Today is the official release date for Mrs. Black by Angelia Menchan. After reading today’s excerpt, be sure to go order your copy.

Chapter One

“Cinnamon what are you going to do about Brown?” Cinnamon stared out at the lake surrounding her home. Malcolm Black, her best friend since high school and former lover stood several yards behind her, asking a question she wasn’t prepared to answer. She and William Brown had been married over thirty years and as with most marriages there had been ups and downs. Brown had been involved in a series of affairs, Cinnamon and Black had been embroiled in a love affair a couple of years ago. However, for the past eighteen months, she and Brown had focused on being faithful. Brown had fallen off the wagon. She had promised him almost two years before that if he compromised their marriage again she would divorce him. She had also promised Malcolm she would become his wife if that ever occurred. He had been living a celibate lifestyle waiting for her.

Turning to him, she looked into his handsome, dark chocolate-face. It saddened him to see the pain on her beautiful, toffee-colored face. He loved her more than anything in the world and he wanted her for his own. He’d warned Brown, his friend, on more than one occasion.

“What would you have me do Malcolm? I told him to leave our home and he has. Now I need some time to pray and ask God to guide me on this.”

“I understand, but, Cinnamon, you know how I feel about you and I want to marry you, make you my wife…”

“Malcolm, I know and when I marry again, you know it will be you. But right now my life is chaotic. My husband, the father of my children, has decided to have another affair. The husband of the woman decided I needed to know, he also decided to try and blackmail me, once he heard about my books, so what I pray is you’re patient with me.”

“Are you considering staying with him, again?” She could hear the pain in his voice.

“No, I’m not, but I need to plan what I’m going to do. I’ve been married almost thirty-two years. I need to find a way to tell my kids. Aura probably already knows. As the premier attorney in Center City, she might. Muhammad is planning to get married in two months and though Amy is only two years old, she loves her Papoo. I love you Malcolm and a part of me wishes I had been a better woman two years ago.”

“Better how?”

“I wish that instead of having an affair with you, I had left Brown at that time, allowing him to carry on with Khadijah, but I thought I knew best. As stupid as it may sound, I really thought that when he gave up traveling he would be faithful. But, why would he? He has a wife who has looked the other way for decades, taking him back and forgiving him over and over, so now, I finally have what I deserve. Not only that but I openly ran around with you and we’re still close. My guess is that Brown probably doesn’t believe we aren’t still sexual.”

Walking over, he pulled the woman he had loved for almost forty years into his arms. Immediately she started crying. His heart broke, because it took a lot to bring her to tears.

“It would be nice if you waited until the ink was dry on the decree before you moved into my house.” Cinnamon and Malcolm pulled apart at the sound of William Brown’s voice. Malcolm stared at his friend, choosing to say nothing. Cinnamon walked over to her husband, getting close to his face.

“William Brown, this is my home, it was bought with Dubois money. Please give me my key and leave!” He flinched at her words, she had never mentioned the fact that the home they lived in had been hers when they married, that and acres of land.

“Cinnamon, Brown, I’m going to leave now. Cinnamon if you need me, call.” Malcolm prepared to depart.

“That won’t be necessary Malcolm, William is leaving.” Looking from his wife to his friend, William Brown stood his ground. Malcolm nodded to him, placing a kiss on the side of Cinnamon’s mouth, before walking out.

About Angelia Menchan:

Angelia Vernon Menchan, wife, mother, mentor and former Job Corps
Counselor pens her first coming-of-age novel for emerging women.
Mrs. Menchan is the author of several other books and articles. Born
and raised in Ocala Florida, she resides in Jacksonville, Florida.

Visit Her website for more information: http://www.angeliavmenchan.com/

A quote from Pat about her books: “Any resemblance to those dead or alive is a doggone shame!!!”

Enjoy today’s excerpt from Pat G’Orge Walker’s new novel Somebody’s Sinning in My Bed:

He was so beloved, the thirty-five year old, powerfully built, ultra handsome, tawny-colored, mega church pastor, Reverend Grayson Young. And yet that irony was not lost upon him as he stood rooted to the floor tile of a sex den. At that same moment his cross that he’d normally worn around his neck fell from his pants pocket. He could hear the March wind howl through an open window, testifying no doubt, that finally, he’d emotionally and spiritually traded in his church pulpit for one of a different kind.

So with his legs parted for good balance, he took one last look around the Sweet Bush Lounge. As he shook with anger, his eyes appeared shrunken and he looked deranged. Then the Grammy Award winning, mega star Reverend Grayson Young, aimed the 357 Magnum at where he knew it would do the most good.

