grin on my face she couldn’t help but smile. Rather than shout above the crowd, she made a sign for me to meet her at the end of the bar. When I got to her, she hugged me and said, “Xavier, you have to go home. You’re gonna fuck up your neck.”

“Listen,” I said, “I’m tired of staying home. Just park me here, keep the beers coming and I’ll stay out of everyone’s way. You can kick me out if you want to but I’ll just go drink somewhere else. I’m not going home.”

She could see it was no use. “Okay, but please just sit here and don’t do anything stupid.” She called one of the girls and gave some instructions. “Jacky, make sure he’s always got a drink in front of him and don’t let him out of your sight.”

“No problem,” Jacky said as she smiled at me. She then put a clean ashtray and a Corona in front of me

I smiled back at her. “Okay sweetie, get me a double-shot of Jack Daniels to go with the beer and a pack of Marlboros,” I pointed to Nelson, “and get him whatever he wants.” With the important stuff out of the way, I turned back to Anne-Marie, “Before I settle in can I at least go look inside the restaurant? I haven’t even said hi to Freddy yet.”

“No!” she said emphatically. “I’ll tell Freddy you’re here.”
I really didn’t give a rat’s ass about Freddy. I just wanted to check out the action in the restaurant but it was early and I’d get my chance soon enough. In the meantime, a few drinks would get me in just the right frame of mind.

I’d been sitting there for twenty or thirty minutes when a young lady climbed up on the stool next to me. “Hi there,” she said, “my name is Pattie.”

I had to turn my entire body to face her. In one glimpse I took her in. She wore a sleeveless t-shirt, tight jeans, and tennis shoes. Underdressed for the occasion, but she was a cute girl with a well-developed chest, a pretty face, and braids down to her shoulders. At most, she was eighteen but probably younger. “My name is Xavier,” I answered.

“I know,” she said, “I know all about you.”
Surprised, I said, “Really, and what do you know about me?”

“Well,” she started, “I know that you’re very nice and charming, that you have a lot of girls after you, and that you’re not with your wife anymore.”

“Ex-wife!” I corrected, “I’m divorced.”

“Sorry,” she said, “ex-wife. And I know that you work for The Agency.”

“Well Pattie, you really do know all about me,” I said sarcastically. “Mind telling me how old you are?”

“Old enough,” she replied defiantly.

“Old enough for what?” I asked.

“Old enough to be your girlfriend, old enough to take care of you, and old enough to satisfy you.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “And who told you I was looking for a girlfriend?”

“Just try me,” she persisted, “and you’ll never want anybody else.”

“Look,” I said, “you seem like a really nice girl, but I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”

“Take me home with you,” she said, “you’ll see.”
I laughed again. “So you want to interview for the position of girlfriend? What kind of experience do you have?”

“Like I said,” she leaned forward, put a hand on each of my knees, and looked up into my eyes with what she probably thought was a seductive look, “take me home and find out for yourself.”
Right about then, Jacky put another beer in front of me and waited for my instructions.

“Get a beer for my new friend Pattie,” I said.
As though she knew what I was going to say, Jacky instantly produced another beer and put it in front of Pattie.

“And make sure my old friend Nelson is in good shape back there,” I added.

“I’m fine sir,” Nelson said as Jacky walked away.
My back was to Nelson as I faced Pattie. “What do you think of this girl Nelson?”

“I don’t know sir,” he said, “she looks awful young.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Pattie said. “I’m all the woman you’ll ever need.”

The words coming out of this little girl were so ridiculous I had to laugh, but her boldness had me fascinated. Against my better judgment I reached for my wallet, pulled out a business card and turned towards the bar to write. “I’ll tell you what Pattie…” I drew a line through my work number and flipped the card over. “…I’ll give you my home number. Call me, but don’t call in the middle of the night and don’t call twenty times a day.”

Pattie had a huge grin on her face. “I won’t, I promise.”
After writing my number, I turned to her. “Don’t call my job and don’t come to my job, EVER. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, “I understand.”

“Now there’s one rule you have to follow if you wanna be my girl,” I said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Under no circumstances are you ever to talk to my ex-wife.” I stared into her eyes with a look of deadly seriousness. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sure I do,” she started, “but I don’t know her, why would I want to talk to her? She’s not my friend.”

