Last week, I walked outside, and my car was covered in the yellow stuff. When I arrived at work, many of my coworkers were sniffing, sneezing, and wiping tears from their eyes. Then my BFF, also had a honking nose and froggy voice. Honestly, I don’t know why he didn’t text for the shape he was in. I said, “I hear the weather has gotten you down, too.” To which he responded, “Yeah, it’s the time of year that love is in the air.” Well, that wasn’t the response I expected. And here is where I tripped and fell down the rabbit hole. I asked (as Tina would have), “What’s love got to do with it?” It was on from there.
He explained to me that spring is the time that love blooms and that his bug is “lovesickness.” Now, that all may be…true? He could be bitten by a lovebug, but…what? So, I asked another question. “What in the world are you talking about?” To be sure, his answer was less than stellar, but I asked for it. He responded with, “You’re a romance writer, you should know this.” That doesn’t have anything to do with the craters on the moon, but my bestie seemed to think it did. Then he proceeded to argue that more people fall in love in spring than in any other season.
That proclamation stopped me cold. Where was the evidence? As expected, he didn’t have it to offer; so, of course, I went searching. Duh! Did I mention rabbit hole? While there’s no empirical data, scientific evidence, or statistics indicating this to be factual, research has indicated that there may be some biological rationale to this hypothesis. The answers lie in three neurotransmitters/hormones.
A neurotransmitter, in simplistic terms, is a synthesized chemical in the brain that permits neurons to transmit and communicate with each other throughout the body. Three neurotransmitters kept popping up in this research.
Dopamine is commonly referred to as the “feel-good hormone” because it yields a sense of satisfaction, pleasure, and motivation. Simply put, it is part of the brain’s “reward system.”
Melatonin is secreted by the pineal gland and is a ubiquitous neurotransmitter-like compound. It is produced by darkness and sets the body’s internal clock.
Serotonin is a monoamine neurotransmitter that behaves like a hormone. It influences happiness, learning, and memory. It also regulates the body’s temperature, hunger, sleep, and sexual behavior.
Because spring brings nicer (depending on who is asked—Winter people are recognized and it’s all love) weather, people tend to spend more time outside. Additionally, due to Daylight Saving, the days are longer. People get more sun. More sun means less dark. Less dark means less melatonin. With less melatonin, the effects of other neurotransmitters are felt more—dopamine and serotonin, batter up.
Spring offers an abundance of newness. Flowers and trees are in bloom, offering bursts of colors all around. Floral scents, grass, and earth saturate the air. Many times, these scents are associated with pleasant memories. People want to spend more time outside (motivation) and frequently feel that they are rejuvenated or energized.
When the weather begins to warm up, people strip off their winter gear. Thus, they begin to show more skin. Appreciating the human form with less clothes… Well, it’s easy to see where that leads. This may not be “love,” but it most certainly possibly is “lust.” Either way, people feel “good.” But so what? Well, these things can add up to cause a person to be more “susceptible” to falling in love. Hey, don’t blame me. I’m just the messenger reporting what some research has reportedly found.
So, there you have it. Now, how all of this is responsible for my BFF’s nose flowing like the Mighty Mississippi I still have no clue. If anyone figures it out, let your girl know.
That’s all I got. Now, it’s your turn to sound off. What did you think? What is your take on the subject? Do you agree or disagree? Did you find this information helpful or informative? Did you learn anything new, or did it change your opinion? Let me know your thoughts in the comment section.Also, let me know if you would like me to cover more of these types of topics or dive deeper into this one. If you like this post, please click the like button, and share it. Your feedback allows me to know the content that you want to read. If you’re not following me on Creole Bayou blog, what are you waiting for? There’s always room at the bayou.
Get ready. It’s time to hit the ice again. Future Goals has arrived and is available.
When a college hockey player needs the help of an attractive older attorney, he gets more than he bargained for when trying to sort out the troubles in his career. Falling in love was never part of either man’s plan, especially as Corrigan’s and Sacha’s lives should never have collided. Now they’re left questioning if they’re standing in the way of the other’s future goals, or if there’s room for redirection.
