Dressed to Unimpress #Snippet


New Balance Running Shoes

Snippet from the upcoming Family Matters. Attorney Olivia Chandler is stepping further out of her comfort zone for new love, Bruce Bellamy.

Olivia argued with herself the entire drive to Bruce’s home.

The New Balance running shoes felt foreign on her feet.

Purchased over a year ago, Olivia wore the shoes two to three times a week when she worked out in her home gym.

But she’d never worn them outside of her home, much like any athletic apparel…or the jeans she wore today.

She adopted a habit of wearing tailored business suits and heels before leaving law school. The only things which varied were the style of the suit and height of her heels.

Olivia slowed and stopped at a traffic light rubbing her hand down the leg of her jeans.

Margot was right. Olivia was wound too tight… and boring.

Her idea of casual dress leaned toward a light, spring dress accompanied by a blazer, and ballerina flats… but only on non-court days.

The light turned green and Olivia accelerated through the intersection.

Get over yourself, Chandler! People dress casually every day, stop trying to have an anxiety attack. This is for Bellamy, so suck it up!

Warmth enveloped her body as thoughts of the man she was falling in love with filled Olivia’s head. Anxiety over clothing vanished. The corners of Olivia’s mouth twitched as she remembered his admonishment.

“Under no circumstances are you to show up in your lawyer clothes, counselor.”

He chuckled at the horrified expression on her face.

“Please, Olivia? Do this for me. I want the kids to see the real you, not the Olivia-mask the world sees every day.”

Olivia sobered at his words and promised to dress casually.

Bruce pulled her into his arms. “Besides, my specialty dish is considered comfort food and best enjoyed… while you’re comfortable.” He’d claimed her lips before she could respond, kissing Olivia deeply. He pulled away and pushed a small shopping bag into Olivia’s hands. Bruce backed toward the front door.

“Whatever you decide to wear,” he motioned to the bag, “you have to wear that with it.”

Olivia didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in Bruce’s eyes as he all but ran out the door to his truck. He winked as he slid into the driver’s seat and blew her a kiss as he sped away.

She stood in her doorway shaking her head. Remembering the Halloween costumes Bruce chose for them, inklings of dread caused her to shudder. Olivia stepped back inside her foyer, closing the door. She held the bag out at arm’s length and smirked.

“Now what have you gotten me into, Bellamy?”

 

©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

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2017 52-Week Writing Challenge – Winner! #MondayBlog



When the Writing Cooperative announced their 52 Week Writing Challenge in January 2017, I thought long and hard about entering. I wasn’t fond of writing challenges and had problems sticking with some which were only ten to fourteen days.

But a year? Me?

I threw caution to the wind and signed up and figured any amount of time in the challenge would be good practice and help me work out a writing regimen I could stick with.

I sailed through the first three months.

I mentally reprimanded myself for fearing something which was too easy for words.

And then April happened. Hello Reality check!

Between my husband’s hospitalization for a serious infection related to his ESRD (End Stage Renal Disease) and me, getting hit with the mother of all Fibromyalgia flare-ups, I was done.

I had two submissions saved in Scrivener and decided after posting them, I was out of the challenge. I’d missed editing and publishing deadlines for my debut novel’s book two, no way could I also be stressed over a writing challenge.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

Writers can be a quirky bunch, and whether we’re burning the midnight oil editing or rising before dawn to flesh out characters and plots, we make our families (and close friends) aware of our projects and schedules.

Why?

So, they’ll understand missed appointments, preoccupations with fictional characters, or if dinner is late… or pizza… again.

But we also keep family and friends in the loop because they’re our first level of support… and our biggest cheerleaders.

Time passed, and I submitted the two completed pieces to the challenge with no plans to continue.

My family had other ideas.

Our three adult children took turns passing through and staying for a night or two with me until their dad was discharged.

(Told you guys I needed a supervisor!)

When the mister was finally discharged, I was ready to sleep for a week.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

The oldest blindsided me with, “Is your weekly writing challenge done?”