“Adulteress!” His head jerked back, a move that caused his smooth, black curly hair to fall about his ears and neck. Suddenly his sable-brown eyes, no longer sunken, went wide as he bellowed, “Wanton Whore!”

There was no turning back as the Reverend Grayson Young used one hand to tip over a nearby votive candle, which quickly ignited the covers on a velvet-backed chair. Satisfied that the fire would purify whatever evil was within the sex den, he turned around and used his other hand to pull the trigger.

When the scandal was over, where it’d served as media fodder for several weeks, there was only a slight shift in the church where there should’ve been outrage. And yet, when it came to the mindset of the flock, it mattered little that before the fatal inferno, and his suicide, just about every Sunday, for the past four years, they’d heard the self-righteous Reverend Grayson Young preach of the necessity to live Holy or burn in hell.

Even months after his death, when the reverend’s many abominations came to light, what he’d preached, and ultimately what he lived, still didn’t matter to the majority of the members. In about every conversation in the house of God, the reverend was still beloved, he was still a man, and he was still forgiven.

However, spiritual amnesia blanketed the congregation of Brooklyn, New York’s New Hope Church Assembly when it came time to forgive the sins of his widow the beautiful, yet fallen First Lady, Chyna Young. They would not forgive her, as God would.

And it didn’t matter that no one in that congregation was sin-free and could’ve thrown the first stone.

St. John 8: 3-11

About Pat G’Orge-Walker:

Pat G’Orge (pronounced Gee-or-jay) – Walker is in a league of her own.  This accomplished Christian author and comedienne has an amazing mind and talent for turning her observations of church and black church life, in particular, into gems of sidesplitting humor.  It is her own special gift from God that enables G’Orge-Walker to depict the often ridiculous antics of church folk.  She does it without subverting the Good News or watering down the potency of its message.

Pat G’Orge-Walker has led a colorful life professionally, to say the least.  She is a former music industry veteran who has worked for several major labels including Epic, Def Jam and Columbia.  She cut her chops as a singer by performing with the legendary 60s girl group, Arlene Smith and the Chantels (“Maybe”) as well as with the gospel groups The Spiritualettes and The Heavenly Two.  And she has written as well as acted in stage presentations.

Find out why she’s one of my favorite writers by picking up her latest book. www.sisterbetty.com and www.myspace.com/sisterbettycomedy

Enjoy the excerpt from Eric Pete’s latest release – REALITY CHECK:

