Friday, January 29, 2010


Here are some interesting "six word stories" from our weekly challenge! Congratulations to the top picks!

"Welcome home-Money bags-Let's shop" by Sharon; AZ

"I'm Loving-My Mother-Triumphed Woman" by Mika; OH

"Bonita Applebum-Big Hips-Seeing Stars" by Doug; MD

"President Obama-Organic Swagger-Often Duplicated" by Literary Diva- (for fun)

For more info on our "six word story" weekly challenge contact:

Thursday, January 28, 2010


J.D. Salinger, the legendary author, youth hero and fugitive from fame whose "The Catcher in the Rye" shocked and inspired a world he increasingly shunned, has died. He was 91.

Salinger died of natural causes at his home on Wednesday, the author's son said in a statement from Salinger's longtime literary representative, Harold Ober Agency. He had lived for decades in self-imposed isolation in the small, remote house in Cornish, N.H.


Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Literary Diva Presents: Author Dee Sanderson!

Join us as we welcome author of the popular book "How to marry a loser without even trying", Dee Sanderson. She will be chatting it up with us about the ins and outs of her great book. We will also dive into her literary career and what the future holds for her in the world of literature. Tune in live as we chat it up with the one and only author Dee Sanderson. Stay tuned and keep it locked.

Tune in live Sun Jan 31@ 12pm est@

For more info on author Dee Sanderson and her book visit:

Saturday, January 23, 2010


Wrap it up smack it up and rub it down is what we say when the higher of the higher ups do the dirty deeds.

Mishaps, lies, popularity, and deceitful ways all rise, as the must haves of the American state of mind. Encore, bravo are what we say when something or someone commits a boat full of wrongdoings. Committing the ultimate act is like a school kid getting away with being bad and not getting caught. Oh the tangled web we weave for ourselves when we let ourselves live, thrive and bask in our own collage of deceit. It’s a never ending gallery showing of lies and out of the box human tragedies that’s shown all over the world.

Lost and found is non existent in the eyes of American society. When something is lost it’s never found due to the coiling of America’s image. Looking at how far we’ve come isn’t that far at all because when you start to break it down and get the full effect of it, it’s just nothing. Baffled and intrigued are so many people who live here in this sweet country. The art of what goes down is just what it is. It’s an art that is passed down from generation to generation. Many of who don’t have a clue of what this sweet country has hidden in the closet. The minds of many who are enthralled with this place get away with calculating editions that are envied by the bottom of the barrow.

Making it here entails getting on your pony and riding it out and then hoping something gets dropped off to you. It’s a never ending battle with the lies of the package that seems to be out of everyone’s reach. With clouded judgments of people on prozac and other mind altering drugs it’s evident that we have come to the edge, from which we let ourselves fall.

As we try many things to hide the lies and deceit that America tries to sell us we are still at a losing battle. Many take it upon themselves to be apart of the American tradition of building their web of lies and passing out while trying to hold it down. The society we know and love will be calculating and corrupt with power at the forefront holding the wheel. As we fall and try to get back up we will forever be tangled in our own collage of deceit.

For more info on this literary short and others contact:

Friday, January 22, 2010


Crying, moaning, screaming and feeling of anger are what my soul cries for. Living in the depths of life and feeling rips and tears of constant permeating jabs of shit is like a train wreck but only the wreck of my soul. Deep in the midst of milky shit I see dust, smoke of lies and a society that rears its ugly head. No wonder the human race is dying-dying to belong and want to be people that they can’t be, and only to lose control and disintegrate into little particles.

In a sea of madness but beauty my eyes are crying little drops of soft concrete to only drop into a soul of nowhere. It’s black and deep and I can’t seem to see my way out as my eyes drool into my lifeless existence of nothing. Continuing on for the greater good of mankind it’s blurry, unsafe and time keeps moving. I see something but that something is nothing in my eyes as I try to look deep in my soul.

Clutter and a huge inventory build up as nothing escapes. Looking to see the beauty through eyes of sadness, tragedy and stills; it’s hard, and it drips down into my soul as it rips and slashes the deepest part of my existence. I’m not sure what to make of what has happened to the near vibrant life that once was. Tic-Toc and it’s gone, disappeared as I can’t seem to find the way out of a place that is dark, lonely and spiteful.