I was floored. This is the guy who thinks I write Victorian romances starring Fabio! God’s honest truth… I kid you not! Other than a couple of early story outlines, he’s never read a word I’ve written and probably never will. So, when he called me out, what else could I do but write?

That was the week I wrote Dumped, based on a true encounter I had with a homeless man when I was six months pregnant with HRH, the firstborn!

I won’t say it was easy, but I never considered quitting again after that.

And it paid off… even if the timing wasn’t the best.

Just hours after we lost my mother-in-law on January 12th, I received a congratulatory email naming me the winner of the 2017 52-Week Writing Challenge.

I was shocked, excited, and grateful… still am. But Life and family had to come first.

We’ve fallen back into our routines again, and it’s time to go to work.

My prize is a publishing package from the great folks at Standout Books, so I need to give them something to publish.

Wish me luck.

 

 

George Coleman Poage 1880-1962 #Olympian


 

George Poage


George Coleman Poage (November 6, 1880–April 11, 1962) was the first African-American athlete to win a medal in the Olympic Games, winning two bronze medals at the 1904 games in St. Louis.

The Milwaukee Athletic Club sponsored Poage to compete in the 1904 Summer Olympics in St. Louis, Missouri. Many prominent African-American leaders had called for a boycott of the games to protest racial segregation of the events in St. Louis. An integrated audience was not allowed at either the Olympics or the World’s Fair as the organizers had built segregated facilities for the spectators.  Poage chose to compete in four events and became the first African-American to medal in the Games by winning the bronze in both the 200-yard and 400-yard hurdles.

Sculptor Elmer Petersen created this statue of George Poage for the city of La Crosse.

 

From Wikipedia and Google

Ann Cole Lowe 1898 – 1981



Ann Cole Lowe (1898 – February 25, 1981) was an American fashion designer and the first African American to become a noted fashion designer. Lowe’s one-of-a-kind designs were a favorite among high society matrons from the 1920s to the 1960s. In 1953, she designed the ivory silk taffeta wedding dress worn by Jacqueline Bouvier when she married Senator John F. Kennedy.


Image from Pinterest

Song Lyric Sunday | “Mr. Telephone Man” – New Edition


Song Lyric Sunday banner


Song Lyric Sunday was created by Helen Vahdati from This Thing Called Life One Word at a Time. For complete rules or to join in the fun, click here.

The theme for Song Lyric Sunday this week is “phone calls/calling”. 

———

I reached deep into the WayBack Machine for this 1984 hit from New Edition, Mr. Telephone Man. The number one R & B song was penned by Ray Parker, Jr. of Ghostbusters fame. (Who ya’ gonna call?)

The group’s youngest member, Bobby Brown, was fifteen at the time, which means this group of teenagers are now all in their forties AND fifties! Feel old yet? You’re welcome! 😀

See the Song Lyric Sunday selection on Nesie’s Place.

———

Disclaimer: I have no copyrights to the song and/or video and/or hyperlinks to songs and/or videos and/or gifs above. No copyright infringement intended.

“Mr. Telephone Man”

Written and produced by Ray Parker, Jr.

Mr. Telephone man
There’s something wrong with my line,
When I dial my baby’s number
I get a click every time
Mr. Telephone Man
There’s something wrong with my line
When I dial my baby’s number
I get a click every timeWhen I dial 611 Computer Service
She said “Hello. May I help you, please?”
I told her something must be wrong with my phone
‘Cause my baby wouldn’t hang up on meMr. Telephone Man
There’s something wrong with my line
When I dial my baby’s number
I get a click every time
Mr. Telephone Man
There’s something wrong with my line
When I dial my baby’s number
I get a click every time

She let the phone ring 20 times before she answered
Let me tell you what happened then
A minute later
I got the operator
Saying, “Please hang up and place your call again.”

