THE IMPERFECT HEROINE

I sat alone in a darkened room, swimming in an emotional pool of despair; I cried a lot and prayed often. And yet the more I surrendered my heart to the Creator, I felt a huge disconnect. Riddled in sorrow, I tried to think positive like envisioning my children’s their lovely faces. For a moment, it almost worked. But the depression was too great. I couldn’t even crack a smile. The murkiness had fallen deep into my soul. And my children – my three wonderful blessings – I felt they were better off. I was ready to give up.

I leaned back against the chair of where I sat and strangely thought of my silk scarf I had tied to my head. My life was in such chaos back then, I rarely had taken it off. The scarf symbolized a shield against the status quo – your hair equates beauty. But for me, I didn’t give a rats-behind about being “prettied”. I ballooned to two hundred fifty pounds on a five-feet-two inch frame. Depression and I didn’t care. We didn’t care about the latest styles or extreme makeovers; we just wanted to be withdrawn with our own pitiful thoughts, hoping those thoughts would get the best of us.

I knew for certain I wanted to end it. My tears were apparent like April showers, and one by one they were cascading into a tailspin. I couldn’t bear it any longer; I had to call His name. He known for weeks how worse I became. He’d heard my prayers over and over again and yet nothing. I was fat and broke with an uncertain future at the age of thirty-nine. As old folks would say, I didn’t have a pot to piss in.

Then I said it – I looked to the ceiling as if I could see His face, grimacing in anger as I with began with the why’s and then how’s, and threw in some whatif’s. I even had the nerve to point to make sure He understood my argument. The anger was only the beginning: I was pissed. I clenched my jaws, murmuring one word after another as I continued my rant. Then I’d taken the gripe to another level. So much so, it shocked me to the point I knew I couldn’t take it back. “Just take me Lord…right now!” I fought through the tears. “Why am I here? I feel as if I’m just an accident. Lord, just take me. I don’t care how, just take me away. I’m a living a life with no purpose”.

I then fell into silence, waiting and waiting and waiting – waiting in anticipation for my final hours, waiting to fade to black, just waiting. So while I continued to wait, I received a call but not on my cell phone, on the landline phone two rooms away. I rolled my eyes at the mere disturbance, knowing I had to leave the comforts of my darkness. But as soon as I said hello, a soft-spoken voice emerged from the receiver. It was my mother. “Are you okay?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes and lied. “Yes, why do you ask?” 

She said was overcome with a strange feeling to call me as my face suddenly appeared in her mind. My eyes then widened with the fear of God. I peered to ceiling, wondering if it was possible. Did He nudged momma’s spirit or just a simple coincidence? She then rambled on her queries, while I pretended everything was hokey-dorie. I mean I had to. My mother lived on the other side of town with my sister bedridden with Multiple Sclerosis. There was nothing she could do, or at least that’s what I thought.

 I returned to the darkened room after the phone call to gaze at the ceiling in stun silence. Although my tears were no more, the pain remained but this time I sat in solitude – pondering if my mother’s phone call was perfect timing or Divine intervention. My questions were answered a year and three months later, however. After I made an about-face with my life by losing weight and starting my writing career, my mother died suddenly on a warm June afternoon.  Here I was on the verge of becoming a first-time author – a direction she encouraged for me to take – and she was gone just like that.  

We take many things for granted, but one thing we do especially take is time. We all had complained it moves slowly or there’s never enough. But time can be a merciless, unkind friend, especially saying those final goodbyes. My opportunity to thank her for that fateful day had never occurred. My second chance will happen many years from now – many, many years from now. I have too much to live for because I understand my purpose. And because of my mother, I see it in vivid colors.

God knew exactly what He was doing the moment when I wallowed in that darkened room. He knew of my request before I opened my mouth; and He knew the right person to save me. It was because of her, I realize heroines aren’t all ways perfect. They have flaws and yet still wanting to save hurt souls.  It’s a gift that many don’t realize. Unbeknownst to my mother, she definitely had it.

