Long before Marie Kondo was touting the joys of downsizing and living more minimal, I was clearing out clutter.

When I was growing up, I was probably the only kid I knew who never had to be told to clean their room. And every spring (and fall), on a Saturday afternoon, I’d close myself in my bedroom with the vacuum, a dust cloth, and a garbage bag. When I came out a few hours later, everything had been moved and vacuumed under or dusted. I’d have gone through my closet and bookshelves. Even though my bedroom was only about eight by twelve, I’d have managed to move some of the furniture around.

As an adult, I’m still the same. I’ve already started going through cupboards and closets getting things together for the big family yard sale we usually have every year over at my brother’s place. The thing is, tastes change. Things I’ve enjoyed for a few years may no longer suit my style. And that’s okay. I’ve used and enjoyed them and now it’s time to let them go. That makes space for things I do love. The yard sale is a fun family day and gives me a few dollars to put toward something I might like. What doesn’t sell gets taken off to charity. Everyone wins!

If you need a break from your spring cleaning, why not check out Embroidered Fantasies, the next book in my Tapestries series.

Embroidered Fantasies
Tapestries, Book 5

With her abusive ex-husband safely behind bars, Roxanne Sykes is trying to carve out a quiet life for herself. Just as she’s beginning to feel free to explore her new possibilities, word reaches her that her cruel ex has been released from prison. When he shows up at her door bent on destroying her, it’s only through the magic of a well-loved tapestry that Roxanne is whisked away to safety—and into the world of a warrior she’s known only from her fantasies.

Radnor Craddock has known only a life of violence and brutality at the hands of his older brothers. Now that they have fallen in battle, Radnor and his twin brother Sednar can finally put their house in order. Just as their efforts are bearing fruit, fate smiles upon them again by delivering a potential tapestry bride to their doorstep. Well aware of what they must do to win her hand and her heart, the brothers dedicate themselves to granting Roxanne every imaginable pleasure, driving her to sensual heights unlike any she has ever known.

With each new erotic encounter stirring a loving bond between the three, Roxanne is tempted to accept the promise of the tapestry and make a new life and new home with the brothers. But she has trusted before and been painfully wrong, and she’s frightened by the whisperings of the brothers’ violent past. Unsure of herself and threatened anew when her merciless ex finds his way to her once again, Roxanne must trust her heart as the brothers vow to protect her and destroy her ex—and to give her a life and love she had never dreamed possible…

BUY LINKS:
Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07NLFVZYC/
Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/929612
Barnes & Noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1021397126
Kobo:
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/embroidered-fantasies-1

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:
Website: https://www.njwalters.com
Blog: https://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
Newsletter Group: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/awakeningdesires/info
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/njwaltersauthor
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/NJWalters
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters

School Days, school days
Dear old Golden Rule days

How many of us can fill in the three ‘R’s that make up the next line?

I’ll bet many, if not all of us can. Those three ‘R’s explain why, in this country, education prizes what’s right-brain over left-brain, what’s in the head over the heart or the spirit. But it’s what’s in our hearts and our spirits that enables us to thrive. It’s in our hearts and our spirits that the fourth ‘R’ lies, and this ‘R’ to my mind is so much more needed if I am ever to make use of the other three.

It’s this fourth ‘R’ that pulsed through Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive and Helen Reddy’s I Am Woman. It’s this fourth ‘R’ that showed up big time as thousands of women marched in January 2017 in Washington D.C. and all over the world. It’s this fourth ‘R’ that rings loudly and proudly in Maya Angelou’s poem “Still I Rise”. It’s this fourth ‘R’ that I found (and continue to find) over and over again as I research African-American women for my historical romances. I found inspiration for my latest heroine in one of those women, Frances E.W. Harper.