I returned from Miami officially engaged. Really engaged.
    And I had the ring to prove it.
    All of Lionel’s planning stood revealed. He had more than the proposal mapped out, as I found out later that evening. We had gone for a walk on the beach after dinner. Following the surf and sand, we returned to the room, where we made love.
    I’ll tell you now, I’ve never faked an orgasm my entire time with Lionel—until that night.
     As Lionel cradled me in his arms, I cried. They weren’t tears of joy, as Lionel probably figured. As I lay there, emotional, he informed me of his (and his mom’s) wedding plans.    
     Catalina Island.
     It was the first place Lionel had taken me. He had already talked it over with his mother, Adele, and she was on hand to arrange everything for us once we selected a date. Hell, she would probably rent the whole fucking island. I knew she would have preferred a traditional church wedding with bells and all, being a Dunning, but Lionel knew how I felt about churches. My mom was supposed to be here for this.
     “When do you want to do it, baby?” he’d asked.
     I was still numb as I stared down at the diamond on my finger, and I blurted out, “No time like the present.” What happened between my mom and dad wasn’t me. This was going to work.
     We were to be married in three months.
      When the limo returned me to my apartment late Monday night, I had no idea of the rollercoaster in store for me on Tuesday.
     I returned to work to find that one of the girls had walked off the job the day before and another was out sick. My desk overflowed with stacks of files, and I was to be wed in three months.
     Tuesday felt more like a Monday than Monday ever could.
    Mona and Charmaine rushed to my desk before I even had a chance to put my purse down.
     Mona squinted at me disapprovingly. “Bitch, you came in last night and didn’t even call to tell me? Let me see that ring!”
     I held it up for them to see. Charmaine was silent for a full four seconds.
     A new record.
     Four.
     Three.
     Two.
     One.
     “Oh my gawd! OMG! OMG! OMG! The size of that diamond. Do you know how much this must have cost?”
     “I do,” Mona chimed in. An avid collector/recipient of diamonds and such, she probably did know.
     “C’mon, y’all. It’s just an engagement ring,” I said, trying to convince myself. The immense piece of ice on my hand was a sobering reality that made me more self-conscious the more I tried to ignore it.
     “Okay, okay. Enough about the ring. How many times did you do the nasty? Do you have a date set? We want the dirt.” Charmaine cackled with delight. Mona actually agreed with her this time.
     “I’m not answering your first question, you nasty wench. As for your other question, well, the wedding’s going to be in Catalina . . . in three months.”
     “Oh,” they answered in stereo, caught off guard with the announcement. Mona and I exchanged looks that spoke of our conversation at her condo that Friday night.
     “Whew. All this work.” I sighed in an effort to change the subject.
     “C’mon, Charmaine. Let Glover catch her breath. We’ll holler at you later, girl,” Mona said, letting me off the hook for now. 
     The rest of the day was less than peachy. Mr. Marx, the office supervisor, was on the warpath with us being understaffed. In addition to playing catch-up on my own desk, I was expected to fill in wherever needed. That, combined with the jet lag, did not make for a happy Glover.
     Yep, a lot of shit on my mind.
     Lionel called me from his office to see if I was up for lunch. I took a raincheck, needing to clear my desk as well as my head. Besides, we had a lifetime ahead of us. In a futile attempt to catch up, I decided to work through lunch. Charmaine and Mona, having no such notions, trekked off to do some shopping.
     Lunch came and went in a blur. I was deep into my work while simultaneously lost in thought.
     Did I love Lionel?
     What’s an extra stapler doing on my desk? Who’s been sitting here?
     Did I really love him?
     These files don’t belong here. But where do they belong?
     He never gave me any reason to doubt his love, so what was wrong with me?
     Now, why couldn’t somebody return this call? That is pure lazy.
      I guess I had issues.
     “Excuse me!” he yelled as I stormed past the front of the office. Somebody had come in from off the street.
     Damn.
     I didn’t work the front and wasn’t up for the grief that came with it. I slowed down, considering whether I should keep on walking to the other side of the office. He didn’t really see me anyway. I moved too fast when I got wound up.
      That wasn’t my style, though. I broke off from the direction I was heading and approached the front counter.
     The voice belonged to one pretty good-looking brother. He was medium brown, not as tall as Lionel, but with some little bulges beneath his white dress shirt. Wondered briefly about another bulge that might lurk in his navy blue slacks.
     Briefly.
     He looked like he’d had a rough day at the office. Believe me, I felt him on that. I felt his tired eyes all over me as I approached, but he had something different in his accompanying earnest smile. Seemed a little less “wolflike” than most men, if there is such a thing these days. Strangely, it reminded me of the first encounter with Lionel.
     “Can I help you?”
     “Um, hi. I need an application.” He seemed a tad slow, and I had work to do.
     “For . . .?”
     He told me he was looking for the state employment applications. I apologized for not knowing where things were and explained about our being short-staffed and stuff. I really don’t know why I volunteered all that info. I found the application and handed it to him, reminding him of the Friday deadline and options for online filing.
     “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t forget. I need the work,” he replied with that smile. He laughed, but it didn’t hide the exhaustion behind it. Poor thing.
     “Well, I hope you find the work you’re looking for,” gushed from my mouth before my mind caught up. Why did I say that? My intention was to just be courteous, but it came out playful, almost kittenish. His facial expression didn’t change, so I was relieved I hadn’t embarrassed myself.
     Unless that was his poker face.
    “Later,” he said as he took the application from my hand and departed. My eyes went to lock in on his ass, but his shirt had come out of his pants in the back, blocking the view of his bum. I lingered at the counter for a second more for less than noble reasons.
I was grinning—until I looked down at the weight on my hand.
     And on my soul.
     Time to be a big girl again, as reality kicked in. He did have a nice smile, though, and I appreciated the brief escape from my issues, but it was time to finish the task I was doing prior to “smiley” interrupting me.
     I moved on to the back, taking one last peek before he made it out the door.
    Hmm. I never got his name.
     Good.

About Eric Pete:

Eric Pete is an Essence best-selling novelist whose previous works include: Someone’s In the Kitchen, Gets No Love, Don’t Get It Twisted, Lady Sings the Cruels, Blow Your Mind and Sticks and Stones. He has also contributed to the anthologies: After Hours, Twilight Moods and On the Line. His upcoming release is Crushed Ice (January 2010). He currently lives in Texas where he is working on his next novel. His website is: www.ericpete.com.

Enjoy this excerpt from Carleen Brice’s latest book – Children of the Waters:

Was she a fool or had Nick really been flirting with her at dinner? Billie’s heart thumped with hope. Could it really be possible that somehow Trish and Will could bring Nick back to her? All through dinner he was looking at her and talking to her like he used to. And damn he looked good! Barefoot, in baggy jeans and a soft cloud-white t-shirt against the night of his skin. She lifted her hair off her neck and fanned herself with her rubber-gloved hand, grinned, her face flushed. She was burning up and it wasn’t from the summer air or the hot water in the sink.