Mr. Telephone Man
There’s something wrong with my line
When I dial my baby’s number
I get a click every time
Mr. Telephone Man,
Something’s wrong with my line
I try to dial her number
I get a click every time

Some strange man is on the telephone
He keeps telling me my baby ain’t home
She got no party line
The situation’s blowing my mind
Oh, I just can’t take this anymore

Please operator
See what you can do,
I dialed the right number
But I still couldn’t get through
Could you just check the line
Just one more time if you can?
I’m pretty sure her phone
Wouldn’t be answered by no man

Mr. Telephone Man
There’s something wrong with my line
When I dial my baby’s number
I get a click every time
Mr. Telephone Man,
Something’s wrong with my line
I try to dial her number
I get a click every time

Must be a bad connection
I give her my love and affection
I just can’t take this no more
This situation’s blowing my mind
Blowing my mind
Can’t get my baby on the line

I tried dialing information
Mr. Telephone Man
I can’t get no cooperation
Mr. Telephone Man
Her sister’s on the phone
Telling me my baby ain’t at home
Come on, baby, I just can’t take it no more

Help me out
Please Mr. Telephone Man
Help me out
Please Mr. Telephone Man

Lyrical Fiction Friday | “His Distraction”

So sorry I’m late with this, but I have the flu. And a migraine. And I had to go out for more COFFEE. And my socks don’t match. And a Unicorn ate my first draft. 😀


LFF banner


This week’s lyric prompt is:

“…I met this girl…she ruined my philosophy…my heart skips a beat when she comes around “

For the rules, click on the lyric above. 

My mind was all over the place with this prompt. Of course, that could have been due to ridiculous amounts of cold medicine. But where I finally landed surprised even me.

Blog followers will recognize Jonathan Pratt’s distraction–Lenore ‘Lennie’ Porter from Free, a Novella, a free read on this blog, and the extended versions in ebook and print. Can you say Story tie-in?

———

As usual, Claire Pratt’s cocktail party was the place to be.

Jonathan Pratt marveled at his sister-in-law’s handiwork as he strolled through the seven-bedroom showplace. Only Claire could take leaves, tree branches, and pumpkins and put an elegant spin on autumn decorations.

He recognized a few of the faces from past parties, and there were several from the old neighborhood. While they were affluent, like him, Vernon and Claire would never forget their roots and where they came from. They were all part of a small group which paid into a fund so the daycare centers and the Boys’ and Girls’ Club in the old neighborhood didn’t have to worry over the paltry few dollars from the national charities.

Leaving the sunken living room, Jon headed for the family room where he knew Vernon had set up two kegs of beer… much to Claire’s dismay.

He had one foot in the doorway of the family room when he saw them. Hannah and Liz. Jon did an about-face so fast, he made himself dizzy. There was nothing wrong with forty-two-year-old Asian-American Hannah Nakuru, who ran her own high-end catering business or forty-year-old African-American Liz Brent, a web designer from Vernon’s firm. But both women admitted to being ready to try marriage again after five failed marriages between them… and the forty-nine-year-old confirmed bachelor had no interest in being a candidate.

He headed toward the dining room and Claire’s elaborate wine bar instead.

A dozen people milled around the room chatting in hushed tones. Jon found his favorite Moscato and reached for a glass.

As he poured, he glanced around the room at the well-heeled group… and froze.

She was across the room next to the window talking with two men.

Her emerald green cocktail dress complimented her caramel skin tone and shapely figure. Her thick, chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a loose, but neat French braid held in place by an ornate hair clamp.

“Whoa, dude!”

Jon looked to the young man next to him who pointed at Jon’s wine glass.

He stopped the pour just before the pale pink vino flowed over the edge of the wine glass… and saved himself a ton of misery. Claire would not have been happy if he ruined her snow-white table covering.

“Hey, thanks, man. Guess I got a little… distracted.”

Staring at a woman in a form-fitting red dress near him, the man tilted his head with a knowing smile. “Yeah, I get distracted too,” and he walked over to introduce himself to the woman in red.

