This is a free read to a story I finished around eight years ago. It was written in first person and I would like to say that I’ve grown. But since I can’t sit on this and I’m cleaning up my files, for your reading pleasure. Click the link above.
“Look, I am so sorry. I don’t know why I hid under your desk. I was trying to put this flea collar on Doll and she ran in here and I thought…” She finally got herself turned around and faced the source of the voice. She stopped mid-rant.
What she was staring at was the most surreal-looking human being she’d ever laid eyes on. She’d seen the sculptures at the Louvre in Paris, and this man was nothing near comparable. His skin was pale like the marble of those statues, but the statues didn’t glow like his skin did. She shook her head. That was impossible. People didn’t glow. She looked at his square, firm jaw-line, back to his face and swallowed. No, his flesh was glowing. It reminded her of staring at the moon after a fall rain. His inky black hair shone like wet tar, striking a sinister yet appealing contrast to his porcelain-like skin. It looked soft, and she felt immediately drawn to it, her hands itched to touch it. Yet, it was his eyes that made her lose her knack for babbling. They were a strange shade of blue, a hue stuck somewhere between midnight and dawn. Dinah had a master’s degree in English, and made a living off having a way with her words, and just his presence had robbed her of speech and thought. She only stared at him, wide eyed, because all her language skills had left.
His dark brows knitted together, and she swore she could feel his anger. This man had an aura of authority and anger. She started to inch around the desk, glancing at the door and judging the distance she’d have to make up. I’m going to make a run for it. Ten feet to the door and damn the cat.
“Don’t even think about running until you tell me why you’re here. Then I might let you leave.”
It’s funny how the smallest details can get you into a world of trouble. For Dinah Jacobs, it was a small
cat. No problem, she didn’t fear stray cats, especially not as beautiful as the Siamese that was always
waiting for her when she got home. She fed her, gave her a name, and even bought her a flea collar.
That is where things went terribly wrong. The darn cat dashes into her mysterious neighbors home as
she was trying to get the collar around his neck. Trying to get the Siamese out of the neighbors house,
she discovers the cat mislead her. It wasn’t a stray. It belonged to the very dark, very brooding, very
handsome next door neighbor. Galien was more than what he appeared at first glance, but did she
want to stick around t find out what made him so unique? Galien wasn’t going to give her a choice. She
broke into his home, she was about to find out what happens when vampires get unexpected guests.
*Peeking around* Wow, is it empty in here. *dusting microphone off* Hello? *echoes* *Tapping mic*
It has been a while. I could say, shame on me, but I’m really not ashamed. Everyone needs to recharge their batteries every once in a while, we are all human, well most of us are.
Which brings me to my point of stopping in. We are all human, apt to faint, be fickle, get tired, lose our phones, marbles, watch, mind…you name it. As humans, as much as we gain, we can lose. Given the emotional time of losing loved ones and letting things go, sometimes we wonder, what are we doing it all for? Love. Love, in its many forms, does make the world go round. Whether it be for love of money, love of yourself, love for others, love for the world… Love does play a part in everything we do.
Moving on to my next point – What would you do for love? Would you stick around for over a thousand years just for a glimpse of a soul you once knew? Would you believe your dreams, no matter how absurd they sounded or looked?
I’ve decided to go down that word and examine what two souls would do for love. This short novella is a starting point to introduce you to my new set of characters, Marius and Fia. While this beginning work is short, it is merely just a ‘jump-off’ to the next work which is in progress.
With that being said, how about a buy link? Click the image or go here – http://www.sharaazod.com/ebook/if-i-could-go.html
Fia Nyx was exhausted. Not from her job, leading an analysis team in Italy to expand the Roman section at the Smithsonian sounds like it would be exhausting, but it was actually her sleep that was keeping Fia exhausted. The dreams of the sexy male with his blonde hair and blue eyes making her squirm and cry out in passion would be great, if they stayed in her dreams, while she was in bed. Now the dreams were occurring mid conversation. Her sister is begging her to come home, but Fia can’t help to feel there is something more to these waking dreams. What she finds is a lot deeper than sleep deprivation.
Why did you do this to me?
I’m an extremely dominant woman and usually can’t be told what to do, unless it is in role-play, but unless you are my mate, don’t even think about it. So, what I concluded is that I have a very hard time hearing ‘you belong to this box’. I belong in no-one’s box. So I did not write a non-interracial book to irritate fans or to do anything but the obvious: to avoid being pigeon-holed. I could have come up with another pseudonym but I already have enough muses talking to me, I really don’t need another ‘voice’ coming at me with ideas. So I wrote a non-IR work for no other purpose but to flex my literary muscle.
