…You spend WAY too much time on Erica Bunker’s blog? Erica loves herself an exposed zipper, and now I do too. My mama, who spent forever teaching me how to insert an invisible zipper, would be horrified. I loved this fabric when I saw the cute little top Erica made on her blog. But I really need some summer skirts. (Yeah I know in the rest of the universe it’s almost fall, but here in Georgia summer lasts for nine months more or less. Anyway, I made a simple little A-line skirt, and I wanted it to be a bit more edgy, so I did the exposed zipper. Then I saw this skirt at Anthropologie, and loved the way the zipper is all fancy. (I probably would’ve bought the skirt, but do you see how short that thing is? I’m a little long in the tooth to wear a skirt that short, thought I might copy it at some point.) They sell those fancy zipper at Joann, but I’d already bought this zipper, and I have a ton of scrap lace and such so I just added it. I really like it a lot. It’s funny, I’ve never been much of a fashion sewist, but with my time so limited these days I like being able to finish a project in a weekend. And having something I can wear is an added bonus. I’ll take pictures when I finally wear the skirt, but my iron died last night and I need to give it a good pressing first.
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Read this thread. (I’m stunned they haven’t taken it down, the racism on it is absolutely nauseating). Be on the receiving end of that shit for a couple of decades then come again to ask me why anyone in their right mind would be welcoming them with open arms. They pushed us out. Rejected us. Treated us like absolute shit. I’ll never forget the fight my good friend Monica Jackson, God rest her soul, fought on this issue. I’l never forget the way I, and other authors like me were treated and continue to be treated. They made damned sure we had no access to mainstream publishing. Even as they ooh and aah over rock star romances, a sub genre Crystal Hubbard and I created nearly ten fucking years ago. So please, don’t tell me I should change my stance.
That thread is my own personal Kristallnacht. I’m pretty sure I’ll go to my grave thinking about it and a dozen more like it and worse. You pushed us out of publishing. Claimed we were inferior. Less than. Worthy of being ghettoized. Now that your perfect little world has been turned upside down, you show up here to push us out of our own house. Fuck no. This will not pass and yes I’m here to kick you out any way I can.
This is a genre we black women created from nothing. I remember deliberately buying books in the bookstore, not Walmart because I wanted to make sure they counted. I would buy every book on the shelf, despite my meager grad student income. I wanted publishers to know that there was an audience. I remember the love and compassion my readers have supported me with for nearly a decade now. Our readers are the salt of the earth, and surprise, surprise, no you’re not entitled to them. You haven’t earned them. And I know my mindset isn’t mainstream, but then y’all made goddamned sure I wasn’t mainstream either. So reap the whirlwind. Or not. I couldn’t give a goddamn. Next.
There seems to be yet another bit of fuckery going on in my genre these days. Authors have been putting books with white characters in the IR/MC category on Amazon. And I’m here to say, if you do that you will be called on it. Readers will post reviews warning other readers about your deceitful bullshit, so it would behoove you not to do it. You always know that something has become popular and profitable when white folk show up to take it over. When folk like Suzanne Brockmann start claiming to have created t. Again, hell no. And don’t step to me about your tender fee-fees. Y’all didn’t give a shit about our feelings when you were claiming black folk don’t read. And it’s most recent iteration; black writers can’t write. Don’t bring any white women’s tears up in here. You will regret it.
And before some other kumbayah idiot comes along I know that white people have culture. I have advanced degrees in sociology, but I also know that for the purpose of the romance genre there’s never been a separate category for books about white people regardless of what countries or cultures they come from. White folk aren’t claiming not to be able to relate to books about white people, even when they’re fucking aliens or trees. Yet somehow they can’t relate to books by black authors. So, please, if you post some crap like that on my blog I will drag you like a dead body on The Walking Dead. You have been warned.
This genre was created by, and nurtured primarily by black women. We grew it from nothing. We have the best fans in the world. Fans who have gone through hell and back with us, and no you WILL NOT disrespect them. If left up to me I would absolutely ban anyone who isn’t black or brown from writing in the genre. However, if you insist on coming to our house, you will respect it. Period. Failure to do so will result in you being summarily dismissed.
I know I say this every time, but this is my favorite cover. I told Whit I wanted Gabriel to look as though he was literally stepping off the Sistine Chapel ceiling, and damned if he didn’t nail it. I love my talented hubby so much.
Here’s the blurb and an excerpt for those who don’t remember it from before.
When Ryannon shows up on Gabriel’s doorstep claiming that he is an archangel with the power to trigger the Apocalypse and that he’s in danger from an End of Days cult he thinks she’s crazy — crazy hot — but still crazy. Despite being a trumpet player named Gabriel, the life he’s led has been anything but angelic, however he has no choice but to believe her especially since the cult is already in hot pursuit. He and Ryannon must go on the run to save themselves and dozens of others from the cult leader’s diabolical schemes. Even the desperate circumstances are not enough to dampen the fiery lust that pulls them together. Gabriel knows that Ryannon is the one for him, but he’s a player and always has been and Ryannon has no intention of being just another woman in his bed. Will they survive long enough to develop trust and find love, and somehow avoid inadvertently setting off the Apocalypse?
“No. No. Gabriel. I’m not a psychic, I’m a knower.”
“What the fuck is a… Wait. How did you know my name?”
She raised her hands, which caused the armload of bracelets she wore to jingle attractively. “Could we sit down? You don’t look so good, and…”
Gabriel gestured toward his battered sofa while he sat down in one of the mismatched chairs that flanked it. After ensuring the safety was engaged, he carefully placed the gun on the coffee table.