Embarrassed, Jonathan gulped the wine down to a reasonable level. Then, trying to look nonchalant, he strolled to the other side of the table before fixing his gaze on the woman in green.

She was stunning and his jealousy flared as he wondered if she was with either of the men.

He guessed she was near his age, not because she looked older, but her posture and mannerisms spoke of a mature, confident woman comfortable in her own skin.

Averting his eyes, Jon gulped his wine again while his mind raced.

Stop acting like you’ve never seen a woman before! Walk away!

His feet, however, didn’t care for that idea and stayed firmly planted.

Still in a mental battle with himself to leave the room, his brain lost the battle when his eyes were drawn back to his distraction.

She laughed at something one of the men had said and her laughter traveled across the room, wrapping Jon in a tight embrace.

His chest and slacks tightened.

Her laughter was deep and throaty. Warm and soothing. Playful and seductive.

He never wanted it to end.

“Hey, bro? You okay? How much wine have you had?”

Startled, Jon whipped his head around to a grinning Vernon Pratt.

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, I’m good. This is my first glass. Think the time zone change is messing with me.”

Vernon gave his shoulder a tight squeeze.

“Okay, man. But don’t overdo it.”

As Vernon looked over the wine selection, Jon figured it was now or never.

“Vern, who’s that?”

He responded while reading a wine label.

“Room full of people, Jonny… could you be more specific?”

“The woman over there… in the green dress.”

Vernon looked up and gazed around the room until he found the ‘green dress.’ He smiled.

“Oh. That’s Lennie.”

Jon frowned. “Lennie?”

“Yes, Lennie. Or rather Lenore Porter. Bobby’s cousin.” Bobby was Robert Pearson, also from the Pratt’s old neighborhood and Vernon’s best friend. Bobby and his wife, Gayle, owned El Encanto, an upscale eatery.

Jonathan’s frown deepened to confusion.

“Wait. We’ve known Bobby since grade school. I thought all his family lived here in Pittsburgh?”

Vernon chuckled. “They did for the most part. Bobby and Lennie are second cousins on his mom’s side. They met once or twice as kids but didn’t get to know each other until Bobby took his mom to Lennie’s mom’s funeral a couple of years ago.”

“She lives here now? And how do you know so much about her?”

“No, she does not live here… just here for the holidays, and, she’s been here several times in the last few months. She has degrees in food sciences and nutrition and ran her own catering business in Minnesota for years. Now she’s a consultant, working with restaurant chefs to incorporate more health-conscious items into restaurant menus. Thanks to her, Bobby and Gayle’s vegan/vegetarian menu is outselling the rest of the regular menu.”

“Sounds like a super smart lady.”

“Good business mind too. El Encanto has been a money-maker from the beginning, but Lennie helped them up their game—streamlining job tasks and increasing staff productivity, raising employee morale, strengthening business relationships with city government—Gayle keeps begging her to move here.”

A faint smile played at the corners of Jon’s mouth. Streamlined job tasks and increased productivity—intelligent and shrewd. Raised employee morale—she knew how to handle people. Works well with city government—she can navigate the political landscape. Jon was impressed

“Vern, introduce me.”

“No.”

His mouth gaped open. “What do you mean no? Why not?”

“Did you miss the part about her being Bobby’s cousin?”

“No, but – ”

“He’s like a brother to me too, man. I can’t risk it.”

Jon clicked his tongue. “Excuse me. Exactly what can’t you risk?”

“C’mon, big brother, calm down. I wasn’t trying to upset you. But, even you have to admit… your track record with women…” Vernon’s words trailed off, and he leaned in close to Jonathan, speaking in a near whisper, “Your relationships always have an expiration date.”

His anger flared, but the truth tamped it down just as fast.

Vernon was right. His relationships didn’t last long, but it wasn’t always that way. There were long-term relationships in his past. One he’d hoped would lead to marriage. But, she played him… just like a handful of others after her.