©Imani Wisdom, 2014 

Pink Noire Publications

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Dreamwalker

By Priscilla Danita Robinson

Lips were suddenly on my neck; that spot on my neck where my pulse could be felt the strongest. The spot that a mate was drawn to by some invisible force that begged him to mark me as his own. I whimpered as I felt his tongue dash out, licking the spot in preparation for the initial bite all the while our bodies were still connected. Finally, my mate was here, the other half of my soul. He pounded inside me, stroking the flames of my inner inferno. His size stretched me, claimed me, demanded pleasure that I wasn't sure I could provide but was helpless to deny. Higher and higher the flames grew. Harder and faster he went. My legs instantly wrapped around his waist. My heels dug into his buttocks, my arms grabbed on to his. Sweat rolled down my body leaving a trail between my breasts, across my stomach, and past my navel until it disappeared between my legs. I felt my inner muscles clamp down; shrinking as if the tightness was trying to hold him into me forever. My canines elongated. The hands I had used to pull him close shifted into claws. My control was gone. Finally my wolf could truly run free. I smiled realizing that he too had started a half shift lost in the sensations. My climax was so close I could taste its sweetness and just like that I woke up.

This was so completely frustrating. As a wolf shifter, I should completely understand what was going on with me. After all, I had been dreaming of my life’s mate for the past six years. It was normal to first meet in a dream. What wasn't normal was that in the six years I have been dreaming of him, I wasn't one step closer to finding out who he was. I went to the elders, begged for advice but the reply was always the same: when the time was right, our physical selves would catch up with our spiritual. The problem with that was I was in heat and being unmated and in heat spelled disaster in every language I knew. The thought of living through a week of constant arousal alone made me want to cry. However, the mere thought of a substitution other than my mate made me sick. Once mated, the touch of another male would have negative effects on my health. Until I was mated, however, I was free to wolf around with whoever I saw fit. Unfortunately, no one told my wolf that. Ever since she scented her mate, dream world or not, no one else caught her attention. This was becoming one long week and it had just begun. When we met in my dreams tonight, I was going to take matters into my own hands.

I can't believe I did it. For the past six years I was always awoken in my dreams to my mate thrusting inside me. If there had been foreplay prior to that throbbing sensation, my mind must have closed it out, only revealing the exact moment where our bodies became one. Tonight was different though. Tonight, I searched for him and found him asleep not quite yet prepared to journey into my mind. Slowly, I lowered myself next to him, kissing from him neck to earlobe. I nipped lightly but firmly enough to cause a reaction. His body began to awaken even as his mind had yet to awaken for me. Firmly, I grabbed hold of his shaft and began to stroke up and down, amazed at how quickly it went from soft to steel. In my previous dreams, passionate, yet brief, I never had the chance to explore him so I took the time to visually explore every inch of his body. In my fascination, I didn’t even realize that he had awakened and was staring at me both confused and pleased at the same time. Just when I was leaning in to taste him, he whispered a moan that caused me to momentarily stop in my tracks. I recovered quickly, smiling like a child who was just caught trying to sneak a sweet treat before dinner. He rolled on top of me and kissed me. A kiss that turned the power off in my brain while increasing the senses directly connected to my core. I felt the liquid pool between my legs until it had no choice but to flow down. An arousal I felt sure he could smell. After all, I was counting on it. I needed him to understand the urgency of finding me. I needed him. My body craved him to fill the void that only a mate could. Releasing my mouth he latched on to a nipple, sucking it so hard it sent a shock to my clitorus making me squirm. Not one to ignore, he used one hand to tweak my other nipple while using his other hand to pinch and pull my aroused button. I'd cum like this with him before so I wasn't afraid I would miss my chance if I gave in to the orgasm rushing towards me. I cried out as he slipped two fingers inside me, caressing a spot I had yet to find on my own and sent me flying over the edge. When I regained the ability to think, he was already inside me exacting slow, lazy strokes. The time came to confess my need, while he was distracted by our passion but not yet overwhelmed. "I need you mate." I whispered. We had spoken before but it was always with the purpose of heightening the moment. "Need? Hard (he thrust harder), fast (he thrust faster). Tell me mate. Ask and you shall have." Well, since he put it that way. "I need you to find me," and at the moment I pressed my fingers on my sweetness hurrying me to a climax that snatched me from my dream world. I awoke sexually frustrated but satisfied that I had done what I needed to convince him that whatever the reason he stayed away, the time had passed and I needed him.