Love is colorless
It doesn’t matter what color of skin you live in, all that matters is that love conquers all things. Now, could I take some flack for not being a certain color and writing about a heroine in that color? Yep, but I’m not hearing you. Love is colorless and no matter your pigment, you know distress, you know romance and you know emotions. Emotions are not based upon how much melanin is in your skin or what ‘hood’ you grew up in. As far as I know, rage is rage, hurt is hurt and love is love.
The New Release
As you can tell from the cover, this is a non-Interracial book that exceeds color lines. LOOK AT THAT COVER! How could you not want to write about them? Look at that embrace, the look in their eyes. It is sensual, seductive and erotic. How could I not craft a story for this wonderful couple?
So now that you know somewhat why I wrote this touching and endearing story of a PTSD suffering Marine and a touch therapist, how about an excerpt to entice you?
Blurb – Massage therapist Celine Beauregard came across all types of people in her line of work; those who were nice, and those who could be classified as the scum of the earth. Then there was Gunnery Sergeant Xerxes Talmay, a war-weary vet with a case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Something always ached in Celine when she set eyes on the tall handsome Marine, and her job was to help. The soldier needed different therapy, and Celine decided it was time to initiate the man to the true power of touch.
Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her. She’d like to think she’d always kept the relationship between her and Xerxes one hundred percent professional, but in his arms now, she questioned why she always made him the last appointment of her day. Maybe it was because she wanted his face to be the last face she saw before she settled in for the evening.
“I’ve never tried to dance with a client before, Xerxes. This isn’t typical.” Celine felt like she needed to defend what she was doing in his arms, as if there was some sort of code of conduct she signed. The only code she was going by was her own personal morals, and she didn’t want to feel like she was taking advantage of someone.
“I wouldn’t think it was typical for you, and if I had any inkling that it was, you wouldn’t have seen me after the first session. I’m a Marine, Celine. I’m trained to spot inconsistencies.”
“Then you and I are a lot alike. I’m trained to spot them as well. Care to tell me what you think your anchor is, since I’ve been trying to figure it out,” Celine said. She didn’t expect him to twirl her around and dip her in a move that could have been in a Fred Astaire movie. When he pulled her into his embrace, and wrapped his arms around her, her body involuntarily shuddered with delight.
“My guess is that my anchor,” Xerxes said as he looked her up and down, “is you.” His gaze strayed to her lips again. She knew he was going to kiss her even before he licked his lips. It was the look in his eyes, and she wasn’t going to stop him. Her eyes fluttered closed even as he took his time leaning down to her lips.
The kiss was as soft as a whisper, at first, dancing across her lips, leaving the memory of his mouth on hers. Working with Xerxes over the past months, she’d always kept her distance, letting him find his own pace with their sessions. Now, in his arms, she realized the months of touching him, trying to soothe him, she’d formed an attraction to him that went beyond his mere physical appearance.
He raised his head from the kiss, his deep brown eyes burrowing into hers, making her feel hot, desired, wanton and scared shitless all at the same time. She met his gaze unwaveringly, and tried to read his expression. It was lust for sure. She’d seen that plenty times before. However, Xerxes lustful look contained just enough longing to make her womanhood clench.
“Will you be my anchor?” He asked as his lips descended on hers again, this time, the light kisses were gone. His tongue plundered her mouth as if he was on a mission to capture every single one of her breaths and inhale it as his own. Over her mouth, his tongue raked against her lips, his teeth nipping the corners, his hands roaming over her bare back. Every motion whipped up a frenzy of lust that made her feel faint. He broke the kiss, and she had to take in big gulps of air.
“Anchor me, Celine. Be the calm in the midst of the noise.”
If you want more, click the cover and head on over to Beautiful Trouble Publishing to get your copy.
Until we meet again, love is limitless, color outside the lines and break free from stereotypes.
New Release – Measure for Measure – Only 99 Cents! Click the book for the link or click here
What’s a girl to do when faced with three years of jail time or one night with a sensual dominant? Submit of course. Isabella Court didn’t think that one night with with her boss, Duke Vincentio would be as bad as going to jail. What she didn’t plan on was the lust the arrogant mogul ignited in her. One night, no jail. What’s the worse that could happen?