After being used and burned one time too many by money-hungry women, a new Jonathan had emerged. The women he dated were of his choosing, the relationships brief—never lasting more than 3-4 months, and… he never took them to his home.

He thought it ironic and a double standard how women accused men of being users, players, and wanting the milk without buying the cow.  Jonathan Pratt’s experiences were the opposite.

Successful, middle-class, or struggling, Jonathan Pratt had dealt with women from all walks of life. They didn’t necessarily want him, but the things he could give them. Everything from expensive trips to jewels, to even braces for a teen whose father refused to step up—but whose mother was still seeing the deadbeat on the down-low—had been demanded of Jon. The final straw was when he gifted an up-and-coming sports agent with an expensive attaché for her birthday. She was expecting a car.

The successful freelance technical writer and consultant walked away from that dinner and never looked back. Jon became Mr. Love-‘Em-and-Leave-‘Em, not caring what others thought. His way of life worked well for him for over a dozen years and he’d seen no need to change it.

The modern, forward-thinking, independent career women Jon met in his line of work had no problem with his rules, most seeking the same type of encounter.

Now, here was a woman he didn’t know, tugging at his heart and tying him in knots.

“Dude? You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should call it a night.”

Pulled from his thoughts, Jon pleaded with his brother.

“Vernon, introduce me. Please?”

Before the younger Pratt could respond, Claire slid in between the two men. “Introduce you to who?” She glanced from brother to brother before her husband gave the one-word reply.

“Lenore.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Claire. Why not?” Jonathan was at his wit’s end.

“She’s a sweetheart, Jonny. And your record with women… well -”

“I cannot believe my own family is treating me like some kind of sexual predator!”

Husband and wife exchanged surprised looks, caught off guard by Jon’s anger.

He scrubbed his hand over his bald head, trying to collect himself.

“Claire, please? I just want to meet her.” He looked over her shoulder, watching Lenore. “There’s… something different about her.”

The sincerity in his voice and eyes sent a tinge of guilt up Claire Pratt’s spine. “Okay, Jonny.”

As if on cue, the men standing with Lenore were called away for picture-taking. She walked over to the table to refill her glass.

“Enjoying yourself, Lennie?”

“Claire, you do know how to throw a party. Everything is wonderful.”

“I’m taking that compliment and running with it, even though half the food is from your recipes.”

“That makes us an unbeatable team.”

The two women laughed and high-fived each other.

Vernon cleared his throat.

“Lennie… Lenore, I don’t believe you’ve met my brother-in-law, Jonathan. He’s in town for the holidays.”

“No, I haven’t.” She extended her right hand and looked up into his face. “It’s a pleasure, Jonathan.”

Lost in her eyes, her touch jolted him back to reality.

“No, Lenore. The pleasure is… all mine.”

The couple stood there, silent and hands still clasped.

“You know, Jonny, Lennie will be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner.” He slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulder and leaned toward Lenore. “But only if she brings her cornbread dressing.”

She stuck out her tongue. “You’re mean and I’m telling Bobby.”

“Won’t help you, sister, he wants it too.”

Jon gave Vernon a side-eye glance. “Cornbread dressing? With giblet gravy?”

Vernon smirked. “Oh, yes.”

Jon considered Lenore. “With chopped hard-boiled eggs?”

Lenore tilted her head. “You know of another kind?”

Jonathan beamed. “Can we have dinner now?”

The two couples laughed but were interrupted by cheers from the living room.

“Swing, Roy! Swing!”

Claire Pratt growled.

“If Roy Cathey has snuck another piñata into my house…” Her voice trailed off as she rushed to the living room.

Vernon chuckled as he backed away to follow his wife. “Excuse me, folks, but I have to go, um… save Roy’s life.” Still laughing, he turned and followed the crowd’s cheers.

Jonathan relaxed, glad to be alone with Lenore. “So, cornbread dressing and giblet gravy. Save me a seat next to you.”