“She’ll come to you,” I explained, “and pump you for information about me. She’s dangerous. Whatever you do, don’t talk to her.”

“I’m not scared of her,” Pattie said. “I can take care of myself.”
This poor little girl didn’t have a clue. If provoked, Alice would just as quickly stab her and feel no remorse. But the real danger was that Alice was as charming as she was violent. She was a master at seduction and bragged no woman had ever been able to resist her. During our three years together, I had several opportunities to see her in action. The woman was ruthless and efficient. But it wasn’t just women who succumbed to her charms. Despite her sixth-grade education, Alice was a social engineer of the highest order who could manipulate her way into just about any place short of a U.S. military base. I knew by the next day, Alice would know this girl had approached me and would start planning her attack. This was fine with me since it would give her something to do and keep her out of my hair.

As the night wore on they kept the drinks coming, but they couldn’t keep me nailed down. I eventually made it into the restaurant. A portion of it had been cleared to make room for the band and make space for a dance floor. I danced a bit with Pattie and some of the other girls. Poor Nelson almost had a heart attack. We ended up staying until the place closed, that much I remember. The ride home, getting into the house, getting into bed, I don’t remember any of that. One thing was for sure: going out had been a bad idea. My stepfather decided that I needed to be watched more closely, so he called his sister for help.

2007-09-23T02:26:00.000-05:00

Why Write?
Survey Says

I’ve heard people ask this question a lot. I’ve asked many authors and writers to respond and this is what they said.

To share their story

To leave a legacy of family information

To relieve stress

To please their souls

Why do you write?

2007-09-14T13:39:00.000-05:00

Meet New Author, Xavier Pierre, Jr. Author of Lovers Anonymous

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**
For more information or interviews contact:
Contact: Rose Jackson-Beavers
Phone: 314.306.2972
Publisher’s website: www.prioritybooks.com
Email: rose@prioritybooks.com

Revelations of A Tortured Soul

In his autobiographical debut, Lovers’ Anonymous, Xavier Pierre, Jr. not only showcases his storytelling skills, but he also takes readers on a visual tour of Haiti that is filled with sex, frustration, pain and adventure.

Xavier Pierre Jr., knows a thing about living the good life. He has grown used to being chauffeured around by his driver and having all his needs met by the housekeeping staff. Yet even with such a privileged lifestyle, he has learned that every negative action he commits, leads him deeper into the darkness of his personal storms. In Lovers’ Anonymous, Pierre provides readers with a translucent view of the demons that he has been forced to face and the hard lessons he has involuntarily learned on his trek to gain a fuller understanding of himself and the reasons why he is the man he is today.

Lovers’ Anonymous is a gripping and heart wrenching story that will have readers crying and laughing out loud at some of the antics of the characters represented. This personal account of Pierre’s struggles and triumphs encourages readers that though it is easy to accept defeat, it is imperative to view challenges as a motivation to forge ahead and triumph to victory.

Born in Haiti and raised on Long Island, Xavier Pierre Jr. is a computer specialist who, after 22 years working in the computer industry, started writing short stories as a means of sharing his life experiences. His writing was so powerful that readers were always asking to know the rest of the story. This led to work on Lovers’ Anonymous and the upcoming sequel Twelve Steps to Love. In addition to being a writer, Pierre is a gifted photographer.

###
Editor’s note: For more information about Lovers’ Anonymous or to schedule an interview with Xavier Pierre, Jr., call Prioritybooks at 314-306-2972 or write to rose@prioritybooks.com. You may also contact the author at xavierpjr@gmail.com. He is available for book signings. Lovers’ Anonymous can be purchased from www.Amazon.com, or directly from the website at www.prioritybooks.com.

from Chapter One: Pain in the Neck
Here are the first 2 paragraphs of the book.
-----------------------------------
I opened my eyes and saw nothing. It was pitch black. I was in extreme pain and I had no idea where I was. My heart started racing as panic set in. “Breathe, just breathe, nice and slow, deep breaths,” I said to myself, metering out the words as I fought against the terror. OK, I had to start with the basics and work out a solution. “My name, what's my name?” I waited for an answer but none came. “What's my f#cking name!?” I screamed the words inside my skull and waited. A painfully long moment later the answer came: “Xavier! My name is Xavier.” Damn!