Thanks so much to Delilah for hosting me today! I truly appreciate this opportunity to speak directly to you, the readers.
The Pen Dames are currently running our annual contest, and I thought you might enjoy it. Here are the details…
We invite you to become a character in an upcoming story we’re crafting. It’s simple to enter—just leave your first name in the comments section of this blog post or on one of our Facebook posts about the contest, and we’ll name a character after the winner.
I can’t give away too many details, but the tale will have an Irish theme in celebration of St. Patrick’s Day and will feature elements of mystery, magic, and a dash of romance. Please note the story will only be published on the Pen Dames blog, and no financial compensation will be provided. All rights are reserved. The contest closes on March 17th.
Now, this is just for fun, but how often do you have the chance to read about a character named after you?
A little about us, the Pen Dames. We’re a group of five author friends who share a love for each other’s work and are bound by our motto of Heart, Humor, and Happily Ever After. We’re passionate about books, reading, and, most importantly, our readers. If you’d like to learn more about us, please visit our website.
As an additional thank-you for Delilah’s kindness in hosting this post on short notice, I’m offering a special drawing for anyone who comments here. You’ll also have the chance to win either a $5.00 Amazon gift card or (for U.S. residents only) a signed combined print edition of two of my books edited by none other than Delilah!Along with the books, I’ll include a swag bag filled with goodies, such as a crystal pen, stickers, bookmarks, charms, and surprises.
The two books included in the additional prize are “The Sea Witch and the Mage” and Siren Descending. If you’re curious, “The Sea Witch and the Mage” is a short story set in a contemporary romantic fantasy world of mermaids, mermen, and mages and is the prequel to Siren Descending which reimagines the Greek myth of Orpheus with a Siren as the heroine.
About the Author
I’m Katherine Eddinger Smits, and my fascination with all things paranormal stems from being a direct descendant of one of the women executed for witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts. My stories often feature mages, mermaids, and gifted humans grappling with real-life issues like self-acceptance and phobias, all while weaving in mystery, suspense, and a hint of romance.
If you’re interested in exploring more of my work, you can visit my website and subscribe to my newsletter for a free short story.
Thank you for taking the time to read about our contest and for considering participating. Whether you decide to join us or simply follow along, we appreciate your support.
Hello Delilah! Thank you for hosting me again. Glad to be back to talk about my new release, Love Furever. I’ve written three books in the Single Dads of Gaynor Beach series, and one day the authors were chatting about the lack of an animal shelter in Gaynor Beach. The chat exploded, and the next thing I knew, with the help of the architect of the original series, we’d created a spin-off series: Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue. Naturally, I signed up to write the first book. (And, naturally, I’ve got more to come…) Anyway, we all started searching the stock photo sites for pictures of cute guys and animals. I have to say that we had a lot of fun. In the end, I selected my photo. I knew I had my James. But I didn’t know his story.
One day, though, I had someone in my condo building bring me a box Amazon had left in the wrong place – I never would have found it. I was so surprised that I barely got to thank him. A good friend suggested leaving a note on the bulletin board – which I did. A week later I took it down, having no clue if my savior had read it or not.
But…that got me thinking. What if a guy posted on a board about needing help with his dog? That wasn’t precisely what happens with Colin and Chambord, but darn close. I don’t want to give away too much, but the name Chambord had to go, and…well, Colin and James had to fall in love.
This isn’t a fluffy read. But I put a lot of heart into telling the story, and I’m really hoping readers love it.
In honor of the new release, I’m happy to give away a $5 Amazon gift card. Just comment on what elements draw you into a story – blurb? Cover? The author? The series? What makes you take a chance on someone new? Drop your answer in the comments and if random selects you, I’ll give you the gift card. Thanks again, Delilah, for hosting me!
Love Furever
Colin
Being rejected by family hurt like hell, but I kept my head high, left my toxic relatives behind, and moved across the country to Gaynor Beach, CA. Luckily, I have great furry company. My French bulldog puppy, Widget, was dumped on me for not meeting my parents’ ridiculously high standards either, so we’re comforting each other. With a nice rental house and a new job, Widget and I were ready for a fresh start—until I got a devastating diagnosis. I can’t take care of Widget properly while trying to save my own life, and I expect a long, hard road. I’ll have to break both our hearts and put her up for adoption, for her sake. Right?