As my eyes drool with hard hitting emotion, love, and hardcore needs it hits like the earthquake that hit Haiti. Seeing the deepest part of a soul crying is hard and uncertain. Wishing to heal the wounds of life and hollowness is a never ending game that keeps playing and toying with you. Thoughts of seeing and believing are a round of blackjack that you never win. As my soul aches and creeps to find its way to a better existence; it drools little drops of soft concrete that rips and slashes the deepest part of my existence.

My soul, the soul that drools for days on end feels sunken into a whole lot of nothing and matter that only I can feel. As it goes down deeper and deeper my soul cries tears of little drops of soft, gentle concrete that’s hardcore and rips in the deepest part of me.

For more info on this literary short and others contact:

*Violets And Other Tales* By Alice Ruth Dunbar-Nelson!



A swift, successive chain of things,
That flash, kaleidoscope-like, now in, now out,
Now straight, now eddying in wild rings,
No order, neither law, compels their moves,
But endless, constant, always swiftly roves.


Wild seas of tossing, writhing waves,
A wreck half-sinking in the tortuous gloom;
One man clings desperately, while Boreas raves,
And helps to blot the rays of moon and star,
Then comes a sudden flash of light, which gleams on shores afar.


A bed of roses, pleasing to the eye,
Flowers of heaven, passionate and pure,
Upon this bed the youthful often lie,
And pressing hard upon its sweet delight,
The cruel thorns pierce soul and heart, and cause a woeful blight.


A traveller who has always heard
That on this journey he some day must go,
Yet shudders now, when at the fatal word
He starts upon the lonesome, dreary way.
The past, a page of joy and woe,--the future, none can say.


Blind clinging to a stern, stone cross,
Or it may be of frailer make;
Eyes shut, ears closed to earth's drear dross,
Immovable, serene, the world away
From thoughts--the mind uncaring for another day.

By author *Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar-Nelson* from the book: Violets And Other Tales

*Violets And Other Tales* By Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar Nelson



How few of us
In all the world's great, ceaseless struggling strife,
Go to our work with gladsome, buoyant step,
And love it for its sake, whate'er it be.
Because it is a labor, or, mayhap,
Some sweet, peculiar art of God's own gift;
And not the promise of the world's slow smile
of recognition, or of mammon's gilded grasp.
Alas, how few, in inspiration's dazzling flash,
Or spiritual sense of world's beyond the dome
Of circling blue around this weary earth,
Can bask, and know the God-given grace
Of genius' fire that flows and permeates
The virgin mind alone; the soul in which
The love of earth hath tainted not.
The love of art and art alone.


"Who dares stand forth?" the monarch cried,
"Amid the throng, and dare to give
Their aid, and bid this wretch to live?
I pledge my faith and crown beside,
A woeful plight, a sorry sight,
This outcast from all God-given grace.

What, ho! in all, no friendly face,
No helping hand to stay his plight?
St. Peter's name be pledged for aye,
The man's accursed, that is true;
But ho, he suffers. None of you
Will mercy show, or pity sigh?"

Strong men drew back, and lordly train
Did slowly file from monarch's look,
Whose lips curled scorn. But from a nook
A voice cried out, "Though he has slain
That which I loved the best on earth,
Yet will I tend him till he dies,
I can be brave." A woman's eyes
Gazed fearlessly into his own.


When all the world has grown full cold to thee,
And man--proud pygmy--shrugs all scornfully,
And bitter, blinding tears flow gushing forth,
Because of thine own sorrows and poor plight,
Then turn ye swift to nature's page,
And read there passions, immeasurably far
Greater than thine own in all their littleness.
For nature has her sorrows and her joys,
As all the piled-up mountains and low vales
Will silently attest--and hang thy head
In dire confusion, for having dared
To moan at thine own miseries
When God and nature suffer silently.

By author: Alice Ruth Moore Dunbar-Nelson from the book: Violets and Other Tales

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

*U. of Penn receives papers of author Chaim Potok*

The University of Pennsylvania is home to papers documenting the literary career and life of rabbi-turned-author Chaim (KHYM') Potok.