Business first – This post is a part of the Color of Love Blog Hop hosted by the lovely Kiru Taye, Empi Baryeh, and Nana Prah. If you haven’t read their works, where have you been? Go buy one, now, don’t worry, this post will still be here when you get back….
Back now? Ok, great! Welcome! Now, for this lovely blog hop there are prizes, glorious prizes!
- 1st prize: $50 Amazon gift card + 8 ebooks
- 2nd prize: $30 Amazon gift card+ 8 ebooks
- 3rd prize: $20 Amazon gift card + 8 ebooks
- 4th prize: $10 Amazon gift card + 8 ebooks
Now, to enter this Rafflecopter, follow the links below.
NOW FOR THE FUN….
Writing and writhing. It is sometimes the same dang thing if you ask me. We can writhe in pain and we can write in pain . We can write in joy and we can writhe in joy. What is my point? My point is, writhing is a part of the writing process. It is alas, a labor of love. The most beautiful part of writing is that we have control of what we create. I create multicultural and interracial romances not because it is becoming popular, but because it is what I live. Multicultural and Interracial romances were hard to find three years ago. You had to be on the ‘in-crowd’ to know what authors who were doing it right. You couldn’t just go into Amazon and find the category. Thank God for places like All Romance Ebooks that had a section just for interracial ebooks! (Side note, when I first started devouring MC/IR books, there was only about 50 pages of IR/MC of books on All Romance Ebooks, now there is at least 150, way to go fam!) Now, knowing this is a niche, a niche that everyone may not get into, one must realize that I don’t write for the money. This isn’t about sales. It never really was about how many followers I gained, nor about how many books I could write. I started writing this way because I had a story to tell.
While most of my stories are quite kinky, well ok, most are quite kinky, they are often metaphors for real life plights. Do I focus on the fact that my characters are different races and make it a huge issue that race is the only thing moving the story? Absolutely not, because race has never moved my life. Do I consider race when writing? Yes, but only in the most Jungian ways; skin tones that create contrasts when the hero and the heroine are coupled together. Does the contrast of different skin tones turn people on? Of course! But don’t we deal enough with race issues just by waking up in the morning that we all don’t need to read about it in our books; aren’t our books supposed to be an ‘escape’ from reality?
Speaking of escaping reality, my newest short story, Prima Materia, deals with vampyres but they are dealing with some real human emotions. I don’t dip into fantasy often, but something about carrying an emotion for more than a human lifetime inspired me to write this little ditty.Fatima had an immense amount of time to think being over three hundred years old. When she wasn’t administering her own version of justice, preternatural style, she was thinking of only one other being: Pero Franco, her sire and her lover. Although she’d hadn’t lain sight on him in over two hundred years, her love for him still ruled over everything. Pero’s disappearing act turned her into the cold vampyre she was, and only Pero could save her from her loneliness. A part of her wanted to tear him limb from limb, and the other wanted to caress every inch of his skin. Can Fatima find peace once she comes face to face of the one that created her and abandoned her?
Writing has always been a process, sometimes it is hard because we have to deal with our own personal issues in them; whether that be finding time to write, editing (which is a whole other beast) marketing, picking covers, and trying not to assault your characters because they refuse to do what you want them to do. The writing process can also be fun and yet still make you writhe. Another book I had extreme fun writing but made me writhe in pain because of the issue of divorce and trust was A Lesson in Trust:
This book is about a married couple finding a new way to save their relationship. This is a part of my Nevea’s Naughty Nibbles line, a collection of short stories that give you the kink and the passion without the full course meal. Check it out, it well be a 1.50 well spent. ;)
That’s it for me on this rant and tangent, there will be more, well unless the muses decide to intervene once again. Take care, happy reading, and check out some of the other authors in the blog hop!