James
I’ve wanted a pet forever, but my family circumstances didn’t allow it. Now I’m away from my masses of relatives and on my own, and I’m ready to take on a furry companion. My friend, a guy who never says no to an animal in need, introduces me to Colin and his beautiful puppy Widget. I’m horrified Colin feels he needs to give her up just because he’s sick, but I’m happy to take Widget as a temporary foster. I’m also happy to offer support to the new guy in town who is so very alone during a time of crisis. Helping someone in need comes naturally to me. But what if that temporary help turns into me wanting a forever relationship?
This is a gay romance slow-burn novel about new beginnings, found family, unconditional love, and a puppy named Widget. This middle-angst story has a guaranteed happily ever after.
USA Today Bestselling author Gabbi Grey lives in beautiful British Columbia where her fur baby chin-poo keeps her safe from the nasty neighborhood squirrels. Working for the government by day, she spends her early mornings writing contemporary, gay, sweet, and dark erotic BDSM romances. While she firmly believes in happy endings, she also believes in making her characters suffer before finding their true love. She also writes m/f romances as Gabbi Black and Gabbi Powell.
For Black History Month, my post will focus on an amazing book I discovered while researching my October 2023 D.D. post on Hallie Q. Brown (1850-1950). Published by Ms. Brown in 1926, Homespun Heroines and Other Women of Distinction contains sixty biographical sketches/essays written by twenty-nine contributors. Ms. Brown wrote 21 of them.
Here is the book’s dedication which includes a verse of poetry by poet Clara Ann Thompson (1869-1949):
In memory of the many mothers who were loyal in tense and trying times,this volume is affectionately dedicated to the National Association of Colored Women of America and Canada.
Through all the blight of slavery
They kept their womanhood
And now they march with heads erect,
To fight for all things good,
Nor care for scorn nor seek for praise,
Just so they please their God.
Whether well-known like Phillis Wheatley or less well-known like Martha Payne, the mother of Daniel Payne, who founded Wilberforce University, each essay shares how these women impacted society in whatever role they found themselves. By publishing Homespun Heroines, Hallie Brown and her co-authors made sure the world learned about women worthy of remembrance regardless of their “lot” in life.
In the foreword, author and teacher Josephine Turpin Washington (1861-1949) begins:
“Interesting as are the facts recorded in this book, they do not constitute its chief value. That is found in its reflection of the wonderful spirit which moved the women who strove and achieved, despite obstacles greater than any which have stood in the way of other upward struggles.”
Then she ends with, “The result is a work which not only furnishes useful information, but—what is even more—inspires to finer character and racial development.”
My edition of Homespun Heroines is part of a collaboration between the Schomburg Library in Harlem, Dr. Henry Louis Gates, and Oxford University Press. In his Note from the Schomburg, Howard Dodson, the Schomburg’s director at the time, wrote that when titles from the 19th century were being reprinted in the 1960s, with the exception of well-known names like Phillis Wheatley, the work of women was notably absent. The Schomburg therefore created The Schomburg Library of Nineteenth-Century Black Women.
By sharing my African American women posts here on Delilah’s blog I think that I too am honoring the “memory of the many mothers who were loyal in tense and trying times” as Hallie Brown and her co-authors did. Their work has inspired me to begin compiling information on African American women of the modern era as well as continuing to share about those from the 19th century. I’ve already written about some of the women found in Homespun Heroine’s pages. I look forward to sharing about others I’m discovering thanks to this fantastic resource.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon Gift Card, share in the comments any thoughts you might have on this post or the name of a resource that you’ve learned Women’s History from.
One Breath Away by Michal Scott
Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more. Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex. Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
Excerpt:
Arousal—fondly remembered and sorely missed—sizzled between Mary Hamilton’s well- rounded thighs. Moisture coated her nether lips and threatened to stoke the sizzle into a blaze. The sensation surprised her, as did the owner of the gaze that lit the flame.