She laughed, and Jonathan rubbed the center of his chest, attempting to calm the erratic beats of his heart.

“Claire told me it was a favorite of Vernon’s.”

“One of mine too. Our mom. It was one of her specialties. The holidays don’t seem right without it.”

“I hope mine is an enjoyable substitute for your mom’s.”

Intelligent, beautiful, modest and humble. Jon wondered if there was a minister on Claire’s guest list.

“How long are you in town for, Lenore?”

“I cannot deal with crowded airports, so I don’t fly back to L.A. until next Tuesday.”

“L.A.?” He frowned, confused. “But when I asked about you, Vern said Minnesota.”

“You asked about me?”

“Um, yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m flattered. I saw you walk by the room earlier and wondered who you were. Although, even with your shaved head and overnight stubble versus Vernon’s head full of curls and clean-shaven face, it’s obvious you two are related.”

“You noticed me?”

“Is that all you got from what I said?”

“Yeah, the important part.”

Their shared laughter was quieter this time as an easy shyness drifted in, making them both avert their eyes.

“Um, to answer your question, I did live in Minnesota. Spent most of my life there. But after losing my parents, and then filing for divorce, I needed a change. My two older boys are stationed at Camp Pendleton and my youngest son is doing his residency at Stanford. California was the obvious choice.”

Divorced, yes! Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus!

“You’re not going to believe this, but I live in Cali too.”

“No way! Where?”

“Brentwood. You?”

“Hidden Hills.”

“What’s the distance? Twenty miles? In Cali, that’s practically neighbors.”

“Agreed.”

He couldn’t let her get away. This was Fate at its finest. “Would you like to find a quiet place to talk, Lenore?”

Her smile told him everything before she answered. “I’d like that, Jonathan.”

Before they could exit the dining room, Bobby Pearson rushed in. “There you are, cuzzo! We need you for pictures before some of the peeps head out.” He noticed Jonathan for the first time. “Man, I didn’t know that was you. Love the Isaac Hayes non-hairdo!”  They shared a one-arm man-hug. “I’ll send her right back, Jonny, promise.”

“Make sure you do, Bobby. I’ll wait right on this spot.”

He and Lenore shared a look as she followed her cousin from the room. She held up one finger. “I’ll be right back.”

Jonathan stared after her even though she disappeared into the crowd. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he felt so at peace. He’d just met Lenore Porter, and she calmed his soul. He didn’t see Hannah and Liz approach until they brushed up on either side of him.

Liz cooed. “You still playing hard-to-get, handsome, or can one of us start planning a wedding?”

“Sorry, ladies. I’m off the market.”

“Wait, what? That was fast.”

He chucked, talking more to himself than the two divorcees. “I know, right? I just met this woman [girl]. And just being near her changes me. She’s ruined my philosophy altered my thoughts. My heart skips a beat when she’s close by [comes around].”

He shook his head.

“Who knew I had to come back home to find out my heart was twenty miles from my front door?”

 

©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

Mona Lisa Smile #FlashFiction


Rainy Day

Flash Fiction: Word prompt – Mona Lisa smile

His chair was empty and cold just like the coffee he hadn’t drank.

She stared at the cup of coffee, unblinking and unmoved, the Mona Lisa smile still gracing her face.

She tried to remember the words he’d said. Something about ‘not working’, ‘better as friends’, and ‘he’d met someone.’

He had said more, but she wasn’t listening.

She was remembering.

When he said he loved her.

When he said she was the one.

When he asked her to marry him and slipped the ring on her finger.

She looked down at her hand, the ring still in place, heavy and laborious.

He told her to keep it and remember the good times.

Good times?

Instead, she remembered when he said he had to work late and turned off his phone.

She remembered him canceling their weekend trip to Vegas because the ‘big project’ at work was past due… and he turned off his phone.

Lastly, she remembered how he canceled their dinner… on her birthday… because of work.

