When is your next book going to be released? | ||
| Photo by Nalan Nalan | Dreamstime Stock Photos |
So, I’ve been getting that question a lot lately, and the answer is, soon…I hope. I’m writing, but I’m also working hard with my publishing company, trying to make a living all while dealing with family health emergencies and really striving to improve my own health and to just live in the moment more. This year has been crazy so far, hectic, but I am writing. Just slowly. And I’m asking my wonderful readers to bear with me. I hope to be releasing something this summer. So, keep me and my family in your prayers so I can get this done, lol.
What am I working on, you ask? Well, I want to do a Breathe Again sequel, but another story popped into my head and won’t let go. It’s tentatively titled, Stay Awhile, and is the story of a videographer who is hired to film a once very successful R&B singer’s attempt at making a comeback. He’s troubled, and she’s struggling with her faith. It’s a love story, because I like writing those, and I think it’s so far so good.
Here’s an UNEDITED little snippet. Enjoy!!
I found granola, yogurt, and fresh fruit in the fridge, and as I ate, thought about this supposed meeting I was to have with Titus in just a couple of hours. I was torn between what this job could do for my struggling—well, nonexistent—film-making career. It would take me from filming weddings and charity events and family reunions and birthday parties and Pooky and Ray-Ray’s green screen music videos to perhaps following other artists on tour or making the documentary I’d always dreamed of making. After all, I wasn’t getting any younger, and shoot, I was tired of struggling. The fee Titus had agreed to pay me to film his tour rehearsals, interview him about his life and career, and film the tour’s first show would set me up for the next two or three years. This job was nothing if not a huge blessing in many ways. But...
Titus was known for his bad boy persona, nasty attitude, rudeness, and mood swings. He’d fired tour managers and publicists and managers several times during his career. How Marsha had managed to stay his manager for five years was a mystery, but she’d always been kind, level-headed, and patient, so I supposed that was how she was able to both cope with him and stay on his good side. My personality was a lot like hers, which was why we connected way back in elementary school, but my patience ran far thinner than hers, always had, and I wasn’t sure if I could take much of the rudeness he was known to display, no matter how nice my bank account could potentially look.
After breakfast, I called my mom and chatted with her, texted Marsha to make sure the meeting with Titus was still on, and stared down at the Bible my mom made me pack. Well, she didn’t really make me pack it, but she did remind me a dozen times, and since I had a major problem with lying to her, I tossed one of the ten or so she’d bought me over the years into my suitcase even though I hadn’t cracked one open in years and had no desire to.
Needing some air and to maybe clear my mind a bit, I checked myself in the dresser mirror for the fifth time, sucked my stomach in, and blew out a breath before stepping into the living room and out the front door. I jumped a little when I saw a figure floating in the pool, and then I just stood there and stared at him. He seemed so at peace in that moment, on his back in the water wearing swimming trunks, the sun reflecting off his wet, toned chest. I eased the door shut and leaned against it, watching him lie there. He was a handsome man. Everyone knew that, but even in my disconnected-from-God state of being, I could feel that his soul was troubled, probably as troubled as mine was. I knew the source of my unrest but had to wonder what was causing his.
“Where you’re from, they always stare at people? They don’t say good morning?”
His voice startled me into muteness. Or maybe it was that I didn’t have an answer for my semi-voyeurism.
“Okay, I’ll say it. Good morning.” His eyes were still closed, and he hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Um…good morning,” I said softly. “I’m Nairobi Ferguson.”
He opened one eye and peered at me. “I hope that’s who you are since you spent the night in my cottage.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks for having me.”
“Mm-hmm.” He flipped over and swam to the edge of the pool, hopped out and onto the patio floor with agility, and with water dripping from him, walked over to me, extending a hand toward me.
I looked from his hand to his eyes and swallowed, because Good Lord! He didn’t seem this tall on TV and he was wet and just fine as all get-out!
“Titus,” he said, his hand still extended.
Finally offering him my own hand, I felt his firm, wet grip and gave him a nervous smile. "Nairobi," I repeated.
That's all for today. I hope you're looking forward to reading the finished product, and if you haven't already, get caught up on my back list by clicking HERE.
Be blessed, everyone!!