Born in 1825, Frances and her family were free blacks living in the then slave state of Maryland. She started publishing poetry in 1845 and wrote regularly for anti-slavery newspapers. She left Maryland in 1850 and taught at Union Seminary in Ohio. She began lecturing in 1854 and from 1856 to 1860 spoke for the Anti-Slavery Society in Maine. Imagine if you will the harassment a woman of color must have encountered during the pre-civil war era, yet she persisted. That takes heart. That takes spirit. In short, that’s resilience. During reconstruction she persisted in her activism, and in 1896 she helped found the National Association of Colored Women. By the time of her death in 1911, she had at least six collections of poems and several novels.

I’m grateful for women like Frances E.W. Harper and hope I do justice to the resilience in lives like hers by the resilient heroines I create for my stories.

From STRANDED, Put It In A Book
by Michal Scott

The daughter of ex-slaves, Aziza Williams uses her freedom to teach slaves to read, a law-breaking activity that forces her to flee the United States for the Free and Independent Republic of Liberia where her independent and injustice-confronting ways garner the unwanted sexual attention of a dibia, Dulee Morlu. In a cruel twist of fate, Morlu uses Aziza’s love for education against her and imprisons her in a book. He declares she will remain there until she submits to him. After a month of imprisonment, Aziza despairs that Morlu is right: no one will ever read her book. Fear that she may surrender to him begins to overwhelm her. Then one day, hope flutters through her spirit as she senses the unfamiliar touch of Sekou Caine, an audacious and inquisitive thief, leafing through her pages.

Excerpt:

A multiple volume encyclopedia stood on shelves at chest level in a far corner. Morlu would want his wealth within easy reach. Sekou pulled down the first volume and riffled through the pages. Paper currency of all types fluttered to his feet like leaves whirling from the branches of bombax trees in winter.

Clever, Dibia. But not clever enough.

Sekou chuckled and rifled through volume after volume. By the time he reached Z a pile of money lay on the floor. He scooped the cash into his swag sack, laughing quietly at his haul.

He thrust the last volume back into place, knocking a slender manuscript off the shelf.

The Story of Aziza.

He recognized the title of the book with which Morlu had taunted him. He picked it up, fanned the pages with his thumb. A sigh drifted past him. Startled, he crouched and looked left then right. Only the night breeze disturbed the silence. He fanned through the pages again. This time a scent – light like rain, sweet like honey – graced the air.

He stared at the face of a withered old hag on the book’s cover. The image had repulsed and fascinated him. The gaze in her eyes shone with intelligence and defiance, so unlike the villagers lionizing the dibia at this moment.

Sekou opened to the flyleaf. There the image of a black beauty stared back at him. Her skin was as smooth as the hag’s was wrinkled, but the same intelligent defiance shone in her eyes. He traced the outline of her chin jutting forth with pride.

“So, ladies…” He feathered his fingers along her full lips then examined the woman on the cover again. “To which one of you does this story belong?”

Aziza’s chest heaved. Warmth from the intruder’s fingers suffused the book’s cover, intoxicating her mind and her spirit with hope. The rapid flutter of her prison’s pages kindled arousal along her labia. She shivered as delight saturated her deadened limbs.

Once again, the rapid riffling of the pages sent tremors of pleasure through her. She knew not whose hand cradled her prison, but the respectful caress told her this couldn’t be her captor. Dared she hope this might be a person she could trust to set her free?

Pre-order link: https://amzn.to/2JyIK4V

About the Author

Michal Scott is the penname of Rev. Anna Taylor Sweringen, a retired United Church of Christ and Presbyterian Church USA minister. A native New Yorker, Anna is a recent transplant to the Southwest and is enjoying the great weather along with her husband of twenty-nine years and their two cats. Her loves of history and romance came together in her first novella with Wild Rose Press, One Breath Away.

Anna has been a member of Romance Writers of America since 2003 and holds membership in six of their chapters. She also writes inspirational romance as Anna Taylor and gothic romance as Anna M. Taylor. You can connect with Michal on Twitter @mscottauthor1 and learn more about her writing at www.michalscott.webs.com.