She nodded at the gun. “I’m glad you’ve got that. They’ll be back.”
“They who? Could you please tell me what you’re talking about?”
“The Redeemers are a cult.”
“You mean of the grape Kool-Aid, purple Nike variety?”
“I probably wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah, they’re a cult,” she said.
“And this pertains to me how?”
Ryannon leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs, bringing Gabriel’s attention, which had been focused on the gamine beauty of her face, to her legs, and then he found he couldn’t look away. For such a tiny thing, her legs were surprisingly long and shapely, and set off by denim capris and wedge-heeled sandals, they all but made his mouth water. The light cotton blouse she wore over the capris was belted, emphasizing a tiny waist and small breasts.
“I suppose you could call the Redeemers a doomsday or End of Days cult. Their name is The Church of Jesus Christ With Redemption to Come.”
Gabriel sighed. “Ryannon, as much as I’m enjoying this conversation, not to mention the opportunity to check you out, I had a less than stellar night last night, and I had really looked forward to spending my day in bed making love to my ice pack. Now unless you want to take its place, could we please just get to the point?”
“They think you’re an apocalyptic trigger.”
Gabriel closed his eyes. No way in hell did he want to hear the rest of this bizarre story. She was batshit crazy, but also crazy-hot. He sighed. Why was that always the way? The hotter they were, the crazier they were. After a moment, he opened his eyes again. It wouldn’t be the first time his cock got him into trouble. If worse came to worst, he could always duct-tape her mouth.
“Do I want to know what the hell an apocalyptic trigger is?”
“They think you will signal the End of Days.”
Gabriel laid his head back on his chair. “See, you name a trumpet player Gabriel, and folks get all kinds of crazy ideas.”
“They want you to bring on the final battle of Armageddon.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “So my mom is right. I am the Antichrist.”
I’m just going to drop this right here. I wouldn’t want this dude playing against my teenaged son, let alone my daughter.
***Ahem*** Allow me to clear my throat a minute. Clearly some folk are confused. Or functionally illiterate. I don’t know or care which. Either way let me be clear; this post is for and about THE VICTIMS OF JOHN DOE. Period. There are plenty of blogs and Facebook pages and celebrities supporting that kid. I see none supporting his victims or calling the state of Connecticut on the fuckery that is their decision making. This is, and forever will be a transplaining-free zone. Let me be clear, my priority list is as follows: Black women and our children. Other women and their children. Everybody else. And no, I don’t consider males pickled in horse urine to be women. Indeed I consider their very existence to be an insult to womankind. So take that crap elsewhere, I’m not trying to hear it here.
***Sorry, I’m really out of pocket right now. Working on a big project, but I decided to change John’s name from Jane out of respect for women and the REAL Jane Doe’s, that is, his VICTIMS.***
There is a situation going on in Connecticut right now that has me so furious I can barely see straight. Essentially, there is a 5’8″ 180 17 year old boy who identifies as female. He’s been in the state’s custody since he was 12 years old. John Doe has a extensive history of violence, particularly of serious assault against females, staff and young girls. His story was in the news of late because the authorities in Connecticut placed him in an adult female prison after he assaulted a staff member and another resident at a facility in Massachusetts. This of course set off an explosion of trans activism. Harvey Fierstein wrote an op-ed protesting this young man being housed in an adult prison. So the authorities in Connecticut, despite this boy’s history of having assaulted more than a dozen women and girls capitulated and once again housed him with female juveniles. Well, to no one’s surprise, after less than two weeks in this facility, he has again attacked a staff member and another resident. This time the state grew a brain and placed him in a facility for juvenile males. Predictably the trans community is once again in an uproar. There is much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, yet somehow in the midst of all of this, the boy’s victims, you know, the women and girls he’s beaten the hell out of have been forgotten. Nobody cares about them. It’s much more important that his status as trans be honored. That no one commit the heinous crime of “misgendering” him.
On behalf of the women and girls who have been victimized by this person I need y’all to do me a solid. I need y’all to contact DCF authorities in Connecticut and ask about those women and girls. Call, write, email, send a raven I don’t care, just let them know that those girls are not just punching bags for this boy to beat the hell out of any time he’s inclined. Including one staffer who was temporarily blinded by this him. Also ask and insist that women and girls be protected from being housed with a violent male who repeatedly attacks them. As always, please be polite, but yeah, this is absolutely absurd. But this is trans y’all. This is the whirlwind we reap when we jump on board with a “movement” we know jack about. Check the Gender Trender site. Don’t just go along with something because it sounds progressive. This is about as regressive and dangerous as it comes. We’ve got to stand up for women and girls before this boy kills somebody. Trans aren’t the only ones with voice. It’s past time we use ours.
Connecticut Juvenile Training School (CJTS) – Pueblo Girl’s Program –
1225 Silver Street, Middletown, CT 06457
Here’s the director of DCF:
Or write us at:
Department of Children and Families
505 Hudson Street
Hartford, CT 06106
My other favorite site, besides Anthro is Free People. Usually I can’t wear anything on the site, but I love the outfits and often try to find similar things in my size. I love this jacket and think it would look amazing with the pink skirt I plan to make. I love the dichotomy of something so military looking paired with something so frou-frou. I’d probably give this jacket a try, but I think it’s too short for my taste. I’m also looking for something a little more structured and work friendly. I do love the sleeve and ruffle detail on the back, though, but it’s a little young and trendy. I think I need something with a little more staying power. I’m looking for something similar though because I really like it.