Two days later and my heat was in full effect. I locked myself away. Even the air made my skin sizzle. I needed to cum so bad I almost said to hell with a mate and walked outside to let my scent send all the available males in a five mile radius to my door. The thing about wolves is when a female goes into heat it’s like a drug you’ve been addicted to all your life being dangled in front of you. Thankfully, we only go into heat once every three years. I was so consumed with the need for release that I didn’t care it wasn't with my mate, during my first heat. Since then, my wolf felt cheated out of the forever bond that mating created. This was the reason I endured being in physical pain; she wouldn't allow me to lose myself unless my mate was there to find me.

I couldn't sleep so I hadn't seen him since the night I asked him to find me. My wolf clawed at me needing to be set free as much as my human side. I didn't remember my last heat being this intense. I felt my skin tightening around my bones, discomfort everywhere not just my core. And then the scent hit me. A male was near. Not just any male but MY male. So close that my thick arousal suddenly went into overdrive as if sending out a signal for him to find me. I rushed to the door removing the barrier that kept my scent from alerting the pack of my condition. As soon as the lock was off and the door was open I was in his arms. His mouth crushed mine and a taste that was familiar and new greeted me. I was fully naked as clothes made no sense when nothing could touch me without making me weak with need. I wrapped my arms around his neck drawing him closer to me. He grabbed my legs lifting me up rubbing me against his groin in the process. Spinning me around and backing me up against the door he released me long enough to shed his clothes. Again our mouths connected, his hands roamed my body. We would have time to explore later but I needed him inside me now. I exposed my neck to him the same time he pushed inside my already drenched center. Finally we were together, and this time when he sank his teeth into my neck and his hardness into my core, I reached the stars and when I came down my mate was there. Joined with me forever and ready to enjoy our first in an eternity of heat spells together.

©2014, Priscilla Danita Robinson 

Priscilla D Robinson is the Author of Love's Moodswings: The Discovery, the Choice, and the Surrender to Love. Her debut book is a collection of three short stories that focus on different forms of love. Recently she began the task of writing down what her mind showed her and thus began her writing journey. When she is not off in a dream world she lives in Connecticut with her daughter. Robinson is currently a student at the University of Bridgeport for a bachelor's degree in Human Service. Her favorite saying is “the sky is always purple somewhere in the world” which means anything is possible if you know where to look for it.

Website:

https://m.facebook.com/PriscillaDanita?__user=1015815274

https://www.goodreads.com/priscilladanita

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Delia Wynne: The New York Southerner

Delia Wynne is a native New Yorker with the gift for words. She made her debut in May 2014 as an author with her novel titled, Hope’s End – a story many know all too well of domestic violence, drug abuse, and depression.

I've met Delia a few months ago as she was promoting her novel online. ‘Quiet, but fiery with passion’ was my initial impression. The more we exchanged pleasantries, the more I wanted to know her story – and reading Hope’s End only furthered my curiosity for this character-driven novelist.

It was an honor to hear her speak with candor in The Lounge. What she conveyed, I’m sure many authors and readers can relate. 

Imani: Delia, thank you for joining me in The Pink Lounge -- welcome. Let me ask you this question, something different from what I ask my guest: Tell the readers more about you and the type of work you write.

Delia: Thanks so much for having me. I am a native New Yorker now happily living in the South. Ironically, I place almost all of my stories outside of my own settings. They are stories of women attempting to overcome barriers and great odds. Sometimes, by the final page, they do succeed. Oftentimes, there is a twist that comes along with whatever resolution they end up with. One common thread in all of my stories, though, is that they are always character-driven. Their decisions and actions move the plots forward, not the other way around.

Imani: When did that epiphany hit you and you realized you were a writer?

Delia: I realized it pretty young- by the time I was twelve, I was already writing novellas. Before that, I was very imaginative, daydreaming all of the time. My childhood caused an “anywhere but here” mentality in me, so I created different worlds to live in. That gave me a lot of practice when I started to seriously plot novels. Once I was out of my teens, I concluded that other people may want to read this stuff and that maybe I could do it professionally.