Some authors just know what they want to write and their work falls neatly into a predefined category. When I started writing, my work (awful as it was) splattered across several categories. I flirted with science fiction. I wallowed in fantasy. I careened into romance. In short, I often wrote the kind of stuff I liked to read—or wished I could find to read.

I basically still do the same.

Genres have expanded greatly since the digital revolution in book publishing, especially with self-publishing. Where once librarians catalogued books as either historical, romance, or fantasy, many search engines find books that span all three genres. Or, rather, the genres now have sub-genres to accommodate authors whose work doesn’t fit neatly into the overarching genre or category.

That said, I’m exploring other genres or, rather, sub-genres than what I’ve written and published earlier. In February, I finished a collaborative project with bestselling author Russ Towne who writes in two different genres: children’s literature and westerns. He manages to keep them quite separate; a feat I can’t seem to accomplish.

We released a compilation of 12 short stories (a couple edging into novella territory) taking place in the “old west,” the era between the Civil War and the turn of the 20th century when men were men, women were women, and the sheep were scared. Since I make my living as an editor and ghostwriter, we decided that I had the most flexibility. Therefore, I jumped over into his genre. Because I also have just enough graphic design training to be dangerous, we also agreed that I’d design the cover—with his input. We ended up with Six Shots Each Gun.

I had a lot of fun. If Russ ever asks me to collaborate again, I’ll jump at the chance. But I’m not sure that westerns are my preferred genre.

So, in my (voracious) reading, I came across yet one more alien abduction romance. Once again, the alien hero is a kinky alpha type who gets his jollies from controlling, dominating, and spanking his submissive heroine. (Why, for heaven’s sake, is the heroine always submissive?) Once again, the story followed the typical trajectory: the heroine gives up her entire life for eternal bliss as a doormat.

Ugh.

There followed the all too familiar spark of “I can do better than that.” (That spark is responsible for some of my other books, too.) Despite the improbability of science which states that humans are more biologically compatible with cabbages than with any alien life form, I hopped into the sub-genre of alien romance. I have to admit, it was slow going. However, in the last few of weeks of drafting the story, it caught fire. Finally.

I knew that book wasn’t going to be terribly long—and it’s not. At just a smidgen over 55,000 words, it barely edges in to novel length fiction. Because it’s supposed to sell, I stuck to some of the tropes of the sub-genre before going off the rails. If one hero’s good, then three must be better. So, we’ve got a reverse harem romance now. The heroes don’t abduct our heroine, her own government does. The heroes are, of course, tall, strong, alpha types: who wants wimpy heroes? But our heroine is no doormat, either, even when she has neither bargaining power nor authority.

The key twist in the trope hinges upon compromise. Everyone’s got to give up something for a relationship to work. Granted, the heroine gives up the most, but heroes who want to make their heroine happy must also do more than simply give her multiple orgasms.

The experiment in jumping into the alien romance sub-genre has been interesting, if only because I’ve got my SEO keywords ready: alien abduction reverse harem romance. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Because my stories dwell on the conflict between characters rather than outside events affecting the characters, the jump perhaps didn’t seem so jarring. After all, people are people, regardless of historical period or planet. See how well (or not) I managed that hop with Triple Burn, due for release in mid-April.

Will I return to alien romances? I doubt it. Strangely enough, my bestselling books are mafia romances that cross over into “New Adult” romance. I left the series open for a spin-off, but probably won’t return to that either. The exercise of writing in other genres (or sub-genres) stretches my mind and writing. I discover things about myself by pushing ever so slightly beyond my comfort zone. I fancy those discoveries hone what I already do well and improve what needs to be improved.

In exploring different genres and sub-genres, I have found my home in paranormal and fantasy romances. That’s where my imagination takes me and where my heart takes flight. That’s my niche, improved through exploration within other genres.

About Holly Bargo

Holly Bargo is a pseudonym, but really did exist as a temperamental Appaloosa mare fondly remembered for her outsized personality. Holly’s life still involves horses. She and her husband live on a hobby farm in southwest Ohio with the aforementioned horses, a clowder of cats, and one yellow-bellied coward of a Great Dane. And an elderly llama. We mustn’t forget the llama. Holly and her husband have two adult children, one graduating from university in May 2019, and the other enlisted in the military.