I'd been through this before but it never took me this long to remember my name. I was lying on my back in a narrow space about two feet wide. Using my hands, I could feel broken glass on the bare wood surface I was lying on. Every movement caused extreme hurt everywhere, but the worst pain was in my neck and I had great difficulty moving my head. I had no idea where I was but whenever this happened, I usually woke up in someone else's bed. Several times, I had even woken up in my own room and not recognized where I was. It was always scary but this was infinitely more terrifying. For all I knew, I might be at the bottom of a mine shaft… or worse. Wherever I was, this was very bad. The panic started again as I considered the possibility that I had been buried alive. “Easy now, slow down, deep breaths.” I had to remain calm. Half expecting to feel the inside of a casket lid I reached up into empty space. That simple movement hurt like hell, but I was relieved to find that I wasn’t in a coffin.

Want more: go to: http://loversanonymousbook.blogspot.com/. This book can also be purchased at Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Lovers-Jr-Xavier-Pierre/dp/0979282357/ref=sr_1_1/105-7064679-4892431?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1189709746&sr=1-1

2007-07-09T01:00:00.000-05:00

The Pastor's Wife Does Cry!

There are some things in this life I have wanted and desired but never the pastor of my church. We have had some handsome ministers over the years who headed up our congregation but never once have I thought I must have him. Better still never have I ever disrespected the pastor's wife either.

I recently published A Pastor’s Wife Does Cry! Honestly I must say that I have reviewed & published many books but none ever affected me as this one did. As I read this book I went through many emotions like anger, happiness, and sadness and even I wanted revenge. The book is about a first lady of a large church. She discussed her feelings and mistreatment at the hands of supposedly Christian women whose primary objective was not to walk through the pearly gates of Heaven but to ride the minister and not like in a car.

A passage out of the book:

Pam is a member in the church. Claxton Morgan is the Pastor. Pam drove Claxton to all of his preaching engagements, Pastor’s anniversary services, and funerals. When we held funerals, she drove him to the cemetery when he could have ridden in the hearse. All of these acts of foolishness were done without me; sometimes without my knowledge or consent. Pastor Morgan was held up so long on Sundays with his clique. I would wait for him so that we could eat together.

He started saying, “Just put me some food up, I’ll eat it later.” When he came home he’d say, “I’m not hungry” or he’d say, “I don’t have a taste for anything right now.” Then I learned that he was going out to eat every Sunday with his armor bearer and a few other ladies. That was deception! That was the beginning of the end of our family meals together.The Pastor’s Wife Does Cry!

Another passage from the book is when two friends ended their relationship because each was vying to win the pastor.

Airika betrayed her friend Willimina, to become friends with my husband. Isn’t that a wonderful friend to have? She started cooking for him. I don’t know how much of her cooking he has had, but I do remember her sending Claxton, by one of the ministers, one slice of lasagna and one half slice of Texas toast.

I was sitting in the car with one of our members who had ridden with us to hear the Pastor preach. The minister handed me the food and told me who it was from. She just hugged me inside of the church and said, “Praise the Lord, First Lady.” She could have handed me the food.

I was heated because of the deception. When Claxton got into the car, I said, “Here.” He said, “What’s that?” I said, “Food from Airika.” He said, “Ok, I’ll nibble on it later.” I said, “You didn’t nibble on that chili I cooked for dinner.” I know that the elderly lady in the back seat wanted to high five me, but I heard her chuckle a little. When we got home, Claxton fixed a bowl of chili and came into the basement where I was and said, “I want you to see me eating your chili otherwise it was going to be a world war.”

She was really trying hard to get his attention. At one of our banquets, she wore a sleeveless spaghetti strapped dress with no jacket or shawl. After the program was over, I saw her standing near Claxton, looking over her shoulders every few minutes to see if he was looking at her.

The Lord brought it to my attention. What and who was she waiting for, “I thought?” He was busy shaking hands and thanking people for coming and she was steadily waiting. When we finally left, we congregated in the lobby of the hotel, you know how we do, and we ended up standing outside in front of the hotel.

Airika began walking to her car and then she yelled to Claxton as he was talking to the members, “Pastor! Quit watching me walk! I see you, you can’t keep your eyes off of me.” Everybody looked and she kept walking knowing that everybody was looking at her and thinking about what she had said. Claxton was too embarrassed. That statement was also made to make me think that she and Claxton had something going on.