Imani: What's your methodology of a solid storyline?

Delia: A solid storyline of mine always contains a likely threat of disaster. Too often I’ve read novels, especially literary ones, where I am bored stiff because there is clearly nothing that can or will harm what the author is describing. Everything is too pat. When I am plotting a storyline, I always make sure that there is something that can wreck the characters’ lives, whether that is a hurricane, an extramarital affair, or a bankruptcy. This will always be the main plot, and of course, a good storyline is always comprised of scenes that absolutely function, whether they are to advance the plot or deepen characterization- no filler allowed.

Imani: Let's talk about your book, "Hope's End" and the wayward teen, Frances Mitchell. It's a powerful read; especially, how you centered the focal point on a host of important issues -- domestic violence, alcoholism, and drug abuse. But the honesty you have put forth for Frances, bearing the darkness of clinical depression, is all too real for many. Please tell the readers the importance of writing this character dealing with these issues.

Delia: I think it’s always important to address uncomfortable issues such as these in fiction. Wounds heal best out in the open. The fact remains that domestic violence is all too common, and too many people are self-medicating themselves, like Frances does, with drugs and alcohol when they have a diagnosable mental disorder. As for clinical depression, this may be the most taboo of all subjects, especially in the black community. It’s just not taken seriously enough. Most people think to be suffering a mental illness, one has to be -an axe-wielding maniac or drooling at the mouth. Clinical depression is not treated as the grave, uncontrollable disease that it is, which is a tragedy. Another relative issue I’d like to bring up is everyone’s ignorance of Frances’s condition. Lots of times people in reality, too, fail to recognize the symptoms of depression until it is too late. It often takes a suicide attempt, a drug overdose, or worse, for people to realize that something is really wrong with their loved one.

Most people think to be suffering a mental illness, one has to be -an axe-wielding maniac or drooling at the mouth. Clinical depression is not treated as the grave, uncontrollable disease that it is, which is a tragedy. Another relative issue I’d like to bring up is everyone’s ignorance of Frances’s condition. Lots of times people in reality, too, fail to recognize the symptoms of depression until it is too late. It often takes a suicide attempt, a drug overdose, or worse, for people to realize that something is really wrong with their loved one.

Imani: When I read the book, I don't know how many times I said, "Yep! I can relate; I've been in 'Frances Mitchell' shoes. As a writer, where did the inspiration of this character had come from?

Delia: Frances’s character is symbolic of several themes. When I wrote Hope’s End, I was suffering through a depression, myself. I decided to express my anguish, disgust, hurt, and anger through a novel. This is why I think the read is so powerful, it came from my imagination, yes, but it also came from the heart. The original title of the book was in fact, ‘Out of Rage’, as Frances represents of all those terrible feelings I was having. She is both pain and hope personified. It may not be lost on readers, either, that this is a modern-day retelling of Cinderella, since she’s rescued from an abysmal situation by a prince-like suitor and lives happily- at least for a while. The twists towards the end of the book is, in part, what separates it from the classic tale, though.

Imani: Without expressing too much of the plot, what made you decide the twist?

Delia: Well, I love irony, especially in my own work. Life is unpredictable and sometimes unfair. But even if it does even out, resolutions aren’t always satisfying. I like for my art to imitate that fact of life, and frankly, I also like to jolt my readers. I feel it makes for a more unforgettable reading experience and doesn’t compromise realism, in fact it reinforces it.

Imani: What you know as an author now, meaning the common mistakes new and self-published authors make. If you can go back in time to meet yourself as a novice writer, what advice would you give yourself?

Delia: Honestly, I am still learning. I don’t consider myself a new writer anymore, but I’m far from an experienced veteran. The one thing that I’d tell my past self is to work harder at promotion, because I spent a lot of time thinking that sales would just fall into my lap, then I became discouraged when that didn't happen. Promotion takes almost as much effort as writing, itself, does.