Eban Thurman stood against an opposite wall of the town’s community hall. Although the room was wide as two barns and filled with revelers, neither the distance nor the presence of the crowd lessened the power of his gaze. He studied her with a curiosity that didn’t grope with disdain, but caressed with approval.
With respect.
This kind of appreciation was never given to women as dark and as large as she. Gratitude heated her face.
Gratitude and embarrassment. Her lavender toilet water couldn’t hide the fragrance of arousal. She shuddered with shame then glanced around. Had anyone else detected the odor? All the merrymakers seemed too caught up in the rhythmic fast fiddling and foot-stomping of Safe Haven’s seventh annual Juneteenth Revel to notice her discomfort.
In 1872 Texas who took note of a black woman who ain’t been asked to wed?
Yet Eban’s perusal said not only did he take note, but he liked what he saw.
Today’s post may seem an odd one, but for me, it isn’t. See, recently, Mardi Gras was celebrated, which is a major event in Louisiana. And since 2020—when the entire world broke—it hasn’t been the same. Sure, it’s on its way to recovery, but it’s taking a while to get there. I should say, though, that this isn’t something that many people who have been around and are familiar with carnival are overly concerned with because, as mentioned, Mardi Gras is a big deal. It has tons of moving parts. Restructuring events this large is complicated. For those who think I’m minimizing the disruption, reflect on what happened in the years following Hurricane Katrina. It wasn’t that much different than what is presently occurring.
I began by saying Mardi Gras is a popular celebration in Louisiana. This is true. However, it is an event celebrated across the globe. New Orleans is likely the place where it is the most famously celebrated or is given the most attention. But NOLA wasn’t where Mardi Gras was created or even first celebrated. It’s just that when NOLA does something it does it big. Like, there is nothing really “over-the-top” about the place. Nevertheless, this post isn’t about Mardi Gras. Carnival was just the reason this topic registered with me.
This year, several parades were canceled—not due to weather but due to continued money issues that a lot can be attributed to the start of the icky Rona situation. In 2020, Fat Tuesday was on February 25, barely beating the U.S. shutdown/shelter-at-home. In 2021, it’s fair to say, that the Mardi Gras public celebration in NOLA was all but canceled. In 2022, it returned, but many parades/krewes didn’t return due to financial issues and parade route conflicts. This has continued to be the case as people get back on their feet.
So, as some friends and I were discussing the “good ol’ days” of carnival, we began to realize that there are plenty of things that we’ve taken for granted about Mardi Gras. Taking something for granted means failing to appreciate the value of something due to overfamiliarity. It also means failing to make assumptions without asking questions. Well, while we were having this profound discussion (and yes, distilled spirits were involved), the song House of the Rising Sun (or as I’ll refer to it from henceforth, HOTRS) began playing. And for the first time, I took note of the lyrics—perhaps because the first line begins: “There is a house in New Orleans.” As many times as I’ve heard this song, I never once questioned anything about it. I looked at my companions and asked where this place was located. No one knew, and that sent me spiraling down a wormhole of intoxication and loose association. Not only was I curious about the where, but I also wanted to know the what and why. So, I did some digging, and the results were intriguing…at least, to me.
Before I began dumpster diving into the where, what, and why, I was smacked with who. This became significant later when trying to answer what.
Like Mardi Gras being closely associated with NOLA despite it not originating from there, HOTRS is mostly associated with being performed by the British rock band, The Animals. Their version was released in 1964. However, HOTRS is a folk song that is believed to have been written in the early twentieth century and has been performed/recorded by a host of other artists. This list includes (in alphabetical but not recording order) the following: The Animals, Clarence “Tom” Ashley, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Five Finger Death Punch, Gwen Foster, Frigid Pink, Geordie, Andy Griffith, Woody Guthrie, Johnny Halliday, Lead Belly, Los Speakers, Miriam Makeba, Johnny Miller, Sinead O’Connor, Odette, Dolly Parton, Pete Seeger, Nina Simone, Thin Lizzy, Dave Von Ronk (Mayor of McDougall Street), and Glen Yarborough. This list may not be exhaustive.
