Writer's Block with Suenammi Richards

When You Finally Realize - Excerpt from Shuttered Vision

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Mon, 16 Oct 2017 14:46:00 +0000

“Ok Mr. Abrams.” Cody started tartly. “You don’t have my blessing yet but I won’t actively stand in the way.” Cody declared.

Colan looked at him. “Why not?” He asked. “I thought you were still at camp StayAwayFromHer.”

Cody laughed. “I was. And trust me this FBI cluster is still pending investigation for me. So is the questionable decision to take her out after what she’d been through. I know though that you had things to do and seeing you after she was attacked I know you couldn’t let her out of your sight.”

Colan nodded cowed a bit.

Cody paused as he looked out at Fiona. “Damned if I can’t admit it though she’s blooming.” He said simply. He put down the glass he was holding and looked at Colan intently. “You did something with her today that I’ve never seen before.”

Interested Colan looked at Cody. He tilted his head and asked, “Which is?”

Cody mimicked the gesture of holding his hands open as he had watched them do with each other. “Even as angry as you were, and you were Oklahoma redneck pissed, you didn’t disrespect her agency. You still took the time to ask for permission to touch her.” Cody paused his demeanor darkening as he continued, “I’m not going to go over some of the less savory aspects of her sexual history with you. That’s something for her to decide to share with you if you two get there.” He shook his head slightly. “As the person she turns to and usually bares her soul to I tell you that alone is very impactful. You want me on your team you keep that up.”

Colan listened to what Cody was saying and the hint of someone taking advantage of Fiona had made him see red for a few minutes. He almost missed how Cody ended his speech. He looked out at Fiona on the phone with her mother.

She painted in jeans and shorts. She liked dresses though. Pretty frilly flirty sundresses. The one she was wearing now looked perfect for a beach. The way the sun and ocean were positioned behind her was almost a perfect ad to sell the dress. It was a blue and green handkerchief dress that teased her curves, lifted and settled on the wind. Her hair was braided. She hadn’t had time to really deal with it and she slept with it braided. Her skin was a brilliant deep bronze sun kissed and glowing. Her face was serious but cracked into a smile often as she spoke to her mother. He watched those full lovely lips move and his heart flipped at the flash of white between her lips when she smiled.

Then he thought about the ugliness he had witnessed. He thought about how she retreated from physical contact almost immediately when the spell of their intimacy was broken. He thought about how she had not complained later about being sore after the officer had assaulted her. Not a single grumble. He thought about how she had frozen when he had first kissed her any idea of sexual desire ripped away by pure fear.

He thought about how Cody was never physically forward with her even though he was big enough. Even after the attack he hadn’t run to her and grabbed her. He had stood back called to her and let her come to him. It was the actions of a man used to dealing with someone who needed extra care from experienced trauma.

“She’s been sexually assaulted.” Colan practically whispered.

Cody looked at him wondering how this man had gotten so far understanding so little. “Colan, she’s a woman.”

Colan looked at Cody and was taken aback by the way he said the statement she’s a woman. It reminded him of him yelling at him about remembering she was black. The unmentioned rules behind those statements becoming clear. In this equation expecting to be treated a certain way by people based on race was expected. Sexual assault was so common for women that it was to be assumed that just by dent of being a woman she had experienced sexual assault.

Colan felt his reality warping a bit and he put a hand to his forehead. His mind stretching as he saw scenes in movies that pushed the idea the narrative of taking women. Doing what you wanted with them as objects and accessories. Seeing himself suggesting more aggression and pushing for rape plot devices.

Cody watched him and called to him, “Colan are you ok?”

Colan took a few deep breaths and focused on Fiona. Not her pain but on her. He waved Cody off as his mind started to settle guilt flooding through him.

“I’m ok.” He bit out.

He focused and looked outside at her. He had thought after the attack what a miracle a survived life was. Now he stared at her in a new mystified awe. She carried so much. How did she manage? He remembered her declaration. No rest for the weary. She had to manage because this was the world she lived in. It was either survive or die. She didn’t have time for his sensibilities and his laziness in regards to understanding why she had to be how she was. She was living breathing walking inspiration. The day was long and she had many to reach.

“Goddess.” Colan breathed. “I asked her before what she was. I left out the one she is.”

Cody put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re slow but you’re getting there.”

Expansion

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Thu, 31 Aug 2017 20:56:00 +0000

Expansion is a curious subject for a wide variety of people. Expansion calls for a variety of interpretation. Expansion is the sole vision of the one who has it. So what is the cause call and reckoning for this action verb? Expansion has business implications, personal implications, and societal implications. But what is expansion actually.

Like most things in this life under the human gaze and perception it functions like a story. As pattern recognizing creatures the pattern we are most familiar with is story. Often human beings adapt to visual and sensory stimulus with explanation. Indeed all of the structures of society, language, social norms, sense of wrong doing is from an established pattern pulled from stories created by human minds. So they have limitations. They must make logical sense and sometimes logical sense has a very limited perception and almost none of the facts.

As fallible creatures we have no choice but to function in a limited perception based ideology. The hardest thing for a human mind to give up is a pattern once it is accepted as fact and universal law. This is why religion still factors so highly as well as perceptions on gender, race and socialization. No matter how advanced the society its failure bursts forth from the same spring. Misunderstanding and false patterns.

These patterns revolve around the relationship with assumed power and brilliance based on wealth. As beings that have a list of actual needs to enable life the principle of wealth has always held sway in human hearts and minds. Wealth in its purest intent is there to remove chains and provide freedom. Often the wealthy find that their wealth just becomes an even harder set of chains to break than their previous condition. Freedom in its purest form is usually anonymity. True wealth from having nothing at all. Yet our patterns tell us that there must be merit in wealth. Merit in achieving and attaining. The wealthy themselves take on the role as superior human as they use assets to back ideologies mankind has wanted to believe in forever. In an attempt to validity their claims and ideas they attempt to shape the world as a safe. In both phrase and actuality.

The nature of nature is balance and flow. When imbalances occur we call them natural disasters. Volcanoes from too much pressure, hurricanes from imbalances of air and heat. Stories tell me a story. Stories have a beginning, a middle and an end. A decent story makes you feel something. A great story inspires you to build your own stories.

The Power of Invocation - Clair's Burden

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Wed, 19 Jul 2017 22:44:00 +0000

“Goddess.” Colan breathed. “I asked her before what she was. I left out the one she is.”

Clair felt a rush of wind at the spoken words. Her eyes opened as she sat straight up. Her husband Sergei stirred near her. She absently rubbed his shoulder and back. She looked down and his ice blue eyes were glazed over. Then they were stark and with her.

"Did you expect that to happen?" He asked Clair in a sleep hazed voice.

Clair shook her head. "No these two are progressing much faster than anyone anticipated." She admitted as she settled back in next to her husband snuggling into him.

They kept odd hours due to the planes they could travel. They slept when they could and worked when they could. Luckily they both had careers that let them set their own schedules. After the Virgin Launch project Sergei left corporate life and went into teaching. His patent would take care of them as long as money was a valued resource. She didn't play as much anymore because the power in the music was hard to control. She still struggled in controlling the effects. She had known the price she would pay would be high. She just had no idea how much would be taken from her as she tried to become what she needed to be. Or how much would be given, she thought as she pressed a closed mouth kiss to her husband's collarbone.

So much had changed since that day that Max had come to see them for the first time. Clair pursed her lips thinking about him. Had she known then what she knew now. She pushed the thought aside. If she thought about the rascal too hard Sergei would get into a fighting mood again. She was still not sure if they could trust Dalen anymore than they could trust Max. The redhead had an odd way about him. But she was worried about what she saw could befall her first couple. If he was willing to babysit she was not going to argue. They might need some extra muscle after everything hit the fan. Which she had guessed would be happening very soon.

"When?" Sergei asked in a distracted fashion as he pulled Clair closer to him.

"Soon like in a day or so." Clair responded evenly.

"Can she handle it?' He stressed the last.

She thought about it. He wasn't talking about the mess they were in because of Colan. He was talking about the invocation Colan was about to unwittingly commit. It was an odd thing invocation. If one person declared someone a goddess it didn't do much beyond a blip of power. However the power of individuals has never been equal. Colan was not a normal man. He made movies. So while an invocation from a single man would not stir much, the invocation of a man that influenced so many manifest itself in power fitting the scope of influence. His vision influenced millions of people. He will soon unwittingly send Fiona into a magical wellspring.