My thoughts as a reader:

Now don’t get me wrong, I was mad at the Pastor for allowing his wife to be mistreated and disrespected. He turned a blind eye to things because he enjoyed the attention or for whatever. I was angry at the church members for totally disrespecting this lady while pretending to be Christians. I was equally pissed at the first lady for standing back and letting these women destroy her marriage. To me she didn’t fight or intervene because she believed that God would handle it. After all, HE said revenge is mine. The pastor’s wife was living as a Christian woman. She did not step out of her role based on her words.

I guess that is why I am not a pastors’ wife because I would have been a strong woman to contend with and they would have felt my wrath.This book was written by Lady Bea Morgan who is still a first lady in the church. It can be purchased from Amazon.com.

A Hole in My Heart

2007-06-15T01:49:00.000-05:00

MM's Book Club "Book of the Month Questions

MM is a new on-line book club that is hosted by Rosemarie. Visit and join us.

The first book club selection is A Hole in My Heart by Rose Jackson-Beavers and then 14-year old Edward Booker.

A Hole in My Heart

1. Adrienne started off as a loving mother. Do you feel that having a baby while suffering from depression was a good thing for her? Her parents thoughts so. What do you think?

2. Adrienne tried to commit suicide twice; do you feel that having a baby diminish her depression?

3. When Adrienne stopped doting on her children did you feel her depression returned?

Chapter 2

1. As Darrius aged he begins to wonder about his father. Why is this a concern now?

2. Darrius wanted to talk to his mother about who his father was, but she was high most of the time. This made him very sad. It seems that age 13 is a crucial time in a boys’ life, why is communication so important?

3. Was Adrienne abusive to her son?

4. Why did Darrius have such a strong connection with his aunt?

5. Once Darrius and his sister Jacqui moved in with their grandmother due to Adrienne’s neglect and drug usage, should she still have the right to be in her children’s life?

2007-01-15T16:02:00.000-06:00

Meet Ann Clay, Author of WAVING FROM THE HEART
Feeding your soul
Waving from the Heart showcases stories
that stroke the spirit

Storytelling at its best. Captivating. Warm. Ann Clay masterfully draws you into the world of her characters. Clay has compiled an impressive series of short stories in her book Waving from the Heart. The stories immediately pull in the reader because the characters are familiar to us. They may be our mothers, girlfriends or a guy who holds a special place in our hearts.

Clay organizes her stories using four themes:
- When the Soul Speaks
- From the Heart
- Touched
- It’s All About Me

First up is a tale entitled “The Red Hat Ladies,” a story about enduring friendships, unconditional love and the fact that we can, indeed, be forever young in our hearts and minds.

Other stories explore other areas of our inner being, such as “Spiritual Timeout” – instances when we “fail to yield to God’s whispers.” You’ll definitely find “Chicken, Greens and Cornbread for the Soul” hard to put down!

Waving from the Heart endears itself to readers with stories and essays on celebrating life. To say that Clay’s book is inspirational is an understatement. From beginning to end, the underlying message - for every reader - is that the best is yet to come.

Ann Clay is also the author of More than a Bargain, released in 2004. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and is active in the Missouri chapter. Clay lives in Southern Illinois with her family.

Waving from the Heart is published by Prioritybooks Publications of St. Louis. For more information about the book or its author, write to rosbeav03@yahoo.com or to Ann Clay at annclay@annclay.com.

2006-12-06T23:14:00.000-06:00

Hot New Marketing Trend

It seems like the earth is spinning so quickly that time can not stand still long enough to allow us to do the things that we enjoy. I'm sure that many of us authors would love to stop and smell the flowers, relax in a comfortable bath with scented candles and a good book. Yet sometimes, there's too much to do. We must complete books that we've written and prepare to market them to what we hope are "standing room only" crowds. But if you want that to happen you must assure that those who loves a great book know that you have written one. We must market our books by any means necessary. No we should not harass or cajole a potential book buyer but we must do those things to get notice. There are several marketing strategies that I enjoy doing to increase my readership. One strategy of something new and addictive is called blogging.
Blogging is "hot". It is a web journal where people who are called bloggers write about anything they want. Topics range from current events, good books, gossip about television shows and music stars and even love issues. Blogging can be interactive where you write something and people respond.Or you can just write and remove the comments. It is your way of communicating. I enjoy blogging and have met some amazing blogging friends. Many of them share my love of the written word. I have met authors who are best sellers and one that is an international bestsellers. We leave comments back and forth on each others blogs. I have many blogs that I love visiting and I have some that are my favorites. But every blog that I visit brings something new and interesting to blogland.
The goal for me as an author is to introduce my book to readers everywhere and keep it on your mind long enough to purchase it and fall in love with my stories. So marketing your book is a never ending saga that must go on every single day. You must even market in your sleep. Coming up with clever marketing strategies that will draw the readers in is a must do for every author. Using print, media, and radio to get your message about your book out should be planned, the conversation engaging and the information repeatedly given out. You should spend time developing and creating various marketing campaigns that will keep your book in the public's eye. There are so many ways to market your book but you must be creative enough to find them. Finally, you can't sell one book if no one knows that you even wrote one.