|1.||Kiru Taye||15.||Toye Lawson Brown||29.||Vallory Vance|
|2.||Dee Little (Love Books? Blog Books!)||16.||Nikki Prince||30.||LENA HART|
|3.||Nana Prah||17.||Zee Monodee||31.||kenya wright|
|4.||Love Bites and Silk||18.||Empi Baryeh||32.||Sharonda @ Salacious Reads|
|5.||Delaney Diamond||19.||Laurel Cremant||33.||Sabrina Devonshire|
|6.||Romance Novels in Color (diversity in romance)||20.||Shyla Colt||34.||Lyric James|
|8.||Cora Blu||22.||Haley Whitehall||36.||Sharita Lira|
|9.||Georgia Lyn Hunter||23.||Olivia Linden||37.||Natasha Blackthorne|
|10.||Shewanda Pugh||24.||Nulli Para Ora||38.||Doris O’Connor|
|11.||Sharon C. Cooper||25.||Zrinka Jelic||39.||Book Sniffers Anonymous|
|12.||Rhonda Laurel||26.||KH LeMoyne||40.||Tatiana Caldwell|
|13.||Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku||27.||Debbie Christiana|
Fatima had an immense amount of time to think being over three hundred years old. When she wasn’t administering her own version of justice, preternatural style, she was thinking of only one other being: Pero Franco, her sire and her lover. Although she’d hadn’t lain sight on him in over two hundred years, her love for him still ruled over everything. Pero’s disappearing act turned her into the cold vampyre she was, and only Pero could save her from her loneliness. A part of her wanted to tear him limb from limb, and the other wanted to caress every inch of his skin. Can Fatima find peace once she comes face to face of the one that created her and abandoned her?
First, what is a WBW you may be asking, or maybe you are not because you know I have a tendency to be a bit eccentric. In short, ‘WBW’ is an acronym I made up to describe those of us in this mysterious position. It means ‘weird black woman.’ This is where the rant begins…
What we are taught…
In our childhood, we are taught, hell, drilled to be unique. To be the ‘talented tenth’ W.E.B. DuBois wrote so passionately about. “Be U!” “Be Unique!” were supposed to be our mantras and our banners. So we did, we were bold, unique… the problem: being unique meant you were trying not to be black. If I chose to wear my hair natural, I was being too militant to live up to the long locks of Keisha Night Pullum, Jada Pinkett or Sanaa Lathan. That meant I wasn’t trying to fit in or get a man because I would not conform. If I chose to wear my hair in the long tresses, the militant black women would be like: “what’s wrong with your natural hair? Don’t give in to the man.” What do I have now? a faux hawk. Damn the militants and the wanna be cover models, and anyone else. I like it because it is me, it is who I am, and just wait until I get it dyed red and perhaps violet highlights. That makes me unique. That also apparently means that I’m ashamed of my blackness. Why are you trying to be something you are not? This perhaps coming from someone who has left more horses without hair so their tresses can be laid and looking like you stepped out of a magazine? It’s like India.Arie said, I’m not my hair. I choose my hairstyle not based on my skin tone, but how it makes me feel…
The hair debacle is a decades long argument that can go either way, and the truth of the matter is, it’s a stupid argument. If I dye my hair platinum and wore it down to my ass like a mermaid, it shouldn’t matter to you. If I burned down your house and said the hair made me do it, then yes you can make an argument about my hair.
Hair and Race at Hooters (<— Click – Ex-Hooters waitress sues over hairstyle) You can’t apparently work at Hooters with curly hair, or a blonde highlight if you are black.
So I had an extremely difficult time as a young adult, but you would think the more you learn, the more you grow, this type of stuff would just die. It doesn’t.
The Here and Now
My music tastes can range from Usher, Eminem, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Creed, AWOLNATION, Three Doors Down, Tupac, Biggie, Wu-Tang, Redman, and Jay-Z. I can even hum Lady Antebellum and have been known to know the words to a Lady Gaga or a Bonnie Rait song. I like good music. Liking good music apparently makes me weird or not black enough to be in the blackest of black circles. Andre 3000 from Outkast has almost every Metallica album and no one was trying to revoke his black card. Don’t give me a side-eye because I know Jason Mraz and Michel Buble. Either expand your tastes, or don’t say anything. Don’t tread on me or my mp3 player.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset, I’m not mad. I’m yelling for everyone to embrace their uniqueness and weirdness. The point of this post is to be a catalyst to take off whatever glasses we are using to see the world, and view it from a fresh perspective that has not been clouded by jack-hole stereotypes. I’m unique, yes. Unfortunately, for me, being black, being unique means you are trying to be everything but black. Since when did blackness and individuality go hand in hand?
