Loelle walked stiffly through the airport, skirting the wall as she wove her way through the masses of people arriving and departing. Sweat beaded her forehead, dampening the edges of her hairline, causing the fine strands to curl. Even with the air conditioning, the press of people and the anxiety mushrooming inside her was overwhelming. A dull ache thumped along her temples and behind her eyes. Her doctor had warned of migraines. Unfortunately, she had packed her medication in her checked suitcase. She released a long sigh of relief when she made it to the baggage claim area. The throbbing in her head increased to Mount Vesuvius proportions causing her to moan aloud. Loelle approached the carousel and waited for her bags to roll through. A three-foot bubble of space surrounded her as most of the passengers on her flight already departed. There was some comfort in knowing that after she left the airport, she wouldn’t have to deal with people again until she returned to Miami. But even that assurance did little to ease the crushing pain in her brain. Finally, her suitcase appeared through the thick plastic curtains and made its way toward her. Loelle reached down and snatched the smallest of her two bags from the carousel. Unfortunately, the strain of bending increased the pressure in her head. As she waited for her larger suitcase to appear, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. Her heart seized in her chest as the urge to flee gripped her. But instinct took over. She wasn’t going out like before. She grabbed the offending hand, twisted it at the wrist and, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, hurled her assailant over her shoulder.
Monday, June 7 at 12:30 p.m. I will be part of a host of authors featured during I Am Enough Talk Show’s 1st International Summertime Virtual Book Fair. Hope you all are able to stop by. A link to the event is forthcoming. You can watch live at http://www.iamenough365.com.
Camille Jacobs appreciated a gorgeous man.
Especially one that was strong and tall, leaving her head raised, neck arched, and gut tingling as she gazed up into a pair of arresting eyes.
Why wouldn’t she? She was still a hot-blooded—okay, warm-blooded—woman with a healthy sex drive, even though it had been a while since she’d gone for a ride. Starting her own skincare company, Naturally You, and maintaining its continued success had wreaked havoc on her libido.
But when life brought her an Adonis who filled a business suit better than David Gandy, she couldn’t help but take notice. Especially after slamming into the rock-hard wall of his chest on her way out of the women’s restroom.
Her fingers flexed into the quality fabric of the suit jacket as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
Shock reverberated through her like an earthquake, and she froze. She recognized that voice.
His smooth, cultured tone held the hint of an Asian accent. It was a voice Camille had prayed she’d never hear again, one she only heard in her dreams.
“Seung-ju,” she gasped.
She drank in his appearance for her parched eyes. Six feet with an athletic build. Camille forced her fingers not to run the length of him. His hair was cropped short, shorter than she remembered, and facial hair graced his upper lip and chin in the style of a goatee, framing a full of set lips that Camille longed to kiss. His mouth pursed, sharply defining the laugh lines and dimples in his cheek. He had slanted, hazel eyes fringed by thick long lashes that often concealed what he was thinking—except for now. There was no mistaking the anger that flashed in those eyes, darkened now by the dim light. Camille peered closely into those magnetic orbs and nearly gasped at the passion that overwhelmed the anger and took center stage.
“I always loved how you say my name,” he said, “how it sends a thrill straight to my—”
Camille slapped a hand to his mouth to keep him from finishing his comment. A woman, tipsy from one too many cocktail drinks, rammed into her, causing Camille to stumble once more. Seung-ju grabbed her shoulders, preventing a fall and eliminating any chance for her to turn tail and run.
“You know you’ve got some explaining to do,” he murmured.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“No, I think you’ve got plenty,” he said before turning her around and pulling her down the darkened hallway toward the exit. She dug in her heels, determined not to go anywhere with him. Undeterred, he wrapped a steely arm about her waist and hoisted her up against his side as if she weighed no more than a down pillow. She inhaled, prepared to give an earful of words that would surely redden the ears of a priest, when he tightened his grip, siphoning off her air supply.
“As much as I’d love to hear you scream, now is not the time.”
Check out the release of my second novel, The Chaebol’s Wife, a Asian Man/Black Woman multicultural romance. Available at Amazon!
With the life of her unborn child in danger, Camille Jacobs had no choice but to flee Seoul, South Korea, and the man who made her heart soar.
Four years later, after the launch of her start-up skincare line, Camille is a successful, single mother who has taken the skincare industry by storm. In need of a new sourcing company to meet her clientele’s demand, Camille strikes a deal with the devil—her estranged husband, Seung-ju Park, who still leaves her weak in the knees. But is passion enough to make Camille rethink marriage and a life with Seung-ju, or will old problems succeed in destroying her?
Seung-ju was amazed by the passion that roared to life at the sight of his wife. Camille stokes a desire in him that demands to be satiated. As the CEO of IPCorp Industries, a deal to source her skincare line would open the door for him to finally slake his obsession of her and put her out of his mind for good. Yet Seung-ju realizes that just one taste of Camille isn’t enough; he would need an eternity to love her and drink his fill. But a secret threatens to destroy his feelings for her, hurtling them to the point of no return.
