A Golden Life: The Blog Home of Author Claudia Moss

I Felt International Yesterday...

2012-02-01T01:03:00.005-05:00

On The Last Day of January! Softly patting my own back. I'm stepping over, leaping across, diving through, rolling under and crash-landing into procrastination and fear in any of its latent forms in 2012! Join me. Let's make it our resolution right now. We're unique enough to set our own traditions, right? Absolutely! That settled, let's return to the blog at hand...

Without leaving the comforts of my writing desk a few hours ago, I visited the French Amazon platform, where I translated my Author Central biography to French and uploaded a trio of pictures for their viewing pleasure of The Golden Goddess. What fun! And I didn't stop there. Feeling feisty, I went on to do the same for the United Kingdom's Amazon stage and the Netherlands' Internet portal. I think it was worthwhile. After all, I do enjoy the personable touch of feeling as though I can reach out and touch someone whose work captures my interest.

Here on my home page, I'm sharing the URL to my revised Author Central site. I tightened it. Included the essentials. Deleted a pic. Pondered deleting my featured video. Why? Well, for one, it's entirely too dark. I favor a supernatural being draped in shadows, feigning pomp and polish in my Anchorwoman Woman voice. For those who know me, if you stare hard enough, you can make out my nebulous measurements and, of course, my voice.

I AM UPLOADING A NEW VIDEO SOON. There! If I say it often enough, and write it, it'll become my intention. Isn't that how it goes? Uh huh, think so! Anyway, I look forward to filming it with my sister Glenda's incomparable cell or my own under-used camcorder. Now that's a decent promise.

As usual, you're invited to visit and share your opinion. I ADORE feedback! So do talk to me! Another promise...this year, it won't take me half a year to respond. ;))

The Golden Goddess
February 1, 2012

Got a Kindle? Borrow My E-books for FREE...

2012-01-29T02:16:00.006-05:00

Amazon intends to remain on the cutting edge of online publishing with its new incentive to promote authors while providing the best reading experience for its clientele! It doesn't get much better than this, mi gente!

Now, with your enrollment in Prime, if you're a Kindle owner, you can choose from thousands of books to borrow for FREE including my 4 e-books–-as frequently as a book a month, with no due dates! To participate in the Kindle Owners' Lending Library, I gladly made my work available exclusively on Amazon.

Therefore, I say, why not? Por que no? Thus, go forth, borrow and read! Your beloved favorites and new authors await you. And when you visit and surf the thousands of Kindle delights, my novel's e-book cover will be beaming electronically!

Happy Sunday!
The Golden Goddess

An Excerpt from WANDA B. WONDERS SINGS THE BAILOUT BLUES

2012-01-25T22:34:00.003-05:00

Dare I say it? Yes, I'm shameless. A few minutes ago, while cruising Amazon, I realized I have yet to share an excerpt of my WANDA B. WONDERS series with you, my golden life family. True, I've highlighted the covers here and even posted two entire chapters in my notes on Facebook. Thus, to remedy the situation here, I am posting a chapter from each of the three books in the series.

I hope you enjoy making her acquaintance!

Chapter 19

MIDNIGHT PUMP PARTY

“Of all the places I ever thought I’d wind up spending the night, the gas station was never one of them, but that is precisely where my car swallowed its last sip of gasoline and promptly put me down right in front of the first of three pumps in the centre island of a four-island gas station on Glenwood,” said Wanda B. Wonders. “Darkness and the gas needles of other cars were falling faster than my cell phone could call Willie Wonders, who was no where to be found.”
“What a frightening ordeal. How did you let your gas gauge get so low?” I asked.
“Looking for petro.”
“This gas scare has got to let up sooner than later.”
“Miss Lady, if later, the gas families will be the only ones able to eat and travel to safer places where petro is still king, while the rest of us will be left to battle food wars and crime, being food and gas prices are climbing higher than Jack’s beanstalk in a patch of fertilizer.
“Hopefully, the situation will right itself before the country knows such dire straits.”
“Yes, prayerfully. As for this present moment, a lot of Blackfolks’ purses and wallets are singing the blues trying to remain law-abiding in these thumb-tack times. I never thought I’d see the day when a gallon of gas was nearly $5.00. Just last week a half tank of gas cost me $50.02. Baby, I almost asked the gas station attendant if their employees got gas discounts, because if so, I needed an employment application.”
“The gas dilemma is squeezing white purses and wallets, too. At the pumps, a white man once asked me for a dollar to pay for his gas so he could get home. In times like these, people become ingenious. Some organize car pools, negotiate flex- time workdays and think about returning to home gardens," I said.
“Some trifling folks will climb fences and harvest what’s in your garden, while you're at work and siphon gas from your car, but the criminally-challenged will be with us always, in the best of times and in the worst of times,” said Wanda B. “I am just not going to be a victim whatever time it is, which takes me back to my midnight pump party.
“I drove into that gas station happier than a toothless, 12-year-old dog chasing a frisky, classy lassie in slow motion. Got out of my car and before I could find my debt card to pay at the pump, a white man in a button-down, tired shirt kindly informed me that the Indian station owner had not two minutes ago locked up and slapped a Will Open Tomorrow sign on the glass door. A mumbling crowd was forming at the entrance. Complaining.
“Above my braids, the eggplant-purple sky was yawning and turning over, bedding down for another restful night, as though it were oblivious to the distress right under its nose. ‘Awww, no,’ I told myself. ‘This white man has forgotten he is a bonafide, red-blooded white man.’ Perhaps he is overworked and underpaid, like the average Black man, I thought. Good thing I am in command of all my faculties and have not forgotten that I am Wanda B. Wonders, Black, free and me. Here was another blessed opportunity to be The Woman.
“I strolled to that glass door, smiled and waved Mr. Owner to his sign.
“ ‘Good morning, Mr. Keeper of the Gas!’ I greeted him. ‘How are you?’
“ ‘I am fine, but I’m also sorry. There will be no gas sold tonight. Please come back in the morning, when the gas truck is expected,’ he called through the glass.
“ ‘You do know that most of these cars cannot leave to return in the morning. Mine for one has taken her last swallow, and if she moves from your station it may be behind a tow truck.’
“ ‘I am sorry, ma’am. I cannot help you.’
“ ‘Mr. Gas, if there is petro in these pumps, why not sell it tonight, and let tomorrow take care of itself? I am not a woman to hang in the streets all night. My husband is waiting for me same as your wife is waiting for you, I’m sure. Why keep us up all night, peeking over our shoulders at strangers, hoping someone doesn’t catch a case and go to robbing in this captivated spot? Supposed we organized out here and didn’t let you out of your station, until we each bought a few gallons of gas?’ I asked.’
“ ‘I would be forced to call the police, ma’am. I said I am sorry. Now please go home.’
“ ‘Yes, I know just how sorry you are. And, yes, I will be going home as soon as I get what I came for,’ I promised, opening my cell phone. ‘However, this newsworthy occasion calls for a few telephone calls: one is to our friendly neighborhood police precinct and the others are to local news and television stations. I’m pretty sure this is an all-time, first affair of its sort in this neck of the woods. Have you ever heard of such? I can see the headlines now: ‘Midnight Pump Party on Glenwood Calls Attention to Gas Crisis.’
“ ‘Ma’am, there has been no law broken. Why call the police?’
“ ‘To know that law and order will be maintained out here, when you are safe and sound at home in your cozy bed. Now if you will excuse me.’
“After that, Miss Lady, my cell phone went to smoking, I called so many people. One lady produced a phone book from her trunk and that was all she wrote. Within ten to fifteen minutes, DeKalb’s finest strolled up, three deep, a young Chinese officer and two, middle-aged officers, one Black, the other white.
“ ‘Where is Miss Wanda B. Wonders?’ This from the young Chinese officer.
“The crowd parted. I emerged and said, ‘Good morning, officers! I am Wanda B. Wonders. Thank you kindly for coming out to check on the gas-out, law-abiding citizens of this great county. We don’t want any more trouble than we already have. I called you to help me mediate an agreement with the gentleman inside this gas station to sell us some petro so we can roll home to our families and prepare for another day.’
“ ‘My pleasure, ma’am, but am I understanding correctly? Is there no more gas to sell?’
“ ‘Perhaps you should pose that question to the gentleman,’ I said.
“Mr. Gas unlocked the glass for the three officers. Then he re-bolted the door behind them. Giving me a ‘you-think-you-are-so-smart’ smile, he turned and started explaining his position to the policemen. Mind you, as they talked, I talked…to every news station that answered at that time of night.”
“I should have known you’d make an effective spokeswoman, Wanda B. What was the result of the mediation?”
“The Chinese officer was their spokesman. He said, ‘This man has committed no crime by withholding the gas but we have tried to get him to sell the gas yet he refuses.’
“ ‘Thank you for trying, Officer---’ I eyed his tag, ‘---Officer Chin. I’m inviting you to stay, but I realize you may be needed to keep the night’s peace in other places. Before you go though, is it against the law for my fellow stranded and gas-less citizens to have a midnight party in this station under the rolling cameras of a local television station? After all, have you known this to have happened before in all your, short I’d assume, years on the police force?’
“ ‘No, ma’am, I've never seen a party of this sort. We will stay as long as we can, but I can’t promise how long that will be, okay?’
“ ‘Fine by me,’ I assured him, raising my voice so Mr. Gas could catch my drift. ‘It'd be delightful to get a statement from the police and the station owner for our fellow citizens to understand what could very well be their next experience.’
“And at that point, I introduced myself to Officer Chin’s cohorts and them to the milling crowd. Then I informed the other folks newly spilling from their cars, patiently waiting for someone to bring them wind of what was going on.
“ ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, I am Wanda B. Wonders, the organizer of your premiere Midnight Pump Party. The owner of the station has decided to have us spend the night here, so that he can sell us the same gas when the sun rises. Meanwhile, you and I will pass the time getting to know one another and sharing our feelings and opinions about where we are in this moment. So if anybody has a portable radio, turn it on, and let’s party away the time. A local news station will be here momentarily.
“ ‘There is always a choice in any situation, and my choice is that we make the most of every moment. Upbeat and hopeful. Not cussing and fussing and wishing Mr. Gas ulcers and other heart and body aches. If you’re with me, let’s follow Marvin and get it on!’”
“Wanda B., I’m sure that last part caused the gas station owner a major headache.”
“Possibly. After he saw the mood shift and sway and brighten under the lights of his pumps, the revelry rivaling the midnight stars, with the police joining in, exchanging small talk, dancing and laughing, Mr. Gas hurried up and powered up those pumps, Sweet Pumpkin. And I don't blame him, being pedestrians began swelling our ranks, asking about admission and the prices of sodas and sandwiches and other goodies people were spreading across their hoods!