Visit my blog at www.prioritybooks.blogspot.com

2006-11-29T00:43:00.000-06:00

Ghetto Luv: This book is selling fast....
Urban novel takes you straight to the ‘hood
and leaves you laughing

Sassy. Urban. Funny. Mary Wilson’s Ghetto Luv is “in your face,” with the cat-and-mouse game between the Keke and Libra as the backdrop. Keke is one of the most handsome brothas in the ‘hood, definitely smooth when it comes to the ladies.

Neighborhood diva Libra is described as “every man’s dream and every woman’s nightmare.” She and her two girls rule the streets, but Libra is clearly the standout of the three. She is full of spunk, confidence and street smarts - the mistress of seduction with her drop-dead gorgeous looks. Looking for the queen of St. Louis’ West End? Libra holds the title and the attitude to go along with it.

The novel is soaked with brazen sex and hardcore violence. You’ll understand why when you meet Libra’s girlfriends.
Ghetto Luv is Mary Wilson’s first novel. The St. Louis native is currently working on her second book. Ghetto Luv is published by Prioritybooks Publications of St. Louis. For more information about the book or its author, write to marylwilson2003@yahoo.com or Prioritybooks Publications at rose@prioritybooks.com. The author is available for interviews and book signings. The book will be available on March 1. Currently it can be purchased from First World, UJAMMA and Knowings Bookstores.

Mary L. Wilson works in the St. Louis community. She is a mother who spends her free time writing and reading. Ghetto Luv is Mary Wilson’s first novel. The St. Louis native is currently working on her second book.

2006-11-11T23:58:00.000-06:00

Writing Tips

To the point!
• Write what you know.
• If you are incorporating dates, history and research, make sure your information is accurate
• Set a writing schedule that is best for you, and stick to it!
• Read everything you can on character and plot

2006-11-09T19:04:00.000-06:00

The Perils of Finding a Good Editor
Why is editing so important?
by Rose Jackson-Beavers

As a publisher I often meet with new authors who want to become published by large publishing houses. Unfortunately many have saved money by scrimping on editing their manuscript. This is a serious no-no. To get your book in the hands of readers and others it must be well written. It's not that the authors don't want to present their manuscripts in the best light, it is simply a challenge in finding the right editor.

I am often asked, "How do I choose an editor?" So many writers have hired friends, teachers, and others who claim to be editors to find out later that they were shortchanged. As an author myself, I have experienced the pains of hiring an editor and later finding so many errors that all I could do was shake my head in anger. After that I rolled up my sleeves, and searched for resources and information that would teach me how to find a good editor.

This is what I learned. There are many types of editing. There are those editors who specialize in various facets of the work such as copyediting, line editing and proofreading. When seeking an editor you are looking for someone who has the skills to help improve sentence structure, punctuation and word usage. A good editor is a person who can line edit or even rewrite the author's text, when needed, to make a book more marketable. This person also has good vision and focus which will help them to evaluate the content of a work while determining what technical problems may exist within the manuscript.

People often want to know, "What should I look for in choosing an editor?" You look at their experience and how many years they have worked as a copy editor and/or if they have taken courses to study this field. You want to know if that person is an avid reader of English language grammar and style books. Before selecting an editor you must ask several questions. Ask about their work experience as well as what formal training they have for the technical elements of editing. Also asked how many books they have edited? Finally ask about their core competency; is it technical or creative? Asking these questions will help you determine if an editor is right for your book. Finding the right editor is so important because poor editing can prevent your voice from ever being heard.