Her latest book is Six Shots Each Gun, co-authored with bestselling author Russ Towne. Click on the links for the e-book and paperback versions.

Holly is the author of over 20 titles, the latest of which include Bear of the Midnight Sun and Daughter of the Dark Moon.

Social Media Links:
• Website – https://www.henhousepublishing.com/
• Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Holly-Bargo/e/B00JRK6VGQ
• Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/HenHousePublishing1/
• Twitter – https://twitter.com/HollyBargoBooks
• Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.com/henhousep/

UPDATE: The winners is…Betty Sue!
*~*~*

©Diana Cosby 2019

I love creating characters and building a complex story, but I also enjoy making up the setting. I used to joke with one of my critique partners that I could write four pages describing a leaf falling to the ground. But, for me, there’s something magical about crafting the background for each scene.

As I write medieval romantic suspense, except for a trip to Scotland, Ireland, or England, or through the use of photographs, I’m left to create the setting for the story through my mind. Or, am I?

I love walking through the woods, and as an amateur photographer, enjoy taking photos of nature. Though the timeframe of my stories is hundreds of years ago, the scent of flowers, whisper of the wind through the trees, and brilliant sunsets would have existed back then.

So, as I move through the forest or walk into a clearing that exposes a scenic view, I take in the beauty of nature, the scents, and the sounds.

When I sit down to write, with the story running through my mind and thoughts for setting inspired from nature, I craft the next scene.

Contest: ***ONE winner will be drawn from everyone who posts on my guest blog post about, ‘Setting ‒ Inspiration From Nature,’ on Delilah’s blog between 24 February 2019 – 2nd March 2019. The winner will receive one of Diana’s mugs and a tote.

Diana Cosby, International Best-Selling Author
www.dianacosby.com
The Oath Trilogy
MacGruder Brother Series
Forbidden Series: Forbidden Legacy/Forbidden Knight/Forbidden Vow/Forbidden Alliance‒Aug. 6th 2019/Forbidden Realm TBA

About the Author

A retired Navy Chief, Diana Cosby is an international bestselling author of Scottish medieval romantic suspense. Books in her award-winning MacGruder Brothers series have been translated in five languages. Diana has spoken at the Library of Congress, Lady Jane’s Salon in NYC, and appeared in Woman’s Day, on USA Today’s romance blog, “Happy Ever After,” MSN.com, Atlantic County Women Magazine, and Texoma Living Magazine.

After her career in the Navy, Diana dove into her passion – writing romance novels. With 34 moves behind her, she was anxious to create characters who reflected the amazing cultures and people she’s met throughout the world. After the release of the bestselling MacGruder Brothers series, The Oath Trilogy, and the first two book of The Forbidden Series, she’s now working on book #4, Forbidden Realm, of the five-book series, which will be released August, 6th, 2019.

Diana looks forward to the years of writing ahead and meeting the amazing people who will share this journey.

Born in 1956, I’m a product of the “Say it loud I’m Black and I’m Proud” sixties and have always loved learning of the achievements of African-Americans. Many years ago I was pleasantly surprised to come across a box of flash cards of thirty-six famous African Americans. Martin Luther King Jr was prominently displayed on the cover, but I recognized miniatures of Marian Anderson and Mary McLeod Bethune. I bought it at once and hurried home with my prize. Imagine my surprise when I opened the box and discovered only six of the thirty-six were women! I was expecting half the cards to be dedicated to women. After all we are the other half the human race, right? I might have grudgingly settled for twelve, but six? I appreciated the six represented different firsts like Shirley Chisholm and Marian Anderson, historical champions like Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman, and two well-known in the Black community if not as well known in the larger society like Mary McLeod Bethune and Phillis Wheatley. But this collection was sending an unfortunate subliminal message, i.e. women don’t contribute equally to “the Race.” That disappointment sent me on a crusade.