My skin color should have absolutely nothing to do with what I wear, how I speak or whom I speak to. It is 2013 people, knock it off. I stand outside with my handsome-as- hell mate, I have cougars looking at him up and down like they want to make off with him to their lair, I really don’t need the drama from some black old man telling me I sold out. I sold out because I don’t want to date a 40-year-old guy with his pants around his ankles, a starter cap and a dew rag? Advice to that particular fogey, I can read four different languages, I can effectively cuss you out in three. Get on my level before you try to criticize my level, mmmm k? I’m an author, I can deal with a negative review. I can’t deal with negativity born and bred out of ignorance.
I’m tired of seeing the same old news reports and articles… Has this person sold out because they cut their hair? Has this person sold out because they dated this person? Its getting old, and actually so are we. We’ve grown the hell up. We are not defined by our skin color, our hair, our parents, or what we eat. I like McDonald’s fries but does that mean I’m a sloth? No, it doesn’t people. We are all different and unique. Whether you are white, black, brown, yellow, blue or green, embrace that part about you that sets you apart from the rest. Only sheep are sheep, we are not sheep. My eyes are not your eyes, my hair is not your hair. Be proud of whatever, whomever you are.
I’ve embraced my weirdness. I relish it. I’ve come to love the fact that people look at me and can’t figure me out. I’m not here to break down walls of stereotypes; I’m here to annihilate stereotypes with TNT, C4, furry boots and red hair.
Sincerely, uniquely yours,
Nevea Lane aka Weird Black Woman
Ahhhhh, it has been a while hasn’t it people? I haven’t blogged for much of anything in the past year, but I have a good reason! Life has changed, and so has my writing style. As a kid, do you remember all those little anecdotes they told you in English class to help you get through your writing? “Show, don’t tell.” “Write what you know.” etc…? Well I’m here to tell you, that at least that part of school was not total bunk.
Show, don’t tell… I wanted to show readers what it is like to be in conflict. I wanted you to FEEL it… Can you, as the reader, feel what it is that heroine/hero is going through. So I’ve changed the way I write because, simply, life has changed. Gone are the days where things are black and white. At 33, I’ve found that life is loud and in color. There are blue moments, red moments, orange moments, brown moments, and ultraviolet moments. Let me bring you one of those moments – Presenting Love as Wide as the Atlantic -
LOVE AS WIDE AS THE ATLANTIC –
Why would I write something that is emotionally engaging as well as full of the hot and steamy stuff? Because that is what life is! What I’ve learned is that anything that is hot, steamy, erotic or highly sensual will have an emotional tie to it. Don’t let anyone tell you that there is just sex to be sex… Ok, I will rephrase, don’t let a man tell you sex is just sex. Anything that is worth having in your life even if it is a one night stand, is an emotional thing. Sometimes you just feel like ‘you gotta have it’, well that’s emotion folks. So now, what do you do when faced with a question that could flip everyone that you know world’s upside down…. I would say…ask Alexia…What would you have done?
Alexia Woods came to know the phrase “stuck between a rock and a hard place” all too well during her college years. The rock? Cody Slater. The hard place? Heath McCormack. As their days slowly dwindled, leading up to graduation Alexia resigned herself to the fact that their oh so manageable relationship wouldn’t be oh so manageable anymore and gave her boys a farewell that she believed would last forever, just like her heartbreak from having to say goodbye. So why is it years down the line she finds herself Cody’s date to Heath’s wedding–a wedding that as far as she’s concerned shouldn’t be taking place because in her heart of hearts she knows both men belong solely to her? What’s a girl to do when her love is not only as wide as the Atlantic but just as deep and tumultuous too?
Cody Slater looked at the gold filigree lettering on the wedding announcement and
invitation again. He couldn’t believe his best friend was actually going to marry that gold digger.
He loved Heath like a brother, but he couldn’t let this mistake continue, and he didn’t honestly
believe that Heath even liked the dimwit blonde his parents had picked out for him, let alone
loved her enough to marry her.
Tapping the card on his chin, he needed to think. What he really needed was a drink,
but he’d sworn off the stuff years ago after a two-day binge trying to forget he’d driven Alexia to
the airport. He’d gotten into a fight, had his nose broken, and called Heath a spoiled rotten rich
kid that wouldn’t have let Alexia walk away if he had taken the silver spoon from his mouth.
The insults he’d hurled at Heath were nothing compared to the ache he felt inside when he
thought of Alexia.
Not that he thought Alexia would actually stay if Heath had renounced all his wealth.