My 5-Star Review from SISTAHS ON THE SHELF

2012-01-24T15:14:00.007-05:00

What a way to leap into 2012! The New Year arrived, and in the ever present flow of one season bowing to another, I completely forgot about the anticipation of receiving a Sistahs on the Shelf review. Then came a feather-soft nudge within, and I remembered, while opening my e-mail one afternoon. Magically, there it was!

My heart took wings, fluttered and beat a wild crescendo, leaving me sufficiently spun under shafts of January sun. I inhaled. Clutched my T-shirt and stared. What rating had my artistic baby girl brought home to her still-enraptured mother?

This is what followed...
Muchas gracias, La Diosa.

Rating: 5-STAR REVIEW

Following your heart is one thing; listening to spirits is divine in IF YOU LOVE ME, COME, the lovely novel by Claudia Moss.

Spirits are what led Freenonia Roberts to the Techwood Home projects one March night, nearly striking a boy named Mookie with her gray Mercedes, and sends her on a different path than she ever imagined. The owner of a thriving bookstore, Free’s life seemed enviable, with a small circle of friends and book club members, a doting mother and a head chef boyfriend. The night she meets Mookie’s sometime baby-sitter, Miz Too-Sweet, it begins a new relationship that only the spirits could align.

Seeing it as her personal mission, Free brings the Atlanta housing project an experience they wouldn’t forget, while Miz Too-Sweet spins life stories that provide the young woman, and, eventually, those around her, light in darkness. Free contends with whether she made the right decision to leave her boyfriend, J.T., even with his demanding ways. Rhonda, her baby sister, covets Free’s storied existence and doesn’t think her own is as fulfilling as a teacher, mother and wife. Sharmayne, Free’s best friend, leaves her dreadful marriage to Vince behind, shedding her closeted sexuality. Pinky, Mookie’s mother, attempts to find love through her three baby daddies, but nothing could cure the longing for the woman who abandoned her after childbirth.

All four women have crosses that seem too much to overcome. And all four discover, through spirits sometimes unknown, that love is the answer.

If You Love Me, Come is a beautiful book. I savored every page, where the story shifted from various points of view, as well as the Southern wisdom within its pages. It reminded me of one of my favorite books, Mama Day by Gloria Naylor.

Mostly though, I was enamored by the many examples it showed of what love truly is.

Reviewed January 2012

www.SistahsontheShelf.com

By SOTS, January 14, 2012, Contemporary Romance, Mature Lesbians, Self-Love, Straight Books with Lesbian Characters

IF YOU LOVE ME, COME is also available on Kindle for $0.99.

2011 Remembered in Thoughts and Pictures...

2011-12-31T23:14:00.011-05:00

AN HOUR AWAY FROM ANOTHER YEAR....

It's 11:19 PM. I'm excited at the advent of another year. Wow! 2012. That's enchanting. 2012. I can feel the renewal, the refreshing vibes, the rejuvenation the year will bring. Deep within me, waters flow. Dreams ignite my Spirit. I am the same; I am different. Sometimes one day passes much like the days before, although we know, on an Unseen level, each moment is fresh and new, same as each morning we are blessed to see imprints its own fingerprint on our history.

Racing the clock on my desktop, I breathe evenly as I allow myself to empty random thoughts and beloved photos here from our quickly fleeing year. In a few moments, 2011 will be memory, cherished and gone yet forever chronicled here, in snippets and snapshots, for posterity!

I relished another cruise, a Caribbean cruise, with my sister Glenda and my beloved Aunt Marion! Uh huh! We visited the Cayman Islands and Cozumel, Mexico. More times than I can count, I spoke the desire and embraced the wish Within: one day I shall stroll beaches as fine and sweet as granulated sugar under my feet. I will kiss the sky and dance about in cerulean waves that rival those in cruise brochures, for once I asked, believing, it was written, that it would be done. Thus, I allowed the Universe to work its magic and here lies the gift-wrapped memory!

The above are all photos of the Cayman Islands. I thought my sister's pics would take us to Cozumel, Mexico, but I gather we were having too much fun there to whittle time on pictures! On Cozumel, an island, which I hadn't realized would be an island instead of a coastline, the water was a blue that superseded any blue I have ever seen, or maybe it was just that I was overwhelmed the Universe had finally brought me to the Moment I strolled Mexican streets, greeting the people in Spanish, smiling, accepting their delight that I was there and could enjoy small talk and share laughter.

In my pictures, the Little People are the youngest cousins from the Moss side of the family! They belong to the children of my brothers and sisters. My grandbabies, the children of my son, Avery, and his lady, Shanice, are Naz and Laila, two busy bumble bees, who enjoy moving and moving whatever they can carry...like most Little People. He will be three in this New Year of 2012, and Laila will be two!

It took so long to scan the pictures and download them from my email to this desktop, until I missed dinner and my hour-long deadline to get this photo blog entry done! Good thing I don't mind eating late night or early morning. Am gleaning the freedom of being in the flow, not restricting oneself so staunchly that the life drains away from rosy sunsets and azure midnights in one's struggle to abide by ingrained beliefs that warrant release. (Poetically prophetic, perhaps)

When next I vacation, there will be no cruise for me. I'm more of a resort/stay a week/learn-a-place kind of girl! Yet I do love the ocean. Consider me a water baby, though I can swim about three fairly decent licks and afterwards I must come up for air! No, that should have read..."must stand up for air," though I am looking at remedying that in this New Year. Know any great swimming coaches?

My sister Glenda is always getting me to pose beside anyone who is breathing when we are on vacation! I don't much mind, as she is absolutely hilarious. Bad feelings, memories, nightmares. You forget them all when Glenda shows up. A stand-up comedienne in the truest sense of the word, she can regal a crowd, intimate gathering, babies, the elderly, animals and folks who don't even speak English. Amazing she is!

I'm dreaming more this year! 2012 will find me imagining my inner visions and desires! With full expectations of manifesting those dreams, I intend to enjoy myself more, be easier with myself, dance far more than I did in 2011, walk Stone Mountain every chance I get, maintain my journal with regularity, return to my social networks with consistency, considering I fell off so badly towards the end of 2011, I felt as if I'd self-imposed a stifling sabbatical that drained the connectivity from my core, a core, mind you, that adores people.

I've decided I'm going on another journey this year. I may or may not leave home, although I will depart the familiar. What will count most is the inner terrain I intend to traverse. Going to do some things differently. Take my head out of the sand for extended periods. Breathe. Eat. Consume fresh pineapples to sweeten my soft tissue. (Giggling) Gotta see if there is any truth to that tidbit of juicy advice I received recently from a beloved friend.

On this journey, I will TRUST...myself, the odyssey and the Divine...to guide me on the course to right where I need to be, to gently encourage me to release those things that no longer serve me, (and that could mean my attitude in dealing with others who may not "appear" to be amenable for my life. There are no throwaway people. I will trust that who shows up is supposed to be there and those who leave of their own accord are supposed to depart, at that Divine time. Could be to teach me a lesson, could be for me to assist in teaching them a lesson. I will open myself in action, not just via my word.

I will LOVE more. Make love. Feel. Enjoy touch. Accept that my scars, invisible and visible, assist me in telling the lovely story of my life. I will bask in the sunshine, splash in the luscious wetness of my passion. Unabashed. To love and be loved and show love and receive love and cook up some kinda Wild Woman Love is medicinal, just what the Goddess ordains, orders and orchestrates. We make love and loving a nasty, closeted whisper. I choose to remember Michale Jackson right here. I will start with the Woman in the Mirror. Quite nicely, here is a great time to add, I will cultivate the art of looking beyond another's surface. Yep! I've written of doing such before, but this time, this year, I've already begun to practice it. Yeah, Golden Goddess! BE golden! I am far more than what the camera has recorded in the above pictures, and if you come closer, you will discern that by peering deeper than my skin, my features, my smile.

Towards the end of 2011, I felt out of balance. I ceased doing things I'd ALWAYS done, like exercising. Now I'm climbing back onto that Trojan horse, and let me tell you, it feels better than it felt before, bucking and whipping atop its steel broad back. The tingle rides my veins long after I stop bouncing up and down on my tram or jogging with my sisters. My body is my temple. I am my temple. Forgetting to honor the sacred of myself won't be a carry-over digit in 2012! No, no, beloveds! Don't forget physical fitness play is superb for the active mind, and I don't write it for a mere play on words!

Hmmmmm. The guns and the fireworks have subsided this morning, the first morn of the New Year! Under the calm, I can feel the pulse of the morning. My own pulse is cummunicating, "Heiffer, do rise and eat now! You've blogged. Now go below stairs, grab a plate and cuddle up to clean sheets and a movie, a love story, my favorite, as every story, I yet believe, is a love story at heart."

In all that happened in 2011, most pleasant, some frightening, I do firmly believe that I live a Golden Life, and I intend to rise and sleep under that belief, as comfortable as a well-fed baby, as trusting as a satisfied toddler, as expectant as a mother-to-be who has never known the delivery room! Ooops! What is with this baby imagery here? (Scratching my locs) It is the new birth, rebirth imagery of a new beginning, which I readily embrace. Yes, indeed! Eso es que es esto! That's my premise, and I'm married to it...for now. (Smiling) After all, I AM a goddess, as so are you! And, really, isn't that the business of being a goddess...birth and rebirth?

Te amo.
TheGoldenGoddess

The Southwest Arts Center Book Fair 2011

2011-12-04T02:50:00.001-05:00

I am scintillating to be a participating author in the Fulton County Arts & Culture's Southwest Arts Center's Book Fair 2011. The gala takes place in a few days, on Saturday, December 10th. The hours are 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.

No, I've never had my work included in a Book Fair! With this one, authors had to mail or hand deliver their books to the center to be considered. I'd never have known about it had it not been for my beloved sista/poet/friend, Colette Paul, who insistently called and e-mailed me, enthusiastically seeking word of whether or not I'd read her e-mail heralding the glad tidings. I hadn't, editing blinders shading my vision. Hearing nothing, my networking mogul called the evening before the deadline and sweetly read me the riot act. So I desisted with the endless editing (of which I do entirely too much of, let my knee-baby sis tell it, considering I'm the only one stuck on perfection) and read the e-mail.