I began collecting images of Black women whenever I came across them. Postcards, books, magazines, you name it. If it had an African-American woman on or in it, I bought it. I framed the images in dollar store box frames and put them on the walls of my apartment. My collection grew to over three hundred images, multiples of those who are household names like Billie Holiday, but the majority who were famous in their time like Ada Overton Walker. Born in 1880, she and her husband George Walker became well-known for their interpretation of the cakewalk.

Soon, I just started collecting images of any black woman or girl I found and framed those too. Even though nameless, they deserve to be noticed, too. So in honor of all the African-American women you’ve encountered over the years, please share their names so I can find their images and add them to my collection.

One Breath Away

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 is his mate 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:

“Will you let me help you?” He extended his hand, waited for permission.

She took his hand as he had taken hers and pressed his fingers to her wounded flesh. Pain, quick and sharp, flashed through her mind. She gasped and tugged his hand away, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t fight it.” He stayed close, stroked his thumb soothingly where the scar stretched beneath her ear. “Your fear gives it strength.”

The rhythm of his strokes calmed her fears, relaxed her body. She had no energy, no desire to resist. Her hands slipped from his wrist. Her arms hung limp at her sides. She closed her eyes.

“I—I’ve got to sit down or I’ll fall down.”

“Then fall.” His gaze held the assurance she needed. “I’ve caught you before. I’ll catch you again.”

On cue her knees buckled and she collapsed. He swept her into his arms with the ease of pushing a swinging door. She buried her face in his chest, wheezed, shuddered, wheezed again.

“Relax,” he cooed. “Relax. It’s your fear. Nothing more.”

She blinked, fought for breath through gritted teeth. “Bu—but my response is not nothing. It’s real fear.”

“Yes, it’s real, but not permanent. Your fear can be controlled and finally conquered.”

“Controlled?” She panted. Disbelief huffed out on each breath. “How?”

“With time…if you’re willing.” His mouth hovered a hair above hers. The warmth of his words whispered between her parted lips. “Are you willing?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

“Let me convince you.” He closed the gap between their mouths.

A hint of peppermint tooth powder boosted rather than masked the natural earthy taste of tooth and saliva. Each swipe of his tongue strengthened her spirit. God, she had heaven in her mouth.

She drowned in the moans vibrating from her throat. In her mind she surfaced for air, for relief, but the need for more pulled her back under. She wrapped her arms around his neck, invited him to plunge deeper, take her deeper. Desire warred with fear. In her heart she prayed.

God, please let desire win this time.

Book links:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2QfEOZd
Wild Rose Press: https://bit.ly/2Bim5o7

Social media links:
@mscottauthor1
Website: https://www.michalscott.webs.com

Backlist links:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2QfEOZd
Wild Rose Press: https://bit.ly/2As0Dui

Thank you to Delilah for hosting me today.

Do you prefer mountains or the beach? I enjoy both, but I love mountains most. I find them inspiring. I remember one trip, for instance, to Estes Park, Colorado several years ago. This magical trip occurred on the first weekend in October.

While we were there for a conference in which my husband participated, we stayed in a lovely hotel. Our room had a huge plate glass window view of the mountain. I had taken my laptop with the intention of writing while my husband was busy. This beautiful, slow snow came with giant snowflakes that stuck to the pine trees.

How can anyone be expected to work in those conditions? I confess that for the most part, I watched the snow fall. Where we live in the Fort Worth area of North Central Texas, we don’t get much snow—some years none. You can understand how fascinated I was with this lovely sight.

The conference featured a tour for spouses on Saturday afternoon. One of the sites we toured was the Stanley House Hotel, which Steven King supposedly used in THE SHINING. It’s a lovely hotel and not at all frightening. While we were walking through, a Regency reenactment group was holding a dance that looked entertaining.

Our tour guide said she lived in a haunted house that had had a poltergeist when she and her husband first moved there. She reported the poltergeist swept dishes off shelves and was a destructive nuisance . I’ll bet even Stephen King would find that frightening. I certainly would.