Clair traced all the major events in Fiona's life. Her first experience with her latent abilities. Her father's death. Meeting Cody. She also saw the scars from her first loves before Colan. The ones that had hurt her. She watched what she did with her power. Fiona was damaged, but ultimately kind even when it wasn't deserved. She was her first choice for a reason. Max's opinion of her be damned. They did have a difficult road. That she did admit to. But having faith meant having faith. If she was going to do this right, faith was going to have to bear the heavy load, especially in these early days.

She shivered in her husband's arms. He tightened them and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He could feel what she was thinking about. The echos of the horrors to come. The weight of her deal with The Council to save some.

"We'll get through love." He whispered. "You're going to make it right I know it."

* * *

Find Clair and Sergei's story in So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar.

Then continue the tale with Fiona and Colan in Shuttered Vision.

What they don't get - From Shuttered Vision Now Available

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Sun, 09 Jul 2017 18:50:00 +0000

“You don’t get it. Other populations know white people better than white people know themselves,” she said in a candid hushed way.

His eyes snapped to hers. He was oddly still as she continued. He couldn’t help but catch the humoring pitying head shake from Cody as she continued.

“See America isn’t built where you have to figure out how to constantly avoid people of color, or LGBTQs, atheists, Muslims. Name a none Christian religion or sect, or even women. Your spaces are already set up that way. Just the hint of having to tolerate or stomach another sends average over 30 white folks into a tizzy,” she threw out casually.

She then pinned him with the intensity of her eyes as she finished. “However, every corner and facet of staying alive and living as free as I can manage has literally depended on how well I can navigate straight white Christian male spaces. Looking like this.” She loosely gestured to herself.

Colan stared at her. In that moment, he couldn’t really imagine anything or anyone to be more beautiful. She rendered him speechless. He didn’t know how to relate that. The gumption of the woman was stunning in a number of ways. She stood in his house serving him his booze and then shot out her truth regardless of the consequences.

“You are exhausting,” he finally admitted.

“So, I’ve been told,” she countered. “What I just said is long speak for no rest for the weary. I don’t get to turn it off or tank it down. Look where I’m standing.”

He did just as she asked. He could find no reason whatsoever as to why she shouldn’t exist or be in his house. However, he was honest enough to admit that there were a ton of people who could and would actually think it was valid that she not only shouldn’t be there but that she literally shouldn’t exist. It sickened him. Mostly because he had gotten to be the age that he was and it had never crossed his mind. He had done what was easy. He had rendered himself blind just like the masses of ‘polite’ white folks that pretended not to see color. The thought was actually the most offensive thing when you really thought about it.

“I see you, Fiona,” he said in a low measured tone. “I see you,” he repeated forcefully.

Stunned Fiona just stared at him as she felt her heart expand and her eyes tear. She didn’t know why that sentence was so impactful. Right now, it was almost enough to drop her into a puddle on the floor. She could see it in his eyes. They were a clear grass green. They met hers without flinching and without shame. No true judgement, not looking down on her, not pitying her. He just looked at her as another human being with thoughts dreams goals and more than all of that with inherent value. Cody clinked his martini glass to hers. That finally broke the spell.

“As usual these are delish, love,” he said sweetly which gave away how he felt about what happened.

She looked over at her best friend. He countered with an even sweeter smile. She returned it and he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Colan turned and grabbed the popcorn. He went to sit gesturing for the two of them to come over. “This is a new one opening in a month and a half starring Dwayne Johnson,” he tempted.

Fiona lit up. “The Rock? Hell yeah.”

Colan smiled. “I did expect the Texas girl to know him as a wrestler,” he said densely.

“I’ve been to shows where he was the main event,” Fiona confirmed.

Cody was staring at the heavens. “Dear God are you also a wrestling fan?” he asked in an exasperated fashion.

Fiona clucked. “Cody is originally from Michigan, he doesn’t get it.”

Colan smirked, “I did think it was just state policy in Texas.” He watched Fiona with barely banked appreciation and asked. “So, you have no problem watching one of his films?”

Fiona plopped next to him in one of the leather recliners with Cody hot on her heels. Cody looked at her in an expectant fashion. She squinted at the challenge in his eyes.

Non-plussed she responded like she often did when they talked about the man known as Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. “I’d watch that man make toast,” she said with relish.

Cody smiled and whispered, “The balls on my girl,” then gingerly sipped his martini.

Pick up a copy of Shuttered Vision:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Smashwords

New Paranormal Romance Release Shuttered Vision

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Sat, 01 Jul 2017 17:31:00 +0000

I started Shuttered Vision about 8 years ago. Then it was intended to be a love lost letter to a man I knew I'd never have or ever be with. When I started it I outlined the pervasive issues that were the problem of us ever ending in mutual bliss with each other. Those issues in my eyes were race, class and media bias. I've been a dark girl in white spaces for most of my adult life. My assumption was that for the man to end up being a man that could overlook or readjust to these differences, love was not going to be enough. What this book started was a journey for me that I didn't realize I needed until of course it landed me right here.

8 years ago I was an administrative assistant for a college in Baltimore. I was pursuing my undergrad in video game design and planning to create a game engine to beat all game engines. My plans changed mostly because I so needed to answer the question posed to myself due to falling for a man that would never be able to see value in me due to my race, my poor upbringing and the avid brainwashing media intentionally and unintentionally sustains with pervasive anti-blackness. That observation by the way is not up for challenge. I will allow no one to disavow my lived experiences.

During this investigation of the whys of American racial discourse I learned from those around me. Social Sciences professors teaching History, Political Science, Sociology, Women's Studies and Teacher Education. What I ended up building was a need to confont the problem on the ground floor. I started to research game based learning and ended up pursuing a Masters by 2011. This halted my writing until roughly around last year. As my life started to change again I went back to what had sustained me the first time my life fell apart. Writing.

After 8 years and more experiences Shuttered Vision morphed. It became too important to waste on a man who willfully choose to disavow me as a potentially worthy partner. I learned that it really is his loss. I also learned that there are some people you reach back for and some you don't. Something I constantly ignored in previous years for that hero narrative I wanted my life to reflect. I saw an opportunity in this book to truly be as authentic as I can imagine and to add a narrative to the growing ones being built by female authors of color. Romance as a genre has not always embraced nuance, however this is changing. I would like to add to that change.

Shuttered Vision then became a love letter to me and to all women who had to get passed that moment of feeling not good enough for reasons that are so beyond your own control. Its a love letter to those in the trenches, bound in the struggle. Its a love letter to those who have lost not just love, but freedom and their lives to narratives that refuse to allow basic humanity.

The message is keep creating, keep building, never surrender and be at all times your authentic self. Because that is what actually defines humanity.

Fiona and Colan have born the weight of realization and discovery for me. They have given me so much of myself back that I adore them. I hope you come to love Fiona and Colan as I do.

Always w/love,

Sue

Pick up a copy of Shuttered Vision:

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Smashwords

The Beginning of the End is Shuttered Vision

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Fri, 23 Jun 2017 15:54:00 +0000

Its time, Clair thought to herself as she set up the ingredients for the spell she was about to cast. She was stronger now. She didn't need the herbs and symbols but her mother had taught her respect for the old ways. She loved them and they kept her just enough human these days. Just enough to remember the people she was looking for were flawed. Her husband Sergei did the rest when it came to insuring her empathetic bond to humanity. She smiled over to him softly as she added the rosemary to the shell with the white sage, rose petals and lavender. It would keep those she bound safe until it was time for them to do what they needed to do.

Sergei lit the white candles around the shell and sat on the opposite side of Clair. The table between them was a wooden pub table. Their seats pub stools. He had built his Clair a witch's den as soon as they found a forever home in Taos. The shed sat on consecrated ground blessed by her ancestors and his. The walls were built from a blessed oak tree and the adobe that packed those walls from deep in the heart of what was once Apache lands. They had blessed and warded the space themselves with only a little help from Clair's mother Janeene.

Building places like this required a lot of heart and care. The furniture was either stone or wood. The walls were bare but the large wooden chest in the corner held all Clair needed. Candles, herbs, ingredients and totems. Each piece was selected with the utmost care and attention to detail. Clair had insisted. He had done as she needed. That was the only way one should deal with a witch powerful enough to drop a city block with a thought. It helped that he was in fact hopelessly in love with her and she him.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. Their vision was shared and she could see as he did. They scanned the world then. Clair gasped and Sergei stopped. They jolted out of the vision.