Reportedly, The Animal’s version of the song was based on Bob Dylan’s version, and Dylan based his version on Dave Van Ronk’s version. However, Ronk wasn’t the original artist. The original artist is alleged to have been a woman, and the original lyrics reportedly are “poor girl” and not “poor boy.” It is believed the lyrics were changed when the gender of the singer switched from male to female. This is significant because the switch in gender perception changes the interpretation of the song. I’ll swing back around to this later.
Where?
Most of the information that I’ve read says that the HOTRS is based on a real location in NOLA. To be fair, I did find a couple of sources that said it was fictitious and a few others that concluded it was real but located in other places than NOLA. As to what type of establishment it was, three common answers kept recurring: Read the rest of this entry »
I started 2024 by publishing a new book! Well, I re-released a book, that is.
My Mistletoe Master was originally published in 2016. It was my first book. I recently got my rights back from the publisher and decided to try my hand at self-publishing. It has a brand-new cover, a fresh edit, and a prologue that’s included for the first time!
Plus…it’s FREE!
My Mistletoe Master is a spicy contemporary romance. It’s new adult, BDSM, forbidden romance, second chance, and older brother’s hot best friend all rolled into one holiday-themed novel.
I’m visiting the blog today to drop off an excerpt for My Mistletoe Master, along with a link for you to download it for FREE. (Please note, I’m waiting for Amazon to price match it. It’s currently .99 cent there, but free everywhere else. Hopefully, they will drop it to free soon.)
In addition to My Mistletoe Master, I also have a PNR wolf shifter-fated mate novel that’s FREE! Two free books to start off your reading list this January. You can get it here: get Drew for free!
And I’ve heard you all like contests. Leave me comment and tell me how you celebrate the New Year. One winner will be selected to receive a paperback book. Their choice between the following:
Love Spells, Full Moons, and Silver Bullets
Tails from the Clayridge Fountain
Drew
Callum (after it releases in paperback)
My Mistletoe Master (after it releases in paperback)
My Mistletoe Master
Three years ago, he broke her heart. Now, she’s back in town and he’ll do anything to keep her.
When Nick catches her watching a fetish porno, Amelia isn’t sure what to expect. It certainly wasn’t a proposition to indulge her kinky side with her brother’s best friend—the man who destroyed her heart and confidence in one swoop.
Amelia’s three-year absence had taught Nick one thing—he doesn’t want to live without her. Nick isn’t willing to make the same mistake twice. He’ll do whatever it takes to show Amelia he can make her happy, even if that means learning what it takes to keep her satisfied in the bedroom.
Sneaking around during the holidays, Amelia questions if she can move past their history and trust Nick again.
Excerpt
Three years later…
Low keening moans and sharp slaps came from the speakers on her tablet.
Alone yet subtly embarrassed in her parents’ big house, she turned the volume down just a touch.
With her dad at work and her mother and brother recently gone to finish their holiday shopping, the welcome home from university hadn’t been as momentous as she’d expected. She’d been absent for three years, barely coming home between semesters. She had thought some sort of conversation would have at least occurred, not the quick ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ as her family fled the house she had received.
It was a busy time, especially with her parents’ annual holiday party. Besides, they hadn’t expected her home until late afternoon anyway, so who could fault them for rushing out the door as soon as she’d arrived?
Having dumped her stuff in the foyer, she’d proceeded to make herself a cup of tea, then had settled on the couch to check her grades.
No updates.
After scrolling social media, she’d given up trying to find a distraction and, instead, pulled up one of her favorite softcore porn videos. This one featured a Dom, clad in black leather pants and nothing else as he restrained a woman. He raised one arm, then the other, locking them in place above her head with cuffs. Suspended from the ceiling, the man went about binding the woman’s feet to the floor. Naked and spread eagle, she moaned for him. As he slowly raked his hand over here exposed ass, he denied her any form of release.
Growing wet between her legs, Amelia realized it had been too long since she’d had a man. Her body strained for more than her simple touch, but since she and her boyfriend had split two months ago, she would have to make do. To heighten her pleasure, she resisted her own needs, merely watching the two on the screen.
