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alidawriter

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  1. One day I left home and it took me ten years to get back. No, I did not get lost. What happened was even worse. I was arrested, convicted and sentenced to prison for a crime I did not commit. Even though there were five people, including a prominent, black lawyer who could vouch for my whereabouts at the time of the robbery, it did not matter. I was black, so I was guilty. This is not a new occurrence and it is now a part of an even wider conspiracy to lock up black males. Last year, a well-known judge in Pennsylvania was convicted in the so-called "Cash 4 Kids" program where judges would send black youth to prison in exchange for money. It did not matter if they were guilty of any crime. And this particular judge was not the only one caught up in this scheme. The private prison industry is a booming business and what they need in order to make their investment in building prisons profitable is to fill those prison with inmates. Judges eagerly joined in this conspiracy and sent countless, young, black males into these dungeons. What may be unknown to most of the public is that corporations such as Victoria's Secret, Hewlitt-Packard, Texas Instruments, and many more have established plants inside of prisons and they are only concerned about fattening their bottom line which means the prisons are strapped with the obligation to keep these plants filled with workers.The prisons, in turn, reached out to Judges to do the dirty work of filling the beds. Millions of dollars were made by individual judges who sent black youth to prison is staggering numbers. At present, thousands of cases are being reviewed to see if the judges involved were part of the Cash 4 Kids programs. There is a very real danger to black males. One in every four black males born in this country will eventually go to prison, and there is a government conspiracy to put them there. Read the frightening new book, WHEN I SAY JUMP, which is a novel about this judicial travesty. WHEN I SAY JUMP is about a black, female lawyer who stumbles upon this conspiracy and her efforts to expose it at the threat of both her sanity and physical welfare. READ IT NOW. The book may be fiction, but the threat is real! Mothers, do you know where your sons are? http://amzn.to/whenisay
  2. Coochie 3 1 A WEEK AGO TODAY Sadness and euphoria always depends on how deeply committed you are to what you choose to do about tomorrow -Stella- As an old-fashioned street-walking ho, Stella found the present conversation distressing, but perhaps this is what she deserved for listening to this bitch about turning the art of slanging pussy into a very lucrative consulting business. Why tamper with a good thing? Traditionally, in the African-American community, “hooking” was like home economics because selling coochie was what kept the cable turned on or what kept the lights from being turned off. Maybe it should stay that way. Plus, selling pussy was personal to Stella, and she said as much. “Selling pussy is personal to me.” Eve experienced a tightening in her throat, but still spoke calmly. “I feel that if anyone can make this work, it’s you.” It would have been both unprofessional and unladylike even for a former ho to curse a bitch who offered her money, so Stella held her tongue for a split second while she weighed her options. Instinctively, she knew she couldn’t afford not to listen to such a request although it pained her to know that her daughters wouldn’t be around to assist her in this crazy scheme, if by chance, she decided to attempt it. “I just lost both my girls.” “I’m sorry.” Eve quickly looked away. “I always felt Brianna was just as much my daughter as she was yours.” She paused. “Plus, I just lost my best friend in a plane crash so I understand what it’s like to have to bury someone you love.” More or less what Stella saw in the stranger’s chocolate-colored face was mixed signals, but she, quite actually, wasn’t thinking about them. She was too busy trying to reach a conclusion about why she felt this crazy scheme was so appealing to her. Stella smiled. She was a dazzling combination of natural beauty and “store bought” perfection, everything so flawlessly sculpted that no matter how penetrating the scrutiny or how direct the examination, no one could figure out where one ended or where the other began. She smiled once more. Eve smiled back. “It’s time for black women to stop fighting each other and to make a stand.” Stella acknowledged that observation with a slight nod of her head. “What else is new?” Eve sat across from Stella in a booth at Boudreax’s, a Cajun restaurant in NoDa. She allowed the queasiness in her stomach to recede before she talked again. She touched the plain-brown, manila envelope in front of her. “We must reach for the stars,” she lectured, “because the greater our reach, the greater our chances of success.” Eve stared at her dinner guest. “You do understand, don’t you?” Stella’s dark, brown eyes widened. “What I do understand better than most, Miss Chambers, is how to sell pussy.” Across the booth, Eve gasped. “Stella, please.” The last thing she wanted or needed was to get into a heated debate with the blue-chip mother of a woman-child, Brianna, who had been an expert at selling dreams. “May I be honest with you?” Why not?” Stella made a tired gesture. “Go for it?” “Pussy Power!” Eve mumbled the words almost reverently, her tongue rolling clumsily over the curves of each alphabet, falling off the final letter like it was a lopsided roller-coaster. After this blunt announcement, she spoke firmly. “I’m not afraid to dream.” “It feels like I might be the one who dreaming after all that shit you just told me about Brianna and that secret organization of yours. Got my baby trapped off.” Stella sighed. “And now, you want to start another one? That’s insane.” Eve paid no attention to the remark. “Matchmakers Incorporated will not find its fame by accident which means that you are going to have to take your responsibilities seriously.” Eve’s voice grew more confident the more she spoke. “For black women, the future is right now. We deserve a break” “And you’re going to give it to them?’ “No, you are.” “But I’m only concerned about me.” “That’s how I used to feel until I gave it some serious thought. It hasn’t been easy for us.” Stella shrugged her shoulders. “And this is how you want to give back. This Pussy Power thang?” “Isn’t that your dream? Brianna told me all about your desire to use pussy power as the way for black women to get what they want.” “I wasn’t thinking on this large a scale.” Stella looked at Eve. “What I dreamed of was a way to elevate hoes, to teach young bitches, such as Neon and Brianna, how to use their coochies to make a way out of no way.” “What happened?” “My daughters dead and gone. At least, they missing.” Eve gripped Stella’s trembling hands. “Do it for them, in their memory. And what about all the other girls who look up to you as an idol?” “Them bitches sell ass. That’s what they know ‘cause that’s what I taught ‘em.” “But it can be so much more than that because I want you to teach them how to sell dreams.” Eve released Stella’s hand. “You do that and you can put us in a position where black women run the country.” That made Stella laugh. “Is that right?” Stella held back more laughter. “And just how am I supposed to do that?” “By recruiting beautiful, black women into a secret organization. Then I want you to marry your bitches only to powerful, white men who are in positions of authority in this country. I want these bitches married to lawyers, doctors, politicians. I want them everywhere, in every facet of government.” “And then what?” “I expect you to have one of your girls matched up and married to the white boy most likely to have his ass in the White House when Hilary Clinton gets finished.” Stella picked up her napkin, wiping her mouth. “But we already have a sista in the White House.” “This time it will be different.” “How?” “This bitch will do what you tell her to.” Stella’s head began to throb. Terribly. www.amazon.com/dp/B00H3QX3XK
  3. When he had initially thought of calling his daughter to make sure his granddaughter was being watched after carefully, he dismissed the idea. He didn’t wish to offend his daughter. Of course, she was taking precautions to make sure that the ‘body snatchers’ didn’t get her little girl. He called a friend instead. “I know this may sound silly , but what is it about black women and this obsession with their bodies?” Davis paused. “Whatever happened to the old saying about beauty coming from within?” He sighed. “As a psychologist, I figured you might know. And while you’re at it, why do black women, as much shit as they talk, have such low self-esteem?” “Slavery.” “Slavery? I thought that was over about 150 years ago.” Davis grunted. “Come on, Michelle, you gonna have to do better than that.” “Can you imagine how hard it was for black women to find their femininity? Slavery sure as hell didn’t give us any. We were worked in the fields just as hard as the men, so when we were freed from bondage, we didn’t know anything about how to be feminine. What did we know about hair, nail, or makeup? That meant we had to discover our own femininity, had to define ourselves. Of all the women on the planet, black women the only ones that had to learn how to be a woman. All we had was a blank slate on which to draw ourselves, but we didn’t have anything to go on but our physical assets so we used that as our foundation. Titties and ass became the building blocks of black womanhood.” “I’m sorry.” “And your black ass should be.” “Why, what I do?” “Black men let black women down big time.” Michelle shook her head. “We expected so much more from you guys. Do you know why? We were there, Ronnie. The black woman was there, a personal eyewitness to everything you had done for the white man. We saw how you made crops grow like magic from an earth that wasn’t supposed to bear seed. We saw how you erected grand homes out of sticks and stones for the massa.” There was bitterness in her voice. “We were there, Ronnie. We witnessed all the marvelous shit you guys did as slaves, so quite naturally, we assumed that you fuckers were going to do the same for us once we were free. We expected you lazy, no-good motherfuckers to go out and to conquer the world for us, but you guys were bigger bitches as free men than you had been as slaves.” Unable to conceal her disappointment, Michelle hung up. Davis wasn’t about to call back. COOCHIE 2: THE NOVEL ABOUT THE SEX TRADE IN BLACK AMERICA. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FY3CSI0
  4. Brotha Troy, I read the article,but I still didn't understand how to make the link. I tried everything, except put in the formula that u used. In any event, thanks for the article. It was very informative and eye-opening. I will soon be sending u the info for my new author page.