"That was fast." Sergei said briskly.

Clair looked a little stunned as she stared down at the contents of the abalone shell between them. The shell was the size of a fist and fit easily into Clair's palm. It looked as if it hung in mid air on its wooden tripod stand. When she used it she stared at the flames when she burned her herbs to see what she needed to.

"Not a mistake." She whispered as she used a candle to set fire to the contents of the bowl. She let her aura pulse. She felt the power that laid in her soul push the boundaries. The words came to her spontaneously. "For nothing can be seen, made or foretold without art. The artists must be acute of vision, consorts of sound, and scribes of renown. I call on 3 sets of creators with a view unconventional and will unbendable.

One of handled art with brush to canvas and visions of failed passions. One of traveled time in scenes, lulls, set and dark flashes. Those of sight with vision unbound to see the world that is now found."

Find Clair and Sergei's story in So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar.

Then continue the tale with Fiona and Colan in Shuttered Vision coming June 30th 2017.

Shuttered Vision Coming June 30th 2017

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Tue, 20 Jun 2017 20:24:00 +0000

“What are you talking about?” Fiona cut back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Cody pinned her with his response.

Fiona shut down and said flatly, “He’s rich, he’s famous, and he’s white.”

Cody was getting angry. “And what does that mean?”

“It means he has no interest in someone like me. By his standards; I’m fat, stupid, and the most unforgivable sin, not white,” Fiona stated matter-of-factly.

Cody was trying to control his temper, but when she started talking like this. “Face, not everyone is as small minded as the idiots you grew up with. There are actually progressive states in the union you know.”

Fiona hissed, “Where? Name one where people aren’t being shat on for having the audacity to date outside of their race? When was the last time you saw a happy interracial couple?” she charged.

“So, you’re telling me that even if he was perfect for you in every way, you wouldn’t date him because he’s white?” Cody accused.

Not really, Fiona thought to herself but she was pissed off enough at Cody to be a jackass. “That’s right.”

“You are a racist,” he said confidently.

“Damn straight, and I got there honest.” She sighed letting her anger drain away at the sound of her own ignorance. “Look, I know it’s wrong, believe me I do, but every single man that has hurt me in the past has had one thing in common. They weren’t able to get past this-” she rubbed her skin. “It doesn’t come off, and people in this country are too ignorant to see past it. All I would do is condemn another person to having the horrible realization of how completely racist and sexist their entire upbringing has been. It’s exhausting work CJ, and I’d rather sit it out.”

Cody was about to yell at her some more. He saw the tears glistening in her eyes and knew that it hurt her so much more than she liked to admit. Instead he just pulled her close.

“I love you, Face,” he said plainly.

He heard her long sigh. “And I love you. But you know what I’m saying. You said as much about Frederick.”

Cody grimaced. “Yes, I did, not that Frederick ever stood a chance, but if he did, he’s so in the closest that going down on him would taste like mothballs. I’m much too old to be a legend maker.”

She looked up at him. “So am I. I did that when I was younger,” she imparted.

He smiled. “We both did. Well in that case you won’t mind the deal I made Abrams,” Cody confided.

Fiona pulled away from him looking up in an accusatory fashion. “What deal?”

How Colan Got Here from Shuttered Vision Coming June 2017

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Fri, 12 May 2017 19:30:00 +0000

Colan had been no different. For most of his 36 years of life, films had sustained and carried him. He would never forget his first drive thru experience. His mother and father had taken them to see something he thought he really wanted to see until he turned around to look at another screen in the tri screen theatre. There he watched, without sound, Legend. Shortly thereafter his father had left and he fell completely into the world of moving pictures as his mother had to leave him to fend for himself as she had to work more. So he watched movies, every kind he could watch.

He had been raised in a back-water Oklahoma town called Chandler right outside of Oklahoma City. When he had become high school age he had talked his mother into letting him go to the best high school in the state located in Norman Oklahoma near Oklahoma State University. There he had started the process to get into the University of California Berkeley. From there he had gone to Tisch School of the Arts at New York University with a 4.0.

Colan had graduated full of zest, zeal and an appropriate amount of artistic angst. He had hit the independent film scene on fire. His first three movies had been shot down instantly. The people he pitched to insisted that Americans didn’t want to think. They wanted blood guts and senseless violence. He had been unconvinced. The public took what they could get. He was going to make films again.

All of his professors had seen the idealist in him and knew what that meant. One by one over the years they had warned him away from Hollywood. Make films overseas first, he had been advised. No no no, he had been a patriot. He had only wanted to give his creations to American audiences first. With the choices being Disney and Hollywood, he had chosen the later.

So, there he had gone. Hollywood was everything he thought it would be and a slew of other things he hadn’t expected. He had expected to be disgusted. To be insulted as the art he loved was being canonized and mass produced without thought or originality. What he hadn’t expected was to be lured in by the potential of ultimate power. To be held enrapt by the bright lights the lifestyle, the parties, the drugs, the sex. Some of those women he had met along the way had been willing to do anything. Anything at all for a shot. The realization of all that has been lost happens much later.

Ironically, the most seductive lure of it had been the competition. Being better, doing better hopefully in a way that shows everyone how bad someone else is at this job. Colan had started as a rigging grip. After 5 years of wheeling and dealing, flaunting his degree, his good looks, and southern charm, Colan Abrams from bumfuck Oklahoma and a broken home was the most sought after movie producer in Hollywood. He had gotten to be an assistant of a producer within a year and half of being in the company. Produced his first film within the next six months as the man he was working for cracked under the pressure. Pressure, Colan had eagerly and liberally applied. That year he had turned a summer blockbuster that would’ve fallen on its ass with the previous producer into a multi-million dollar worldwide hit.

The rules are simple for success in Hollywood. Money is the name of the game and the only resume item that’s respected. Rule one summer, it was luck. Rule two summers, the kid might have what it takes. Three summers followed by a killer Halloween and an amazing Christmas showing. Baby the kid’s a star.

Colan was a country boy at the core of his being. He hadn’t been used to women that looked like Hollywood wanna be starlets did. He had never even let himself imagine men willing to prostitute like Hollywood wanna be leading men did. Like any naïve young man, he had lost his way. He had been exposed to it during school. Needless to say, it wasn’t the same.

In the past the purity of the art of crafting film had kept him focused and removed from much of the party life. Soon he learned that he wasn’t really making films anymore. He was in the business of making money. With the purity of the art gone, all that was left was this sickening people pulsing floor show. When the lifestyle had started not to be enough he had become a little worried. When the drugs had started to not be enough, his worry escalated. When the sex became practically another form of currency he had started having full blown panic attacks.

Two years ago, Colan Abrams, multi-billion-dollar movie producer, film company executive, and all around Hollywood behind the scenes badass, suffered a nervous breakdown. His perception of the world had never been the same since.

Coming June 2017

Understanding Fiona from Shuttered Vision Coming June 2017

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Tue, 09 May 2017 19:30:00 +0000

Fiona Canters grew up differently than the rest of the free world within the United States of America. When 5-year-old Fiona first told her mother about one of her extraordinary dreams her mother had smiled pleased. She asked her daughter to tell her what they meant. Confused Fiona had not answered. The very next day she had been privy to the conversations the women in her family had away from husbands, boyfriends, sons and fathers.

“Fiona dreamed last night,” her mother had told her mother-in-law excitedly.

“Does she know what it means?” her aunt had asked anxiously.

Her mother proudly shook her head then and recounted the dream for the listening gaggle. With gasps of delight and praises to the Almighty they had all regarded Fiona differently.

The Canters were a French Creole line. Originally, they intermixed with a line that had roots in Native America, Africa and Ireland. Now they were a rainbow people. The shades of relatives spanned the realm of possibility.

Fiona’s mother was Salvadorian. Her skin the color of burnished copper. Her hair fell blue black tightly curled and silky across her shoulders. Her light brown eyes always alight with seemingly forbidden knowledge.

A Canters man, her father was tan skinned by nature. His dark eyes and mixed features made it hard to place into a particular ethnic set. From that, Fiona had emerged a shade lighter than mahogany. Her eyes an almost eerie shade of dark grey. They looked lit from within as the iris closest to the pupil was a paler grey than the midnight that it changed into as it floated to the rims.

“Witch eyes,” her grandmother had said that night as the women talked. She took the child’s measure for the first time.