I don’t consider myself a new writer anymore, but I’m far from an experienced veteran. The one thing that I’d tell my past self is to work harder at promotion, because I spent a lot of time thinking that sales would just fall into my lap, then I became discouraged when that didn't happen. Promotion takes almost as much effort as writing, itself, does.

Imani: Where do see your career standing in five years?

Delia: I hope to see Hope’s End exposed to a whole lot more people. Of course, I’d like to have several more books out there doing well, and I do have other stories to tell. But I’d ultimately love to see Hope’s End reach the level of Push/Precious, or The Color Purple.

Imani: Do you have any projects you are currently working on, or any new releases you would like to share? And if it's a new release, please share a brief description of the story and its characters?

Delia: My latest story is an Urban Lit effort named Brie & Dallas. It’s about a former streetwalker that helps her ex-pimp through a life-threatening crisis. The main question is whether they can live together clean and square, or will their old habits get the better of them. It’s less serious and more freewheeling than Hope’s End. There is a lot of authentic, graphic content in this book, but I decided not to use the same bleak mood that I did in Hope’s End. Brie & Dallas is a more straightforward, action-focused tale.

Imani: Finally, tell us one thing you haven't shared with your readers. It can be a quirk, a favorite food, or a hidden talent. The floor is yours.

Delia: I’m an amateur comic book artist and have my own graphic novel called Track Star. I’m obsessed with track and field, so I came up with a story about a gorgeous sprinter who has a glamorous life and jet-setting career. It’s a hobby and a labor of love.

Imani: Fascinating! Will you pursue this avenue in comics someday?

Delia: No, it’s just something I like to read back and enjoy myself, but I never mind showing it off to interested people.

Imani: Delia, thank you for stopping by The Lounge. I had a blast. Tell the readers where they can purchase your work, as well as finding you on the web?

 Delia: Sure. Hope’s End is available in print and as an ebook at http://www.amazon.com/Hopes-End-Delia-Wynne/dp/149959383X, and on Barnes & Noble at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hopes-end-delia-wynne/1119964927?ean=9781499593839. Brie & Dallas is available at http://www.amazon.com/Brie-Dallas-Delia-Wynne-ebook/dp/B00O2MJ6EI.

People can email at any time at deediwynne@gmail.com.

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The Intriguing Mysteries of Lori Titus

There’s nothing more intriguing than an author who thinks outside and beyond a box to create frightful tales of ghosts, zombies, and dark characters from beyond.

A couple of weeks ago, as I was searching for new guests among a plethora of writers online to fill the Pink Lounge, Lori Titus had caught my eye in a writing group. Perhaps it was piercing her brown eyes and her gentle smile speaking to me from her profile picture; or, her love for the paranormal was just as profound as mine; or maybe...just maybe...I needed to know who this author was in a genre with so few African Americans. 

Imani: Lori, thank you for joining me in The Pink Lounge -- welcome. Let me ask you this question I ask all of my guest: What makes Lori Titus the woman she is today?

Lori: Many things go into making someone who they are. Two things that my mother taught me come to mind. Perseverance, because success requires trial, failure, and the stubbornness to get back up. The other value would be a curiosity about life and learning in general. .

Imani: As I was conducting research for this interview, I've noticed on many sites around the web that you convey mystery and intrigue. Share with the readers how writing "intrigued" you, and how did it lead you to the paranormal genre?

Lori: Writing, no matter what kind of story, is about unlocking mysteries. I love to get into the mind of a character, to hear their inner thoughts. Paranormal stories interest me because they allow you to operate without the ordinary rules. If you can create a world where monsters exist, telepathy is a given, or ghosts live among us, anything is possible.

Writing, no matter what kind of story, is about unlocking mysteries. I love to get into the mind of a character, to hear their inner thoughts. Paranormal stories interest me because they allow you to operate without the ordinary rules. If you can create a world where monsters exist, telepathy is a given, or ghosts live among us, anything is possible.

Imani: What's your methodology of a solid storyline?

Lori: My story ideas start with a question. What happens if a girl has abilities that she hides? What would happen if the dead could come back in one cursed town? From there the storyline develops through the actions of the characters. Each step supports the storyline and advances the characters' journey.