The collection includes correspondence, writings, lectures, sermons, articles, memorabilia and fan mail for the man who wrote "The Chosen."

The 1967 novel follows the friendship between two Jewish boys with different backgrounds. Subsequent books, including "My Name is Asher Lev," also explore the conflicts between religious and secular Jewish life.

Penn announced Friday that the Potok collection is housed at the university's rare book and manuscript library. Potok left the papers to Penn in his will.

Potok was a Penn alumnus who also taught at the Ivy League school in Philadelphia. He died of brain cancer in 2002 at age 73.


*Love Story' author Erich Segal dies at age 72*

LONDON – Erich Segal, the Ivy League professor who attained mainstream fame and made millions sob as writer of the novel and movie "Love Story," has died of a heart attack, his daughter said Tuesday. He was 72.


*Spenser' novelist Robert Parker dies at age 77*

BOSTON - Robert B. Parker, the blunt and beloved crime novelist who helped revive and modernize the hard-boiled genre and branded a tough guy of his own through his "Spenser" series, has died. He was 77.


Monday, January 18, 2010


Apple pie an oh so good treat that has turned into an American tradition of sorts. It seems to speak to so many in an American way. It’s been around forever and most deem it as a traditional tasty treat that families share after dinner. The philosophy behind it can take many turns that many may not want to revisit. The origins are not important, but the perception is too many. The high regard for this treat is like no other at dinner tables all across America. With all the hype why don’t blacks deem apple pie as their good old American treat? It’s simple in so many ways. We have to understand that when blacks were cooking they weren’t living it up in a kitchen with baking utensils and the finest baking ingredients. They had the left over’s from the main house and had to make due. At the same time whoever was in the main house baking for the lady of the house, they were baking for them and not allowed to eat it themselves. It went down that way for many years.

The philosophy of this American treat goes to many, as the all around it factor that should be pass down in every American household. It’s the thought of it that ties us all together in more ways than we think. Many are tied to it because it was a staple in their home while others are tied to it because they were made to prepare it. The ability to understand this mainstream tradition is baffling. If you weren’t apart of the main house you had nothing to do with it. However, if you were in the main house you still had nothing to do with it, but preparation. The traditions of many whites that eat apple pie and now prepare it themselves are still the same; they just don’t have or can make blacks do all the work. As far as blacks who may from time to time enjoy this tradition, they deem it as just simply food. In the minds of blacks who see this American tradition of apple pie they see themselves getting a beat down and being raped by “massa.” Not saying that it’s not a tradition for blacks is an understatement; it’s the truth and will always be as long as there are black faces on this earth. The tradition of apple pie lays out like Christmas and Thanksgiving in America. It’s sad really, that a philosophy is put out there as if many and all have adopted it as there own. When you get right down to why apple pie is said to be an American tradition that many partake in, many don’t know why.

The apple pie and the likes of many versions of it have ruled the Americas for many years. Who came up with this shit anyway? Recalling the days of how many were made to prepare the food and not participate at the table is ridiculous and anger filled. The likes of apple pie really hitting the table of African Americans are slim, because it’s not solely their tradition when it comes to good family food. The philosophy is the ego of white America back then and white America now. There’s so much behind this treat that thinking about it get’s my mind plagued with matter of disgust. As we press on in our society of differences and somehow plan to understand why we have them, we have to get to why things are deemed as a tradition for all. The silliness factor of this whole American as American apple pie; has tortured the souls of many black ancestors and continue to torture the blacks of today. We have to realize that many of today are different and have their own traditions that are shared with family and friends. Many blacks share good old sweet potato pie as a tradition instead of mainstream apple pie. The realization factor is very evident in how many come together and gather with family and friends and prepare good soul food that was deemed as slop, but now seen as good food prepared with love and flavor. I see a very traditional black society that has risen to many levels in America. It’s something many blacks deem as a good thing or may not depending on what level you’re on in the black community. Looking at how the American as American apple pie philosophy still plays itself out is amazing. Knowing that many came here not of their free will, but how they came to be attached to this is something very hurtful to many. Hurtful in the eyes and souls of so many that gave their lives for freedom and life, is something that plagues us everyday.