But her smile faltered when she recalled the end of the evening, when Trish and Will left and the spell seemed to break. Now she was in the kitchen alone washing the dishes and Nick was sitting outside on the front porch. Should she go to him? What would she say? More important, what would he say?

The front door opened and she held her breath. If anything was going to happen, it was now when Nick went through the kitchen to get to the basement. She snatched off her rubber gloves and waited, her biceps clenching into hard little knots.

But a strange thing happened. Nick didn’t head for the basement. He started to play the piano, something he hadn’t done at home in ages. She leaned against the kitchen doorjamb and watched and listened. He wasn’t playing any song yet, at least not that she recognized, just letting his fingers familiarize themselves with the keys. Still it was a beautiful sound. The notes floated through the house like birds. Juju thought so too. He jumped on top of the piano to follow them. He loved for Nick to play piano. Usually he’d run back and forth trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. But today he seemed to be listening like Billie.

Eventually Nick’s aimlessness drifted into a recognizable tune.

Billie’s eyes glistened. It was Stevie Wonder, just like he sang to her that first time. She went to Nick and sat next to him on the piano bench just as he started to sing, “There’s something bout your love that makes me weak and knocks me off my feet.”

She leaned against the familiar bulk of him, so solid and present. She watched his hands on the keyboards. There was a reason they called it tickling the ivories. He could play her body the same way; make her skin sing. When he was done the last note rang in the air for what felt like a long time. She took his right hand and kissed the inside of his palm. Then she kissed his cheek. He turned to her, pressed his mouth against hers and let his long agile fingers run over her breasts and neck and through her hair. He smelled like home and tasted like raspberries and wine. He was every good dream she had ever had.

Breathing hard, she stood, took his hand—the same hand she had kissed, the same hand that just minutes ago was telling her he loved her with the song he played—and led them to their bedroom. Could it only be days since Nick had last been here? It felt like eternity, but all thoughts of the past few weeks fell away as Nick slipped her sundress off her shoulders and kissed her breasts. When he slid her panties down her legs, the only thing that mattered was right here, right now.

When she removed his shirt, the results of his ribs-and-fries-and-cookies diet showed in his spreading love handles. She smiled and caressed his bare torso. The soft layer over the hard muscles made her feel like she had gone back in time to when they first met, before he had her to cook healthy meals, before he said he was leaving her.

He took her hands, kissed the inside of both palms and leaned her tenderly back onto the bed. Back she fell, back through time and space and emotion. And even though he was gentle, it was just like when she first met him: she fell hard.

About Carleen Brice:

Carleen Brice’s debut novel Orange Mint and Honey (2008, One World/Ballantine) was an Essence “Recommended Read” and a Target “Bookmarked Breakout Book.” It was optioned for a movie by Lifetime Television. Terry McMillan said, “Carleen Brice is a fine writer. I have recommended and will continue to recommend Orange Mint and Honey to others.”

Carleen’s second novel Children of the Waters (One World/Ballantine) was released on July 7th. It tells a story of two sisters separated by prejudice and brought together by love. Trish Taylor’s white ancestry never got in the way of her love for her black ex-husband, or their mixed race son, Will. But when Trish’s marriage ends, she returns to her family’s Denver, Colorado home to find a sense of identity and connect to her past.

She lives in Denver, CO with her husband. You can learn more about Carleen and her books at www.carleenbrice.com.

I joined RAWSISTAZ five, or was it ten, years ago when Martina Royal organized one of the first major on-line readers and writers group mainly for African Americans. I met many authors and readers on the group, and some of them have become personal friends. It’s been fun and often really heartwarming to meet them at conferences and book signings around the country. I then joined Fiction Folks and met some of the same people, and also quite a few new ones.

Next, I put my name of the membership list of BlackWritersUnite, Divas Incorporated, Prolifwriters, and BlackExpressions2005. As if I wasn’t content to participate in the deliberations of those loops, I created Voices For the Written Word and Gwynne Forster Book club of Readers and Fans. I also have a blog, Gwynne’s Sanctum. All of these are on Yahoo.com. In addition, I drop in on internet radio programs and, of course, there is the constant flow of e-mail. And did I mention that I have a web site – www.gwynneforster.com.

You’d think I’d have my fill of internet correspondence, but don’t be so logical. I needed more, didn’t I? Somebody invited me to join Shelfari. I did. One of my publishers said that every author should be on MySpace. Donna Hill took pity on me at set me up on MySpace. It took her an hour, but it would probably have taken me years. I thanked her.