Fiona had starred up innocently into the clear hazel eyes of the paler woman. She felt that nagging suspicion of being in the presence of something that was more than it seemed. Of course as a child, she had no true idea of what it was. Just this sudden unmistakable unshakable awareness as she peered up at the woman. Always waiting for her to change form right before her eyes.

She had always been fearful of her father’s pale, hazel eyed mother. The woman had eyes that saw too much. They saw everything and communicated with the souls of others without their knowledge. These were things she had heard whispered growing up among the others.

The others were the ones of her family that had been born without that extra thing that most of the women had. It was a generation skipping instance. Every once in a while, a woman in their line was born without that extra sense of the world, without the vision to see into others through dreams, premonitions and senses that were a family birthright.

They were raised in a different way than those with sight. Still loved and shown the same affections and care. They were kept away from the ones who bared stunning signs and levels of awareness. It was a courtesy to both sides. The children would grow to understand and appreciate each other before they interacted. This way they could understand their differences and not treating each other badly over them.

Before the conception of every child, the women of the family dreamed. During the pregnancy, the women dreamed. They dreamed of the child they would bare. They would know before modern technology whether a boy or a girl would be born. When the mother conceived her entire existence was enrapt in the being she carried. Through their personal dreamscape, they would understand the nature of that child. How it should be raised and what it should be led to do.

Even those born without the special gifts procured to the blood line were dreamt of. Regardless of whether it had been given sight or not. One day they may raise a child that most likely would be given sight. Regardless, they needed to be raised in a fashion to be able to deal with their child’s gifts. That was why all dreams and premonitions centered on the child.

Fiona was the exception. Fiona’s mother Alejandra calls that time in her life ‘el negro’:

The dark. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to live as most people do. She had only common sense, instincts and logic to guide her way through. All of her dreams during Fiona’s conception and birth had been shielded from her. All premonition and sensory insight dulled to just instances of déjà vu. Her mother-in-law said it was because the child she carried was blank. Meaning there was nothing to see.

Coming June 2017

Girl Talk from SPRSWB

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Sun, 07 May 2017 18:22:00 +0000

Dorrie held up the dress. “Sergei will be here soon.”

Clair reached for the dress.

Dorrie held it back. “Promise me you’ll give this man a fair shake.”

Clair frowned at Dorrie and pursed her lips reaching for the dress again.

Dorrie backed away from her. “Promise Clair.”

Clair bit her lip almost hard enough to break the skin. She huffed and finally said, “I promise, fair shake.”

Dorrie held the dress out to her. “Thank you.”

Clair snatched it. “Why are you on this guy’s team?”

Dorrie looked beside herself. “Are you joking, you weren’t at the table when he said that a man doesn’t walk out on a woman after they’ve been together for years. Maybe you didn’t notice that he had only been in your space for a few seconds and knew that you were worth the effort. Or did you miss his calm acceptance of your episode.”

Clair thought back, that had been odd. Only Dorrie knew about her voodoo heritage. Being raised in Africa she was a bit more understanding about that sort of thing than the average American. During the phone call he hadn’t even brought it up. He had been more concerned with the idea that she had changed her mind about seeing him. Which considering their rocky meeting was fair.

What had been even more odd is that when Clair thought about it everything she did when he was around seemed oddly out of character. She wasn’t the type to get into a man’s face regardless of the circumstances. She really needed to pay attention. Something was not quite right. Clair realized that Dorrie had called her name twice and startled she looked up. “Yeah?”

“Where were you? I swear you need a keeper most of the time.” Doreen said with slight shake of her head.

Clair shrugged and nodded. “Just thinking.”

Dorrie huffed some herself this time. “That is something else you need to give up, just feel Clair. I know you are attracted to this man. Be attracted to him and stop giving yourself such a hard time about it. And for God sake try and have some fun.”

Clair smirked at her worrying mother hen of a best friend. “Done mama Dorrie?”

Dorrie returned her smirk. “Smart ass, for now, yes.” She grabbed her purse and started for the door. “Have fun.”

Clair smiled and said sincerely, “I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” Dorrie yelled back as the door shut on her.

Other Posts on this book:
That Scene with Sergei and Clair
Sergei
Clair Fair
Love is Queen
So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

Grab your copy of So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk Into a Bar
Amazon (Available in Print Exclusively)
Barnes and Noble

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Saturday Night from So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Wed, 29 Mar 2017 14:45:00 +0000

Clair was in her bedroom in front of her full length mirror annoyed with what she had chosen to wear. It wasn’t a bad outfit it just didn’t look like a date outfit. Because of her profession, and because of Jonny, besides jeans and t-shirts Clair only had two absolute looks, dress black for her concerts and skank club gear for Jonny’s concerts. Somehow neither one seemed appropriate. Not that she knew what Sergei would consider appropriate. She couldn’t help but to wonder about him and their meeting.

Sergei hadn’t even blinked oddly when he had calmly asked her what she had seen. As if he were accustomed to dealing with people with extra sensory perceptive gifts. Their phone call last night had been brief but not once had he even implied that he thought her repeated fainting spells had been odd.

He had called around 8 last night, very respectful of her time. Clair had been sitting at her piano going through her paces. She had literally been thinking of him and wondering if he would actually call. Part of her hoping he would and part of her hoping he wouldn’t. The contrast made her uncomfortable. She had been lost in thought when the ringing phone made her jump.

“Hello Clair, how are you?” he had casually answered when she had said hello.

“I’m fine.” She had been at the piano, of course. For whatever reason, the day after she had met Sergei she had started a new piece. She was sure it was just coincidence. She needed to rationalize the things that she felt when she thought about Sergei. Meeting him had been pretty impactful in a way she didn’t want to deal with. She had slowly fallen for Jonny and previous guys. A little flirting at a music event, a date or two. Then eventually they got intimate.

This was different. Sergei spoke to her in ways she didn’t know she had places to speak from. It was maddening she went from anxiousness, to excitement, to blind terror.

“That’s good to hear, we still on for tomorrow night or have you come to your senses and changed your mind?” Sergei said rather cautiously.

Despite herself Clair had chuckled a little under her breath. “Should I come to my senses and change my mind?”

He had paused for a moment or two as if he were actually thinking about it. “Well, Clair, I’m not an easy boy to get along with, you got a taste of that a few days ago. I know that you never actually instigated this so I don’t hold you accountable for going out with me. I’d like a chance to get to know you and you seem like a person worth knowing Clair.”

“Clairvoyance.” She had said instantly surprising herself because she never asked anyone to call her Clairvoyance.

She heard a low whistle from the other end of the line. “My Lord, that’s a god-awful first name, no wonder you go by Clair. Do you really want me to call you that?”

Immediately embarrassed Clair held her warm forehead in her hand. “No, I guess I wanted to see if you would go running for the hills.”

He chuckled a little this time. “Honestly Clair, if you turn out to be as much woman as I think you are, it would take wild horses to drag me away.”

Other Posts on this book:
That Scene with Sergei and Clair
Sergei
Clair Fair
Love is Queen
So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

Grab your copy of So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk Into a Bar
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All the Unexplained - SPRSWB

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Mon, 27 Feb 2017 20:09:00 +0000

“Not everything of this world can be explained by science or anything else for that matter.” He pinned her again with his laser blue eyes. “I don’t discount anything, there is something in you Clair that is beyond the norm and it glows off of you like a beacon, it attracts me.”

Clair knew she was staring at him in the oddest fashion but she couldn’t seem to control the instinct to do so. All of her life she just knew that talking about the eccentric nature of her family line would be a bad ideal for a first date. It would be a bad ideal before marriage but she had admitted to herself that she would’ve volunteered the information if Jonny had ever asked her to be his wife. She had never guessed that the secrets of her lineage permeated off of her and someone open to those ideals would be able to associate and see how she was different from most people.

“To be honest, I have a family history that would imply that extra sensory perception was an ability I should have, but you are the first person I’ve ever had even a blip of activity with.” Clair admitted.

Sergei frowned slightly. “Really? I find that very interesting. Not a single occurrence before?”

Clair shrugged sheepishly, “Not involving anything else besides music.”

Sergei sat silently for a moment the question burning in his form as he softly asked, “How bad was it, Clair?”

Clair was very solemn and couldn’t hide the fear in her voice as she said slowly, “Bad.”

He nodded. “I thought so, had a gut feeling about it.”

Clair finally asked, “Is there any reason to believe that someone would want to hurt you?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah, this project that I’m here for is under much scrutiny and debate.” He leveled his impressive eyes at her. “There are people who would rather not see it done.”