2006-11-05T13:09:00.000-06:00

Mistakes Writers Make
You are not alone
by Rose Jackson-Beavers

If you are a writer navigating the publishing world for the first time, you are not alone. Novice authors often experience some challenges when it comes to producing professionally designed books that are error-free. Many mistakes, if not corrected immediately or avoided altogether, could easily jeopardize a new author’s credibility and writing career.

What must writers do to ensure that their work is seen in a positive light? Hire the best people to handle the varied parts of their book production. Seek people who are an expert in the field. East St. Louis nationally known artist and author Edna Patterson-Petty offers this advice: Find people whose livelihood depends on how well they do their jobs.

For instance, if you are looking for an editor, don’t hire someone merely because she has good English skills or works as a teacher. Find out if this person has direct experience in editing books. Before you enter an agreement with a firm, ask if the company focuses on editorial services. Request references. Has this company edited other authors? If so, who? Ask if you may contact these authors. Then do so.

Finally, remember this: You really do pay for what you get. If you want good services, you have to put your money were your words are. Following these simple guidelines will save you a lot of heartache and pain down the road.

2006-10-30T12:30:00.000-06:00

Taking Criticism and Using It Positively
Rose Jackson-Beavers

One of the hardest things for an author to hear is that a story that they wrote wasn’t good enough. We writers want to create the story that everyone is talking about – the story that begs a sequel to.

But what happens when the compliments don’t come? How should a writer feel when the story told is not that interesting? As a freelance writer, I was not accustomed to getting negative responses to my writing. The first time I received a negative review, I learned something very important about myself – that I didn’t handle criticism well. It was painful to know that someone didn’t like my novel, that they didn’t understand what I was trying to say. Not only did the person not like my story, they wanted to humiliate me and stop me from writing again. Who would expend so much energy to make a writer feel bad? Somebody did. But I listened, learn from it and moved forward. That was hard.

At first I wanted to stop writing. I took it hard until a dear friend step in and lifted my spirits up. It helped to receive two positive letters the next day that praised my novel. Then, as if someone else heard my pain, an author sent an email out that simply stated, “That no weapon formed against me should prosper.” I read that email over and over again. Someone knew how I felt. They had the same experience, the same pain. But as the writer stated, she would prevail. I knew that I would too.

As a writer, it is necessary to build up your courage and to strengthen your heart because you will need it through this journey of writing. Each step you take will make you better and stronger. Not all people will support you, but that’s okay too. For every person that puts you down, neglects and rejects you, two more will pick you up.

2006-10-28T14:34:00.000-05:00

If I Were A Man and Had A Wife

Meet Brenda B. Matthews, New Christian Author

Are You Married? Husbands do you know how to treat your women? Women do you know what to expect from your better half. These are the questions that Brenda explores based on verses from the Bible in her new book.

This is her second book.

Husbands! Which category Do You Fall Under?

* The Christian Family Man

* The Christian Man With A Family

* The Ungodly Family Man

* The Ungodly Man With A Family

* The Wicked Family Man

* The Wicked Man With A Family

Husbands, love your wife and treat her as a precious jewel. Be reminded that your wife is a gift to you from God and all good and perfect gifts come from above.

If I Were A Man And Had A Wife describes the husbands listed above, unveiling their at home behavior so that they are enlightened, encouraged and equipped to be greater leaders.

GOD IS CALLING ALL HUSBANDS TO REPENTANCE!

If I Were A Man And Had A Wife will prepare aspiring husbands to be the head of his home as God requires and desires. Aspiring wives, know that God equates God-fearing women to wisdom; fragile, priceless, powerful, pleasant, joyous, and full of peace. Aspiring husbands and wives, search the scriptures together to learn God's instructions for marriage.

If I Were A Man And Had A Wife was written to change the hearts of husbands; bestow understanding upon wives; and increase everyone's prayer lives.

Brenda B. Matthews is the author of this life-enhancing, tear-shedding soul-transforming book. She writes spiritual songs, books, and pamphlets. Her anointed teaching ministry has redirected hundreds of saints and sinners to righteousness. She lives in St. Louis, MO where she is the pastor's wife of Temple Church of Christ. For more information about If I Were A Man And Had A Wife, contact the author at brendab@brendabmatthews.com, Write to Prioritybooks, P. O. Box 2535, Florissant, MO 63033.