  5. MOTHER DO U KNOW WHERE YOUR DAUGHTERS ARE?! Over the years as the urban culture has glorified the ‘pimp life”, a silent menace has been growing in our midst. The days of the adorable pimps in their colorful clothes are gone. Today's pimps are vicious "body-snatchers" who want your daughters badly. These sistas are worth good money to them as they are being kidnapped and sold into the cruel world of sex traffickers. This is no fairytale. Read COOCHIE, the haunting new novel about sex trafficking in the black community. www.amazon.com/dp/B00EZTQ0LU
  6. GET A FREE COPY OF BLACK PEARL, THE NAUGHTY EROTIC MYSTERY THRILLER 2DAY AND 2MORROW! http://bit.ly/blkpearl
  7. Get a FREE copy of BLACK PEARL, the erotic mystery thriller, 2day and 2morrow. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DTHCWDE
  8. I know that you will figure it out and get it right. As mentioned, I am going to place an ad or something on AALBC early next month to promote the latest book. take care.
  9. Brer, where u been? Been waiting on you to come and put the other link in. I am going to read the article so I can learn how to do it myself. Peace, my brotha. I know u have been busy. Take care.
  10. As far as book covers go, wow, things have really exploded over the last few years. For a while now, I haven't really thought that hard about the changing trend in book covers as I have always suspected that trends were meant to be followed if there was a dollar to be made in it. However, it has come up more often now, meaning the topic about cover art. I imagine that a lot of people think some have gone too far. As Brother Troy personally knows, I had a terrible mishap with a book cover. It was my first, but it was a disaster. It was not graphic. It was just bad. Since then, I have been more open to what goes on the cover of my books, and I still get it wrong most times. Yet, I have attempted to steer clear of visually sexual or violent book cover although now, I am a little more open to the notion that sex sells, especially in certain genres. Even on my latest book cover, I was opposed to the use of the word "bitch' on the cover, but relented after discussion with others who thought it was cute. How cute is it to offend someone's sensibilities? Anyway, I was told to man up. Can you believe that? Here I am, someone who has spent 35 years in some of the toughest prisons in the country and being told to man up. Anyway, yes, some of it has gone too far, but this is a business, And the business of business is business. Business can do strange things to one's scruples. For instance, about 10 years ago, I said, and I said it right here on AALBC, that I would never write a certain type of books, that I would only write literary gems of substance and power. Sadly, the business end of writing quickly changed the moral of that story. Now, I write in an effort to survive, so I write what I promised not to write. Sometimes. In any event, I am determined to get back to my original intent which is to produce work that will sustain our illustrious literary heritage. I guess I said all that to say that sometimes, the cover art as well as the writing may not accurately reflect the author's private passion. It could just be the power of money doing it's thing.
  11. The doctor told Detective Epps to sit down, and he wouldn’t leave the hospital room until he was sure his patient was as comfortable as possible. Once satisfied, Dr. Melton stormed off. “Don’t be long,” he said. “The patient needs-----.” “Now if you will excuse us, Doc.” Epps stared coldly at the broad-shouldered man. “This shouldn’t take long.” “Make sure that it doesn’t.” This was Epps’ second trip to this room and he couldn’t avoid marveling at the man, who, by all accounts, should have been dead. Talk about a miracle. The man smiled weakly. Epps took it upon himself to fling open the blinds on the window. It was a beautiful fall morning and Epps felt that a little sunshine would be perfect for someone who had just experienced a three day coma. As the sunshine pierced the room, the man smiled more fully, welcoming the glow. “What about that night?” Epps asked. The patient jumped, slightly unnerved, saying nothing. “Tell me about it?” The patient stared at Epps, wondering what words he could use to describe that night. How could it ever be explained? “It was evil.” The patient spoke with enough crispness so that he barely had to breathe. “Evil.” Epps walked closer to the bed, had a seat. “But there has to be more.” The man openly wept. “Has it reached the point where you’ve forgotten?” Epps coldly ignored the man’s tears. “No.” “All right, then,” Epps whispered. “I need to know what happened.” He looked at the weeping man as if he was a spoiled child. “Do me a favor and pull yourself together. I need you to talk about that night without falling to pieces.” The man pursed his lips, but made no response. “The problem with your silence could mean that the man who did this-----.” “Man? It wasn’t a man.” For a brief second, Epps looked embarrassed. He became more guarded. “You mean it was a….a woman?” The man nodded solemnly. His eyes fluttered wide open. “Surprised?” A light instantly came on in Epps’ head, but he just as quickly turned it OFF. “Tell me more, please. I’m sorry if I appeared surprised, but it’s just that-----“ “She was pretty, a pretty devil.” Epps removed a micro-cassette player from his briefcase. He touched a button on the player’s silver front and a red dot in the tiny corner shimmered ON, and after informing the recorder of the day, date, and the nature of the business at hand, he looked into the minister’s eyes. “Tell me everything.” The preacher got chills just from thinking about that night. His body tingled. He felt light-headed, and wished over and over again that that night had never happened. Looking back in time, his blood pressure surged as the events of that night leaped out at him, slamming into his consciousness. Trying to remain calm, he saw his hands transformed into fists, but how did he protect himself from a nightmare that had already come and gone? Still his heart hammered. The preacher wanted to hate his vivid recall of what happened, but the memories were there, gleaming and glistening with terrible fright, frozen in his mind’s eye. Every time he took a breath, the fear inside his heart seemed to gather momentum, tightening up its psychic noose until he wanted to yelp like a sick puppy. Cradling his head in his hands, the preacher groaned miserably. “Her voice was full of hostility. It sounded like darkness, like nature gone crazy.” “I understand,” Epps commented blankly. The preacher doubted it. “What did the woman say with the voice?” “She was ranting, raving, saying blasphemous things like God didn’t exist, and that she was going to prove it.” “How?” “By making me pray.” “For what?” “For God to kill her.” “Huh?!” Epps exclaimed. “To kill her?” He was puzzled. “So the woman wanted God to kill her. Why?” The preacher sighed wearily. “Because that would be the only thing that could prevent her from killing me.” “I-I-------“ “The point, detective, was that the woman wanted to prove to me that God didn’t exist, and what better way to demonstrate that than by showing me that my prayers for my life would not be answered.” Epps got the point. “And who else should God respond to quicker than one of his ministers.” Epps turned thoughtful. “Still, it appears from everything you’ve told me that the proof was not so much for you as it was for the woman. The issue seemed to be that the woman was the one seeking confirmation that God----“ “Suit yourself,” the preacher butted in. “Either way, it almost got me killed.” Epps switched OFF the recorder. The city was going crazy. A woman?! BLACK PEARL 2. 99cents http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EKV8NVS
  12. BLACK PEARL 2. The perfect read to cuddle up with this weekend. Only 99cents After all three murder charges against her are dropped, Pearl hits the streets of Charlotte with a vengeance. It is do-or-die- time and she knows it. Pearl has no money, no friends, and nowhere to go but since she is still full of surprises, secrets and scams, she feels she can once again rise to the top. Pearl celebrates her release from jail with all the fanfare of an A-list celebrity as she steps back onto the scene with her new commitment to always stay two steps ahead of the devil. But before she can reach the top of the mountain, she must once again hit rock bottom, and this time her fall is so hard, it forces her to do the unthinkable. This is the one challenge that no one would want, but yet Pearl thinks she can win. Follow Pearl as she fights the fight with someone who is much greater than she is. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EKV8NVS
  13. I sincerely urge and encourage you to take advantage of this free offer and to indulge yourselves into BLACK PEARL, a novel that eloquently expresses our deeply-held need to fulfill ourselves. Sometimes, though, the risks of doing so are immensely great. What do you do? More importantly, where do you go when you have already gone too far? No one alive is exempt from their "do-or-die" moment with destiny when you must make a decision that will either make you or break you. Learn how Princess "Pearl" Washington dealt with her face-to-face meeting with fate. Just follow the link and the book is your forever. Enjoy. Feel free to leave a review if you are so inclined. Peace. Thx. http://bit.ly/blkpearl http://bit.ly/blkpearl
  14. I sincerely urge and encourage you not to miss the chance to indulge yourselves into the pages of a great new book, BLACK PEARL. Just follow the link and it is yours. http://bit.ly/blkpearl. Feel free to leave a review. Thx!
  15. Hey, brother Troy: I am in the process of doing some advertising with you and I will need to be split from Greg. I will be in touch just as soon as the free book days are over on Kindle. I will be giving away free copies of Black Pearl starting tomorrow through Friday. Following this, I will put up promo ads on AALBC. Where else would I go? Peace.
  16. SOULFIRE BOOKS PROUDLY ANNOUNCES THE RELEASE OF BLACK PEARL. After spending 35 years of his life in prison, Gibran Tariq, the man once hailed as the greatest prison writer ever, has just released his latest work as an original ebook publication. BLACK PEARL is a stunning tour de force, the superbly crafted story of one woman’s incredible journey of self-discovery. BLACK PEARL is guaranteed to transform you, to shock you, and as you get inside the mind of Princess Washington, the one woman who thinks she can cheat fate by not letting anything stop her from her individual pursuit of happiness, you will cry. Sometimes, you just need to appreciate what you have. Charlotte NC---Finally deciding to give up the fast-paced hustle of the street life, Tariq has settled for the more laid-back world of writing and is now out to stake his claim as a vibrant, relevant urban author. As founder of SOULFIRE BOOKS, Tariq is committed to writing books that “will set your soul on fire”. BLACK PEARL is merely the first of a long string of novels. BLACK PEARL is not simply a book.......it is an EVENT! Follow the link to find your slice of literary happiness. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DTHCWDE
  17. There were never such a thing as separate but equal schools when the ruling came out. In my hometown, when the ruling first came into existence, they opened the first so-called black library. All the library consisted of was a room with a chair in it. There were no books. Yet this satisfied the requirements of the ruling as far as the powers that be were concerned. These laws were not laws. What they were though were loopholes that allowed the ruling elite to continue business as usual.
  18. Thanks, bro. Troy. Man, you have always been there for me with timely advice and useful info. Thx.
  19. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DTHCWDE
  20. For most of my life, I was the guy most wannabe thugs wished they could be. Officially declared a "menace to society", I was sentenced to 30 years in federal prison for my role as mastermind of a series of daring bank robberies in the 70s. Two involved shootouts. One with the police. The other with a citizen in a bank parking lot where I narrowly missed being killed. While confined, I took part in an even more daring prison escape. Despite this seeming penchant for violence, I consoled myself with the notion that I was merely a poet trapped in a gangsta's body and oddly enough, this wasn't far from the truth as I had evolved from a family of teachers, four of whom taught English. As such, I learned, early on, to respect and to appreciate language since my grandmother was very strict and would not tolerate improper grammar under her roof. From the start, there appeared to be a household conspiracy to convert me into a writer. By the time I was ten, I possessed a private library fit for a scholar, had a new typewriter, a big desk, and plenty of blank paper. By 11, I had mastered the dictionary, was a whiz at Scrabble, and was a honor roll student in school. At 12, I had completed my first novel. By my 13th birthday, something else happened. I discovered hustling and immediately dropped out of school and adopted "the streets" as my home. By 14, I was in reform school for assaulting a police officer. While there, I was a star journalist, the first black deemed smart enough to work in the print shop and on the in-house newsletter. I served one year and a day. Upon my release, with hardly any delays, I embarked on a personal crime spree, and at 15, was sent to prison where I was the youngest convict there. While in the Youth Center, I acquired my high school diploma at 16, wrote my first play, turned militant, and when released at 19, went to New York to join the Black Panthers. In New York, I discovered heroin. Writing and the revolution would both have to wait as a drug habit left little room for anything else. When I tired of being a junkie, I kicked my fascination with getting high, but years later would emerge as the "alleged" kingpin of a notorious, million-dollar, heroin distribution ring. Finally brought down by the FBI and DEA in 1997, I again was sent to federal prison. I would be gone for another decade, but once more I turned back to what I had turned my back on: writing. I studied journalism, started a writer's colony, mentored other aspiring prison writers, four of whom are now published, one a bestselling street-lit author. I edited and founded various newsletters, performed freelance editorial services for outside writers while quietly perfecting my craft. I now teach a very popular writing class, called “The Gilbraltar Writng Style”, which I developed while confined. Hailed by some as the greatest prison writer ever, I was interviewed by numerous TV and print outlets. My writings have even been studied in an English class at an university where I was invited to lecture. While in the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary, I published two novels, but soured on traditional publishing after a deal gone bad with a well-known publisher. I also developed two programs. One, PROJECT UPLIFT, deals with drug-dealer addiction. The second, GIRLSMART, concerns at-risk, teenaged, black girls. This program is a counter to the BET-inspired video vixen syndrome where sistas opt to employ their booty rather than their brains. Once freed in 2007, I established The Giant Steps Foundation along with my old bank robbery crew from the 70s. Our goal was to steer inner-city youth away from a life of crime and confinement. http://www.wcnc.com/...-102315609.html After spending over 35 years of my life in some of the toughest prisons in America, I founded SOULFIRE BOOKS and can unequivocally say that I have finally gone from wrong to "write!" At last! Check out some of the 99 cents e-titles at SOULFIRE BOOKS: Black Pearl. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085YM53K Pearl Washington is a church girl, who, all of a sudden, feels the church is cheating her out of a social life. Convinced that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, she embarks on an unforgettable journey down the "Highway to Hell" When I Say Jump http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00785YL96 Leaving Howard University with her law &do=embed' frameborder='0' data-embedContent>, Elizabeth Sellers is ready to set the legal world on fire, but her very first case can also be her last. When she takes on the case of four black toddlers injured at a day care, she stumbles upon a government conspiracy to imprison one out of every four black males born in this country. MatchMaker http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00789SLQC Amazing novel about the first black First Lady. Samantha Givens is the ultimate diva. At forty-five, she is gorgeous, smart, and clever. She also has a secret agenda. Like her mother before her, she has the amazing ability to pair up young lovers, but unlike her mother, Samantha is too ambitious to simply "hook up" the golden girls of urban America with undeserving thugs. As an option, she establishes Matchmaker, Incorporated--a secret organization of beautiful, black women--intent on taking control of the country. The BBW--Beautiful Black Women--are the creme de la creme of black America and Samantha will only wed them to rich, powerful men. In this way, the BBWs will be a position to "call shots" as the power behind the throne. Overwhelmingly successful, Samantha has wed her designer line of "living, breathing, female predators" to countless lawyers, doctors, and politicians across the country until there is not a facet of government where there are not found.Yet one prize has eluded her: The White House! So she sets out on the ultimate quest--to marry one of her BBWs to the man most likely to win the presidency of the United States. But before she can marry him to one of her BBWs, she must first find him. Yet, there is an even bigger problem: the woman most suited for the job is the one least interested. Paris Hall, the only woman more beautiful than Samantha Givens, threatens everything. Snapshots http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0076RB6S0 SNAPSHOTS is a cover-to-cover inspirational guide for African-Americans who aspire to understand themselves and the world in which they live. This book will not merely acquaint you with countless gems of wisdom, it will also open your eyes and motivate you to want to become a better person. SNAPSHOTS is not merely a book of 365 affirmations. It is a provocative day-to-day adventure, a daily event that will transform you. This book will set your soul on fire! It is a key that you can use to unlock the start of each morning and then provide you with a passport into the mystery of tomorrow! Coochie http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007X6SL6O Novel that &do=embed' frameborder='0' data-embedContent>with the issue of sex trafficking in black America When Supreme, an aginghustler is released from prison, he turns to his old childhood friend, Ice, a pimp, who swears he has stumbled upon the sweetest game in the world. Teamed up with vicious Russian gangsters, Ice and Supreme become instant millionaires in the international sex trade where they become the main players in a scheme to smuggle, young, black girls out of the country into Eastern Europe. At the last minute, Supreme has a change of heart, but will he be able to save the young girls from a life of sexual slavery!? The Root of All Evil http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007DBVVM0 Jamal Morris had been born into the richest black family in the country, but little did he know that damning evidence would ultimately link his family’s wealthto the Illuminati, a secret organization of European bankers out to control the world.Suddenly Jamal’s world is turned upside down as the myth surrounding his family wealth is finally exposed. All his life, he had been told that a mysterious, white man had left his wealth to them, but what he wasn’t told was that the man was Paul “Mad-dog” Madsen, the devious English banker who had brilliantly master-minded the collapse of the American government in 1933 forcing it to declare bankruptcy, allowing him to make off with all the country’s gold. But that’s just the beginning of Jamal’s problem. Unknown to him is the fact that the little, tiny jewelry box that Madsen bequeathed to his family contained secret documents that international bankers as well as the President of the United States are willing to kill for. And they’re only a few of the people out to get him! From Suga 2 Shit http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007Z3RJ72 When Monique Bryant falls from grace, she falls hard. Formerly, a good girl with high aspirations to be a star in corporate America, things do not turn out as planned and it is all downhill from there. Seemingly unable to halt her descent into the life of exotic dancing and drugs, Monique decides to enjoy her ride down the highway to hell! But when the church refuses to accept her back and a family crisis threatens to rob her of what little dignity she has left, what she finds out is that it is her against the world. Knocked down, bowled over and trampled by life, Monique is not one to give up. Becoming a true believer in "that which does not kill me makes me stronger", Monique fights back, clawing her way out of the hole that her big butt and pretty smile have dug for her. If you have read or plan to read any of these books, please don’t hesitate to post a review. We would love to know your feelings on what we do here at SOULFIRE BOOKS. Thanks
  21. SOULFIRE BOOKS exists because you read! With the advent of this company, a new day has dawned in the world of urban literature. At SOULFIRE BOOKS, we possess the unique attitude that you deserve a reading experience that far exceeds your expectations, one that is totally transforming and enriching. Reading should be a wonderful habit, but how can this be so when you have been forced to read terribly written books with predictable storylines? Well, it is GRADUATION DAY! You have graduated to a realm of writing that will set you free from the ordinary, the mundane, and the highly ridiculous literature that you may have grown accustomed to. Whet your literary palette on any of the works from SOULFIRE BOOKS and your reading habits will never be the same. There is something about words. They soothe. There is a profound peace in the way that words jump off the pages of a well-written book, ending with what is more of an announcement than a pronouncement. Not many writers can lay claim to such an exquisite elegance because they are not equipped with the required skills or mind-set to perform at such an extraordinary level.. The writers at SOULFIRE BOOKS do. SOULFIRE BOOKS is not so much a place as a destination, We write our books to give you an overwhelming sense of literary satisfaction because we want you to be possessed by what can only be described as "The SOULFIRE" experience. We don't merely welcome your literary presence. We celebrate it. Something else we are about here at SOULFIRE BOOKS is great writing, well-conceived story-lines, and totally engaging characters. This is what we term the "trinity of a complete book." Check out any of the works we offer at SOULFIRE BOOKS and see for yourself if we stand up and measure up to that boast. We are utterly convinced that what you will discover to your total satisfaction is that we practice what we preach! Check out some of the 99 cents e-titles at SOULFIRE BOOKS: Black Pearl. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085YM53K Pearl Washington is a church girl, who, all of a sudden, feels the church is cheating her out of a social life. Convinced that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, she embarks on an unforgettable journey down the "Highway to Hell" When I Say Jump http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00785YL96 Leaving Howard University with her law degree, Elizabeth Sellers is ready to set the legal world on fire, but her very first case can also be her last. When she takes on the case of four black toddlers injured at a day care, she stumbles upon a government conspiracy to imprison one out of every four black males born in this country. MatchMaker http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00789SLQC Amazing novel about the first black First Lady.Samantha Givens is the ultimate diva. At forty-five, she is gorgeous, smart, and clever. She also has a secret agenda. Like her mother before her, she has the amazing ability to pair up young lovers, but unlike her mother, Samantha is too ambitious to simply "hook up" the golden girls of urban America with undeserving thugs. As an option, she establishes Matchmaker, Incorporated--a secret organization of beautiful, black women--intent on taking control of the country. The BBW--Beautiful Black Women--are the creme de la creme of black America and Samantha will only wed them to rich, powerful men. In this way, the BBWs will be a position to "call shots" as the power behind the throne. Overwhelmingly successful, Samantha has wed her designer line of "living, breathing, female predators" to countless lawyers, doctors, and politicians across the country until there is not a facet of government where there are not found.Yet one prize has eluded her: The White House! So she sets out on the ultimate quest--to marry one of her BBWs to the man most likely to win the presidency of the United States. But before she can marry him to one of her BBWs, she must first find him. Yet, there is an even bigger problem: the woman most suited for the job is the one least interested. Paris Hall, the only woman more beautiful than Samantha Givens, threatens everything. Snapshots http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0076RB6S0 SNAPSHOTS is a cover-to-cover inspirational guide for African-Americans who aspire to understand themselves and the world in which they live. This book will not merely acquaint you with countless gems of wisdom, it will also open your eyes and motivate you to want to become a better person. SNAPSHOTS is not merely a book of 365 affirmations. It is a provocative day-to-day adventure, a daily event that will transform you. This book will set your soul on fire! It is a key that you can use to unlock the start of each morning and then provide you with a passport into the mystery of tomorrow! Coochie http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007X6SL6O Novel that deals with the issue of sex trafficking in black America When Supreme, an aging hustler is released from prison, he turns to his old childhood friend, Ice, a pimp, who swears he has stumbled upon the sweetest game in the world. Teamed up with vicious Russian gangsters, Ice and Supreme become instant millionaires in the international sex trade where they become the main players in a scheme to smuggle, young, black girls out of the country into Eastern Europe. At the last minute, Supreme has a change of heart, but will he be able to save the young girls from a life of sexual slavery!? The Root of All Evil http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007DBVVM0 Jamal Morris had been born into the richest black family in the country, but little did he know that damning evidence would ultimately link his family’s wealth to the Illuminati, a secret organization of European bankers out to control the world.Suddenly Jamal’s world is turned upside down as the myth surrounding his family wealth is finally exposed. All his life, he had been told that a mysterious, white man had left his wealth to them, but what he wasn’t told was that the man was Paul “Mad-dog” Madsen, the devious English banker who had brilliantly master-minded the collapse of the American government in 1933 forcing it to declare bankruptcy, allowing him to make off with all the country’s gold. But that’s just the beginning of Jamal’s problem. Unknown to him is the fact that the little, tiny jewelry box that Madsen bequeathed to his family contained secret documents that international bankers as well as the President of the United States are willing to kill for. And they’re only a few of the people out to get him! From Suga 2 Shit http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007Z3RJ72 When Monique Bryant falls from grace, she falls hard. Formerly, a good girl with high aspirations to be a star in corporate America, things do not turn out as planned and it is all downhill from there. Seemingly unable to halt her descent into the life of exotic dancing and drugs, Monique decides to enjoy her ride down the highway to hell! But when the church refuses to accept her back and a family crisis threatens to rob her of what little dignity she has left, what she finds out is that it is her against the world. Knocked down, bowled over and trampled by life, Monique is not one to give up. Becoming a true believer in "that which does not kill me makes me stronger", Monique fights back, clawing her way out of the hole that her big butt and pretty smile have dug for her. If you have read or plan to read any of these books, please don’t hesitate to post a review. We would love to know your feelings on what we do here at SOULFIRE BOOKS. Thanks
  22. WARNING! EXPLICIT LANGUAGE 2 Pearl managed to get in trouble with herself just as soon as she got home. Instinctively, she understood that if she had desired music, she should have put on some Vickie Winans, some Mary Mary, or some Yolanda Adams, but instead she popped that “Oops” song by Tweet into the CD player. Unfazed by the suggestive autoeroticism of the lyrics, Pearl found herself bouncing around, studying her thoughtful profile in the full length bedroom mirror. Moving to the beat, Pearl reminded herself that as a church girl, she should be openly contemptuous of the song, rejecting it for it lyrical worthlessness, but what she discovered instead was that she was subconsciously following Tweet’s instructions. Oops, there went her shirt! Staring at her breasts as she unclasped the bra, Pearl knew it was time for her to rebuff her lewd intentions and actions, but she couldn’t fight against the intense euphoria she was experiencing. She was high on herself. At least that was a good enough explanation for herself, and at that moment she didn’t give a damn about anyone else. “Oh my goodness,” Pearl gasped. This was her favorite part of the song. “Oh my goodness!” she gasped again. Before now, she didn’t even know she had a favorite part of that song. In fact, she didn’t even recall where she had gotten the CD, but none of that mattered now because all that was on her mind was getting out of her clothes as soon as she could. At the moment, she was not particularly attracted to anything that came between her fingers and her flesh. She wanted to touch herself. Badly. Handling her beasts cautiously, Pearl could feel her insides grabbing back and for the first time an orgasm was something she could sense, so almost daring herself to do it, she rubbed herself high on the inside of her thigh, and without warning her breathing fell further and further behind the loud thumping of her heart. She broke out in a cold sweat. This was no sexual prank! It felt too damn good and her pussy, which she had forever regarded as a furry, wrought-iron gate, now expressed itself as a portal to paradise while sensations she couldn’t decipher invited her inside. Coming of age in front of her bedroom mirror, Pearl smelled the fragrance of her vagina for the first time. It was a sweet, musky nectar that overpowered her, overwhelming her senses, making her want to experiment with herself just that much more. And she did. Initially, she merely touched herself. Then she went further, wanting more, boldly taking on an even bigger role in finding her own pleasure, and by gently applying pressure to the tip of her distended clitoris, she instantly savored the intimate drama of having a personal moment with herself. She squeezed. She screamed. Her body shook. Quickly, she pulled her hand back but just as quickly convinced herself that she had to do it again. She fought against the impulse to be sexually greedy so she took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then she had a second private engagement with herself, but this time her touch was more nuanced, her untrained fingers spreading warmth and joy throughout the entire front entrance of her pussy. Pearl growled like a lion. Staring at her contorted face in the mirror, she wondered if this was how Brandy looked when she was doing it, but when her facial expression changed again, she noticed, that like a ballerina, she was perched on the tips of her toes and that her fingers were jabbing in and out of her sucking pussy like meat-filled pistons. “Oh Jesus!” she cried aloud, whooping wildly at the wet intoxication of an orgasm. Her first. Her body lovingly cared for, Pearl recognized that getting a nut was a lot like taking a sedative, and she found that she was absolutely relaxed with only a faint trace of guilt. Sitting up in her room listening to Brandy sing “Sitting Up In My Room”, she wondered what to do now. She had no clue because where did you go when you had already gone too far? Playing with herself had been a risky, complex adventure and she, though still sexually numb, had been quite fascinated by the choreography of her fingers, but it had shocked her that she had known how to use them! She found it remarkable that a full-fledged virgin would understand the delicate intricacy of a pussy she had not familiarized herself with beyond the clinical experience of personal hygiene. How could she have known to be so alert to the magical possibilities of self-stimulation? She had no answer for that. Abruptly, Pearl felt she had better renew her faith to ward off any more idle thoughts of her wicked behavior so she grabbed her electronic King James Bible. She retrieved a passage from Psalms to serve as her devotional, but when instant inspiration didn’t come, she got worried. Suddenly, she wanted to listen to Oops again! Two minutes later, she phoned her cousin Joy. “I got a question for you.” Pearl paused. “It’s about size.” “What about it?” “How do you know what size is right for you?” “Unless I’m missing something, I take it that you mean dick size. Am I right or wrong?” “You’re not missing anything, so can I get my answer and go on about my business.” “That’s simple, cuz. A gang-bang.” “What?!” “Yeah, you let four or five nigga run a train on you.” “That’s the craziest---“ “Hold on, cuz. You asked, so hear me out. You owe me that much.” “Okay,” Pearl relented, “go on.” “You see, there’s some technical aspects to a gang-bang that a bitch must absolutely get right if she expects any kind of success. Anyway, you get these five niggas and let them fuck you in sequence.” “In sequence?” “That’s right. You let the one with the littlest dick go first. Then you move up the scale, increasing the size. Believe me, cuz, you’ll know when you hit your dosage-----“ Pearl quickly hung up. She didn’t know if she was hot and bothered or bothered and hot. All she knew was that she was sweating and that she already felt flushed. Damn! She was going to hell! To purchase click on link. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085YMS3K
  23. BLACK PEARL Pearl was black. Actually, it wasn’t quite that simple since Princess Washington was not blue-black like the African model Alex Wek, nor was her name Pearl. These distinct factors, more than anything else, provided her with a guilty pleasure that almost freed her from the stress of her very complex life which she badly wanted to alter. So here she was, at twenty-one, a Brandy look-alike (only with bigger titties and ass) galloping into urban history as a “Goody-Two-Shoes”. This frustrated Pearl because her deepest darkest secret was to dirty up her halo! Yet she knew nothing of how to peddle herself as a bitch. “Girl, you suffering from a terminal case of silliness with your Brandy-looking ass. Evidently, you don’t know the untold story.” Pearl stared at her church-going, but more (much more) worldly friend, LaNisa Johnson. “What untold story?” “The real story.” That puzzled Pearl who glared at LaNisa quizzically. “How do you know it’s real if it’s untold?” “Because its true, that’s why.” “Well, I love the truth…so tell me.” “Okay.” LaNisa smacked her lips loudly. “According to those in the know, there are more freaks in the church than in the strip clubs.” Pearl jumped back. “Honey, ain’t no lightning gonna strike you, so calm your Brandy-looking ass down.” “You talking like that, I don’t see why not.” “You wanna know why?” “Why?” “Because freaks in the church keep in on the DL.” “I-I don’t believe you.” LaNisa played with her manicured nails. “Hmmph, what you believe or don’t believe is on you, but let me put it like this. Every profession has its, shall we say, secret institutions.” Pearl rolled her eyes. “You sure you don’t mean sacred institutions. You know how you get things mixed up.” It was LaNisa’s time to roll her eyes. “Girl, I do know the difference between sacred and secret, and if I had meant to say sacred, that is what would have come out of my mouth.” LaNisa put her hands on her hips. “Big Mama didn’t make no mistake. Now, run a and tell that.” Pearl wanted to groan. LaNisa, her big-legged, red-boned friend, was so melodramatic, but Pearl, for some reasons, felt inclined to believe LaNisa this time. “Okay.” Pearl’s voice cracked with embarrassment. “How do you know about you know what?” LaNisa chuckled. “Now, I hope you not thinking that I just got lucky.” She sipped her Diet soda like it was no big deal. “So,” she asked, “Do you think that I know because I’m lucky or that I know. You know….really know?” “Oh my God, LaNisa?! Pearl shrieked. “I-I can’t say for sure.” “Go ‘head, take a guess. You my girl.” Pearl didn’t say anything. LaNisa smiled slyly. “Girl, I can almost hear you thinking, but its almost time for us to get back to work so perhaps you need to think this over. Maybe you really don’t want to know about church.” “All of a sudden, I’m beginning to get the feeling that you need to fall down on your knees and pray.” “That’s funny. A certain reverend told me to same thing, only he didn’t see me having much time to pray while I was on my knees.” “That’s-----“ “What, scandalous?” Pearl felt flushed. “But when we were young, we both said we would wait until we were married.” “Oh, my plans didn’t change. I did.” “Durn, girl, why you didn’t tell me you were doing the nasty?” “Pearl, get real. You think I wanted you lil’ goody-two-shoes ass praying for me, trying to get me to quit.” LaNisa stood up. “Wow, you even talk hip.” “I am woman,” LaNisa purred. “All woman.” She smiled at Pearl. “You got all that female stuff and don’t know how to operate any of it. Shame of you for wasting one of the greatest commodities on the planet.” Pearl anxiously waited for LaNisa out in the parking lot. The work day was done and the two friends had chatted over the phone, agreeing to meet for a quick meal before heading to their respective apartments. LaNisa approached, talking to a short, dark-skinned girl who Pearl knew worked on the seventh floor in accounting. “Pearl, this is Angie,” LaNisa said by way of introduction. “Angie, Pearl.” After the brief introduction (which was more of an appraisal) LaNIsa put her hand on Pearl’s shoulders. “Angie goes to chuuch.” From the moment, LaNisa uttered the word chuuch, sounding like Snoop Dog, Pearl instantly knew that Angie was a DL church freak. “You will love chuuch,” Angie gushed. “But I attend church.” Pearl’s diction was flawless. “And that is precisely why,” LaNisa frowned, “you have never had a truly religious experience.” LaNisa and Angie high-fived each other, enjoying the joke. “I just happen to have a lot of respect for the church.” Pearl suddenly felt defensive. “And I will apologize in my prayers for the two of you if you have somehow mistaken it for a night club. It’s God’s House, not the Gold Club.” “Bitch, stop it,” LaNisa groaned. “You wasn’t talking that shit on the phone.” “Well, that was before you put my business all out in the streets.” Pearl glanced at Angie. “It was private.” “But in chuuch, we delight in helping underprivileged sistas like you,” Angie remarked sincerely. “Hmmph, I bet you do.” “We find strength in numbers.” “Why,” Pearl snapped, “you think there won’t be enough room in hell for all of us if there’s enough of us?” “Hell,” LaNisa cracked, “that sounds like a plan too me. We could start a group, Jezebels Anonymous, and our motto would be: Do your thang. Ain’t enough room in hell for all of us!” “I’m so glad you have it all thought out,” Pearl commented irritably, “but personally, I want to go to heaven.” “An orgasm is heavenly,” Angie chimed happily. “That strikes me as so masculine, something a brotha would say." Pearl shuddered. “Look at her. Look at her.” LaNisa laughed. “Chile having a hot flash.” Pearl pouted. “Goodbye, LaNisa. I’ll be in touch. Angie, it was a pleasure to meet you. May I suggest that the two of you try not to corrupt each other too much?” “No.” “Can’t say I didn’t try.” “Pearl--------“ LaNisa began. “Yes.” “I know your tired ass, so work on something else other than becoming a den mother ‘cause the last thing I need is for somebody trying to babysit my sex life.” “Yeah,” Angie added. “Just be happy for us.” Bitches going straight to hell, Pearl thought as she drove out of the parking lot.
  24. When Monique Bryant falls from grace, she falls hard. Formerly, a good girl with high aspirations to be a star in corporate America, things do not turn out as planned and it is all downhill from there. Seemingly unable to halt her descent into the life of exotic dancing and drugs, Monique decides to enjoy her ride down the highway to hell! But when the church refuses to accept her back and a family crisis threatens to rob her of what little dignity she has left, what she finds out is that it is her against the world. Knocked down, bowled over and trampled by life, Monique is not one to give up. Becoming a true believer in "that which does not kill me makes me stronger", Monique fights back, clawing her way out of the hole that her big butt and a pretty smile has dug for her. FROM SUGA 2 SHIT 1 Sunday. Monique Bryant pushed through the church door hurriedly, gladly shutting out the strong, blustery winds left behind by a late-night storm that had swept through downtown Charlotte. Monique had been frightened by the storm and felt certain that it was a sign from God to her----and everyone else in Charlotte---to get in line in 2012. She had stepped out of the old year convinced that time was running out for her and if there was any salvation to be had in the New Year, she wanted her share. And then some. Lord knows, she had sinned. As she strolled down the aisle of Little Rock AME Zion Church, she felt consumed by angry stares and the cold glare hit her like a slap of freezing ice. All eyes were on her and she instantly experienced the almost uncontrollable urge to spin around in her Steve Madden suede heels and to run out into the driving force of the wind. Better that than this, but by now the church usher was at her side guiding her to a seat. The head usher, sensing that Monique was going to be seated where she could be seen, jumped up and rushed to intercept her. The congregation watched. “Those seats are reserved,” the head usher said, smiling saintly. She patted the younger usher’s hand. “I’ll show her to her seat.” The woman roughly gripped Monique’s hand as though she wanted to squeeze the blood out. “This way, please.” Monique was spin around forcibly. “Reserved seats in a church?” Monique whispered. “Have I been missing from action that long that God had started to play favorites?” “Ssssh!” The head usher tugged at Monique’s hand violently. What did it matter, Monique thought. She knew how church folk were. Following the head usher, Monique suddenly realized that soon there would be nowhere to go but outside if she was escorted any further into the bowels of the cavernous church, but just before they reached the big, swinging doors, the usher---with a measure of immense pride---pointed Monique to the far end of the last pew in the church. “Enjoy the program, chile,” the head usher uttered sweetly. “God bless.” Monique felt ostracized, but didn’t want to think about it, yet it was hard to mistake the “hate” vibes the church members were sending her way. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she recognized that everyone in the Queen City had turned against her. She was an outcast! Throughout the whole service, Monique looked for diversions to help counter how totally numb she felt in the company of church folk whom she had believed would welcome her with open arms. God, had she been wrong. The whole time the preacher had verbally steamed up the gospel, whipping his flock into a near spiritual hysteria, Monique had never felt more alone. Heads---with colorful hats---fully turned around to cast hate-filled eyes at her, but would dutifully look away after a second or two. This Monique could deal with. What really disturbed her was the choir. Their collective eyes never looked away. They were all on “Hater-Aid” and suddenly, all at once, Little Rock seemed to be the last place on earth for her to get shown some love. It was like Whoa! Monique had had enough and was ready to go, but halfway through the closing hymn, the head usher came rumbling down the aisle in her direction. “Don’t go nowhere,” the old sista snarled like a thug out of a movie. “Why not?” Monique whispered. “Am I under arrest?” “Don’t you worry ‘bout no reason why I tole you what I just tole you, chile. You just do it.” The head usher moved her body into the pew, nudging Monique over and when she was sure she had Monique completely blocked in, she stood stiffly and sung the remainder of the hymn in a rusty contraltro. Departing the pulpit with a dramatic, “Thank you, Jesus,” the preacher beat a hasty exit to the back of the church so he could be on hand to personally see the congregation out. It was a cruel world out there, sheer madness in certain places, so Reverend Arnold was real touchy-feely because he never knew what fate awaited some among his worshippers. In Charlotte, the seven days between services was time enough for anything to happen. Like a dressed-up congo line at Shoney’s buffet bar, the congregation paraded down the aisle, all eager to get a hug or hand shake from the preacher who certainly knew how to work a room. “Hey there, Sista Martha. Jesus surely must have taken the calories out of the food he’s been blessing Brotha Joe to bring home and put on the table. Looks like you getting all the taste, but none of the weight. Hallejuiah!” Next was Brotha Calvin. “Reverend Arnold, you know we been praying that my boy get out of jail.” “Yes,” Reverend Arnold said eagerly, “and what miracle has our prayer wrought?” “Fool boy confessed to the crime,” Brotha Calvin cracked, “and now they gonna give him life.” “But at least, he’ll be out of jail.” “Yeah, he’ll be in prison.” “Our bad,” Reverend Arnold snapped. “We forgot to be specific, but you tell that boy about Joseph. He went to prison behind some woman to.” He dismissed Brotha Calvin, stepping around to stoop down to greet a little boy. “Now, I hope you have stopped saying bad words.” “Some of ‘em.” “And why haven’t you stopped using them all, son?” “Because I know too many of ‘em.” “Oh, Jesus, have mercy on the children,” Reverend Arnold wailed loudly, “because if the devil don’t get them, the white folks will. Have a little mercy on the babies, please, Jesus.” Within minutes, the reverend had whittled down the crowd to zero and without warning stormed off towards his office next to the choir box. “Well, what you waiting on?” It was the head usher speaking. “Go.” Monique started towards the door. “Not that way.” The usher placed her wide body between Monique and the door. “You keep right on, chile, and something bad gonna happen up in the Lord’s House this morning.” “Hmmph” Monique huffed, “and they think the streets are unsafe.” “Like they say on TV, roll out. I don’t be liking for nobody to keep the reverend waiting.” Monique rolled out. When Monique and Sista Benson arrived at the study, Reverend Arnold was slouched against the doorway. His robe was flung carelessly across a chair. “Come in,” he said to Monique. To Sista Benson. “Close the door.” “I don’t have long,” Monique announced softly. Reverend Arnold lit up a cigarette, still leaning against the wall. He inhaled, exhaled, talked. “You make it look too easy.” “I beg your pardon.” “Just look at you, Miss Bryant, all fly in your Givenchy gear, strutting up in my church, plumper than a Thanksgiving turkey. Hard for me to tell if you came to repent or to show off.” Reverend Arnold took another drag off his cigarette. “We all know what you do. Where’s your remorse?” Monique dropped down in a soft-back chair. “My goal for this year was to get my life together. I felt the church would be a good place to start. I just didn’t know I had to bring any other ingredients with me.” “Believe me, you do.” The preacher snubbed out his cigarette. “Beginning with a contrite heart, and in your case, a special prayer line, you could’ve look more the part of a prodigal sista. But no, you come sashaying up in here, according to your own whim, looking like a paid ad for sin.” “I-I don’t believe you just said that.” Reverend Arnold chuckled. “The one thing you should know about me is that I have perfected the art of not playing around when it come to this church. That alone is enough for me to ask you to stay away from Little Rock.” He tapped another cigarette from his pack. “Now, what I do suggest is that you join the ministry up at the women’s shelter. They serve up a lighter fare of the gospel there which has a great appeal for junkies, prostitutes, and women who take off their clothes for money.” Reverend Arnold smiled. “I even recommend that you try out for the choir.” “No, thanks,” Monique said firmly. “I think I want to attend this church. And sing.” Reverend Arnold paced the floor. “Consider this, if you would. We just started a new program where we attempt to teach the youth of the church how to survive as a Christian in a pornographic world. Now, how would it look if they stare up in the choir and see you every Sunday. That would defeat our purpose.” “And how is that?” Monique cracked. “You just might remind them that’s it’s easy to bounce back from sin and drugs. They see you sitting up there in your Jill Sander gear and that might be a big enough endorsement for them to go out and get high or sell booty.” Reverend Arnold blew smoke rings. “You feel me, sista. Your mere presence could be corrupting and I can’t allow that to happen.” “So what am I to do, stay in the gutter?” Monique was close to tears. “Jesus, no,” Reverend Arnold protested. “I applaud your efforts to get back on your feet and God knows nothing will alter that perception, but I feel the most crucial element in your full recovery will be to not ever step foot in my church again.” When Monique raised her voice in protest, Sista Benson burst through the door like SuperWoman. “Is she sassing you, Reverend Arnold?” The usher towered over Monique menacingly. “She done been warned. It just might be that she think I’m playing so it might be necessary-----.” “No, I don’t think so, Sista Benson.” Reverend Arnold wrapped his arms round the usher’s big shoulders. “Everything is fine.” “You sho’ ‘bout that, Reverend, ‘cause this whole situation done set my soul on fire.” Sista Benson stared at Monique’s expensive outfit, then snarled. “Chile, do you know how much it will cost to steam the blood out of that pretty dress you got on?” Monique stood. “What that mean? You standing up. You trying to cross my path or something? You trying to get showed something?” “By who, sista?” “By me, that’s who.” “Be quiet,” Reverend Arnold shouted wearily. “Both of you.” “No!” Sista Benson yelled. “I want a piece of this hussy.” “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Sista Benson.” “I’m not leaving.” “But you’re upset.” “And what God-fearing woman wouldn’t be, standing face to face with a hand-maiden of the devil.” “Well,” Monique began, “I can’t help how you feel, but I ask you to say some prayers before you even think about putting your hands on me----“ “Stop it! Both of you. Up in here acting like heathens.” “Don’t worry,” Monique smiled, “I’m leaving.” “Good riddance.” Monique sighed, glaring at Sista Benson. “If fate would ever be unkind and have us meet in a dark alley.” “Ain’t got to be no dark alley, chile. The next time I see you, it’s on. We can be in the mall, at the grocery store, at a PTA meeting. Wherever we at, when we meet again, I’m bringing it.” Monique opened the door. “It’s official, then. We got a date.” “Lord, have mercy,” Reverend Arnold wailed. “Mercy, mercy, mercy.” Once Monique was out of the menacing company of Sista Benson, she struggled with the inner turmoil she felt. How could the church be so vengeful? All she had wanted to do was to regain the innocence that had been stolen from here so long ago. Tears welled in her eyes, but she realized that crying would not remove her pain or take away her disappointment. She simply had to play the hand she was dealt. It was now or never. Driving through Center City, she opened the car window, letting the wind blow over her. She had a lot of problems in her life that needed fixing and if the church had the nerve to turns its back on her, then she would make it on her own. She would take her fight to the streets and compel this bitter earth to teach her its secrets so she could get in where she fit in. She had no other choice. The streets loved her. Everybody knew her name. By the time she drove past the Harvey Gantt Center, the tears were streaming freely down her face and she didn’t try to stop them. Where had all the sunshine in her life gone? Why hadn’t her prayers been answered. Was it because she got high? Or because she was a dancer? Or because she just didn’t give a damn anymore. Turning right at The Bojangles on North Tryon Street, Monique visibly flinched as she watched the sky over West Boulevard erupt into a spasm of dazzling lightning so white hot that it looked like God was stir-frying the heavens. The thunder BOOMED with wondrous might as though it was a majestic passage from God’s own autobiography, but when the rain came and the wind picked up, Monique grew extremely nervous. God was after her. To purchase for 99 cents go http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007Z3RJ72
  25. PRESS RELEASE SoulFire Books 525 Dare Drive Suite 2 Charlotte NC 28206 FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE (Charlotte NC) March 26, 2012) Soulfire Books proudly announces the release of WHEN I SAY JUMP, one of the most anticipated books of the spring literary season. Written by Gibran Tariq, a former prisoner, once hailed as the greatest convict writer ever, has set the bar for great writing even higher now that he is free. When Elizabeth Sellers graduates from Howard University with her law degree, she has plans to take the legal world by storm. Instead she gets caught up in a legal firestorm that threatens her sanity while almost causing her death. Her first case is her last case as she accidentally stumbles upon a government conspiracy to imprison one out of every four black males born in this country. With no one to protect her from her enemies, she has no choice but to expose the conspiracy; however the unbearable torment she has to pay has her wondering if black men are worth the price! When I Say Jump deals with a most disturbing fact:there are almost one million black men locked up in America. More importantly, it forces readers to consider whether there is actually a government conspiracy to imprison black males. If so, how is this conspiracy taking shape and just who are the authors of it? Is the notion of a conspiracy far-fetched? Not when you think about the "Kash 4 Kids" program unearthed In Pennsylvania a few years ago where Judges would accept money from prison contractors in exchange for "bodies" to fill up the beds. After all, what good is a prison if it is empty? Then consider this. Right now in America, big name corporations are virtually fighting to land a contract with a prison so they can establish a branch of their company inside. Revlon has done it. So has IBM, Hewlett Packard, Victoria's Secret and many more. Prisons have become big business and they need someone to work in these prison sweatshops. When I Say Jump takes a fascinating look at what it is like to be targeted by this governmental conspiracy. It is well-written, a bonafide legal thriller on par with anything written by John Grisham. It takes you right into the middle of this controversy and gives you a front row seat to what it could mean to be a "puppet" where rich, powerful men pull the strings that control your destiny where the ultimate goal is to eventually land you, the puppet, in prison where government "puppeteers" reap all the rewards for your confinement. In a lot of households across America, parents worry over who may be stalking their children on the internet, yet for black parents, there is an even greater worry. Is your son being stalked by the government as a potential candidate for prison? In a 1976 leaked document on "the rising fear of the black male", it was declared in this paper that one of the goals of the government was to have a large percentage of young, black males confined! Read this exciting new book and get drawn into the eye of a secret, invisible war between the government and the black community that has been brewing for decades. This exciting new novel can be purchased on Amazon.com in both the print and Kindle version. Don't hesitate to pick up a copy for yourself and once you do, be sure to post a review. Click on the link to purchase the book. http://bit.ly/whenisayjump
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