Happy Release Day to me

Today, I gave birth to my 17th baby. No, not literally…I would be in a straight jacket. By this I mean that I self-published my 17th book. I’ve accomplished so much in the two years since I stepped out on faith and decided to follow my dream, which was to become a published author. It hasn’t always been easy, but I wouldn’t change anything about my literary  journey.

So, help me celebrate the birth of my latest book by heading over to Amazon and 1-clicking your copy of Book 2 in The Divorce Chronicles mini-series. The paperback version will be available in a few days as well. If you read and liked the first book, you should enjoy this one too. The buy link is available below. Thank you all for your support, it means a lot to a still relatively unknown self-published author.


Click the link below to purchase this book on Kindle.




Sample Sunday: The Divorce Chronicles 2

**unedited and subject to change before release**

divorce2Angela Bassett Moment: 

The full-sized bookcase headboard bed that had been handed down to me by my mother years ago had been replaced with a king size white diamond sleigh bed. Even more noticeable than the beautiful bed was the black and white zebra print comforter set-which was accented by hot pink decorative pillows- and the dozen or so shopping bags that set on top of it. I could definitely tell that a woman had a hand in the bedroom décor because Mike is a man’s man and there’s no way he would ever choose such a girly look for the bedroom if it were left up to him; nor would he wear the Nicki Minaj Pink Friday perfume and makeup that was scattered on top of the dresser.

My breathing increased and I began seeing red. So, he’s moved his whore up in my house already, huh?! I walked over and looked inside the bags on the bed. There were items from Victoria’s Secret, Bath & Body Works, and Pink Oasis- a store that sold slutty clothes to THOT’s around the world. To chicks like Daphne, this store was their version of Lord & Taylor. I emptied the items out of the Pink Oasis bags and studied the tacky mesh jumpsuits and skin-tight pattern print mini-dresses, all in loud colors.The one I have in my hand at the moment is a black tube dress with hip cutouts that leaves little to the imagination. Mike had obviously treated her to a shopping spree at the mall, because the receipts showed the last four digits of his debit card number, which had been used to purchase this stuff. Really, Mike?! I’m not a prude, by any means…but I would never wear this stuff. I don’t know any respectable woman who would.

I spent the next several minutes perusing the other bags and the countless Payless shoe boxes on the bed. My husband cheated on me with a hooker who wears cheap dresses and Payless shoes? Even worse than that, he’s moved her up in the house-MY HOUSE-and has her sleeping in a brand new bed, when he knew damn well the bed we’d shared was so old and uncomfortable, we could feel the springs in our backs. The loud, irritating squeaking noises the bed made every time we moved prevented us from ever getting a good night’s sleep.

My nostrils flared as I looked around the room. He couldn’t upgrade his wife, but he didn’t seem to have a problem upgrading his whore, who has definitely made her presence made around my house. I remember when I asked him for $20.00 one day to put gas in the car and he acted like I’d asked his ass for two million dollars. I still get mad when I think about how he acted all huffy with me, like he didn’t want to give me the money when he’s the one who drove my car and used all my damn gas anyway. Then he had the nerve to throw the money down on the table at me- like he expected me to fetch it like a dog or something- instead of putting it in my hand. “Nah, if that’s your attitude, you can keep your money,” I’d told him. And he didn’t hesitate to pick it up and put it back in his wallet. Cheap bastard!

‘Oh, but you can treat ol’ girl to shopping sprees at the mall with no problem, huh Mike? Oh, okay!’ I talked out loud to myself as if Mike were standing in the room with me.

I went on a rampage, tearing up and destroying anything my eyes set sight on. Tears mixed with snot ran down my face, but I didn’t care at the moment. I continued to talk to myself out loud- just like Angela Bassett did in my favorite movie, Waiting To Exhale– as I destroyed all of Daphne’s things: ‘After all I’ve done for this negro, this is how he repays me? I screwed his ass when he wanted it…however he wanted it; cooked his meals, washed his funky ass drawers, smelled his stank farts when he passed gas in his sleep. Where was Ms. Thang at when he had a common head cold, yet he acted like his ass had pneumonia and was about to die? Was she the one slaving over the hot stove, cooking him a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup just like his mama used to make for him, because he claims he simply can’t eat the stuff out of the can? Hell nah! Was she the one he called into the bathroom to squeeze the nasty infection out of the pimples and blackheads that he got often from him bacne flair ups? Fuck nah! Was she the one who was patient with him and held him down every time he was ‘between jobs’ and didn’t have money to help pay the rent? I think not. Damn you, Mike.’