Imani: So is it fair to ask that you are character-driven?

Lori: Yes, I guess you could say that. I definitely like to experiment.  If I don’t like how something comes out it can always be cleaned up in the editing process.

Imani: Although we have known each other for a brief time, as well as reading most of your work online, I want to say before we go further that you are a phenomenal writer. So, share with the readers each of your titles and their brief descriptions.

Lori: Thanks so much for the compliment!

Here's a list of my titles:

Hunting in Closed Spaces: A young girl is abducted by a man who says he was sent to protect her. Why are the powerful members of The Circle out to get her at any cost?

Lazarus: In Lazarus, California, 1869, the dead don't always stay that way. Enter Luella, a woman with a mysterious past and a plan to stop the dead from rising.

Green Water Lullaby: A collection of stories featuring ghosts, ghouls and other bad things in the town of Chrysallis, South Carolina.

Hailey's Shadow: As an adult now accused of murder, Hailey had a troubled childhood, and was known for starting fires. Are the "shadows" that she sees a fabrication of a disturbed mind, or are they real?

The Guardians of Man: This novel was a collaboration with Crystal Connor. In an isolated mountain community, residents fear the coming of winter after a worldwide power outage has left them without heat. What starts off as a technological disaster is revealed to be something worse - the ultimate battle between good and evil.

Imani: Of all of your characters, which one you would like to interview and why?

Lori: I would like to talk to Justin, Marradith's love interest from Hunting in Closed Spaces. He's one of those characters you never know what he will say.

Imani: The Paranormal genre have a pool of talented writers, and yet the number of African American authors are minimal. Why do you think that is so? And could it be an unreasonable fear within the African American community towards the genre?

Lori: I am not sure what it is. I believe that fundamentalist religion has something to do with the fact we don't see many blacks writing in paranormal or horror genres. That said, we are big consumers of this kind of fiction, in books and movies. I believe it’s considered a guilty pleasure by most in the black community.

 I am not sure what it is. I believe that fundamentalist religion has something to do with the fact we don't see many blacks writing in paranormal or horror genres. That said, we are big consumers of this kind of fiction, in books and movies. I believe it’s considered a guilty pleasure by most in the black community.

Imani: Now, you have coauthored a few titles with authors; such as, Crystal Conner and Olivia Weston. Tell us how you met these individuals, and what are the pros and cons to coauthor books?

Lori: I met Crystal through Facebook. After a while we started talking about writing together. Crystal writes more horror driven and sci fi dark fiction as opposed to mine, which tends to be paranormal and romance driven. Olivia Weston had edited for Crystal before, and she agreed to edit The End is Now and The Guardians of Man.

Imani: Do you have plans for another collaboration with these ladies? Or, are you flying solo with your own project(s)? And if so, could you share with us the details?

Lori: Crystal and I don't have anything specific planned, but I am sure we'll collaborate again.  I have a plot idea that I am holding on to just in case.

Imani: Among your litany of accolades and achievements, you also own the website "Flashes in the Dark". Share with the readers the concept behind this site, and where do you see it going in five years?

Lori: My goal for the next five years remains the same but on a larger scale - to introduce new and established writers to readers who don't have much time but want to be entertained.

Imani: Tell us one thing you haven't shared with your readers. It can be a quirk, a favorite food, or a hidden talent. The floor is yours.

Lori: I think most people would but surprised to know that most of my stories have tie ins. Luella is a great aunt to Marradith. The Guardians of Man also has a tie in to The Marradith Ryder Series.

Imani:  Finally, as an artist, we have muses and person(s) we admired to help shape our craft. So, who is your inspiration and if they were here right now, what would you say to them?

Lori: I would tell my sister, Linda that it was all worth it.

Imani: Lori, thank you for stopping by The Lounge. I had a blast. Tell the readers where they can purchase your work, as well as finding you on the web?

Lori: My work is available on Amazon.com. I am expecting to have a new novel called The Bell House out in December or January. I also have two novels in progress. One is tentatively titled The Daughters of Cain, which is about halfway through the first draft. The second is The Art of Shadows, which will be going to an editor soon. Shadows is the second book in The Marradith Ryder Series.