“How pertinent are you to its completion?” Clair said in a very direct way.

“There’s the thing Clair, without me, it doesn’t happen.” Sergei laid hard.

“You want to talk about it?” Clair asked earnestly.

He hesitated for only a moment, “Virgin launch. The ideal has been humming around the aerospace industry since we first got people on the moon.” His eyes started to glow again as he started talking with his hands. “What if we could charter people into space, like airline carriers charter people around the world? It’s a huge undertaking because you would have to be able to eliminate a bulk of the physical limitations to being in space that astronauts train years for.”

“Okay,” Clair inserted following.

“What is the one thing missing from space that makes it so damn difficult for people?” Sergei asked in an ironic way.

Clair thought for a second. “Gravity.”

Sergei smiled at her then. “I have developed a rather crude and preliminary gravitational system that would not alter regardless of the gravity, or lack thereof, in space. Currently it can be isolated to a single hub.” He shrugged, “So far I’ve only been able to stabilize a hub the size of a Lear jet, but that’s just the beginning.”

Clair felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “You’ve found a way to create gravity?” she said in a disbelieving fashion.

Sergei nodded a bit as he responded. “Sort of, I’ve mostly found a way to borrow gravity. Gravity is one of the big four forces of the Universe, it just exists, the trick is tapping into it.”

“How?” Clair asked honestly intrigued.

He was casual but confident as he continued. “Same way it exists now, orbiting bodies in a circular pattern, centrifugal force meeting rotating atoms.”

Abruptly he grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. He drew a crude looking cigar shaped vessel and drew several rings around it. On each ring he attached various circular objects of varying size, and with arrows he displayed the directions each ring would move and the directions each circular object would rotate in.

He showed her the crude drawing. “Mankind’s problem is that we always think we need to reinvent the wheel, we don’t need anything new, the solution is in the application.”

Clair’s mind wrapped around it instantly. “A roving solar system, with the hub as the sun.”

Sergei nodded. “It would move in space just like our galaxy does, creating its own gravity as it goes.”

Clair shook her head. “That’s so simple it’s brilliant.”

Sergei nodded. “I had this thought for quite a while and I often thought that it really couldn’t be this simple so I never brought it up. But people are chomping at the bit to get into space.” He paused before finishing. “So I put a little more time and planning into it, mapped out the physics of it all and I was able to generate a gravitational field on a model airplane.”

Clair was holding the napkin, staring at it blankly not really believing how unerringly brilliant this man was. “Talk about thinking outside of the box.”

“I find the only issues with science are all the rules, we’ve made things too complicated. None of us can see the forest for the trees.” He stated like it was obvious “God had it all right in the beginning, why mess with that?”

Her thoughts got captured by his mention of God. “Don’t tell me you’re a scientist that believes in God.”

He fixed her with a very serious look. “No true scientist can look at the evidence and not. It’s too balanced, everything is. I don’t know if religion has it right but I do know that something holds this all together. We’ve broken things down to their smallest component and we have no idea why everything doesn’t just fall apart. That’s either magic or some other divine force.” He fixed her with a knowing look. “And I don’t have to tell you about all else in this world that is unexplainable.”

Other Posts on this book:
That Scene with Sergei and Clair
Sergei
Clair Fair
Love is Queen
So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

Grab your copy of So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk Into a Bar
Amazon (Available in Print Exclusively)
Barnes and Noble

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To Love Unwisely

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Thu, 23 Feb 2017 22:30:00 +0000

Tell me the story of how you’ll be free
Hold me close and swear it will never be
Tell me the lie that will always haunt me
Then show me the love that I will always see
Tell me the tale of how you came to me
Hold me close and play with the memories
Tell me how my love should always be free
Then show me the lie that will always hold the key
Tell me the myth that love lives in one space
Hold me close to hide the truth on your face
Tell me to give myself to this world
Then show me again how I can’t be your girl
Tell me the one that always makes me laugh
Hold me close and call yourself a cad
Tell me that we can never share this way
Then show me every other side to what you say
Tell me the joke that makes me cry
Hold me close until my eyes become dry
Tell me that one day someone else will dry my tears
Then show me again why I’ll never truly be his
Tell me the truth of what we can have
Hold me close and feel me and laugh
Tell me that I’ll see this as true
Then show me how to say and do

If I could blanket us both with my love
If I could solve the puzzle of heaven above
If I could dream a life we can’t live without
I’d build you a castle made of doubt
Plant hopes and wishes in each stone
Know every secret you wouldn’t have known
I’d find the key to this home
Keep it safe when you need to roam
Hold my heart with you in mind
Hold out hope and bide my time
Till that day you knew without a care
This love we have and were meant to share

Till then I sit and wait
Knowing my end and bemoaning your fate
Till you understand you don’t have to be alone
And place yourself in our home

This day may never come and my faith may wane
I may come to shy from your face and curse your name
Whatever will come I face without shame
Time spared for you will never be in vain

You'll Save That For Mine

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Thu, 16 Feb 2017 22:14:00 +0000

As I was working on the second edition of Make Mine a Heel I got to indulge in some of my favorite scenes. This one is top 5. Its their first and most fun fight.

Banner stopped the recording. “What was that?” She asked sharply.

Keith stared at her intently as if he had expected her reaction. “What was what?” He asked deliberately.

“You cannot break out Ayn Rand on general American society. Do you realize how many people have no idea what ethical egoism is?” She actually put up quote marks with her hands as she said ‘ethical egoism’.

Keith became very still and disturbingly serious as his eyes never left Banner’s. “Yes I do.” The statement was as still as he was. He stopped long enough to let that sink in, and then continued,

“You’ll take back the interview I give, or I’ll give no interview.”

Banner felt the hairs on her spine prickle as she began to understand what this was really about. She needed to revise her game plan. Keith was going to make this a lot harder to dismiss than she had thought he was going to. Something else she was starting to understand that he knew before she even got here.

“Maybe we should eat first?” Banner supplied peaceably.

Keith nodded with a sharp cold smile as he uttered. “Maybe we should.”

He nodded at someone that Banner couldn’t see. A short dark haired girl appeared and once again Banner ceased to exist.

“Hi Keith, your usual?” she asked in a manner that suggested that perhaps she was part of his ‘usual’.

“Sorry darling, just the shake.” He said to her in a familiar tone.

She pouted and then turned razor dark brown eyes on Banner. “And what can I get you?”

Banner frowned. She hadn’t even looked at the menu. “The special.” She said quickly. It was her default in unfamiliar waters.

She paused and took one look at the storm brewing across from her. Just then she remembered the dull pain in her head. In her mind the words, ‘fuck it’, were clear as a bell. “And a Crown and coke.” She finished quickly.

Keith watched the cute little waitress leave and then focused all of his attention on Banner. “You didn’t strike me as the type to drink on the job.” He teased.

Banner was beyond being able to curb her thoughts anymore. Questioning her professional ethic was beyond reasonable. “I don’t have to when I like the job.” She snipped back.

“Are we not getting along Ms. Hemweigh?” His accent flared which let her know that his temper was up.

“Nowhere near. I suggest you stop picking at me until we are both more reasonable.” She advised sharply meeting his gaze unapologetically.

The look on his face said that the last thing he wanted to be with her was reasonable. “I thought I was being reasonable. You seem put out that I know big words.” He snapped back.

Banner sighed, here we go, she thought. In her best professional tone she started her spiel. “Mr. Daniels, it was not my intention to insult your intelligence, but I refuse to insult the intelligence of my audience.”

He nodded as he looked away from her for a moment. She could practically feel his teeth grinding. Then with a sharp tilt of his head she knew she was going to get what popped into his head anyway. The thought that had him grinding his teeth for self-control. “No, you’ll save that for mine.” He supplied.

Make Mine A Heel available in ebook and coming soon in print.

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Make Mine a Heel 2nd Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Mon, 13 Feb 2017 22:30:00 +0000

In an effort to keep Fiona and Colan a little longer I decided to edit and release a 2nd edition of my first self-published ebook and historically top selling, Make Mine a Heel. As always when I dive back into the pages of this book nostalgia takes hold. This time it was so refreshing as I expected such a mess of a story and saw that even then my voice had a cadence and a charm I hardly expect to see or read. I started critically and then I just fell back in love with Banner and Keith:

“You must hate me,” Banner whispered.