I felt myself getting dizzy a few minutes later. Tired and out of breath, I let my body slide down the wall until my butt hit the floor. I sat and cried, using my sleeve to wipe my face. I effed this room up, that’s for damn sure. The words to Jazmine Sullivan’s song, Bust Your Windows came to mind: ‘After five whole years of this bullshit…gave you all of me and you played with it..’ Yep, that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now. Am I wrong? Maybe. But imagining the look on Mike’s face when he sees the mess I’ve made makes me feel better. Hell, he’ll be alright, and she will too. They’d better be lucky I got tired, because there’s a whole lot of more damage I could do.

I sat for a minute and caught my breath, but the tears kept falling. Here I was, thinking I’ve been a good wife, and Mike has been out laying it low and spreading it wide somewhere else. My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. It’s Simone. I wasn’t going to answer her at first, but maybe talking to her will calm my nerves.

Cover Reveal: The Divorce Chronicles 2

I am so excited to show you all the book cover for Book 2 of my series, The Divorce Chronicles (which I designed myself). I got so many compliments on the cover for Book 1. I wanted to make the covers and colors pop and stand out. Due to the fact that there are limited stock images featuring African-Americans, it’s easy to see why so many author’s book covers and models look the same; so I decided to go with vector images instead, and I absolutely love the results.

If you haven’t read book one yet, click the link to get your copy.


Readers thought Book 1 was as informative as it was hilarious, so you won’t want to miss it. Also, Book 2 picks up where Book 1 left off, only instead of focusing on Simone, I’ve shifted focus to her best friend and confidant, Danielle, who has discovered that her marriage to her husband, Mike isn’t as solid as she thought it was. Check out the cover for Book 2 below.


Sample Sunday: The Divorce Chronicles (Book 2)

Keep_Calm_Coming_SoonComing Soon!

**unedited and subject to change before book is released**

“Can you believe this negro had the nerve to tell me that he’s going to call the police on me for trashing his house?” I asked Simone before taking a sip of my Ameretto sour cocktail.

It’s been a few days since I wrecked havoc on Mike’s crib, and Simone suggested that we go out, to celebrate my ‘almost’ divorce from Mike. We’re sipping on drinks at The Purple Palace jazz club while enjoying music from the house band.

“I told you he was gonna call the cops on you. What did you expect, messing up his stuff like that?”

I waved her comment off with a nonchalant wave. “Girl, I ain’t worried about Mike calling the police on me.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not. I told him that if he calls the police on me, he’ll just be bringing unwanted attention to the little side-hustle he has going on…and he definitely doesn’t want that.”

“What side hustle?”

“Apparently, he’s selling weed, and God only knows what else.”

Simone’s eyes widened. “How do you know he’s selling drugs?”

“Because I found his stash while I was looking for my suitcase in the closet the other day. And it’s not just a little bag or two…there was at least twenty bags of weed in there, along with a scale and about one thousand dollars in cash.”

Simone gasped. “Mike’s a drug dealer?!” she said, a little too loudly.

“Keep your voice down,” I said, while casting a quick glance at the bartender, who was trying to pretend like he wasn’t ear hustling on our conversation.

“I’m just saying, how did you not know your husband…”

“That’s my soon-to-be-ex-husband,” I corrected her.

“Okay, your soon-to-be-ex-husband was selling drugs in your house?”

“Hell, I went to work everyday, and I put in long hours at the salon; I didn’t have time to sit around and watch Mike’s every move.”

“What if he gets caught and he tries to say that you were in on it the whole time? You’ll be going to jail for real.”

“I thought about that. That’s why I didn’t do what I started to do and keep the money. I left everything where it was. So, if he gets caught, he’s on his own…him and that little slut he left me for.”