One evening, my husband and I strolled to the center of town. The elk that came up to feed and drink are protected and have right of way. I couldn’t help laughing at them as they wandered on and off the street and caused drivers to stop. This was the first time I’d seen an elk that wasn’t in a zoo.

I’ve been to Colorado several times, but this was the most memorable visit. I’ve written numerous books that take place in a mountain setting at different seasons. When I’ve done so, I recall the wonder of that trip. Perhaps to people who are used to a lot of snow, such scenes are annoying instead of awesome. To me, if was wonderful and unforgettable.

I relied on these memories for my latest release, GARNET, book 9 in the sweet western historical series, The Widows of Wildcat Ridge. Though GARNET is set in Utah, I picture the Wildcat Ridge Mountains resembling those on the Colorado trip I so enjoyed. In GARNET, a terrible mining tragedy has left many widows in town.

Here’s the book’s description:

Garnet Chandler is fighting to hold onto her café, her niece and nephew, and her sanity after the deaths of her husband, his brother, and his sister-in-law. A persistent prowler and the threat of losing custody of her niece and nephew spur her to action. She doesn’t need another man, but she needs a husband long enough to convince the children’s grandparents she can offer them a stable home.

Bounty hunter Adam Bennett was ready to settle down when his friend was killed by a horse thief. He set out to capture the man who had also killed a guard when escaping prison. Adam must have let down his defenses because the man he followed and two cohorts waylaid Adam, beating him and stealing all his possessions before kicking him down a steep ravine. Adam is determined to capture the three as soon as he heals from their encounter.

Garnet and Adam join forces to achieve both their goals but will that be enough?

The buy link is https://getbook.at/garnetWOWR . GARNET is available in e-book and will soon be available in print. Of course, it’s free in KU.

Here’s an excerpt…

A loud rap at the back door startled her. She kept the curtains closed unless they were serving food and couldn’t see who had knocked.

Joey grabbed his stick. “Don’t answer it. Might be the robber there.”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “Or a friend who needs something.” Joey didn’t know the Colt .45 was in her apron pocket. After taking a deep, bracing breath, she opened the door.

The dirtiest man she’d ever seen stood there. His beard was as dirty as his clothes. Fresh cuts showed through the mud on his face. He was tall and broad-shouldered but looked as if he could barely stand.

“Ma’am, my name is Adam Bennett. Please don’t be put off by my appearance. I was robbed up the mountain a ways and lost all my gear. I’m mighty hungry. If you need anything done, I like to work for a meal.”

Joey was by her side. “He isn’t the one from last night.” All the same, her nephew kept his pick handle in his hand.

“We’re the Chandlers. Come in and sit down. Wait, wash your hands and face at the sink first. You can’t handle food while you’re that filthy.”

While the man washed his hands, she filled a plate from leftovers and poured a cup of coffee. “Joey, please get my medicine box from upstairs.”

He leaned close. “I don’t think I should leave you alone while he’s here.”

Joey took being man of the family seriously. “Oh, all right. Hyacinth, would you get the medicine box for me?”

“How come he doesn’t have to and I do?” Usually sweet, Hyacinth was a bit spoiled and definitely jealous of her brother.”

“Because Mr. Bennett is injured and needs our help. Please hurry.”

Her niece stomped up the stairs while muttering under her breath, her golden curls bouncing with each step.

When Garnet glanced at the man, she saw he’d wolfed down his food. “I’ll get you more. How long since you’ve eaten?”

“Not sure how long I was in and out of consciousness up there. They attacked me on Saturday morning. What day is this?”

“Monday. No wonder you’re hungry.” She set another plate of food in front of him and refilled his cup.

Contest

I’ll be giving away an e-book copy of GARNET to two people who comment today. Tell me your most memorable vacation in a comment to enter.

Did you ever see a dream walking? Well, I did…and I’m not just quoting that old 1933 song of the same name. In her poem, “Still I Rise”, Maya Angelou penned these words:

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave

Every time I look in a mirror, I realize I may be some slave’s dream walking.