As any writer will tell you, part of being an author is creating and maintaining your author platform. How wonderful it would be if we could spend our days writing and spitting out books to our heart’s content. But, how would those profound creations get into the hands of readers? Promotion! Promotion! Promotion! We must break free of our comfort zone and become the best advocate or promoter for our novels. Social media is only one vehicle out of many that can be used to get the word out about your book. There’s press releases, blogs, library tours and virtual book tours.
Over the last few months, I had been working like a fiend to promote my debut novel, Need You Now, as much as I could, and I’m still not finished…and I don’t think I will be anytime soon. One thing I pushed for was trying to get people to provide a review once they read the novel. Reviews are like gold and they help spread the word about an author’s work.
For the most part, the reviews had been great and a real confidence booster. But one day, I received my first one-star review. OUCH! I was devastated, and I wanted to curl up in my hotel bed (because at the time I was on vacation at a Dominican resort) with the covers drawn completely over my body, shielding me from the rest of the world. I spent the better part of the night recalling the countless hours I spent plotting my novel and belly aching over character development to make my novel the best it could be. I found myself searching authors I knew, those who have been writing and have been published for a while, to see if they had one-star ratings, and to my surprise, most of them had. It was oddly comforting to see that, in this, there was a community of writers who had experienced the same thing and they didn’t allow it to stop them from doing what they enjoy doing and that’s write.
I later discovered an article that discussed how to get over the dreaded one star review. One significant point of interest I took from this article was that people are going to either like or dislike my book. There’s no escaping it, but the article went further on to encourage its readership by explaining that if the reviewer took the time to write a detailed review, the author should consider using the critique to help improve with the next novel.
After recovering from the overwhelming feelings of rejection, I took this bit of advice to heart. I finished writing on book 2, which I didn’t have my writing tribe from when I worked on my thesis/debut novel in graduate school, and began writing two novellas. So, reviews like this one, even though it felt like I had been stabbed in the heart with a dagger straight from the hell fires of Mordor, helped make me a better and more committed writer as I revise Love Me Now. There’s always room for improvement. The beautiful thing about people is that we’re all so wonderfully different. Everyone isn’t going to like what you produce, while those who do will leave you riding on cloud nine. Use both types of reviews, negative and positive, to mature you into a seasoned writer.
I can’t even begin to express how much of a blessing the last few days have been. Although they were extremely hectic days, there was a constant and surreal excitement that remain with me the entire time. I couldn’t wipe the firmly planted smile from my face. On the day of my book launch, all my family and friends gathered to wish me the best and purchase my book.
You’ve got understand that this has been a dream of mine since I was 11! When I didn’t own a typewriter, I would write my poetry and stories out by hand to the point I had a permanent dent along my middle finger from pressing my ink pen or pencil too hard. There were so many excuses that deferred my dream: college, the military, marriage, children, life in general. But if I’m to be honest, I would say the biggest reason was fear. I was afraid that I wasn’t good enough and I feared judgement and possibly ridicule of some sort.
Around my late thirties, I decided I wanted to go back to school to earn my graduate degree and discovered a wonderful program at Seton Hill University in Greensburg, PA where I could learn the vital mechanics of writing and finish a work in progress. I submitted my ten sample pages and was accepted. In Seton Hill’s program, I began to shed off the weight of fear. Through their writing workshops, I began to look at criticism as a means to become a better writer. I spent hours hacking and revising my manuscript until it became a thesis that would pass industry-standard muster. I’m so thankful for the professors, my mentors, critique partners and the host of friends (all phenomenal writers in their own rite). I made it through that program. The experience gave me the confidence I needed in my middle age to go after a dream I’ve had for more than three decades.
Unfortunately, afterwards, life threw well-placed punches and tribulations, and I placed my cap and gown, stole, diploma and completed manuscript away, and forgot about my dream once again. It wasn’t until life hit me below the belt, I shook off the fog of depression and regained hold of my dream and queried my novel to publishers. I was determined not to allow anything keep me from going after what the Lord had clearly gifted me. Two months later, I received not one, but two offers for my manuscript! They weren’t from the big publishers we’re all familiar with, but they both were willing to give me an opportunity to publish my book.
And now here I am, a year later, with my debut novel published through The Wild Rose Press. To God be ALL the glory for making this possible, and to you all for your support. I may need plastic surgery to take this smile off of my face. 😀
I’ve been silent over the last few months, but for a good reason.Writing! My debut novel Need You Now finally made it through the editing phase, received a beautiful cover and a release date of June 28, 2017. This whole experience has been surreal to me, as if I have been walking around in a dream, watching my life play out before my very eyes. Since I was eleven years old, I had always wanted to be a writer. I remember getting calluses on the middle finger of my right hand, because I would press down extremely hard on my ink pen or pencil in a desperate attempt to get the words in my head on paper. I would spend hours writing short stories and poetry. In a way, I’m a little upset with myself for waiting so long to achieve my dream and yet I’m so proud of myself for not giving up. My heart is filled with so much joy right now, it could burst. Just a few moments ago, my mom called to tell me that a box with copies of her book arrived on her doorstep. This is happening people! And I’m so thankful to God for giving me this gift, and the spirit to continue to press toward my goal.