Before Simone could respond, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find an older man who looked to be in his fifties, standing there grinning at me.

“Hey, sweet thang…you wanna dance with me?”

I gave him a quick once-over. “No thanks…maybe later,” I told him with my nose turned up in the air.

“I’ma hold you to that,” he winked before sauntering off.

“Why you didn’t wanna dance with him?” Simone asked me after he left.

“Girl, dude is rocking a Al Sharpton press-and-curl and gold chains; he looks like Jerome off Martin. All he’s missing is the gold teeth.”

Simone cracked up laughing. “He doesn’t look that bad.”

“Well let me call him back over here and you can dance with him, then.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Besides, I don’t want no old man; I like my men young and strong with good stamina…like that cute tenderoni who played Kunta Kinte in the new Roots. Did you see it?”

“I watched some of it…until I started getting mad, then I changed the channel.”

“Girrlll, well I tuned in every night so I could see Kunta. He made my kitty moist looking at him running through those African jungles, all hot and sweaty…” I said while squirming on my barstool and fanning myself. “He could definitely get it.”

Simone just looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Him and any other man under thirty. You better leave those young boys alone.”

“The hell I will. I love me some young men. I can train them just right.”

“Obviously you couldn’t train Mike,” Simone said sarcastically under her breath but loud enough for me to hear.

“Oh, that was such a low blow, bitch. You didn’t even have to go there.”

“That was pretty mean, huh?”

“Hell yeah, it was. You can buy me another drink to make it up to me.”

While Simone called the bartender over, I looked around the room, trying to see if I could find a potential candidate to spend the rest of the night with when we leave here. So far, all I see are men my age and older. I was glad when Simone suggested to come to this lounge because the age requirement to get in is twenty-five and above, which means there are men here young enough to be my type. The only bad part about it is I have to compete with these hot in the tail, twenty-something year old girls walking around with their silicone enhanced booties and tata’s on display, soaking up all the attention from the young cuties I’m hoping to attract.

My eyes landed on two men sitting at the opposite end of the bar. I caught eyes with one of them, who smiled and winked an eye at me, flirting with me. He has a perfect set of pearly whites, and his baby face suggests that he can’t be more than twenty-five. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, the sleeves hugging his bulging bi-ceps and showing off his muscles. He just doesn’t know- winking at me will get his little young ass molested up in here.

Our eyes talked to each other from where we sat. No words were needed…it was clear we both liked what we saw. I’m glad that I wore this low cut, v-neck top- so he can get an eyeful of my cleavage, which he can’t take his eyes off of. My boobies put Tocarra’s from America’s Next Top Model’s to shame, and I loved to show them off. Since he’s watching, I’ll put on a show for him. I took an ice cube from my glass and sucked on it seductively before accidentally-on purpose letting it slip out of my hands and down the front of my shirt. I took my time about digging the ice cube out of my shirt. By the time I removed it, my nipples were standing at attention. I looked up at him and winked.

“You are so thirsty,” Simone said, her voice full of disgust.

“I sure am, and I’m hoping that sexy piece of chocolate will quench my thirst as soon as we get up out of here.”

“After that pathetic show you just put on, I’ll bet his little dick is hard as hell right now.”

“Lawd, I hope so. I’m about to go find out. Excuse me.” I stood up, preparing to make my way over to where the two chocolate God’s were sitting.

“You are not about to go over there?! You don’t even know them,” Simone exclaimed.

I don’t know why she always acts so shocked at how forward I am when it comes to men. When I see something I want, I go for it…I’ve always been this way. “I sure am. I’m about to give him something he can feel, baby…and he’s gonna like it, too,” I laughed, singing the words to Aretha Franklin’s classic song that was remade by En Vogue in the 90’s. I adjusted my girls, making sure they were sitting up just right in my push-up bra. In my mind, Giving Him Something He Can Feel played in the background as I sexily sashayed over to sit down on the stool beside who I hope to be rolling around the bed in the throes of passion with by the end of the night. I’m not looking for a husband to replace Mike…not just yet; but I am not opposed to getting my freak on while I’m waiting on my divorce to be finalized.