The challenge is to understand and realize that the philosophy as American as American apple pie doesn’t resonate well with people of color and will never will. At the end of the day we are all here in America, but all things aren’t as American as American apple pie.

For more info on this "short" and others contact:

Sunday, January 17, 2010


Shut up or put up is what mama always said. Mama always broke it down till it couldn’t be broken down anymore. Strong, certain, and challenged is mama. The feeling of mama’s love runs deep in my veins and in the core of my soul.

Mama breaks it down like no one else. Working her neck and snapping her fingers is how she gets down. The love and philosophical way mama breaks it down is like a colonel manning his platoon. As she works her back and twists her hips and points her fingers, it’s like a hooker on the street corner trying to get her money. Mama knows how to work it especially on me with her hypnotic soul and hard as hell stares. It’s clear that mama has it going on when it comes to putting it down.

Trouble, trouble always finds it way to me. That’s when mama comes after me with her hand and a bunch of “I will whoop your ass”, “I will slap the shit cling out of you” and “I will knock your block off.” Boy, mama is something else. Breaking it down this way is how mama’s philosophy resonates in me. Brilliant thoughts, compassion and with a beauty that’s tough and tells an amazing story. As it’s broken down in full effect lives are touched and affected like the waves are by the moon. Knowing is knowing because the philosophy of getting it broken down is the art of mama and what she stands for. It’s amazing, fanatical and hurts like hell.

Delivering the full effect of the breaking down philosophy is easy to take in. It goes back to mama and her true will and what’s in her soul. The being of me loves mama from the depths of my soul. As I see it for what it truly is I see brilliant thoughts, love and compassion with a beauty that’s tough as hell and tells an amazing story.

For more info on this "short" and others contact:

Saturday, January 16, 2010


Nosy Jennet how could she resist any gossip that hit the streets, internet or just plain through the grapevine of her town. She was Oslo’s town nosy neighbor of the year.

Jennet is from Oslo. Born and raised. She has been in Oslo all of her life and knows the ins and outs of the town. Meaning Jennet knows everyone’s business and then some. Her home is a small red brick three bedroom two bath that sits next to many homes that resemble hers. For that reason alone, it pisses her off. On most days Jennet peaks out her window after having her coffee; straight and black with no cream or sugar. She’s looking for anyone that is doing something on the sly. That’s how she keeps the gossip going around Oslo. Jennet does have great friends but the stakes of those relationships are in jeopardy because nosy Jennet’s mouth gossips like a freight train running a thousand miles a minute. She can’t help herself. Jennet loves drama and drama seems to find its way to Jennet. At one point last year a friend of hers, Michelle stopped talking to her because Jennet said some things that weren’t true. Of course the gossip got the best of Jennet and she just kept spreading nasty gossip about her friend Michelle. It was the sort of thing that you just kept your nose out of. Not Jennet she has her nosy self into everything.

These days Jennet and her friend Michelle have started chatting again, but Michelle doesn’t trust Jennet as far as she can see her. It makes it hard for her friends because Jennet prides herself on being the one who knows everything. Devious and intentional is the way Jennet goes about her business. The job that Jennet has, she got by signifying into the former co-worker that use to have that position, then spreading gossip about her to the whole town. The young lady ended up threatening to give Jennet the beat down of her life. Subsequently, the young lady was then arrested, and due to lots of embarrassment of the gossip mill and the arrest she ended up leaving Oslo. Jennet couldn’t help but pat herself on the back for that good deed. This was typical Jennet behavior and her granny has told her about herself many times.

Jennet’s grandmother has always told her that signifying is worse than stealing. Keep your nose out of other folks business, especially these here folks in Oslo. That didn’t resonate with Jennet because she didn’t care. She was the gossip queen, and in her eyes the more she knew the more she could have on folks. It was at this time, that Jennet’s grandmother’s words would bounce all over Jennet’s head. It was about to go down.