“Why would I hate you Bay? You’re at least here trying to understand.” His deep voice sounded solemn, humble. “That’s more than that jackass that knocked my mother up has ever even tried to do.”

The next thing she knew his hands were on her shoulders and she could feel his breath at her ear. “Yeah, we got off to a rocky start, but you’re here for the same reasons I am. We’ve done what we’ve done for basically the same reasons. I could never hate you.”

He turned her to look at him; the truth of it in his eyes. “Twice in your life?” she asked.

He gave a false smile with a joyless laugh. “I may have exaggerated a little. I believe the last time I heard from the son of a bitch was him admonishing me for my career choice. With my size and athleticism I should’ve become a basketball player. Something people could respect.” He turned from her. “That was when I realized what a fool I’d been all my life. You tell yourself you’re doing something just to prove what you’re worth. It isn’t until much later do you actually admit who you’re trying to prove it to.” He admitted.

“Broke your heart,” she guessed.

Keith laughed. “A broken heart I could’ve dealt with. This was worse. It broke my spirit,” he shook his head gravely as he spoke. “I didn’t know which way was up anymore.” His voice turned gravelly as he spoke as strong emotions coursed with his words. “I had convinced myself in the deep dark parts of me that I never try and speak to that if I did good in this he would see what I was worth.” He stopped his face taking on this expression of mocking disbelief as he continued, “Finally he would come along. Be repentant, beg me to forgive him, and we could start fresh as I proved that I was worth his time. Now I would allow him to do the same.”

He sat again staring at the screen, the two men in the ring tumbling, twisting. The announcer was increasing his tone, his pitch to match the action. The crowd was screaming, yelling. This was made all the more apparent by his stillness. His green eyes wide yet focused on the screen, almost innocent with shadows. For a moment Banner could see him as he had been when he fell in love with this sport. That young boy that hadn’t yet understood the whys and hows of life, but knew if he could chose it would be like what he saw.

“My foundation, my hopes and dreams were rocked and shattered. It was more devastating because I didn’t know until that very moment how much of what I had done and become was based on this perception. I had built everything on the idea that one day he would think I was worth his time.” He stared silently at the screen for a few moments after his wrenching speech.

Banner looked at the screen because his face was much too painful to look at. Then she just looked at the floor because watching what had made him choose what he had chosen was no better. She could see it. What a small boy would see; all the fans, the unconditional love, the affection. The absolute lines of right and wrong. Men hugging each other knowing that it was okay. It was the same things that made young boys play football or any other sport. Why boys joined the military. Why they joined gangs. Always, they were just looking for a man strong enough to love them. They sacrificed everything only to wake up one day and realize that the only man that could do that for them is the one they become.

“My father, and I use that term loosely, is a waste of space,” he began his eyes never leaving the screen. “I was never going to matter to him. I was the fallout of a drunken night on a leave weekend from some Mexican whore that didn’t know any better. He was the son of a high ranking Navy Colonel and no way was the world going to know what he sired and with what. He considers my mother and our family mongrel beasts; nothing but poor hapless peasant stock. Had he known that I was being born he probably would’ve had it taken care of. As it was, my mother was much smarter than he ever figured. She used it to get into America. She made the ass pay child support and raised me to know all sides of myself. Not just the ones she was comfortable with. She planned it all out, right down to my name. Now I just know that the prick did a disservice to only himself. He missed out on an amazing woman.” He ended reverently.

“And a son,” Banner said softly.

“I think some things are hereditary. It took me a while to become the boy my mother tried to raise.” He dropped his head. “The fallout from me was much worse than my father had ever wrecked.” He said dispassionately.

He wiped his face showing his exhaustion. “You’re right; I need a break. Didn’t realize it, but that took a lot out of me,” he gestured towards the TV. “Sit and watch for awhile?” he asked.

Make Mine A Heel available in ebook and coming soon in print.

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Punch-drunk

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Sat, 28 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Wednesday January 25th, Day Damn 6

It’s the right you always miss. I duck the left, block the jab. It’s a distraction. It’s there to make you pay more attention to it. Reactionary is the word. Reactionary is the process. It speaks to the most primitive defensive parts of self. I know mentally I know the right is the problem. Here comes the left. Here comes the left. I can't focus on that I have to remember that it’s coming. Left again jab left strike left. I can't let the right drop from my radar it’s the knockout punch it’s the one the ends me. Left, Jesus, left focus left, left. No stop paying attention to the left. The right is the haymaker. Left. Block, dodge, Left no I've got it. Move bob weave don't get lazy don't get tired. Bob weave that left is nothing its consistent constant and I know where it will be before it gets there. Move bob weave here comes that right. Got you.

Beware of punch drunkeness. It’s designed to confuse the senses with abundance and sense of overwhelming uncertainty. It’s a myth because you know it’s coming and you know its only purpose is to make you miss when the right is coming. Train for it, move with it. When the time is right counter it.

Rogue

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Fri, 27 Jan 2017 21:00:00 +0000

Tuesday January 24th Day Damn 5

Calamity is the universe's way of changing pace and restructuring direction. Call to a calamite a swamp fossil of origin for an animal that moves too slow for the human eye to truly perceive. As a calamity rises too soon too quick. Never saw it coming. The perception of the human eye is such a limiting method of determining the movement of plants people or planets.

Calamitous intent so to comes swift on wings of unforeseen forages likened to the slow meticulous methods of animals too slow for the eyes to see. How limited the scope of human perception when the eyes are all that have it.

Scream

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Fri, 27 Jan 2017 17:00:00 +0000

Monday January 23rd Day Damn 4

Is a scream a cry for the sake of crying or a release of an energy that constantly threatens to bind to forbid to conceal. Can a scream be silent and still be called a scream. The face pulls the eyes widen the lips pull or purse the teeth clench the struggle for objective complacency. How has polite society implied that screams have no place in civility? The body screams it is within its capacity for use so use it, it must. Like prohibition the declaration of alcohol's illegality finally viewed as a misguided unrealistic assessment. The reality is, it exists it is in the capacity of this place that it exists so it shall continue.

Retreat

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Fri, 27 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Sunday January 22nd Day Damn 3

Begins with a welp and ends with the welpiest of welps that ever welp. The dawn is the day that conceals the barest hope as the aftermath of action. This story like all others bares the mark of what has been and what is surely to come.

Excerpt from Shuttered Vision. Expected Release April 2017

“Ok Mr. Abrams.” Cody started tartly. “You don’t have my blessing yet but I won’t actively stand in the way.” Cody declared.

Colan looked at him. “Why not?” He asked. “I thought you were still at camp StayAwayFromHer.”

Cody laughed. “I was. And trust me this FBI cluster is still pending investigation for me. So is the questionable decision to take her out after what she’d been through. I know though that you had things to do and seeing you after she was attacked I know you couldn’t let her out of your sight.”

Colan nodded cowed a bit.

Cody paused as he looked out at Fiona. “Damned if I can’t admit it though she’s blooming.” He said simply. He put down the glass he was holding and looked at Colan intently. “You did something with her today that I’ve never seen before.”

Interested Colan looked at Cody. He tilted his head and asked, “Which is?”

Cody mimicked the gesture of holding his hands open as he had watched them do with each other. “Even as angry as you were, and you were Oklahoma redneck pissed, you didn’t disrespect her agency. You still took the time to ask for permission to touch her.” Cody paused his demeanor darkening as he continued, “I’m not going to go over some of the less savory aspects of her sexual history with you. That’s something for her to decide to share with you if you two get there.” He shook his head slightly. “As the person she turns to and usually bares her soul to I tell you that alone is very impactful. You want me on your team you keep that up.”

Colan listened to what Cody was saying and the hint of someone taking advantage of Fiona had made him see red for a few minutes. He almost missed how Cody ended his speech. He looked out at Fiona on the phone with her mother.

She painted in jeans and shorts. She liked dresses though. Pretty frilly flirty sundresses. The one she was wearing now looked perfect for a beach. The way the sun and ocean were positioned behind her was almost a perfect ad to sell the dress. It was a blue and green handkerchief dress that teased her curves, lifted and settled on the wind. Her hair was braided. She hadn’t had time to really deal with it and she slept with it braided. Her skin was a brilliant deep bronze sun kissed and glowing. Her face was serious but cracked into a smile often as she spoke to her mother. He watched those full lovely lips move and his heart flipped at the flash of white between her lips when she smiled.