Somewhere in North Carolina, my great-grandmother Julie Pitt Hagan’s people were owned by a man named Pitt. On January 1, 1863 when Abraham Lincoln issued the final Emancipation Proclamation, which declared “that all persons held as slaves” within the rebel states “are, and henceforward shall be free,” the slaves on the Pitt plantation could consider themselves freed.

I wonder did Julie’s people gather and listen to a reading of the proclamation as depicted in this 1864 engraving printed by James Watts? If they did, did they dream and hope of a descendant like me, owned by no one but herself? If they did, have I — their descendent — lived a life that realized their dreams and hopes?

The Brooklyn church I served once held a Watchnight service to ring in the new year. When the clock struck twelve, we ended the service with the reading of the Emancipation Proclamation. As the words were read, I experienced the anticipation – and trepidation — my ancestors might have felt as January 1 1863 brought with it the possibility of freedom. I felt inspired to live a life worthy of my ancestors’ dreams and hopes. As I worshipped that night I recalled Martin Luther King Jr.’s 1963 dream that called for economic and social justice for all. I resolved to make that dream my dream, too.

This month as we honor Dr. King’s life and work, I encourage you to think about the dreams and hopes of your ancestors, reflect on the dreams and hopes of all people everywhere continuing to rise above circumstances and conditions that conspire to keep them down. You, like me, are somebody’s dream, somebody’s hope. Be a dream walking, see dreams walking all around you and do all you can to bring them pass.

Better to Mary Than to Burn

 
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.

Book links:
Wild Rose Press – https://bit.ly/2DHdb0x
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2JyLKu1

Excerpt:

Caesar looked at Queen. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. She gasped then swallowed hard, unnerved by the sight. Her lips trembled.

Reverend Warren smiled at Queen then addressed Caesar. “You may kiss the bride.”

Kiss? Queen flinched. There’d be no kissing in this marriage. She’d promised to be his wife for two years with sex provided at agreed upon intervals. At the end of two years that requirement would end and she’d be free to live as she chose. She could go anywhere she pleased, especially with the respectability of missus before her name and Caesar’s promised severance. No. This coupling made them business partners. Business partners did not kiss.

She extended her hand to seal their arrangement. He returned the handshake but instead of releasing her, his too rough fingers imprisoned hers and pulled her to him. With his other hand he captured the back of her head and secured her mouth to his.

A squeal of surprise parted her lips. His thick tongue swept into the shelter of her mouth. The assault ambushed her with pleasure and vanquished her resistance.

Her hands rose, as if of their own volition, and pressed against his chest. The firm muscle beneath his shirt coaxed her hands to linger, to explore—however discretely—the muscle beneath her palms and fingertips.

Caesar broke off the kiss.

The embrace didn’t last more than a few seconds, but Queen swayed, robbed of reason and resentment.

Reverend Warren handed Caesar the marriage certificate and shook his hand. Queen stood, mouth gaping, startled by the confusion roiling through her mind, amazed by the moisture roiling in her sex.

With a simple kiss, this bull of a man had exhumed the sexual hunger she’d thought buried.

“Thanks for being available, Pastor.” Caesar shook the minister’s hand. “Mother Maybelle.” He hugged and kissed the older woman. Again, their affection stirred an unexpected sympathy in Queen’s chest. She sucked in a breath to dispel it.

He gripped Queen by the upper arm and hauled her back to the wagon.

“What’s the rush?” she asked.

He hoisted her up to the seat by her waist before she could object. She swallowed the gasp elicited by the press of possession in his grasp.

“Daylight’s burning,” he stated. “Don’t want to be caught out after dark.”

Queen eyed his lips, their fullness still remembered against her mouth. She shifted several times but found no relief from the pressure pulsing along her labia. Good Lord, how was she to make sense of so strong a physical reaction to this stranger? Had celibacy left her defenseless against physical contact from anyone?

Or was this physical attraction genuine?