Was that enough? No. Tom, Dick, Harry, Mary and Ann began to send me invitations to be their friend on FaceBook. I ignored them. But then, The New York times began to mention FaceBook, and I thought, maybe I’m missing something. I accepted the next invitation to be a friend of somebody—I have no idea who, and now after two months, I have 349 “friends.” Fortunately, I’m a people person, and I really love friends.

All was well and good until I discovered that President Obama likes to leak stuff on Twitter. Twitter? What the heck is that?” Well if it works for the pres, it works for me. So a week after I hooked up with FaceBook, I accepted somebody’s suggestion that I join Twitter. Fortunately for me, who can be loquacious once I get started, Twitter allows you only 140 characters per post.  Already, I’m following 148 people and 61 are following me.

Is it any wonder that this novel I’m writing is moving more slowly than any of my previous 40 titles. I pride myself in ignoring Link and five or six other loops and social links, but I’m a writer, and when I sit down to this  computer, it isn’t for the purpose of learning what Gregory Townes said about his fictional sister-in-law, reading about “Maxine’s” latest antics, or finding out what people on the loops are reading or gossiping about. I’m supposed to work. O yes, did I mention Z-Authors, KimaniPress authors and e-Harlequin, internet loops, all, and I belong to them.

This is distracting and sometimes maddening, because I can’t resist them. .My curiosity won’t let me click them off without a quick glance. I can therefore sit at this computer for a full hour before I begin work. It is  too much. I am definitely going to turn over a new leaf. I’ll read the loops after I’m too tired to continue writing. I hope!

About Gwynne Forster:

Gwynne Forster is national best-selling and award-winning author of six novels of general fiction, twenty-eight romance novels, and six novellas. All of her mainstream novels and several of her romance novels have been featured in Black Expressions Magazine. When Twilight Comes, her first mainstream novel, was featured on the magazine’s cover, and it also remained on the Essence Magazine list of best sellers for several months. Her latest mainstream novel, Getting Some Of  Her Own, was published in August 2007 to excellent reviews, and Romantic Times Magazine has nominated the book for an award as best African American romance 2007. e-Harlequin’s Weekly Newsletter listed Gwynne’s romance, Forbidden Temptation as one of Harlequin’s ten best books of 2007. She receives fan letters daily praising     Drive Me Wild, her most recent Kimani Press romance. The highly acclaimed mainstream novel, When You Dance With The Devil., published in August 2006, attracted media attention.

            Among her many awards and forms of recognition, Gwynne is most proud of her election in 2006 to the Affaire de Coeur Magazine Hall Of Fame, the Lifetime Achievement Award given her by Romantic Times Magazine in 2007, and her selection by Harlequin to participate in its Warm Hands, Warm Hearts project with the St. June Children’s Research Hospital.

Fiction writing is Gwynne Forster’s second career. She holds bachelors and masters degrees in sociology, a master’s degree in economics/demography and has additional graduate credits in journalism. As a demographer, she is widely published. She is formerly chief of (non-medical) research in fertility and family planning in the Population Division of the United Nations in New York and served for four years as chairperson of the International Programme Committee of the International Planned Parenthood Federation (London, England). These positions took her on official business to sixty-three developed and developing countries. Gwynne sings on her church choir, loves to entertain, and is a museum hopper, gourmet cook and avid gardener. She enjoys classical music, opera, jazz and blues with her husband with whom she lives in New York City.

Gwynne Forster’s books are available in the stores or order online. For more information, be sure to visit one of her sites: www.gwynneforster.com, http://gwynneforster.blogspot.com, or http://gwynneforster.myspace.com. 

As most of my family and friends know, I was an avid reader long before I became a published author.   As I mentioned in my newsletter and a previous post, September is my birthday month and those close to me know I celebrate the entire month. To celebrate this year on my blog, I’ve invited some of my favorite authors to be guest bloggers.  The authors are in various genres. Some are veteran writers, while others are fairly new. The one thing they all have in common–there’s something about their writing style that has me hooked on their books.

I want to thank all eight authors in advance for participating this month.

Sit back and relax and enjoy next week as I feature eight of my favorite authors. If you haven’t read any books by these authors, be sure to give their books a try. You will not be disappointed.

Listen to a few golden oldies from the king of pop–Michael Jackson. Also be sure to check your emails to see if you’re one of five winners of MICHAEL JACKSON: THE MAGIC, THE MADNESS, THE WHOLE STORY (1958-2009) by J. Randy Taraborelli.