Yikes! I fast learned they'd be closing the author considerations in a few hours. Thanking her profusely, I set two alarms, clock and cell, something I rarely do, and got myself to bed. Invigorated a few hours later, I drove to New Hope Road off Cascade, lost for approximately 25 minutes, until I could turn myself around and calm down. I'd get there in due time...in one piece.

Thank goodness the day loomed sunny, uncluttered. A small, smiling gentleman greeted me at the glass doors of the center, warmly accepting my three offerings: my novel, "If You Love Me, Come" and the second and third books in my Wanda B. Wonders series, "Wanda B. Takes the Cake" and "Wanda B. Sings the Bailout Blues." I didn't have the first in the series, "Wanda B. Wonders Speaks Her Mind" on hand. My sister might have fainted if she'd known. "You should always have extra copies of your art for promotion/marketing purposes at all times" is her unerring motto.

Tickled, I didn't even offer a self-addressed, stamped mailer to have the books returned to me if they didn't make the cut-off. Most likely, in my mind, that option didn't exist.

Therefore, it gives me great pleasure to invite you to the Book Fair, if you are in the Atlanta area on December 10th. Uh huh, I will be grinning broader than any other author, just chatting and laughing, fluttering and soaring! Come out and give me a hug! And while you're present, buy a book or two, share it with a friend and make a mental note to share your thoughts with me. I'll be waiting...

Living a golden life,

TheGoldenGoddess

A Writing Question From a Facebook Friend

2011-12-04T00:35:00.000-05:00

"How do you get started with your writing and keep going with it? I've tried but always end up quitting?"

Tonight, I was catching up with my beloved Facebook Family and up-dating my author fan page, when I noticed a new e-mail in my in-box. The above question awaited me from a lovely friend.

Immediate and heart-felt, it spoke to my soul. I couldn't move on to other tasks I'd set for myself on this peaceful Saturday night. A quiet resolve softly encouraged me to answer it right then. And, with a bit of editing, this is my response...

***

I got started in the business of writing at my mother's feet, as she read to my siblings and me nightly before we bathed and went to bed. A reading mother, she adored books. Perhaps it stemmed from her love and respect of school. She was Miss Tennessee State and an excellent student throughout her schooling.

Under the music of her voice bringing my favorite stories to life, I was imblued with a passion to write my own stories to satisfy my soul's desire to weave a yarn that tickled my fancy. So I put pencil to notebook and came up with female heroines who did what I wanted to do...travel the world, love deeply, stand and fight (if need be), and bow to a greater power in the Divine.

Not only that, while writing juvenile stories I recorded in spiral notebooks, I learned to tell a good story, feeling the ebb and flow of an intriguing tale, with nuances of sound and gestures to match. My audience, my cousins and siblings, sat around my grandparents' fireplaces and heaters, enthralled, their faces glowing. Oftentimes, they begged me to continue the storytelling, one night after another.

Years later, while teaching high school English and raising a family, I continued to write...only it trickled into the summertime. Thus, I lived for Friday evening, so that I could immerse myself in novel writing. My first novel, "Dolly: The Memoirs of a High Schoool Graduate," appeared in 1986. I was charmed. How did it happen? I'd sent a short story to PLAYERS magazine and the editor loved it, asking me if I could make the main character live throughout 250 more pages. If so, he'd publish it. Turn to his word, he helped me publish it via Holloway House Publishing Company in Los Angeles!

***

Then it seemed my writing time waned and became harder and harder to come by. My soul wept. But I persisted. It was a sweet persistence that carried me through the up's and down's of my life at that time. The more difficult times got, a shift appeared in my writing. Poetry stepped in and picked up where novel writing could not go, when I moved through divorce. Poems were immediate. They snapped pictures of my inner landscape. They gave me to myself. I like to say poetry saved me. Welding a melodic pen and performing at Atlanta's open mics, I wrote myself out of the closet of my life. The bulk of these poems I now cull and record to create my coming Spokenword CD/poetry collection, "Soft Tsunami."

Newly single, I returned to the marriage of Claudia and novel writing! I began the story, many years ago, that would become the novel I now promote, a novel that has received rave reviews. Thinking about it, I smile, my heart singing the same proud melody a new mother croons at a newborn's first smile.

I wrote that novel. Stopped. Got derailed. Started again. Got picked up by a New York literary agent, the best in the business, Marie Dutton Brown. Life flowed in on me like a tsunami. I could not write, similar to other times--the best of times, the worst of times, in my life. When I could though, I continued to write, a lovesick woman trailing her first love.

The persistence gradually paid off, even though I was no longer represented by the Marie Dutton Brown Agency. "The Marie," as she is fondly known in the business, had praised me and the completed novel royally then asked me to edit it from 600 pages to less that 350 pages. Publishers simply did not want to take chances on a new author whose manuscript boasted that many pages. That's when other waves washed over me. How was I to cut a manuscript I adored? Was that possible? The tale demanded each chapter to arrive at its memorable ending...or so I thought.

Years swept in. I determined if I were to witness the book's publication, I'd better learn to edit. After all, I was an English teacher by profession. My red pen dashed across student essays artfully, opening veins and restoring faith, simultaneously. I cut it. Then learned that Marie Dutton Brown had cut me and moved up shore. New writers could not be counted on, most times, to finish writing and editing, a common consensus.

But I did. Now I write and publish independently. I no longer wait on others to save me. That Power Within guides me, and I come into this realization each time I pause to let Peace be Still in meditation. Sometimes I am saddened and discouraged, thinking I should be further along than I am. I compare myself to other writers. Before an inner inquisition, I flog myself for not banking millions, like Amanda Hoecking and others inducted into Amazon's Millionnaire Club. I wonder if my work is enough, the thought chasing me to desist and get off a rollercoaster my pen is obviously not fit to ride.

Then I remember to go within, where I am reminded that the Divine Is Enough! This never fails to unleash the magical. Once cloudy and murky, my eyes and heart clear up. I invite judgment to the front door. My horizon manifests an eggshell blue clarity, and again I turn to this keyboard, renewed. Refreshed. And invigorated.

I write because I cannot NOT write. I have tried it. A cessation of all writing. When I do it, guess what? I write in my head. Snippets of stories and characters take shape, and I am back at it...in time.

There are times I read to stop the love/hate passion I have with writing! Yet in the act of giving myself to reading, I find myself inundated with ideas to fuel my own writing. HERE IS MY ADVICE TO MY FACEBOOK FRIEND: Stop trying to do anything. Give yourself a pink slip. Just stop. Go within and determine what your soul wants to do. And do that! If Spirit returns you to the writing, you will do it with a REJUVENATED fire! That is a promise. I have done it many times.

But when you know deep within that you are a writer, ask the Divine for the strength neeeded to birth your gifts. Whether your own or from others, rejection can slice your heart into red ribbons. Make you drop the pen. Run from the sight of sheaths of paper or a vacant computer. Despite that, if writing is your talent, lift it for FREE...and simply write for you. Whatever you come up with, loving it, someone else will love it also!

I hope that was helpful!

Love & Light,

TheGoldenGoddess

On Bullets and Sunsets...

2011-11-11T02:51:00.000-05:00

"To be awake is to be alive."
---Henry David Thoreau, Walden

"For many people in modern cultures, the reality of life and aliveness comes most vividly when they're outdoors experiencing nature. The more unusual and extraordinary the natural sight (waterfalls, mountains, canyons, redwood forests, oceans), the stronger the feeling many people get of spiritual reality."
---Thom Hartmann, The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight

This past weekend I slept, moving through my precious moments minus a palpable connection with the natural world. Like so many of you, I am conscious, truly aware, far less often than I am unconsciousness. Of course that varies for us, the details shifting and changing like the mellifluous music of a Caribbean seashore.

"What do you mean? Were you a zombie," you might ask, "walking in the Now like the walking dead?"

And I'd be forced, with all humility, to answer yes.

My week and weekend shape-shifted into what appeared to be duplicate days of weekends before. I rise in the early afternoon, from sitting at my desk during the day and all night, toiling away at rolling my creative boulder uphill, trying to make "it" happen. As I toil, my fingers skipping across the keyboard, open books and notebooks and scattered papers and stalked envelopes adorn my desktop. My blinders fit perfectly. I "see" only what I see: manuscripts requiring editing and formatting, lists of things to do, a desk calendar of meticulously written goals and unopened mail.

I am so locked into this picture, until I leap out of bed to step back into it, zombie groomed, like a cut-out doll stitching herself onto the page, so an unseen, little girl's hand can cut me out anew. Daily.

"So what?" you could say. "I get 'lost' in what I'm doing, too, sometimes. What's wrong with that?"

What's wrong is I sit at my desk without pause...through a full bladder, a hungrily screaming stomach, stiff limbs, a parched tongue, muscles atrophied and sun spilling through the blinds and pooling at my feet, beckoning and golden, inviting me to walk Stone Mountain and just be. To remember how once not so long ago, I dwelled in balance and awareness and Presence.

When you think you are racing Time to circumvent a disastrous misstep in a future moment, you plunge outside of the Present Moment---voluntarily.

On this past Saturday, I gave thanks for a beloved writing friend, who delicately chided me about opening an e-mail I'd neglected for days. When I finally opened it, I had one day, Saturday, to get to the arts center off Cascade Road and submit three of my books for a December 2011 Book Fair. Ripping and running, I made it! Elated, I returned home to plop right down to this desk, except I knew it wouldn't be for long. My poetry CD producer would be arriving shortly. We were set to record a poem for my spokenword work-in-progress, "Soft Tsunami."

Behind the mic, my emotions raw and alive, I loved giving each rendition, delivered over and over, everything I had. Without pause, we discussed and recorded, recorded and collaborated. Finally, my producer and I were proud of what we'd accomplished several hours later.

Satisfied, I closed my office door at 7 P.M.

This was unusual for me. I am rarely satisfied. Nothing is normally "enough." On other occasions when the recording ended, I ushered my producer out and returned to the writing or editing or planning, rolling up my sleeves for hours more blood, sweat and tears. However, something within, a gentle knowing, praised me, invited me to rest, to relax and to recline across my bed down the hall from my office. And bask in the beauty of the sunset.

Not a bad idea, I thought, considering my curiosity charmed me into putting a Facebook friend's voice with her text messages. So I bowed to that Inner Voice, lay atop my white feather comforter and pressed her number into my cell.