She was too independent and headstrong to care about money. Cody had felt a twinge of
jealousy when Alexia seemed more concerned about Heath’s welfare than his own. That was the
moment when she’d shared with him the one thing that had cut him up more than her leaving
did. Her words echoed through his mind now as he got up to retrieve his laptop.
When this is over, you two will still be best friends and have each other. I on the other hand, won’t have
anyone. Cody will need his parents and his wealth, and you will need your best friend.
He wanted to tell her then that she would always have them both, but that was a lot for a
twenty-two year old kid to promise, no matter how sure he’d been then. As that kid, he
couldn’t commit to her then, and he couldn’t scream that they were what she needed. Cody
kicked himself mentally every moment since she’d been gone. There had been nothing he could
do then. He didn’t want to damage their relationship by pushing her too soon, but he lost her
Heath hadn’t fully recovered from losing Alexia either, and Cody knew that. Once best
of friends, he barely talked to Heath except for at Christmas and their birthdays. Losing Alexia
had torn them apart as well, so she had been wrong about that much.
At that moment, Cody began to see it all too clear. He was going to save Heath, and
maybe in the process save them all from continuing to make the biggest mistake of their lives.
Grabbing his cell phone, he punched a few numbers and waited.
“Heath McCormack’s office. Paige speaking.” Cody had to stifle a laugh. “Paige” had to
have been the fourth secretary that Heath had in as many years. Before Paige there had been
Beth, Heather, and Tamia. His buddy could be a cold callous ass when it came to his business,
but Heath had a score to settle with his father, even if he would never acknowledge the fact.
“Hello Paige, can you tell Heath that Cody Slater is on the line?” After a few seconds he
heard the frustrated sigh of his friend on the line.
“Heath, damn, not even a ‘how are you, buddy?’” Cody bristled but quickly let out a
“No. It’s not my birthday or Christmas so I can’t imagine why you are calling.”
“Um, do you think it has anything to do with this ivory invitation I got in the mail?”
Silence. Dead silence. Anyone else would have thought Heath hung up the phone. Cody
“I didn’t realize they’d gone out. I’m not really involved in the plans.” Heath’s voice was
strained, as if his wedding was a topic he didn’t want to talk about. Well, tough shit, Cody had
enough of this loneliness.
“So did they pick out your best man too, or is there still time for me to get fitted for a
tux?” Cody knew Heath for almost twenty years, and he knew Heath would not swallow an iota
of pride to ask him to be his best man.
“Cody…would you? I mean, if you aren’t busy…I know I haven’t been in contact…but…”
“Quit stammering. Of course I’m going to be there. Now, is that best man spot still open
“I’ll be bringing a guest. I can’t be left all alone with Kim’s bridesmaids.”
“Oh yeah? What lucky lady gets to see you try to dance?”
Cody laughed, a genuine laugh this time. The previous times Heath and him talked, it
was a strained tense cough at best.
“I wouldn’t call her lucky, but she is definitely a lady. But I will get in a few days early so
we can have a true bachelor party and stay up all night like we used to.”
“But without drunk goats and whipped cream highs, right?” It was Heath’s turn to
laugh. Cody remembered those moments very well from their college days.
“I make no guarantees. See you in a few weeks.”
“Can’t wait. Cody?”
“Oui, mon ami?”
“Thanks. Bonne nuit.”
“Bonne nuit, bud.”
Cody hung up the phone in a daze. He couldn’t believe that Heath had told him
goodnight in French. It had been ‘their’ thing when they were settling down for the nights.
Alexia, Cody and Heath would snuggle into the oversized California king bed, and each one of
them would tell each other goodnight in French, it was one of the many things they’d all had in
Heath speaking French had to be some sort of sign, and to Cody that sign was that Heath
had not moved on, and he must have been thinking about their relationship with Alexia. With
any luck, and a lot of hope, Cody would have them all back together, and not just fond memories
to hold on to at night.
So, my dear reader, you can choose to see what Alexia decided and after hearing all three sides of the story, what would you have done? Sometimes in life you have to choose to attack the fear of a situation rather than run from it. Attacking fears is one thing that will set you apart from those who just ‘get by’ in life and those who actually live life…Live life and attack fear…that is what I learned from Alexia. Writing her as a character made me stronger as a person because I learned one thing – Nothing gets done by doing nothing. In the blink of an eye your world can change, don’t just lay there.
If you would like another scene from the tumultuous lives of Alexia, Heath and Cody, check out Prelude to Launch, the steamy short prequel.