And he turned off his phone.

She’d told all her friends she was spending her birthday with him and refused to sit home alone.

She went out to dinner and saw him… with her.

She didn’t know if it was a casual fling or a new beginning.

It didn’t matter.

It was over.

She went home and waited.

Waited for him to tell her.

Two days.

Five days.

A week.

She emotionally removed herself from the relationship.

She pulled away from his hugs and turned away from his kisses.

She knew she should walk away but she wouldn’t let him off that easy.

He had to say the words.

One day, he looked into her eyes and he saw it.

She knew.

He left quickly… because of work.

Three days later, he called and asked to meet her for coffee.

And he told her… at last.

She never spoke but just sat there before him cloaked in serenity, Mona Lisa smile in place.

He stood to leave, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

She turned away… and he left.

Looking at the two-karat emerald-cut ring on her finger, a wave of sadness passed over her.

Not for herself but for the woman she replaced… and the woman who replaced her.

They were all members of a club by default. There would be no meetings, only dues paid in full. His new woman would pay hers soon enough.

Gathering her things, she stood and placed a ten-dollar-bill on the table for the coffee no one drank.

As an afterthought, she removed the ring and left it on top of the cash.

Heading for the door, she noticed new customers arriving with wet umbrellas and damp jackets.

“It’s really pouring out there,” an older man said as she walked past him.

Her Mona Lisa smile grew. She loved the rain.

She reached to push the door open and felt a tug on her other arm. Turning, her waitress stood next to her, holding out the ring.

“Is this your ring, ma’am?”

She shook her head once and said, “Not anymore,” and stepped out into the cleansing rain.

©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

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Oscar D. Micheaux | Black Filmmaker


OD Michaeux


Oscar Devereaux Micheaux January 2, 1884 – March 25, 1951) was an African American author, film director and independent producer of more than 44 films. Although the short-lived Lincoln Motion Picture Company was the first movie company owned and controlled by black filmmakers, Micheaux is regarded as the first major African-American feature filmmaker, a prominent producer of race film, and has been described as “the most successful African-American filmmaker of the first half of the 20th century”. He produced both silent films and sound films when the industry changed to incorporate speaking actors.

 

From Wikipedia and Google

Interview with Sarina Chandler from the upcoming “Family Matters (In the Best Interest of the Child, Book 2)”


Good day, WordPress bloggers and authors! Today we welcome a very special guest to the blog—Sarina Chandler, from the upcoming Family Matters (In the Best Interest of the Child, Book 2). Sarina is the mother of Books 1 & 2 protagonist, Olivia Chandler.

SC: Excuse me?

FD: Yes, Mrs. Chandler?

SC: Well… technically, I was in book 1, too.

FD: Yes, ma’am you were. But only in a flashback or two, and you weren’t… um, yourself. I thought it best to not approach the subject.

SC: Oh, please! Now you sound like my daughter, not approaching the subject! I was crazy as a loon, out of my mind, off my rocker! It’s not as if I planned it or wanted to be committed to an institution and leave my daughter.

FD: Of course not, ma’am. I’m sorry.

SC: Please call me Sarina… and I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have been short with you. It’s just… I’ve missed most of Olivia’s life and a big part of my own. It angers me, I just have no one to be angry with.

FD: May I ask… when did your mind begin to clear?

SC: It’s been… about a year.

FD: What was the first thing you remembered, Sarina?

SC: *Looks down, fidgets with hands* The accident.

FD: Sarina, if this is too much for you…

SC: No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve been silent for a third of my life. I need to talk, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to share that story first with my daughter. I owe her that… she deserves that.

FD: Not a problem, Sarina. Glad to hear Olivia is coming to see you.

SC: Well…

FD: Sarina?

SC: I don’t know for a fact she is coming.

FD: Pardon?

SC: I talked with Willis a few weeks ago. Willis Benson, the administrator of my husband’s estate. He and Olivia are close. I asked him to see if my daughter would visit me. But… it’s… been a few weeks now, and nothing.