Then he thought about the ugliness he had witnessed. He thought about how she retreated from physical contact almost immediately when the spell of their intimacy was broken. He thought about how she had not complained later about being sore after the officer had assaulted her. Not a single grumble. He thought about how she had frozen when he had first kissed her any idea of sexual desire ripped away by pure fear.

He thought about how Cody was never physically forward with her even though he was big enough. Even after the attack he hadn’t run to her and grabbed her. He had stood back called to her and let her come to him. It was the actions of a man used to dealing with someone who needed extra care from experienced trauma.

“She’s been sexually assaulted.” Colan practically whispered.

Cody looked at him wondering how this man had gotten so far understanding so little. “Colan, she’s a woman.”

Colan looked at Cody and was taken aback by the way he said the statement she’s a woman. It reminded him of him yelling at him about remembering she was black. The unmentioned rules behind those statements becoming clear. In this equation expecting to be treated a certain way by people based on race was expected. Sexual assault was so common for women that it was to be assumed that just by dent of being a woman she had experienced sexual assault.

Colan felt his reality warping a bit and he put a hand to his forehead. His mind stretching as he saw scenes in movies that pushed the idea the narrative of taking women. Doing what you wanted with them as objects and accessories. Seeing himself suggesting more aggression and pushing for rape plot devices.

Cody watched him and called to him, “Colan are you ok?”

Colan took a few deep breaths and focused on Fiona. Not her pain but on her. He waved Cody off as his mind started to settle guilt flooding through him. “I’m ok.” He bit out.

He focused and looked outside at her. He had thought after the attack what a miracle a survived life was. Now he stared at her in a new mystified awe. She carried so much. How did she manage? He remembered her declaration. No rest for the weary. She had to manage because this was the world she lived in. It was either survive or die. She didn’t have time for his sensibilities and his laziness in regards to understanding why she had to be how she was. She was living breathing walking inspiration. The day was long and she had many to reach.

“Goddess.” Colan breathed. “I asked her before what she was. I left out the one she is.”

Cody put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re slow but you’re getting there.”

Shrub

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Thu, 26 Jan 2017 21:00:00 +0000

Saturday January 21st Day Damn 2

Sunshine and light can come from the oddest places. The memory of perceived evil hardly ever survives the passage of time. Clarity is hard fought for. Presence is never the thing one gets to choose. Its what's done with it that produces those odd moments of light. Never be mistaken we are best in our purest most natural form as our ever evolving selves. The greatness of being able to not take self quite so seriously a trait to be hailed as the grace of humanity. Found on this day in the most unexpected of places. Light blazing through rains gloomy showers.

Megatron

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Wed, 25 Jan 2017 21:00:00 +0000

Friday January 20th Day Damn 1

Always had that evil plot to set Optimus down. Prime was all of the things a good man wanted to be. A great leader a great friend confidant strong. He didn't back down when fighting was the right thing to do. This meant Megatron had to surrender a lot. But when it counted he took his moments and threatened what he wanted to. He would be just insidious enough that it was hard for those Autobots to rest. Honor may feed the soul, but destruction rebuilds the world.

Dealing with the Politics of Life

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Wed, 30 Nov 2016 16:08:00 +0000

We are awash in political happenstance each day. So much so that I think we often forget that there are people there with real emotions and real justified fears. One of the growing number of progressive groups I'm a part of asked a very valid question regarding the other side of this national debate wondering how to move forward in our new today so we can actually have a bearable tomorrow. It was a valid question that started with an article about identity politics. Before I post what I said in response to this counter news story I want you to really see this as it is or at least as I see it.

I find the words 'identity politics' a misnomer. The truth is we all have an identity that we closely relate to and define. The implication of this article is that only 'othered' populations garnered attention and by negating the 'norm' or read White Male Christian Straight it alienated those populations. My issue in general I realized while reading this piece and I wont actually link it because the news source is baited at best, is that within the dichotomy of inclusion for some populations it assumes the need to exclude all others. Its a very basic 'us vs them' mentality that is literally pulling this country apart.

While making a point to stop being so aware of those other populations is a blatant call to disregard the true fabric of this country and its people. The GOP didn't win by a landslide as the rhetoric here implies. They won by small traceable margins that can be correlated back to very specific points including upheaval of the Voting Rights Act which allowed several states where GOP candidates won by less than 100,000 votes to deny sometimes upward of 300,000 voters to be counted. Stop! Reread that sentence slowly and let the weight of it hit you:

They won by small traceable margins that can be correlated back to very specific points including upheaval of the Voting Rights Act which allowed several states where GOP candidates won by less than 100,000 votes to deny sometimes upward of 300,000 voters to be counted.

Yes the gutting of the Voting Rights Act allowed unconstitutional restrictions on voting to be put into place to sometimes prevent almost 3 times as many people from voting as the margin of victory for some candidates actually was.

What we need to focus on now is information control because the calls to 'get over it' we won are hiding what they now know to be the last gasping breath of a dying rhetoric. They pulled every trap door, they used every ACME emblazoned scheme and still only barely inched out a win. Now what they need to do is convince us of a false narrative which is that there are more of them then there are of us. So they try and overwhelm us be centralizing and controlling tiny communities on the web. They seek us out on our 'liberal left biased media' you know like The New York Times and Reuters to tell us how inaccurate our perspectives are. Its classic gas-lighting. Especially when you realize that all media has always leaned conservative in America. The only reason it is not anymore is because Americans aren't leaning conservative anymore.

There is nothing about what just happened that truly reflects our reality of who this country is really occupied by. Despite the hype, this isn't a problem of not relating to needed populations as its the fallout of a legal sand trap to hamper what they knew was going to be a problem going forward in politics. Those populations and that identity is not a fluke or a whim its America.

With that being said we can't do this without them. We need the other side of America. They went low, the lowest this country has seen in a long time. And now more than ever we need to go high. Trust me this is difficult to write because just a day or so ago I was a biting seething mess of F&#% you to the world. But the truth is we don't actually have space time or the liberty to be petty. We have to be inclusive. This was my response as to how to pull those people back who are concerned with the concept of 'identity politics' :

"This is long and something I think about and alter constantly but this is where I'm at today. That one is difficult because I'm not sure identity politics is the problem. I think inclusion is. The truth is a lot of the concerns of the working class that voted Trump are the same as those that are classified as identity political instances. The issue is that no one really treats it that way. We call them idiots for voting against their own interests, while true it really is in the competitive way that it's done sometimes. The best way in my opinion to do it is to remind those lost voters that the only people who do understand their issues are the 'othered' populations in America.

We need to include them as an 'othered' population. So many of us have been 'othered' for so long it's odd when people talk about it. So when someone does it feels like change. Where Democrats fell deaf this time, where Obama didn't was he didn't have to remind people he was an 'othered' population member. All he had to do was speak the lingo at the right places at the right times.

Hillary was draped in too much rich white female and it irked them because no matter what she said they seemed to think she looked down on them. A few well publicized comments later they have proof. Emails she's so above the law.

Trump pretended he was with them and said you can trust me because 'wink wink' I'm white like you and I know you really aren't like these 'othered' populations, no you're special.

There will always be a decent amount of that side that are just hateful towards anyone that isn't in their group. That's a fact of life. However there are many that just want a group to belong to and that one in many ways was comfortable and felt accepting.

The national dialogue has changed. They grew up with expectations that 'othered' populations didn't really have and I'm actually very empathetic to that. Had my mother not prepared me for the reality of being a black woman in America I can't imagine how confused I would've spent my life.

But I try to see it from their perspective, they are seeing people that look like them as not gaining ground and are surrounded by imagery of 'othered' prosperity after a lifetime of expecting different. They don't really always attribute that to hard work. They attribute it to the system being rigged against them. What needs to happen is Dems say yes it is let me introduce you to the people that have been figuring out how to game it back for years. Here they are with open arms.

There's been tons of butt hurt on both sides. I've been an instigator myself. It's hard for me to swallow that the safety and humanity of people I love seems to mean so little. They are worried about finance and some people are literally worried about survival. The cost is so different but if we can make it about all of our lives and deaths maybe we can find each other. So I'm not sure how to get it there besides doing the work one on one."

For a lot of us the lives of those we hold dear are literally at stake. Do the work. . Our republic is worth it. Our people are worth it. ALL of our people are worth it.