A compendium of information, she epitomized a great conversationalist! I enjoyed her genial way, engaging wit and wealth of resources she freely shared. Hours waned. As we shared, our love of poetry uppermost in the confab, I noticed, gradually, the sun drifting from the sky, coloring the horizon a resplendent tapestry of layers: blue black, dark blue, navy blue, a dark cornflower blue and, eventually, a burst of saffron orange, where a pot of gold seemed to simmer off in the distance, beyond the apartments behind my condo complex.

The sight celestial, I stared. Awestruck! How did I miss such beauty nightly? Inside, while I listened to a poet verbalize how to make poetry pay the bills, clarifying how to 'make paper make paper,' I imagined painting the magnificence of the sunset in words and oils! Somehow, some way, the glory of that moment required its own ink.

But I said not one word about the majesty to which I'd treated myself. I cradled it to my breast, stored it amongst my keepsakes for the moment it would be dropped into one of my books.

With the poet, I shared poetry. Praise. Encounters. Audience reactions. She'd recited throughout the States, Europe and Central America; I'd graced my share of stages in Atlanta. Our revelry interrupted by my beloved writing friend, the one I alluded to earlier, she called to invite me to a party, free admission, her attitude ebullient. I wavered. Suddenly, I wanted to dress up and go. Outside, the hawk howled in the night. Inside, I preened in my vanity mirror and strolled inside my walk-in closet, selected a pair of skinny jeans and flapped them across the foot of my bed.

Then the same gentle nudging returned. Tacitly, it spoke to me, repeating its earlier message. Wordlessly. Sweetly. Encouraged me to return to bed, to slow down and continue admiring the pageantry of the night.

I did. Redialed the poet's number and resumed our conversation. And continued to marvel at the Divine's handiwork outside my back, third-floor windows.

The next morning, Sunday morning, about 11 AM, unconscious once more, I walked into my office and opened the blinds. A zombie, and not from sleep, I overlooked the sparkling fabulosity of the early-morning sunshine, the striking mountain-top view of Stone Mountain off in the distance, and plopped down at my desk. The lights of my PC's screen illuminated the over-sized screen, and I began mechanically editing the manuscript from the day before, softly chiding myself for being away from it that long.

A jagged shard of glass winked in my peripheral vision from the carpet, near my left foot. I frowned. How had that happened? I must be slipping, I precluded, upbraiding myself. Shoeless, my grand babies were always about, in and out of cords snaking to my printer and up to my PC's speakers. Gingerly, I trashed the glass in a waste basket under my desk, my gaze re-buttonholed to my document.

Then it happened! Again. A feeling rose up inside me, prompting me to "look" at the sun-splashed window. That's when I saw it. Two holes the size of golf balls in the double-paned glass. My startled gaze fluttered to the white wounded wooden blind, observing for the first time a bullet hole. Disbelieving, for how could it be, I called my sister Glenda and informed her that someone had thrown a rock through my office window.

"Nobody threw no rock that far up!" She practically hurled the words through the phone. And as she spoke, I scrutinized the carpet, wide-eyed, mouth agape.

There...at the foot of my swivel chair...lay the top portion of a bullet! The sight woke me instantly! Only then did I become aware of a spray of glinting bits of glass everywhere: in my cushioned chair, scratching my bottom through my pajamas and Kelly-green robe, sprinkled over my dream board and books resting on the printer's glass tabletop behind my desk, atop the hardback books and magazines under the window, splayed across the small navy blue and floral sofa on the opposite wall and glass mingled with bits of the wooden blind on the baseboard near the sofa!

Had I been in the room I could have been in the path of the invading missile. Had I not bowed to that gentle knowing I might not have had the blessing of writing this blog. Had I not been Present to Spirit, I would've missed the prompting to become one with the natural world, with the omniscient understanding that everything is already all right. That the Divine is ever Present.

That in order to live the golden wonder of this life, I must be awake! I must remember daily that the sole moment in which I access the Divine is the Present Moment, not the past or the future.

Finishing this writing this morning, at 2:19 AM, on Friday, November 11, an arm's reach away from that Sunday, I understand a bit more of why it took a bullet and a sunset to wake me to the beauty of my existence. My life is so much more than I have reduced it to. Whole slices of life await me! The love of my life! My speaking career! My performances! Blessed opportunities to be Present with family and friends! My travels worldwide! My thresholds to feel and see and appreciate! My desire to love and be loved! The manifestations of my dreams! My inevitable introduction to Oprah, Ellen and Toni!

I want to be Present for it all, and I will experience all of it awake and aware! I will change the world by changing myself. Each day I will rise and witness something of wonder in the world. I will be filled with awe and amazement at the Divine's golden masterpieces awaiting my exultation. And I will Trust with a child's exuberance and anticipation, knowing my steps are ordered.

Living a Golden Life
The Golden Goddess

BOOK BLOGS

2011-11-02T03:08:00.000-04:00

Visit Book Blogs

Ever treat yourself to a dream site for writers? If the answer is no, I recommend you visit Book Blogs to whet your appetite for a plethora of writing tips and resources, writing advice and priceless tips on marketing/promoting and connections with an audience of writers from around the world! Come share the love of books. Read fabulous book reviews. Immerse yourself in interviews.

You'll thank me for it after one visit.

Wishing you a golden, productive and creative day!

The Golden Goddess

SPECIAL OFFER Extended To "A Golden Life" Followers

2011-10-29T00:32:00.000-04:00

Saludos, My Beloved "A Golden Life" Followers!

Good evening! Buenas noches!

On this lovely rainy evening, I am scintillating with the glad tidings of the arrival of my new e-book, "Wanda B. Sings the Bailout Blues." Above is the Kindle cover. Am I ever proud of it! In my heart, I am getting better and better with formatting my books and designing my covers. Especially my paperback covers, which I create with the aid of Amazon's CreateSpace's free cover designer for independent authors. If anyone knows of a cover-creator program for e-books, please share, as it behooves me to learn all that I can about new publishing software, considering I wear all the hats of my trade: writer, editor, book designer, marketer and promoter.

Mind you, I do not begrudge the variety in my hats. I am too grateful for my innate and learned abilities from a life-long love of reading, writing and English Education degrees. One day, I know I will have professionals, same as the ones in traditional publishing houses, to join me in bringing my stories to the world! Until then, I thank the Universe that I AM enough!

On to your SPECIAL OFFER, Beloveds...

I, Claudia Moss, the Golden Goddess, extend to you a FREE copy of "Wanda B. Sings the Bailout Blues" for being a cherished follower of my blog. If you are interested in receiving your copy of the third book in the Wanda B. Wonders series, please write me here or communicate with me at my private e-mail, MissClaudiaMoss@gmail.com.

Once I receive your communique indicating your confirmation that it is okay to send you the story collection, I will send you a PDF of the work or a Kindle e-book! (Remember...no Kindle, no worries! Just go to Amazon and download the FREE APP, and you are on your way to e-reading revelry.)

I pose this Special Offer to you not only because I adore you for joining my blog but also because I need your HONEST FEEDBACK. If you will, after reading the work, please write a REVIEW on Amazon. In all sincerity, I crave reviews. Simply put! Many readers pan for reviews before they purchase a work, curious about what others thought about the book, seeking to glean whether something in the reviewer's feedback will strike a nerve or throb a chord within them. And that's dandy, for the reader who requires that!

Now this is the cover of my softback book. It isn't available on Amazon yet, but if you'd prefer a copy, please let me know in your e-mail. I will send you a PDF so that you can begin the reading while awaiting a copy of the book.

Taking nothing for granted, I thank the Universe for your presence. The series was over a decade in the making, with me trusting and believing it would be shared with others one day. That said, remember this...NEVER GIVE UP AND HOLD FAST TO YOUR DREAMS!

Te doy mucho amor ahora y siempre....
Besitos

TheGoldenGoddess

A Wealthy State of Mind...

2011-10-28T02:41:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, if someone had asked me what wealth, true wealth, looked like, I might have answered: "A six-figure job that allows you leisure and the freedom from worry, financial worry. Or a writing career with one New York Times bestseller after another coming hot off the press. Today that answer is a notion of the past. True wealth, I now know, is a mindset, an inner belief that I possess the divine ability to draw to me the things, the people, the situations and the experiences that I desire on this journey that is my life.

True, a six-figure income is a treasure, a find, in many minds, and especially so in our taxing times. But if it suddenly went the way of so many foreclosed houses, then what would you have? Nothing? Or a healthy, wealthy state of mind that accepts things come and go, with the next opportunity around the corner, present by Divine arrangement?

Same with the bestselling writing career. If it dried drier than the Sahara, then what? Do you crumble? Banish anything that reminds you who you once were? Detest other successful authors? Or do you go within to know what your next greatest adventure will be Spiritually?

With a rich, Empire State state-of-mind, I understand that my present circumstances are a result of my past thinking, my prior conditioning. Circumstances are a smoke screen of images. Drifting like clouds across the horizon of my life. Truly, they come and they go. Attempting to hold one any longer than it is supposed to dot my skies would be begging for rain...from my eyes and my soul. So today I cultivate peace, Presence and Stillness. I sit or lie quietly, as alert as your heart when waiting for the words, "I love you," from a beloved's lips.

I sit and practice being aware of my breath and thoughts. I step out of the mental waterfall at times and leap into them at others, desiring the coolness of their spray. I channel them to caress whatever I have chosen to bring to my Everyday. No, I don't have to physically see the experience. The Divine handles that. My part is to stand in my bathroom mirror and admit to myself that I know not the way...on most days! Yet I know that by believing and asking, it will come. Exactly as the Divine wants me to experience that for which I've asked...but more majestically than I could ever imagine!

Words. Thoughts. Wishes. Beliefs. They are as real as the clacking keys under my fingertips. As tangible as the after-midnight treats I shall uncover in the kitchen in a few minutes. (Uh huh! I eat whenever my tummy speaks. Don't care the hour or what the latest health guru thinks.) I practice "feeling" the power in my beliefs.

From time to time, I believe it's paramount to give oneself a Belief Check-up. The very thing that might be holding you back from experiencing what you really want to experience might just be an "underlying belief" in an unexamined belief system. Why not join me by scanning yours now?

What do you believe about YOU? I'd love for you to speak to me. To step out of the blogsphere---at 2:40 AM, which is my time now---and engage me! I don't mind. Be anonymous if you like. Just come off the roll and be. Exchange is a beautiful thing!

I believe I create the wealth and beauty of my world.
I believe I am a lovely, talented woman, with a magnanimous Spirit.
I believe my experiences make me a richer person.
I believe my perception of any situation can mean the difference between the mountaintop or the valley floor.

I believe the people in my life are precious and purposeful, not a happenstance, even the ones who came to teach me seemingly "hard" lessons.
I believe I am equip with all that I need to soar.
I believe gratitude takes me where I want to go with lightening speed.
I believe all that I desire is already present, waiting patiently for me to align myself with it vibrationally.

The photo above is from my cache of photos from my 2010 Christmas in Saint Thomas. It is an inner view of one of my ideals of Paradise. Whenever I require a repeat visit while sitting here in my comfortable, quiet and ordered writing space, I silence the lights. Invite moonlight to recline across my desk. Tickle my candles' wicks. And sit crosslegged on a navy-blue paisley sofa and dream for seventeen minutes or so. I "feel" again the kiss of the ocean...the smog-free breeze draping my shoulders and nuzzling my earlobes...hear island music in the trees..."feel" its rhythms in my feet...adore the passing wind in my locs and taste the island's pulse on my tongue.

O what a luscious place to be...mentally, before I spread my arms and twirl in Cayman Island sun.

TheGoldenGoddess
October 28, 2011

Dear Goddess of Miracles...

2011-09-28T16:34:00.000-04:00

Dear Goddess of Miracles:

Under a sea of tropical sky
that canopies a tree whose name
I know not to note, its orange
petals, soft and sensual, lush
like the orange in the material
about my hips,its pattern of leaves
twin to the green above my head,
on branches splayed majestically
at the crown of the path leading
to a hidden postcard of a view,
I pose and primp,
my third eye open to the Universe
to bow to my bidding,
as I lay my request here, before
thee, O Goddess of Miracles.

Send me a love with whom to share my
nights and days, her presence shining
brighter than the gems in my tiara,
for she will recognize me as her Queen
before our hello. From her lips, the
stories of her past will sketch the
mystery of who she is and where she's
been since the last lifetime we
made love in a myriad of ways and places
across the ages, deep in the lushness of
tropical rainforests and under the
shade of skyscrapers dotting Parisian
skies. She knew not to look for me,
knew we'd meet again, when you, O Goddess
of Miracles, deemed it be in the Now of
Today.

I will pose for her photographic eye,
as she spreads our colorful repast
on tables, lining dishes she's
perfected throughout her travels
and her days of readying herself for the
bliss of our togetherness. The tender
touch of her hand, of her words, of her
intentions will reign down on us, and we
will blossom a forever love for the poets
to commemorate in hymns, odes and serenades.
O Goddess of Miracles, lace our dreams,
thoughts and families. Alone, we will
stand together like stalwart red oaks
centuries old, insurmountable, inviolable,
indestructible, as I patiently await the
music of her melodious stride.

Living the Golden Life,
The Golden Goddess

Embracing Change

2011-09-27T06:30:00.000-04:00

I am and will forever be an outre woman, an outlaw woman.

Common knowledge it is, I do and say things my sisters and many of my friends would never fathom. I could disclose a list of the unmentionables for those outside the loop, but it's late or, for some, early, so I will make maximum use of my blogging time and just admit that I am proudly, in countless ways, such a woman.

Several years ago, I walked away from teaching English to pursue my passion for writing. Some of my colleagues were tacitly curious, I know, figuring I'd lost what was left of my mind. Others shared their feelings at every opportunity, and still others commended my courage, slipping me inspirational notes. No, I didn't walk away without prospects on where the road would lead next, in the way of income. The Universe made that part palatable. I'd live frugally on an inheritance left to me by my childless aunt, who nursed full-time and painted in her leisure time, for several notable figures---family lore having President Carter as the recipient of one of her paintings, which was once on display at the Carter Center.

In my outre heels, I have learned to embrace CHANGE. There is no other way around it, no other fathomable fashion in which to live my life. Having been there before, I do not choose to flee change, and hurt myself in the flight; hence, I can only welcome change, seeking its company willingly and thereby deepening the quality of my life. Admitting this, I must also admit that I am in transition.

There are some who would describe the space I'm in as being stuck. Plausibility exists in the view. But I prefer to reference it as recognizing that I have broached a crossroads, not an impasse, in my life. In a very real sense, I am open to this place as a blessing. It prompts me to lay bare something inside me, something had this crossroads not appeared, might have gone unexamined, might have remained faceless. So the Universe gently nudges me toward another plateau of my journey.

Possibly, had my inheritance been bottomless, I might have worn out the comfort of my present pumps, never seeking to sashay into my favorite shoe store to purchase another pair of stilettos. When one has been on frugal autopilot, sometimes one becomes comfortable on that setting and, invariably, imagines it perfectly acceptable to continue strolling in a perfectly good pair of pumps...because they've now worn themselves into a second-skin, a complacent fit.

Change and time, therefore, have taken to sitting at the foot of my bed, in the amber-honey of sunlight. I am not taken aback by their presence. I do not fight. I embrace them. For I am happy, still, in spite of the uncertainty of not knowing where the road will lead nor what will be removed or added to my silo.

Happiness, an integral part of my way of being in the world, takes me by the hand and guides me to action and meditation and insightful exploration. Last night, after cleaning the kitchen, I returned to my office, where I yet am this morning at 6:21 AM, to determine what jobs are available in Oprah's network. If I must be employed, I may as well seek in an intriguing arena. Since I've always loved Oprah and the manner in which she uses her voice for good in the world, I started with her website. And although I'd love to report otherwise, my foray there didn't unearth plentiful positions in the talents I weld: writing, organizing and speaking. Same as the Turner Broadcasting site, Oprah's OWN and Harpo Career sites beckoned for applicants in Communication and Broadcasting, with experience of which I could not boast, not to mention most of the positions called for relocating to Chicago, Los Angeles or New York.

Reading and taking notes, I languished over a few of the job descriptions. Wondered, were I employed in them, if I'd have the energy, disposition or creativity to write. Maybe it wasn't all bad there weren't profiles easily earmarked for me.

Then I began reading the online articles from O Magazine. And realized why I was on the site.

The articles watered my soul.

In one piece, Oprah had written about the crossroads she'd come to when she made the decision to take "The Oprah Winfrey Show" on a different course from those of her competitors. Here she was asking the Universe two simple yet powerful questions: "What would you have me to do? Who would you have me be?"

Oprah's questions lined up with what I was feeling. They reminded me to do what I'd mentioned yesterday to a beloved sisterfriend in England. I'd told her I go within, to ask the Divine what I needed to do whenever I didn't know. And last night, here were Oprah's words whispering in my ear: "When you don't know what to do, get still. The answer will come."

I know. I practice it. Know it like I know the smile in my morning mirror. Yet sometimes Spirit reminds me, like it does you, in its constant attempts to let us know everything is just fine...even when the way is unclear.

No one, I realize all over again, saves me but me and my connection with the peace and Stillness within Claudia. So I relegate time alone, to hear the tiny voice that never leads me astray. I flip the switch on that incessant chatter that reminds me I've got to do SOMETHING NOW. That Chicken Little was right. The sky is falling. That my parachute is on aisle four, and I'm at this desk.

As I continued to read, feeling my heart lighten and become near weightless, I came upon an interview showcasing my favorite author of all time. Toni Morrison. Her words tossed me another lifeline. One with "On Writing" painted on the life jacket. Her words reminded me that what I loved, rooted deep within me, could and would save me. In so many words, she advised me to be easy, to remain open, to flow.

No one can express the thought quite like Toni Morrison, so I quote her proudly:

"It's that being open---not scratching for it, not digging for it, not constructing something but being open to the situation and trusting that what you don't know will be available to you. It is bigger than your overt consciousness or your intelligence or even your gifts; it is out there somewhere and you have to let it in."

And with that, I strike another outre pose, flexing my desire to remain open to Spirit and its knowing, as I walk forward, with the innocence of a child, like my fearless grandson, Nazir, and trust that the way comes indeed out of no way. I submit my plan for the Divine's masterpiece for my life. As Oprah so aptly put it, "Use me, God. Show me how to take who I am, who I want to be, and what I can do, and use it for a purpose greater than myself."

Living A Golden Life....

The Golden Goddess

On Visiting D.C. for the Daughters of Isis Book Club Gala

2011-09-26T03:13:00.000-04:00

What a blessing it is to travel!

Recently, sweet September winds blew me into one of my favorite cities: Washington, D.C. At the start of my journey, the weather was perfect for gazing out of a tiny Delta window to admire a stretch of cotton-candy clouds drifting lazily against crystal-clear skies. The novel on my lap struggled to maintain my flagging attention as the sweetness of the day, unapologetic, charmed me shamelessly. Pushing into my revelry, my seatmate cornered me with a bright-blue gaze and began chattering. Behind my half-interested smile, I wondered why it was forever my luck to attract the most loquacious seatmate on the flight, but her witty tales of her cats' exploits, complete with sound affects, weren't terribly boring, so I gave myself over to half listening and reading and admiring the Divine's handiwork.

Minutes before we touchdown in Baltimore, rain painted the sky a foreboding navy, and, walking out of the airport, I shivered as the breath of fall greeted me, trailing goosebumps along my arms under my light pink shawl. Brendolyn, my hostess and longtime, beloved Tuskegee Institute sisterfriend, one of the founding members of D.C.'s Daughters of Isis Book Club, had advised me to fly into Baltimore and take the train into the District. Considering she worked a few blocks from Union Station, I knew she'd retrieve me as soon as she got my text. That left the purchase of a Mark train ticket (as the Amtrak was $58) and I was off, enjoying a vibrant conversation with a lovely Delta flight attendant heading home. I passed her my cell phone to snap pictures of me on the train and at the station, our conversation popping from possible titles for my next book to her daughter's literary tastes to the valley between the price of our $6 train fare and the Amtrak fare to the beauty of shawls.

(Me on the Mark train)

At Union Station, we parted, hugging, and I winded my way to the street-level entrance to await Bren's call. Before it came, I considered retreating inside the belly of the station, the wet wind leaving me shivering yet excited about being in D.C. again.

Bren and her jovial hubby, Mike, are a lively, artsy and fun-loving twosome. Visiting them is the equivalent of a resort vacation! There is always an exciting activity somewhere on the visit's itinerary. This time it was The Ivy Foundation in association with Bren's AKA sorority presenting its "Crab and Pearls: Treasures of the Sea 2011 Crab Feast." Never having pledged at Tuskegee, I savored the line of dancing AKA's, pretty in uniform black with the characteristic splashes of pink and green, the scrumptious buffet, the get up and shake your groove thang music and the unbeatable company around my dinner table.

(At the Crab and Pearls Gala)

For much of my visit, though, I relaxed and enjoyed several books being that the writing of my own books didn't leave much time for my personal reading, a simple pastime I adore.

On the day of the Daughters of Isis Book Club gathering at Bren's cozy, three-story home, she spent a sizable portion of the morning preparing a meal--I was to learn later--that replicated the meal served at one of the book club meetings in my novel, "If You Love Me, Come." And I never recognized it, not even as she put me to slicing and dicing vegetables and fruits to compliment some of the dishes, the meal so incredibly delicious!

When the gala began and I found myself seated before the eager-eyed, smiling members, I was filled with exhilaration. The exchange sent embers of sisterly camaraderie, enthusiasm for the story, insight into the characters and their motivations and input from each Daughter that shed a special light on the give-and- take of our electric conversation! I loved every moment. They proffered marketing tips and suggested ideas for connecting with sisters in England. Many commended me on the theme of motivating women to honor their voices. Their questions pithy, thoughtful, the women represented the different walks of life, some having once lived in England and Jamaica, some retired, two members a mother-and-daughter team, all expressly unique and articulate.

(I am animated when I share with others!)

Breaking bread with them later was as exciting as engaging them in conversation. Most had traveled the world, spicing the dinner conversation with delectable snippets proving as appetizing as the repast. I missed them, even while they gathered their wraps and hugged me, whispering how much they enjoyed me and my enthusiasm and wishing me well on my literary journey. I shall long cherish the emotions cloaking my heart that day, emotions for life, my art, our exchange, women coming together to read and share and inspire one another, all of it filling me with a soul-stirring joy!

(My sisterfriend Brena and I pose for Mike's camera!)

Living a golden life....

The Golden Goddess

A Different Sort of 9/11

2011-09-14T01:02:00.000-04:00

*****

Over the course of the ten years since terror stalked American skies, I have passed September 11th watching television programs recapping the infamy or glued to a computer monitor, reading about developments chronicling the event across the net. As with each passing year, Americans processed the tragedy in a myriad of ways. One day I will travel to New York to visit the new memorial, the world's highest man-made waterfall, erected on a revitalized Ground Zero.

In 2001, I put myself to the task of processing my grief in stories, something I do in good and trying times. "The Ticket" captured a Clark Atlanta writing competition in fiction, the contest created to recognized high school students, collegiate students and community writers, the category in which I won. Later, I changed the historic script and placed a healing spotlight on my Everywoman character, Ms. Wanda B. Wonders. In my collection of short stories, she saves the day, the plane, the lives on board, the lives on the ground. She teaches lessons of love and acceptance, diversity and tolerance, even as she views our shifting world through black-and-white sunglasses.

I will return Ms. Wanda to this blogged stage later, for her mouth is ever filled with a unique take on life.

As the Universe would have it, I spent this 9/11 preparing for and attending a joyous occasion. Franz-Che, my beautiful Haitian poet sistafriend, invited me to read a poem at her wedding. For days and weeks, I knew the fluttering of a thousand butterfly wings beating delicately behind my breasts. With the sweetness of a Luther VanDross love song---"Endless Love" will do---I yearned to rise to the task, to be worthy, for a love like the love Franz-Che and Ta'Neshia shared...endlessly, deserved a poem that breathed electric passion.

Fingertips to keyboard, the poem came. And when I recited it aloud, heaven and earth moved within me, and I knew it would please my friend, who is a poet extraordinaire, one whose voice alone, before her poetry is spoken, is pure art. I entitled it "YOU: a wedding poem." Here, I share it with you, my beloved followers, for it was not to be that I would share it at the utterly beautiful gala. No, I am not angry. Only accepting. Any number of factors might have weighed on the reason.

The pictures I snapped even now take my breath away! The bride was an island goddess in sparkling white, face a High Museum painting, pretty and resplendent. Her groom debonair and beautifully handsome. Their three charming children offered new meaning to well raised and striking. The details of the mesmerizing affair, from the outdoor vows to the well-spoken woman who officiated the wedding, down to the music selections, left me speechless, and writing this, I remember a line "She left me speechless," from the bride's well-known and loved poem, "Speechless."

The food tingled my taste buds from Acworth's quaint Conservatory at Waterstone to my Clarkston condo. My slice of the flavorful orange-and-white wedding cake had to be made with a sweet wine. I banned myself from devouring a second slice; instead, I grabbed another bottle of water for the ride down 75 South. You can't hear my laugh now, but I'm giggling. The water boasted an orange strip at its middle, the orange-tinged strip a lovely picture of the couple and the words: "Serving Size: 1 Loving Couple and Servings Per Container: 1 Heart." The Amount Per Serving included "Love, Respect, Trust and Unity."

Though I departed the party, tipping like a cleaned-faced Geisha girl in my tightly wrapped orange sari, crossing the sleepy street to a sliver of a parking lot, and, in the dark, in drying contacts, perceived my car to be stolen, the day and evening were memorable in a precious way. That night, upon arriving home or else where, two Acworth police officers probably shared the story of our crossed paths: one got me there on time and the other discovered my quietly waiting car several yards behind me.

On the ride home, I enjoyed a conversation with my wonderful writer friend in California. Night air caressed my skin tenderly. Laughter rode the wind. Traffic sailed. My camera brimming with pictures. Remembering the GPS on my cell after I took a wrong, left-hand turn on Cobb Parkway, and being willing to hail an officer for directions to arrive in the nick of time, I was content.

September 11th had suddenly, miraculously, taken on a whole new meaning...

*****************

YOU: a wedding poem

Are the manifestations of my dreams
The Aviator of my fantasies
My Soul Mate
A Black Venus
Who rose from the depths of my being
You Possess the smile that not only lights a room
Yours
Lights the afternoon the day
Illuminating my inner essence 'cause when I gazed into your beautiful
eyes, I finally knew what it meant to SWOOOON
You
Were the one towards whom I walked
As the paths I graced with others led to the myriad of places and lessons
I had to learn, to experience, to grow to become the woman I am
today
A woman who adores YOU in ways you've yet to know
You
My Fearless Queen
Thank YOU for recognizing me for being attuned to my energy
For refuting the 1,000 things YOU could have judged to keep us apart
YOU being YOU
Dismissed Society's mores
Ever true to the sanctity and divinity of your heart
Yes
You are the beach
And I am the wave
You
Are the sunset
And I am your softening rays
You
Are a loc
Around which I curl
Uh huh
They can say we are
Love-locked
Bound by the Naps in our Love Locs
'Cause I don't ever want to be
Free
From falling gently, roughly, softly, casually, dangerously, meekly across
your back
Whispering about your ears grazing your lips and chin
Tumbling across your shoulders tapping your nose sweetly
Trailing tantalizingly up and down your spine when YOU kiss me with
those
Fiery, blazing locs
Alive
With the electricity that weaves YOU through me and me braided straight
through
You
My Everything My One Sure Thing My Calm in the Night
I profess my love to YOU this day:
I will be your forever-after at the end of each fairy tale
I will be your pot of gold when the rainbow fails
I will be a haven in the midst of hell
I will be the turn in the road when YOU experience roadblocks
I will soothe your woes when your heart aches
You
Should know I will traverse the hottest, island trail
To bring YOU that for which YOU yearn
My love
Beside YOU this day I promise to share my life never
Suffocating YOU with a needy, greedy love to keep YOU locked away
From growth, destiny, sun and all others
For my sake
I vow to love YOU in the sweetest, most sacred of ways
Not only with my body
And my every thought
But also, most importantly,
With every fiber of my soul through infinity
And every day of the journey I want YOU to know
I love YOU
Te amo
Je t'aime

FABEO oooooooOOOOOOOOOO Yeahhhhh

(c) Claudia Moss 8/18/2011

Chimamanda Adichie: The danger of a single story | Video on TED.com

2011-08-19T13:09:00.000-04:00

Chimamanda Adichie: The danger of a single story | Video on TED.com

Blogger Family,

This beautiful speech reminds me to always tell stories from diverse perspectives in my lesson of many sides being shared in the gift of ONENESS.

Con mucho amor y respecto,
TheGoldenGoddess
August 19, 2011

Thandie Newton: Embracing otherness, embracing myself | Video on TED.com

2011-08-19T12:44:00.000-04:00

Thandie Newton: Embracing otherness, embracing myself | Video on TED.com

Saludos, My Blogger Family!

I came across this chat with Thandie Newton today via a new Facebook friend, and I feel the need to listen at least three more times...it is that amazing. She reminds me that we are not the image of SELF that we create to better navigate the world (or so we think).

I am reminded that I am no one thing. I AM all things in Spirit.

Paz y bendiciones
TheGoldenGoddess

August 19, 2011

Let's Meetup....

2011-07-20T02:48:00.000-04:00

Have you ever treated yourself to a Meetup?

They exist for a plethora of subjects and themes, interests and activities! I'd heard of the www.Meetup.com site earlier this year via a Facebook friend, who answered a question I'd presented about discovering how to communicate with book clubs in my city, considering I'd just published my novel, "If You Love Me, Come."

"Try Meetup!" she advised jovially. "There, you'll find exactly what you seek." And was she ever right, except I didn't actually delve further into the site than hovering on its edges, surfing its thousands of groups.

Then my friend, Gina, spoke of a supper club meetup that she was wholly enjoying. The food, the people and the atmosphere! When she invited me to her next meeting, I jumped at attending. And what a delirious delight it was! I love meeting new people. I love the exchange of lives. I love the names that drifted across the restaurant. I love small talk with the restaurant staff. I love pictures. I love well-prepared food. And I love a welcoming atmosphere.

Thus, if you haven't braved the Meetup site, venture the experience! Go! Enjoy the group descriptions. And broaden your horizons. You will thank me; therefore, in advance, you are welcome! Besitos y abrazos

Living A Golden Life,
TheGoldenGoddess
July 2011

A Rhapsody in Blue

2011-07-20T01:41:00.000-04:00

How sweet it is to bask in the presence of love!

I had the pleasure of doing just that on a sunny Saturday in June, in the presence of my fabulous friends, a loving twosome whom I have admired for many years. Being in their space is a gift. One feels the love that exudes from them, from their words, from the joy in their togetherness and from the gratitude and love evident in their gorgeous home!

They invited me to their lovely civil union ceremony on June 23, 2011. Although it was breathtaking in every way, from the choice of colors to the delectable food served to the gaiety of the planned program, not to mention their absolutely sensational presence, as lovers pledging a forever love one to the other, a lover to her beloved, I would have wanted them to know the blessing of a wedding, accepted in the eyes of our society and by the law of our great land.

But although they celebrated their love in the framework of a civil union, I was thrilled for them! Other revelers were elated, too. Amelia and Lorene represent the possibilities of the future for lesbian love. Committed and forever. Their affection was palpable! Their adoration for the other could be felt in the sweet way Amelia stared towards the doorway of the room in which the wedding was held, looking longingly for her bride to enter as the audience waited with the same awe and expectation.

It made a girl dream, paint pictures in her mind of one day being the bride while her beloved awaits her at the altar! A distant love brought closer in the sacred parts of the other's life, into the everyday, close enough to rise and rest, together, both living and loving, embraced and caressing, while watching television and preparing meals, enjoying extended families, taking vacations, standing on the other's arm at office Christmas parties, and even raising babies...or grandbabies together! Two women in love....

I loved the vows they wrote and offered up to the other, words soft and savory, delicate and more delectable than the wedding cake that rivaled any I'd experienced in years. Took a chuck home and found it more delicious than the day before, me nibbling and sharing it for two days!

Some of the other guests were beautiful souls living their dreams in unions that made me want to stay and chat all day, gathering love stories like precious stones on a Pacific beach. They set me free to cast my own net and pull in possibilities before I basked in their revelry.

I love weddings. Me encantan bodas.

It was a Rhapsody in Blue...

Living a Golden Life,
TheGoldenGoddess
July 2011

Passion Lived in Nzinga's Fortress

2011-06-16T05:17:00.000-04:00

Chapter 21

Sharmayne’s hair got so it knew the gentle touch of Nzinga’s fingers better
than it knew her own. Since the afternoon Nzinga had driven to Sharmayne’s house
and whisked her off in a white Camry to her fortress, Sharmayne’s hair and
Nzinga’s fingers had become lovers, like the women themselves.

“Didn’t know what you preferred for brunch,” Nzinga said, setting a feast of a
repast on the freshly wiped white gazebo table in her fenced-in North Highland
backyard, a wilderness of magnolia trees, lush grass, and spray of bees and flowers.

“Thus, I’ve prepared a sampling of tastes for your palate’s pleasure.”

Sharmayne’s mouth watered, savory smells whetting her appetite.
There were waffles, vegetable omelets, fresh fruit, pancakes, maple syrup,
hash browns, bacon, sausages and even a dainty pot of brewing chamomile tea.

“You shouldn’t have.” Sharmayne was outdone. And to think, they’d only
known one another for less than a month, via telephone; yet in spite of that, Nzinga
had unrolled the red carpet, a thing Victor Naylor had never done, would never do.
She flushed, hands fluttering to her lips. “I’m overwhelmed. I feel so honored.”

Nzinga sat on a sun-warmed seat across from the diminutive woman and
smiled.

“That so. Before you dole too many accolades, taste a mouthful, and if it’s
yummy, I promise I’m yours for the heaping on of more praise.” She speared a
forkful of a fat omelet and brought it to Sharmayne’s mouth, waving it slightly to
release whiffs of its wafting heat.

Sharmayne parted her lips. Its flavor, like the aphrodisiac of Nzinga feeding
her, ricocheted inside her mouth, snapping her thighs together under the round
table.

The movement not lost on Nzinga, she unfolded a cloth napkin, fanned an
insect, and dabbed at the corners of Sharmayne’s lips. “Good?”

Sharmayne finished chewing, nodding her appreciation and amazement.

“Speechless, huh? That’s a good thing.” Nzinga tapped slender dark fingers
when they reached for silverware beside a mirror-clean plate. “What of the
waffles?”

“Oooh goodness! Fabulous and filled with blueberries.” Sharmayne licked her
lips. “They make me want to shout. To teach Women’s Studies, must one know
one’s way around a kitchen?” She opened her mouth and accepted a bubbly brown,
juicy sausage. The taste beat a drum roll in her stomach.

Next, Nzinga waited with a love offering of buttery, syrupy pancakes. “To
love a woman is to be open to learning what stimulates her appetite.”

Sharmayne’s moistened lips agreed, her insides singing, mouth baby-bird
wide. With a low, delirious sigh, she licked butter trickling towards her chin. And
moaned.

“I could eat your cooking all day, every day.” A darting tongue swept her lips.

“Do that again.”

“What?” Sharmayne played ignorant, knowing full well what Nzinga
referenced.

“Lick your lips. That simple act rivals all of your generous compliments.”

Nzinga leaned in close to better watch Sharmayne’s pink tongue gloss those
dark, berry-sweet lips from across the table, the mouth playful, her lashes batting
under half-mask lids. Didn’t admit that she, too, could eat all day and night, equally as ravenously. But she put no stock in telling, preferring instead to show the lovely lady, sooner than later. Right now, feeding her satisfied a long dry well-spring of passion she hadn’t felt in ages, until now; the inclination to inhale another woman mentally, physically, and spiritually, not just smooch her, feel her up and wield her dick, overwhelming.

When Sharmayne had eaten to her stomach’s content, she sat back and stared
at Nzinga, concerned she hadn’t touched a morsel of the delicious spread since
lowering the fork.

But Nzinga surprised her by half standing to kiss traces of crumbs from Sharmayne’s mouth.

AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON KINDLE in the U.S. and worldwide! Download your copy, and discover what comes of Sharmayne and Nzinga's blooming attraction! Get it for only $0.99.

TheGoldenGoddess
June 16, 2011

"Books & Bar-B-Q"

2011-05-31T00:33:00.000-04:00

I'd say books will accompany most anything, and definitely, they will serenade bar-b-q! What a phenomenal idea my knee-baby sister, Glenda Halcromb, Miss Know-It-All, came up with. Considering she adores hosting parties and gatherings of any sort, she was the perfect person to serve as hostess actually. Where the guests were concerned, oh how delightful it was to look out into her dining and living rooms to take in their warm, up-lifted faces, waiting expectantly, like cleaned cereal bowls anxious for the day's nourishment!

When I began the reading, with the first chapter, which is Miz Too-Sweet's voice, all sound was escorted from the house. Even the children were stilled. Perhaps it was because I was standing, all others seated, my voice drifting above their heads on the air, loud and dramatic, catching them up in Miz Too-Sweet's telling of how she and her husband Will and their neighborhood friend, Preacher, came to know Frenonia "Free" Roberts one March evening in Atlanta. As I breathed life into the print, I fell in love all over again with the majesty of words and their power to transport one to another place, another time, when Miz Too-Sweet was younger and learning to love the men with whom she walked.

The words whispered to me of a future performance piece. My feet imagined a stage...with its shiny flooring and vast space to stride and stroll this-way-and-that, regaling the audience, inviting them to feel Free's fright at nearly hitting a tiny boy chasing a ball into the middle of a Techwood street.

My soul went to singing it felt so good to be in the flow of others' lives, creative or otherwise! Fathom my joy when my father, slowly making his way to the porch to leave, as he must be back on 85 South before sundown, paused beside me to whisper, "I loved the reading, Tootsie (my nickname)! I'm going to buy my own copy, and I intend to read it, too!" Talk about ecstasy. To be honored amongst one's own is an unbeatable bliss!

This is my mother's baby sister, my Aunt Marion, one of my greatest supporters! In her lap is...you got it!...Miss Laila Amor, my grandbaby gyrl. (Remember her blog entry?) (Clearing throat) And yes, that's me, engulfed in revelry.

This is my lovely daughter-in-law, Shanice, and my former school colleague, Kyla Talley.

My sister, Bernie, whom several guests thought was me, is hanging out with her hubby, who, when I finished my reading, asked me to please read another chapter! Yes! Wasn't that fabulous?

These are my sisters, the Moss girls. (Bernie is a Stitts.) Diane is in the pink. Glenda is the sis in the white blouse! Two others are missing...Athera Everlener Pascascio (in Florida) and baby sis, Katarina Moss. Katarina and my parents and brother Delton and his family had already hit the road to return to Tuskegee by the time Bernie whipped out her camera. Several other guests had sweetly made their exits by then as well. (My twin brother Claude and Lorenzo weren't in attendance.)

I am planning a different sort of book promotion for July! It'll be sexy, literary and theatrical! So stay tuned! Like I said, Beloveds, books will flatter most any concept. Give me a few weeks, as I'm incredibly preoccupied with other endeavors. (laughter) Like what's new with that, some of you may be thinking? And you're right!

Living a golden life,
TheGoldenGoddess
May 31, 2011

The IF YOU LOVE ME, COME Book Release Party...

2011-05-17T04:16:00.000-04:00

My first book release party took place for the release of my second novel! Be that as it may, I was elated to experience the festive, transformative occasion. Energy charged through my limbs, my body, my core in a cleansing and intoxicating rush. I might have been flying if my feet weren't safely encased in strappy, sparkling sandals! To stand before a captive audience and speak, read or entertain is one of the endeavors of my life that fills me with an unspeakable joy, a virtually indescribable bliss! It is as though I become another person. Truth be told, I become an actress, performing each part in the story.

Captured on the lens of my friend Gina Parks' serious camera, one can "see" enough to "feel" whatever was coursing through my mind and being filtered back at my silent and, I hope, enraptured audience! I couldn't have prayed for a more adept camerawoman. Gina immortalized the audience, their interactions with me and the flavors and spectrum of emotions inside Little Five Points' Charis Books & More on the eve of April 29, 2011.

I love sitting before an audience to read, though I cannot sit long. Somewhere in the midst of the reading, I will spring to my feet, and the story pops and sizzles on another level! What, I imagine, could be better? Perhaps, writing, when the story is flowing and all time belongs to me. Yes, perhaps that would be better by a few degrees. Same as I adore the sensation and weight of a book in my palms, I cherish the beauty in the sound of the human voice, its lilt and timbre, the modulation of the flow of words, the dramatic pauses and the theatrical floodgates---it's all music of a sort! The symphony of its composition is enough, if done to perfection, enough to leave you entwined with the molecules of your seat, lost in mid-air, struggling to find your way back to the solidity of the activity around you! I know! I have been regaled by awe-inspiring readers, and I know when I have serenaded listeners with the magic-wand tap of a riveting story. Reading is pure magic. Unadulterated and true. Every time I reflect on that magic for any length of time, I thank Spirit for my Reading Mother, Clementine Young Moss.

This is Miss Gina F. Parks, my beloved photographer sistahfriend. And yes, the "F" is for FABULOUS! The bulk of the pictures I shall upload to a new Facebook album, as they didn't upload well here in numbers. So if you haven't a Facebook account, get one! It's the latest, greatest thing to have in our Internet world. Anyway, Gina is an artist of a plethora of talents: her cooking is magical, edible art; she creates some of the BEST slide show presentations you will ever experience; her organizing/managerial skills are legendary; she is impeccable with money and figures; and she is unconquered in Monopoly!

This is Miss Crystal! Isn't she lovely? I feel like singing that Stevie Wonder song to better explicate what I mean! A sweeter personality is hard to find when she is near. She and the beautiful Alicia Brown attended my book signing. Yes, they are my former students, excellent ones, I might add. Seeing them smiling up at me from the audience added 20 inches to my stature!

My family accompanied me to the bookish festivity. My only son, the handsome Avery M. Sarden II, and his lovely lady, Shanice Smith. The gentleman in the green shirt is my beloved, remarkable sistahfriend pretty in pink, JazzthePoet's, eldest son, Rashad Wise. My stunning cover model Meka beamed that unforgettable smile and captured hearts! And then there was Miss Tonya, a gorgeous longtime friend of mine and Gina's!

What an enchanting evening that was! Everything about it from beginning to end was GOLDEN! To name all of the souls who made my evening with their presence would topple short of the extraordinary occasion it was if I should omit one, precious name. Therefore, my sincere, unwavering appreciation remains with everyone who attended! You know who you are! I will forever adore you!

I was grateful I took the time to prepare homemade, whole-wheat cookies for the audience! Presented door prizes...made possible by Las Vegas author, Imani True, a cherished writer friend. All adoration and respect to Sharlise Lowe of GraphicsBysax for the amazing job she did with the novel's cover! Sincere love and appreciation for my knee-baby sister, Glenda for designing my red T-shirt with the glittering letters of my novel, IF YOU LOVE ME, COME on the front! (And to think she did it in under an hour, considering I was rushing her with a cat-o-nine tails!) Oh, I was truly beholden to Nazir and Laila Amor Sarden for not turning the party out, as they may have been prone to do had I spoken a tad bit longer!

The book in praise is IF YOU LOVE ME, COME, my second novel! It can be ordered on my author website at www.ClaudiaMoss.net or ordered on KINDLE from www.Amazon.com. I plan to make it available soon on BarnesandNoble, Books-a-Million and Borders.

Looking forward to many more book releases.

Living the Golden Life,
THE GOLDEN GODDESS

www.ClaudiaMoss.net
IF YOU LOVE ME, COME: a novel

Walking for A Cure For Lupus

2011-05-17T03:54:00.000-04:00

Yes, I did it again! Released the keyboard for another GREAT cause! This time it was for my beloved sisterfriend Gina Parks, who organized the G-Team to help raise sorely needed funds to be used in seeking a cure for LUPUS. We all had a fabulous time decorating and tying our purple T's in ways that showed our creativity before we started on the trek around Piedmont Park. Participating in the festive gala gave me a sense of giving back, which all of us need to do and feel as regularly as we can. And it was a heartwarming surprise to reconnect with beloved friends I don't see often! I even had the pleasure of reuniting with Janice Reaves, a dear high school classmate, who traveled to the city from Tuskegee, Alabama, to walk in remembrance of her classy mother!

Living a Golden Life,
THE GOLDEN GODDESS

Good Times in Piedmont Park

2011-05-17T02:48:00.000-04:00

Sometimes a writer must coerce herself to unleash the keyboard and delve into the splendor of a day splashed in sunshine. To some, this may appear to be an incredibly easy feat; however, for us single-minded writers with the next essay, blog, short story, article or chapter on our minds, this is no facile feat!

But...there are times when I just want to have fun, so all it takes is for someone to strongly suggest that I release, breathe and let go, and I will run you over getting out the front door. If I do it two or three times, consecutively, I can accomplish the task easier and quicker the next time around!

After I'd enjoyed a BlogTalkRadio Show one afternoon with a beautiful, delightful and engaging couple, they invited me to curtail the writing and bask in the April sunshine. So, just like that, I took them up on the invite, and these pics are evidence of how much fun I had! Below, my sensational friends are all smiles as they give themselves over to enjoying THE MOMENT!!!

Here I am joyously posing with my fierce POET DIVA FRIEND, FRANZ-CHE!!! The DIVA herself is not only a fabulous performing poet but also a Master Barber and Stylist as well!!! The dancing queen under the light, flying locs is one of her two, gorgeous daughters.

This charming little lady is my friend Vickey's baby daughter! Isn't she lovely? And she's a scholar, too! Great job, Miss V!!!

This gentleman and his dogs were absolutely precious! They all posed and caught their breath, until I came along with my notorious camera, snapping, smiling and chatting. Eventually, the master pet trainer gave me some bills and asked me to get him something to eat, as he couldn't enter the quaint sandwich shop behind me with his entourage, who were BETTER BEHAVED than some two-year-olds I know! Clearing my throat!! (Behind my freshly painted pink nails) My bouncing grandbaby boy included!!! (sweet smiles)

Ooops! Down below, in the last photo, The Golden Goddesses' little grandbaby goddess dumpling had an unladylike misstep when C. Dawson lifted her into the air! Oh well, even the tiniest goddesses make their own ripples....

Living a Golden Life
TheGoldenGoddess

A Big, Bold, Beautiful SHOUT OUT to Xina Sy for having me as a GUEST on her BBB Blog....

2011-05-17T02:18:00.000-04:00

Saludos, Mis Amores!!!
Greetings, My Loves!!!

NOTE:
I had to repost my Guest Appearance on XINA SY's blog, THE BIG, BOLD, BEAUTIFUL BLOG. I so enjoyed writing the post and loved working with Xina Sy to bring it to her readers and now to my readers (especially the ones who follow but aren't on Facebook, where it was originally posted). Please follow this ink to read more about other sensational women featured on the BBB blog...www.thebigboldbeautifulblog.blogspot.com.

Fabulously Fierce!

By Author, Claudia Moss, Photos by Zenpressions

"Today, I’m fabulous, fierce and 53, and I can think of no greater place to be."

40! That’s passé! Can we say, yesterday?

Today, I’m fabulous, fierce and 53, and I can think of no greater place to be. There isn't a doubt in my mind. I am a good-lookin’ Momma, primarily because I feel good inside, where it counts the most. In the mirror, morning, noon or night, I peer at my reflection and love what I see smiling back at me.

Undoubtedly, I feel sexier than I've ever felt in my life, and I have always glided with an intense awareness of my sexuality and sex appeal, although previously I didn't much act on it sexually. And as such, I have worn my share of invisible habits and nun’s headgear. Yet these days I am clearly sensing an internal shift. Call it the bite of an adventurous bug. Call it curiosity. Call it inquisitive. I don’t mind. Fact is, I feel sexually, sensually alive!

With each breath I take, Beloveds, I reinvent the notion of ‘Fine over 50.’ I don’t give a who-who if popular women’s magazines rarely extend those charts of women, famous and otherwise, in different age groups that range from the 20’s to the 40’s, ostensibly omitting women in their 50’s and upward. Wouldn’t you think they would know to hop off the Hollywood Bandwagon? Women, same as men, exist after 40. And if a Sean Connery can co-star with a young sizzling siren, so too, can a Diva from the same era…with a siren or a stud?

Can you hear me? Come closer. I’ll let you in on my truth…. I love me. And I love my body. I absolutely adore and respect it, how it works and how it responds to the loving care I offer it. I refuse to settle. Not placing myself on anyone’s option schedule. My Ms. Sensational is out there!

The body is our temple, and we should treat it as such. Not only do I honor my Taj Mahal, I adore the way I move in the skin I’m in. The sensuality of dance, a silky sway of the waist, a ripple of the abdomen, the bump and quick wiggle in the hips, arms raised and angled just so, head tilted provocatively---my body is distilled art. I am fascination in motion, evidence of an imaginative power in the Universe. As long as I keep myself moving and dancing and walking and running and pretzeled and prancing, I hope to be vibrantly present well into my silver years. My sensual body makes it paramount I pamper my muscles with ample periods of rest and relaxation. As well as daily exercise to include muscle-building routines.

My eyes savor the caress my Fabulous-50 self. I embrace me, all of me. A thousand halleluiahs I didn’t succumb to the breast augmentation I pined for years ago at a time I frowned on my hiccup-sized cup, dreaming about a sumptuous décolletage. Breasts have forever enthralled me. They are indeed the Divine’s handiwork! Half-dollar sized, a doll’s pectoral glands, mine were shotgun teeny in my teens and early twenties. A road map, they pointed straight ahead. Not a salute. A poke or a prod might be more like it. I cherished them on most days; on others, I fantasized about waking up, magically, in my friend’s Maiden Form or in a Victoria Secret’s lacy number with an equally sexy name or reeling under a pair of traffic-and-speech stopping double D’s.

My sisters---truth be told---we’ve all been there, and if it wasn’t our breasts, it was another body part, i.e., thick thighs or a derrière out-to-there, before J-Lo or Janet posteriors were stamped approved by those outside of our beauty standards.

Today my breasts are more than a handful. Perhaps a buck and some change and two handfuls. I find them enchanting, in or outside of a bra. On my bathroom walls or inside the shower, there isn’t a waterproof placard reminding me to self-check them for lumps or signs of change. I do that naturally, adoring me reverentially.

Hairy legs. Hmmm. I used to boast (what some folks dubbed sexy) hairy legs. Compliments coming consistently, I stopped bowing to some of my Sister-friends’ beauty standards---of flawless stretches of smooth legs under booty shorts, short skirts and don’t-hurt-‘em dresses. But over time I fell, plummeting so far past go, I never found my way back to my hairy legs. One day I fell in love with shaved legs, and…oh well. We win some, and release others.

India Arie floats along over there, a bit beyond my enlarged, well-lit monitor, declaring, "I am not my hair~~" And, I know why she’s here, if only in my momentary imaginings. She’s come to remind me that I am more than my parts. And she is correct.

I am more than my Sisterlocks, trimmed and cut and colored, if I should so desire. I am the Love that wells up from within; for me, others and the Universe. I am much more than the clothes I select to adorn my form, garments that honor my freedom to honor my sex appeal. I am the willingness to help others, even as I open to Spirit’s generosity in manifesting my dreams. And I am indeed far more than the knowledge and skills I’ve acquired over 53 summers of being present on this plane. For I am the Knowing that what I seek seeks me, when I desist wanting to tell the Divine how my day and life should go. In the final analysis, I know I’m Fabulous. No boast intended. Only self love and self confidence. And self knowledge of healthy living!

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