To learn more about Lori Titus and her amazing work visit her at LoriBeth215.wordpress.com and FlashesInTheDark.com.

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WHAT NON-POETS DO WHEN WE'RE BLISSFULLY CONTENT

My beacon that shines above

that illuminates a weary soul.

You’re a blessing with no disguise;

a right thief that comes gently

into the night.

How long has it been?

Days turned to weeks;

then weeks turned to months

Now years?

And yet, you’re still here;

patiently waiting for that day

when you and I are more than you and I

When two souls emerge into an infinite one.

You’ve shown me patience

You’ve shown me kindness

You’ve never, ever, boast

You’re never, ever, been the type to self-seek

You’re just a man, a unique man

Who flaws I adore more

than the rest of your perfections.

I care for more of who you are

than what you are.

I heed to your grace;

the darkness of your skin

Your exquisite smile

Your God-fearing ways

And yet I’m waiting for that day;

when saying those words,

those ever precious,

sacred words

rolling from my lips

onto yours

with a thunderous, yet sweet kiss.

To be bound by your soul

To be enamored by your wit

To be enthralled by compassion

I hunger for your desire

I yearn for your strength

You’re my midnight

as I’m your stars,

painting through the sky.

With a stroke of destiny’s brush;

allowing the wind to create something

special

perhaps, a prelude to such

Still, you’re a man who’s never been proud

Not easily-angered

or point out wrongs

You’re just man, a unique man

who rides on hope when it’s rare to hope

who’s faithful when faithless is the trend.

A man who I respect,

my lover, my best friend.

I’m not a poet by heart

Hopeless romantic on occasions,

but a woman with this expression

that run deep,

deep beyond any emotion.

Feelings are so overwhelming

they’re like a riveting potion

So, yes, I feel the same way

And still hoping to the day;

when you and I becomes an infinite one.

Blissfully content.

Blissfully done.

To be continue…

©2013, Imani Wisdom

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Imani's "How to" Moment: You're a Writer Dammit, Just Write!

Have you ever sat in front your computer, trying to figure what you’re going to write, but all you have in front of you is the dreaded blinking cursor?

Its six o’clock in the morning on a Friday, and my intentions for getting up this early is either two things: workout and writing—which the first one I’ve done successfully.

Since I’m facing with a case of writer’s block, I thought back earlier in the week when I was asked how do I solve a dry writing spell. I simply told these couple of people to freewrite, freewrite, and freewrite some more.

Since my ideas are dried up like a desert wind, I’m taking my chances to write anything that comes to mind. If my mind goes blank—I would type blank, blank, blank until an idea has sparked—and at this point, it has.

Perhaps this post should be titled, freewriting for all of you aspiring writers and/or authors. Everyone suffers from writer’s block…I mean everyone! It’s a normal part of being a writer. You want to convey your thoughts and your imagination onto paper but it goes blank immediately when type or write the first letter. Then it comes…but wait a minute…there it goes. You get frustrated as you stare at the annoying black slit they call a cursor—reminding you that your dry spell exist. Your mind tells you to relax and do other things like check your Facebook or Twitter pages—which are huge time wasters. And yes, I’m guilty of that too.

So now I’m typing for the Hell of it. Allowing my fingers to tap against keyboard as the rhythmic thud puts in me in a trance. It’s a beautiful sound, isn’t it? Once you feel the groove, then you start to feel productive. The smile comes back and all of your ideas begin to pour like a waterfall. And there after your frustration—and not to mention you started to feel a bit depressed—you’ve did it. Your freewriting had turned into a post. And maybe this particular post wasn’t much of a post—but nevertheless, I feel effin’ great!

My Imani’s “How to” Moment: When you feel as though as you’re stuck in the mud put your thought process into second gear and shift your mind in another direction. I’ve stayed up the night before brainstorming on what to write for this post and nothing, of course. Let this blog be an example for you writers out there. Freewrite your ideas without stopping or pressing the backspace button—let every word pour through your fingers. Imperfections will be perfected once the final draft has been finalized.

So stop stressin’, it’s all a part of being a writer.

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