The Art of Discrimination

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Mon, 28 Nov 2016 21:30:00 +0000

All of my journey and my striving to be better than I was yesterday was never really for me. It was and it wasn't. It was about love. All of my life because of what I am and being influenced by American ideologies about women specifically dark women, I've sought to be better than that description because I never wanted to find myself in a situation where I loved someone who wouldn't see me as being good enough to love. It has been my worst fear since the day I found out that I was not the kind of person who deserved love. For me that happened when I was very young the age being impressionable as I was told by many many people in positions of power that people who looked like me didn't deserve love. So I wanted to make sure that I was extraordinary in some way. I wanted to achieve and be able to say to the world I too deserve love do not deny me because of my race, my economic status, my gender. Identity politics as it were at its finest. It wasn't called that then. It was just the way the world was. I thought that if I could be something other than what was normally expected I could change that. I was naive.

I learned that the way I saw it isn't how discrimination works. Discrimination is about deciding things like this about people without considering who they are individually. Discrimination is about setting values to a human being that mostly dehumanize them by implying that they don't need or deserve the very basic needs for sustaining a human life where they can act in love, care and compassion for others. Its about determining that they do not deserve to have the same rights others enjoy. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized that. The trick of discrimination is it doesn't matter who I really am, what I fight for, what I care about. The person discriminating never cared enough to find out. Its the ultimate catch 22 because its like deciding that a box contains nothing but garbage because its wrapper is green and you've never actually opened a green wrapped package assuming its all garbage. How do you break through that haze of misinformation when the person who believes in it believes so fully that they refuse to even test it once.

In a lot of ways I believe that's what we are experiencing in a wide array of ways in this post election environment. We've had reputable news outlets determined as garbage. Whole populations of people determined as garbage. Ways of life and loving declared garbage. Its exhausting to live each day knowing that there are people within your vicinity in your grocery stores in your neighborhood that believe that some people and their lives are garbage. You can feel it in them. In the way they look at you. In how they search for the parts of you that confirm that you're the garbage they were told you are. They negate that any perceived faults are merely human ones that we all suffer and battle with. They usually judge you on a different scale not allowing even the slightest bit of error. The benefit of the doubt means nothing because you never deserved it. Its not that far of a step to be so entrenched in the idea that even the best possible people are muted and muddled because of your need to view them as garbage.

I have so much hurt in my soul and my spirit for us as people. We stare at each other from across a cavernous gulf that literally does not exist. Each side yelling the exact same thing each getting louder trying to be heard and never noticing that they are yelling the same thing. They are yelling "I'm human, I hurt I bleed I matter. I matter."

A lot of these issues are sparking fresh for me as I write my next book which examines that very extreme juxtaposition between a creative minority female and a privileged rich white male. I always found the seducing the millionaire books lacking because they ignore a very fundamental aspect of socialization which is social groupings. Its not easy to disengage from one social grouping and become fully accepted in another. Its even harder to pull off the love it takes to make the person perceived as less then seem worthy. Love can begin to bridge this gap but we are social and social circles greatly effect the way relationships are conducted maintained and thrive. I know its fiction, you say. Yes it is but if a fairytale has no hope of coming true then why tell it?

In confronting this I realized that there was only a few ways to dig deep enough that a true love could grow. So I did a terrible thing to my male lead. I showed him the absolute truth of his lifestyle. And now he's going to turn around and show my female lead the absolute truth of hers. Its not going to be an easy thing to write because all of my misgivings about beauty, protection and the state of trying to be a joyful carefree black girl in the south will be right at the surface. In many many ways I am her. Weird, artsy with strong headed opinions and a lack of fear that is utterly appalling if you care for this person. The male lead, the idea the person that I've been told all my life I have to find a way to matter to. The person I have to convince that I'm human and deserve love.

I've rarely gotten through my tougher scenes without needing to stop and weep. I feel like now more than ever its so important that I get this out. Lance the wound and let out the infection that has haunted me and crippled me for most of my life. Because you realize one day that you haven't spent your life trying to prove to 'him' that you're human and matter. You were never fighting the masses for your humanity. Discrimination and representation are much more insidious than that. Because some days you ask you really wonder am I really less than human? Is that why joy seems so far away so removed from my life. Are they right? Has God decided that people like me only deserve hell and scraps from the table of humanity like a dogs. Did He just create us to suffer at the feet of those who will never treat us with the care and concern we have always given them? The problem in those questions is that you aren't looking for those answers from those other people.

The trick is that the arguments and the positions the situations are so compelling you start to think it must be true when you are beat with them everyday for hours on end in almost every encounter in almost every instance of life. You know in the deepest part of yourself that to deny the teachings is in its own way denying reality. Others who need to keep this as a reality beat it into the ground using repetition to control your pattern based brain to guide it to their designs. But then you learn and you grow and understand reality is not a static instance, the use of repetition is folly within itself as the proof that the narrative is incomplete and must be false. Reality is ever changing, no single moment is identical to any other moment, sunrise sunset and it is ultimately a tool that shapes life. Like any tool it can be used to the advantage of some and to the disadvantage of others.

When you reshape and re-purpose the tool you see where the trick really lied. It told you that you needed them to acknowledge that you were human and deserving of love when the first and finest principles of philosophy had already given you that power. I think therefore I am. When you unmask the wizard and pull back the curtain you see yourself staring right back at you. You've spent a life time trying to prove your humanity to yourself. That is the only person who needs to believe in your dignity, your grace, your humanity, your right to be loved as you are is you.

When you're newly freed you shed that reality and that world and you began your own alchemy.

Images:

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Familiar With This Sort of Thing - SPRSWB

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Fri, 11 Nov 2016 21:30:00 +0000

“I would like to take your hand, but I don’t want you to have another episode,” he admitted candidly.

Which made Clair ask, “You seem familiar with my odd behavior, why is that?”

Sergei smirked at her. “You don’t know much about gypsies do you?”

“Well I don’t give any credence to most stereotypes, I don’t see fortune-tellers and the like.” Clair affirmed.

Sergei leaned back in his chair. “As terrible as it is to say, while stereotypes themselves are wrong, some of their assumptions are based in fact.”

“You believe in things beyond the norm,” she stated more than asked.

“Believe them, hell, I’ve seen ‘em,” he imparted. “Not everything of this world can be explained by science or anything else for that matter.” He pinned her again with his laser blue eyes. “I don’t discount anything, there is something in you Clair that is beyond the norm and it glows off of you like a beacon, it attracts me.”

Sergei frowned slightly. “Really? I find that very interesting. Not a single occurrence before?”

Clair shrugged sheepishly, “Not involving anything else besides music.”

Sergei sat silently for a moment the question burning in his form as he softly asked, “How bad was it, Clair?”

Clair was very solemn and couldn’t hide the fear in her voice as she said slowly, “Bad.”

Other Posts on this book:
That Scene with Sergei and Clair
Sergei
Clair Fair
Love is Queen
So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

Grab your copy of So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk Into a Bar
Amazon (Available in Print Exclusively)
Barnes and Noble

Smashwords

I Choose to Not Let You Die - SPRSWB

noreply@blogger.com (Suenammi Richards) — Wed, 09 Nov 2016 21:30:00 +0000

With the clarity of daylight, understanding flooded her senses. “Oh dear God, you knew you were coming to New Mexico to die.”

Sergei didn’t pretend to not. “I don’t back down Clair, I face things head on.”

Clair was beside herself with rage at the lack of care he showed with his life. “You are insane,” She uttered carefully. “I’m not the only one who needs a keeper apparently.” She got up and headed for her kitchen but stopped short and turned around to look at him. She didn’t mean to but ended up yelling the last bit out, “How long have you known?”

He casually shrugged. “All my life really.” He stood and tried to touch Clair but she pulled back. He held up his hands. “You believe in patterns, right?”

She shook her head. “No Serg, not like this, this is not the pattern. Death is a natural transition, murder is malicious and brought about by pattern wreckers.”

He moved closer to her but made no effort to touch her again. “Sometimes the pattern needs to be wrecked so that it can begin again, set right from being wrecked before. Can you agree with that?”

Clair huffed loudly because they both knew that she did so she refused to answer. “Our paths change here, for better or for worse, we choose, it isn’t chosen for us,” she clarified with a great deal of passion.

Sergei nodded. “I agree, I choose,” he emphasized the word, “not to run away from this.”

Clair, still enraged, felt her chin rise as she declared, “I choose to not let you die.”

Other Posts on this book:
That Scene with Sergei and Clair
Sergei
Clair Fair
Love is Queen
So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

Grab your copy of So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk Into a Bar
Amazon (Available in Print Exclusively)
Barnes and Noble

Smashwords