Pressing her palm against her jean-covered crotch, she watched as the woman cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure as the man repeatedly spanked her. Moaning aloud with the video, Amelia abandoned her restraint, rocking against her hand. Her eyes drifted shut as she tugged on the button of her jeans, eager to touch herself and work herself toward climax.
A cough sounded behind her, and she froze. “What a great way to start my morning.”
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. No. No. No.
“Please, Sir,” the woman’s voice rang out from the tablet.
Wide-eyed, Amelia scrambled to shut the device off, finally muting the sound and flipping the cover over the screen.
A key in the front door that she would have heard, but another person already in the house? Damn it!
For a humiliating minute, Amelia prayed the floor would open up and swallow her whole. After three long years, this was not how she had envisioned facing him for the first time.
Frankly, she had planned to wear something sexy and elegant, and she wouldn’t have acknowledged his existence either. Instead, this was what Fate had in store.
Fuck my life.
Clutching her tablet to her chest, Amelia gathered what was left of her courage, standing to face him.
Nick Fuller. Her brother’s best friend and the man she’d been miserably in love with for decades.
From behind her makeshift shield, she studied him. He still took her breath away, even after he’d destroyed her fragile heart. With an unwavering stance, he stood with sleep-tousled hair, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, and blocked her escape. His chest was broad, his stomach chiseled, and his arms corded with long, lean muscles. His expression was dark and confused.
She realized he was waiting for an explanation. Rather than provide one, she led with, “What the hell are you doing here?”
He blinked. “I’m here for the holidays, like every year.”
Amelia groaned. “My mom didn’t tell me you were here yet,” she admitted lamely, as though that explained her sinful behavior. Granted, her mother had barely said two words to her when she arrived.
“Three days.”
At a standstill, they simply stared each other down. His gaze was curious as it examined her.
Her cheeks heated.
How long was he standing there watching me?
Rounding the couch, she wondered how many days she could hide in her room before her parents dragged her out forcibly. With a bit of luck, she could avoid him at least for a few days.
But that was the coward’s way out and she knew it. This year’s plan had centered on pride and confidence, no matter how much she had to fake it.
I guess that plan is out the window now.
Aiming to shoulder her way past him so she could get to the stairs, Amelia put on a brave face and stalked toward him. His big body didn’t budge as she tried to maneuver around him.
Attempting to edge by, she mumbled, “Maybe we could just forget about this. You know, pretend I’m just not here yet.” She tried for a bright smile, but it faded when she saw humor light his gaze. Growing up, he and Gabe had teased her endlessly, and now she’d handed him ammunition.
“I don’t think so,” he took a step closer.
She had to tilt her head to keep his gaze. Rascal that he was, he dared to smile at her discomfort. Her body was primed for the orgasm she’d denied herself and his nearness didn’t help matters. Masculinity and dominance rolled off him in waves. People had always taken notice when he entered a room. He wasn’t the broad and bulky type like her brother; he was lean with a natural grace that made women think: stamina.
“I can’t believe it. I would never have thought Gabe’s little sister was such a perv.”
Convinced he was merely trying to get a rise out of her, her eyes narrowed, and her determination to sock him grew. Casual as you please, she shrugged. “It’s just a little kink.”
His smile widened.
She knew better than to trust that smile.
“You’re not going to tell anyone.” She winced when her words sounded more like a plea than an order.
“What’s my silence worth to you?”
This was the Nick she remembered from her childhood. Rebel, tease…scoundrel.
She ground her teeth and insisted, “You won’t tell.”
“Well, that depends on you, sweetheart,” he whispered. And was it her imagination, or had he gotten closer?
The firstborn of Sylvanus and Anne Smith’s eleven children, Sarah was born on July 31, 1831, in the now historic Black Brooklyn neighborhood of Weeksville. Her father was one of Weeksville’s founders and one of the few black men who could vote because he had $250 in property. Both Sarah and her sister Susan were firsts in African American history in New York. Sarah became the first African American female to serve as a principal of a public school. Her sister Susan was the first African American female in New York State to receive a medical degree.