FD: I’m sorry.

SC: Ugh! Stop apologizing already! Olivia and I were separated twenty-eight-years ago! I can’t expect her to make a quick decision for something like this.

FD: Why do you feel it’s such a difficult decision for her?

SC: Felicia, you know the last time I saw my daughter she was a ten-year-old. We had no other family and when I voluntarily came here… Olivia spent time in foster care. I’m told she last visited me five years ago… and I didn’t know who she was. I’m sure she has some resentment issues with me… and I can’t blame her.

FD: Is there a specific reason you want to see your daughter, Olivia, other than simply a mother missing her child?

SC: *Sighs* I need to apologize to her… for leaving her. While it wasn’t intentional or could have been changed, I still left her. Even if she never forgives me or sees me as her mother, I have to say the words.

FD: Why is that so important to you, Sarina?

SC: I had… issues with my parents. Before Ben and I married, I hated them. Afterward, I reached out to them for a fresh start but was ignored. I gave up, but if my mom had softened just a little and acted like she cared about me, I would have been there for her. It never happened. I don’t want to hide behind the walls of this place and allow Olivia to believe I don’t love her. I must try.

FD: I’m sure you will, Sarina. I’m sure you will. I hope Olivia decides to see you.

SC: So do I, Felicia.

FD: Thank you for visiting with us today, Sarina. I know it wasn’t easy.

SC: It’s easier than accepting I’ll never see my child again. She just has to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Child-advocate attorney Olivia Chandler has made major progress in overcoming her childhood trauma and issues with abandonment. However, her refusal to see her mother is having a negative impact on her new romance with Bruce Bellamy and everyone Olivia is close to.

Olivia enters specialized counseling for adults who suffer from childhood trauma but hinders her own progress when a major loss sends her spiraling back into the emotional comfort of the shadows in her mind.

With her sanity at risk, Olivia Chandler needs answers to break free from the traumatic stress which holds her captive, but the answers lie with the one person Olivia refuses to see.

Sarina Chandler.

Olivia Chandler’s journey continues in Family Matters (In the Best Interest of the Child, Book 2), coming soon.

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Living With Invisible Illness: Hostage


Rage Woman


Failed plans.

Missed appointments.

I’m labeled rude, uncaring, and arrogant.

Invitations dwindle then disappear.

It’s not my fault.

I’m not to blame.

I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness most can’t pronounce, and even fewer understand.

No dinner.

Piles of laundry.

I’m labeled lazy and entitled.

Family and friends give my mister sympathetic looks which mean, “We know it’s not you.”

It’s not my fault.

I’m not to blame.

I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness which hides just below the surface. A master of disguise, it leads doctors on a merry chase taking my energy and thoughts with it… and leaving pain in its wake.

More tests.

More co-pays.

More pills.

More dubious looks from the very people who are supposed to understand this shit.

More dumbass questions and asinine statements. “Don’t you want you get better? You need to work with us, not against us.”

Enough!

It’s not my fault!

I’m not to blame!

I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness the medical community would rather dose, debate—and some, even debunk—than find a real cure for!

No more tests!

No more co-pays!

I don’t want your pills!

I want back the life I had!

I want to attend graduations and weddings!

I want to take my nephew to the park!

I want to take my dog for a walk!

I want to put on heels and go dancing!

I want to clean my house, plant my garden, and shop without needing assistance or risking a two-day flare-up!

I want to leave my home without concern for the distance from the parking lot to my destination!

I don’t want the pitying looks!

I don’t need the snide remarks!

And if one more asshole says, “You’re so lucky you don’t have to work, I will lose my shit!

And I will make no apologies…

…because it’s not my fault!

I’m not to blame!

I’m a prisoner, held hostage in my own body by an illness I cannot escape.

And, while it may drain my energy and steal my thoughts, it will not take my soul.

And no one will take my dignity.

 

©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved