Another snipplet of "Reality Check"

Now that the blog case was over, Detective McIntyre refocused her attention on real crimes, particularly the Everett case. Every teenage girl had a cell phone but Tasha’s was not at the scene of the crime. It did not take long before Detective McIntyre found out who Tasha’s cellular carrier was and had them provide a copy of Tasha’s last call the night of her murder. Surprisingly, the call was not to 911 but to a local number in the Billups County area.

“Hello?”

Detective McIntyre smiled at the face behind the screen door. It was of a young light-skinned girl around the same age as Tasha.

“Hello. I’m Detective McIntyre.” Detective McIntyre flashed her badge. “I’m looking for Lisa Pitts.”

“I’m she.”

“I’d like to talk to you about Tasha Everett.”

The immediate change in expression on Lisa’s face let Detective McIntyre know she was on the right track.

“Come on in.”

Detective McIntyre walked into the nicely furnished apartment and looked around as Lisa led her to the living room. The walls were decorated with home photos of Lisa and Tasha framed in different sizes. They ranged from black and white professional portraits to comical cartoon drawings. The one on the entertainment center caught Detective McIntyre’s attention. It was of Lisa lying on the couch with Tasha in her lap sleeping. You could tell Lisa captured the moment with her cell phone camera by the way her arm extended outside the frame. The look in Lisa’s eyes resembled that of Detective McIntyre’s late husband. It was the look of unconditional love.

“So, you and Tasha…” Detective McIntyre pointed to the picture.

“We were a couple,” Lisa sighed. She whispered ‘were’ because of the pain associated with it. Detective McIntyre was familiar with the feeling.

“For how long?”

Lisa offered Detective McIntyre a seat.

           “Two years. We been friends since grade school but after her brother was killed, we grew a lot closer. It kinda just happened, ya know.” Lisa had a blank stare on her face as she reminisced on the moment. “One day we were laying on the bed in her room looking at pictures of her and Terrance and outta nowhere, she just kissed me. I said to her, ‘I didn’t even know you like girls’ and she was like, ‘I don’t, I like you’. I knew I loved her before that moment, ya know, but it wasn’t ‘til then that I knew I’d love her forever.”

Go to http://www.ekfsimpson.com/, click on bookshelf, then 'request a signed copy'. Order your favorite title(s) in time for Christmas!

THE HOLIDAY SALE HAS BEEN EXTENDED! ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY WHILE THEY ARE STILL ONLY $10 EACH INCLUDING SHIPPING!

Come join me at Georgia Southern University

On Oct 23rd, I will be attending the 2010 Georgia Literary Festival at Georgia Southern University. I will have a table set up to sell and sign my books at the Nessmith-Lane Continuing Education Building from 8-4pm. If you're in the area, come out and support!

go to http://ceps.georgiasouthern.edu/conted/GLF2010.html for complete schedule of event and authors attending.

Summary of new book, "Reality Check"

Tasha Everett is a walking Lifetime movie special. She has overcome the loss of her brother in the Iraqi war, her mother's drug abuse to prescription medications and her father's alcoholism. She is Billups County High School valedictorian, a full college scholarship recipient and she is gay. When Tasha's body is found on the side of the road, the detectives must determine whether her death is caused by a hit and run accident, a hate crime, or something more heinous.

For Suzanne Tucker, life was a road that few people traveled down in happiness. Unable to bear children, her husband leaving her and being underappreciated at her job made her one of those people. By the looks of things, starting over was not a bad idea. However, starting over could only be successful if you had a plan and a plan she did have. After separating from her estranged husband, Suzanne makes a bold move in the one area she can control, her career. She starts an anonymous blog to report the real news…or is it? When the creditability of her postings is called into question, salvaging her reputation becomes insignificant in comparison to the major aftermath to come.

Who's the real violators?

I just saw on ESPN that Reggie Bush may be stripped of his 2005 Heisman Trophy award due to receiving "improper benefits" while attending USC. Receiving these benefits made him ineligible to play for the 2005 season which means he should not have been a candidate for the Heisman Trophy.

ESPN.com new reads, "The NCAA ruled that Bush received lavish gifts from two fledgling sports marketers hoping to sign him. The men paid for everything from hotel stays and a rent-free home where Bush's family apparently lived to a limousine and a new suit when he accepted his Heisman in New York in December 2005."

The school (USC) has already received punishment for "lack of institutional control", being handed by the NCAA four years' probation, a two-year bowl ban and a reduction in football scholarships.

Here's my hypothetical question, what punishment did the sports marketers receive? (Nothing, I'm sure). We always hear about violations committed by the student athletes and/or coaches and they and the school pays the price but what about the sports agents who entice these young athletes with promises of money, fame and stardom? What is being done to keep them from tempting these athletes to break the rules, especially those from disadvantaged or poverty stricken backgrounds? I'm pretty sure it the athletes didn't sought out the agents so why are they and the schools the only ones being punished?

Do you think the NCAA should enforce the rules for all parties involved in these violations, including the sports agents? Do you think punishments enforced on the sports agents will make a difference? Will they stop or just find sneakier ways of breaking the rules?

Tell me your thoughts!

Stumped???

So, I'm not really one for blogging. Been trying to think of something to write about but haven't come up with much yet. I've never been one to talk about how I feel (a defense mechanism) even though expressing myself through writing comes naturally to me. But alot has been going through my head lately and I need to get it out. I guess this could be the forum for it...stay tuned.

Authors switching genres

Do you think an author can be successful writing in more than one genre? Meaning, do you think Stephen King can pull off a great love story or John Grisham, a science fiction novel?
Does it really matter what an author writes about as long as the book is good or can they only be successful if they write about what they know?

Tell me what are your thoughts.

Sneak peek of "Reality Check"

     Women know when their man is keeping something from them. Whether he’s planning a surprise birthday party or hiding an affair, men have tell tell signs that let women know something is up. Take my husband Ellis for example. We’ve been going through another rough patch in our marriage but for the past month, he’s been coming home early to spend more time with me and the kids. I’ve received four pieces of jewelry; earrings, a necklace, a bracelet and a ring, all half-carat diamonds of a matching set and now we’re on our fifth date night at Luigi’s Bistro in downtown historic Macon. Date night, huh, an idea Ellis came up with to put the spark back into our marriage. Now don’t get me wrong, every woman dreams of a man who would display these actions on the regular but as I said, this just started a month ago and after nearly finishing the whole bottle of the 1941 William Roberson South African red wine we had for dinner all by himself, I knew there was more to the story.
     Ellis laid passed out in the backseat of one our two Lexus sedans as I pulled into the driveway of our home in North Macon. His tan two-button stretch cotton blazer served as a pillow bunched up under his head while one of his chocolate brown Stacy Adams loafers dangled from his right foot. This was my second indicator that something was wrong. The Ellis I knew wouldn’t convert a $300 suit coat into a head cushion no matter how drunk he was. His clothes represented his status and his status meant more to him than anything, even me at times, I felt.
     Our two daughters were at a sleepover at a friend’s house supposedly so we could take advantage of having the whole evening to ourselves. Much good that would do us now. I glanced over the middle console and rolled my eyes at him resting comfortably on the cream leather seats. Having to wait another week to fake an orgasm was all right with me. It’s not like the intimacy was there anymore. Emotionally, we both were at a disconnect with each other.
     “Suzie Q, my lil Suzie Q,” Ellis slurred as the engine going quiet woke him from his comatose state. He wiped the drool from his chin with the back of his hand and frowned at it as if it was its own fault for being there.
     “Yes honey.”
     “I can’t do this no more.”
     I adjusted the rearview mirror in the car to get a better view of him in the backseat. He had placed his blazer in his lap and was gently smoothing out the wrinkles with his hands. There was the Ellis I married.
     “Excuse me?”
     After laughing the drunken man’s laugh, he sulked, “You were right. You’re always right.” His soft but ashy hands loosened his silk tie and unbuttoned the top button of his white fitted French cuffed dress shirt. A second later, he put on his blazer, re-buttoned his shirt and tightened his tie. It was then I realized he wasn’t sure if we were home or had just made it to the restaurant.
     “Right about what, Ellis?” I asked playing dumb.
     “You really gon’ make me say it, huh?” He sat up and squared his shoulders as our eyes locked in the rearview mirror. I could tell he was trying to appear more confident than he actually was but there was a hint of doubt hidden in his glare. Dark circles had formed around his eyes making him look older than his thirty-eight years of age. The corners of his mouth drooped, either from the alcohol, his secret thoughts or both. He looked tired and restless as if he had been carrying a heavy burden for a long time. I guess he was ready to release it because he finally admitted what I had already known, “Fine. I’m cheating on ya. Been cheating on ya and neva gonna stop cheating on ya.”
     I nodded and smiled as his words echoed over and over in my head. It’s one thing to think your spouse is cheating but to know and have them tell you like they don’t care, it does something to you. Without even realizing it, I had slipped off both of the four-inch black leather pumps I bought earlier in the week to match the black ankle length smocked waist dress I wore specifically for this date night.
     “Who is she?” I asked calmly as I pulled on the release lever to lift up the steering wheel. I also lowered the driver seat to give me more room to maneuver.
     “You don’t need to concern yourself wit’ the pa’ticula’s.” Leaning forward and speaking in a cocky tone, he insulted, “Just know that being wit’ her made me realize I married a twenty, not an eighty.” There was that laugh again. That drunken man’s laugh but this time I could hear the relief behind it as he sat back and repeated, “Twenty, nothing but a twenty. You can thank Tyler Perry for helping me see that.”
     Click. He looked from side to side at each door, confused by the sound the automatic locks made.
     “What was that?”
     “That was the sound of the beginning of your BEATDOWN!”
     Moving in one swift motion like I was casting for the next Matrix movie, I hopped up on the back of my seat and started wailing on him, a pump in each hand.
     “YOU SORRY SON OF A BITCH! HOW DARE YOU COME AT ME LIKE I HAVEN’T DONE A DAMN THING FOR YOU ALL THESE YEARS! IMMA KILL YOU!”
     First, he tried to grab my arms to keep me from hitting him but the adrenaline rush from my rage was no match for him. His only mode of survival was to exit but my clever thinking in locking the doors delayed that action.
     Tugging on the door handle frantically, he screamed, “AGH! Woman, are you crazy? Get off me!”
     I never believed the stories people told about blacking out until that day. How could you not remember committing an act of violence toward someone but now I understood. Something inside you snaps and you can’t control it because you didn’t even realize it happened. One moment, I was bashing Ellis’s skull in with my heels and the next thing I knew, he had unlocked his door and fell out the car to safety. Lucky him.
     “You done lost your damn mind!” he yelled from the lawn, wiping blood from the side of his head. He laid down on our concrete driveway in a half pike position inspecting the rest of his body for other wounds.
     I sat down in the seat staring straight ahead, huffing heavily as I clutched my pumps in anger. I could hear my racing heartbeat ringing in my ears so I shut my eyes tightly to try to calm the noise but all it did was produce stars. I quickly shook my head from side to side to rid of them before staring at myself in the rearview mirror. I’m crazy? I’ve lost my mind? Negro, you can’t be serious. The anger I felt transformed to hurt without notice. Tears flooded my eyes and my nostrils flared with each breath I took. No, I wasn’t ready to cry yet. I wasn’t ready to test to see if the no run Mary Kay mascara I was wearing was indeed true. Not now and definitely not in front of him so I unlocked my door and got out the car, ready for round number two.
     “Suzanne…” Ellis eyes widened and his posture shrunk as I slowly approached him. The arrogant bastard who considered me twenty percent of a woman not ten minutes ago had now disintegrated into a helpless weakling. The stench of alcohol smothered the Hugo Boss Sensation cologne I once loved to engulf myself in. Now, all I could smell was fear on him as I inched closer like a lioness ready to attack her cornered prey.
     “Don’t Suzanne me.” I choked on my words as I swallowed hard to drown the tears heading for my eye ducts. “Just tell me why? Is it because she’s younger than me, or maybe it’s because she’s darker? Being wit’ a ‘light bright’ don’t make ya black enuff in da eyes of yo’ peoples?” I spoke my last statement with the southern twang of a 1830’s slave.
     Instead of answering me, his eyes darted around like a ball in a pinball machine. I knew he was looking for an escape route so I made my move before he had a chance to find one.
     “Baby, wait,” he sat with his hands out, palms up in a submissive pose, pleading.
     “Oh, it’s baby now, huh?”
     Ellis could see it written all over my face that there was nothing he could say to salvage this night and the only thing he could do to save his life…was run. My wild swing caused the heel of my pump to catch enough of the back of his overpriced shirt to plug a hole and tear it right down the middle just before he got away. Not settling for defeat, I hiked up my dress thigh high and took off after him. As I chased him barefooted through the backyard of our half-acre manicured lot, all I could think was, Damn, I should’ve activated the child safety locks. His punk ass would’ve never got outta that bitch alive.