When Sarah was fourteen, she began her career as a teaching assistant. In 1854, she taught at the African Free School of Williamsburg (Brooklyn). By the time she retired from teaching in 1900, she served for thirty-seven years as a principal. First at Colored School No. 7 in Manhattan in 1863 then as principal for both Colored School No. 4 and Public School No. 80 in 1866. She used her position to help other African American women in the teaching profession. She signed a letter of support to the Board of Education on behalf of a teacher, Ms. G.F. Putnam, for her appointment to the position of Head of Department in Public School No. 83.
In addition to teaching, Sarah was an active suffragist. She founded the Equal Suffrage League in Brooklyn, the first suffrage club for African American women. She also headed the suffrage department of the National Association of Colored Women. Alva Vanderbilt Belmont reached out to Sarah in 1910 to see if African American women might be interested in joining her suffrage club, The Political Equality Association. The answer was no, as many white women’s suffrage movements did not focus on civil rights issues important to all African Americans, like lynching. In 1911, Sarah’s activism took her to England with her sister Susan to the first Universal Races Congress, where Susan delivered a paper on African American women.
It comes as no surprise that Sarah also had an entrepreneurial spirit. She owned and ran her own seamstress shop from 1883 to 1911.
Sarah married twice. First to Episcopal minister Samuel Thompson (often mistakenly cited as Tompkins) who died in 1852. They had one daughter who lived to adulthood. In 1875, she wed Presbyterian minister and abolitionist Henry Highland Garnet who died in 1882.
Sarah died at home in Brooklyn in 1911. Noted African Americans W.E.B. DuBois and Addie Waites Hunton spoke at her memorial service.
Having grown up in Brooklyn, I knew more about her sister Susan Smith McKinney, but Sarah’s pioneering work in the New York City public school system has gained prominence thanks to the HBO series The Gilded Age.
Too often the ordeal of slavery is the only lens through which African American history is seen. Sarah Smith Thompkins Garnet’s story shows how free blacks in the North used their own advocacy and agency to build resilient African American communities.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card share your thoughts on Sarah’s life in the comments.
Better To Marry Than To Burn by Michal Scott
Wife Wanted: Marital relations as necessary. Love not required nor sought…
A bridal lottery seems the height of foolishness to ex-slave Caesar King, but his refusal to participate in the town council’s scheme places him in a bind. He has to get married to avoid paying a high residence fine or leave the Texas territory. After losing his wife in childbirth, Caesar isn’t ready for romance. A woman looking for a fresh start without any emotional strings is what he needs.
Queen Esther Payne, a freeborn black from Philadelphia, has been threatened by her family for her forward-thinking, independent ways. Her family insists she marry. Her escape comes in the form of an ad. If she must marry, it will be on her terms. But her first meeting with the sinfully hot farmer proves an exciting tussle of wills that stirs her physically, intellectually, and emotionally.
In the battle of sexual one-upmanship that ensues, both Caesar and Queen discover surrender can be as fulfilling as triumph.
Excerpt from Better to Marry than to Burn:
Of the men attending the meeting, thirty plunked down ten dollars for a chance at a wife. Twelve signed “I’m leaving” pledges. Caesar would do neither. His new beginning couldn’t be left up to chance, not now that staying took on a grander meaning.
Forty women arrived in June. Young, old, ex- slave and freeborn. Some widowed. Some with children. Some mere children themselves. Once introduced, each woman shared her hopes and wants. The lottery gave them three months to be courted and become brides or accept a return ticket back home. Moving as their stories were, Caesar knew he’d done right to go his own way. He’d advertised back East for a new wife. His ad, and to the point, stated his goal:
Freed man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black town of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.
Only desperate females who couldn’t string two words together had answered. Not that he was looking for conversation, but he’d had a prize in his Emma and nothing less than another prize would do. Finally, he received a missive that gave him hope he’d found his match.
He’d held her envelope beside the flickering glow of a kerosene lamp and studied the handwriting. The elegant strokes bespoke education. The grade of paper used signaled either someone of means or at least someone intent on making a good impression. Two marks in her favor.
His eyebrows raised, however, as his gaze lingered over the Q imprinted in the wax seal holding the envelope shut. Another sign of quality…maybe too much quality. Why would a woman of obvious education and means be willing to brave the hardships of life out West as an ex-slave’s mail order bride?
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