On Wednesday the Oslo community always gathers for an event to keep the community tight and in the know. Jennet loved these community shindigs because she could ease drop on folks. As Jennet was at home getting ready for the event, she thought to herself “wow I‘m going to get some good juice tonight.” Wanting to look good to keep people gossiping about her, she pulled out all the designer stops she could . Of course many of these pieces that Jennet owned were knockoffs that she was still paying for due to credit card charging. Jennet felt that looking good equaled feeling good and that meant in her mind that folks liked her. Of course Jennet’s mind was a train wreck, but she didn’t pick up on that. As she pinned her long red hair up in a nice updo, she looked and said to her self “damn I look good.” “Now let’s see what those bitches have to say now.” Smiling she picked up her knockoff Chanel handbag and headed for the Wednesday community gathering. As she walked to her front door to leave and to get into her car, her cell phone rang. Jennet picked it up and said “hello.” Nobody said anything on the other end. She quickly hung up and started on her way out the door. Before she got in her car she looked around and then opened the car the door to sit down when…someone walked up to her car and tried to keep it open with force. Jennet looked horrified, she knew someone was out to get her. She managed to keep the door closed and to lock it. She hurried to start the car and to back out her driveway. As she was spinning rubber to back out, the individual pulled out a gun and pointed it at Jennet. They shot, but missed. Jennet went skidding down the small narrow road.

Pulling up to Oslo’s community center she had to catch her breath. Afraid to get out of the car she sat for about twenty minutes. After not seeing anyone she got out and ran in the community center. She still had to look good so folks could gossip about her, so she fixed her self in a hurry and walked in and started to mingle. Immediately her grandmother knew something was wrong. An old lady, Jennet’s grandmother crept slowly over to where she was standing. “Jennet baby what’s wrong with you?” “You look crazy.” “Oh it’s nothing grand, I was just in a hurry to get here.” “Are you sure nothing is wrong?” “Yes I’m sure!” Jennet snapped. “Ok baby, I was just checking.” “Meanwhile you make sure you keep your nose out of folks business tonight.” As Jennet’s grandmother was leaving Jennet looked at her with an I don’t care look.” As the community event pressed on Jennet mingled and talked with folks who would first talk with her, but also eased dropped on lots of conversations. Typical Jennet, and she knew it.

As the event was winding down and the town mayor said a few last words to the citizens of Oslo, Jennet started yawning. Before the mayor could finish Jennet pealed out of there like a bat out of hell. Walking quickly to her car, she looked around to make sure no one was after her. She thought about going to the police to report what happened, but thought they wouldn’t believe her because of her nosy and gossipy reputation. So she got in her car and drove home. While driving she thought about all the things she heard tonight at the community gathering. She thought “boy what I can do with all this information.” Getting close to her street, she slowed down and crept and carefully made a right. She slowly drove up the narrow street and pulled into her drive way. For about ten minutes she sat in her car and didn’t move. After feeling safe she opened the door to get out. At that moment someone came out of nowhere and socked her in the face. Jennet fell to the ground crying and calling out for help. As she attempted to get up and defend herself, she got socked again in the face. When she couldn’t get up the individual jumped on top of her and started hitting her, while saying “haven’t you ever heard signifying is worse than stealing bitch!” Jennet’s head was hurt, but she did recognize those words. She got socked in the face and kicked several times before she was out cold. When she woke up she was laying in the hospital with her grandma sitting next to her in an old smelly hospital chair. “Jennet baby are you alright?” Jennet was very groggy from the beating and the medication. “Baby this is grandma here with you, can you hear me?” As she opened her eyes she asked what happened. Her grandma told her all about it and Jennet couldn’t believe it.

Jennet asked “Grandma who did this to me?” “Baby we don’t know but the cops are out looking for who ever did it.” “Grand I don’t want to press charges, I don’t care.” “Jennet are you crazy! Someone literally tried to kill you and you don’t want to press charges!” “Jennet you have to at least make a police report.” “Ok I will.” As Jennet laid her head down to rest her grandma said “Are you sure this doesn’t have to do with your nosiness and gossiping in other folks business?” “No grand it doesn’t-now leave me alone!”

After a couple days in the hospital it was finally time for Jennet to leave and go home. She was excited but frightened at the same time. She got home and settled into her life as if nothing happened. Just when she thought it was all over, her phone rang. Jennet picks it up, but slowly. She was scared. The person on the other end didn’t say anything at first, but then said how are you feeling. Jennet answered in a small voice, “I’m fine” She thought she recognized the voice but couldn’t catch on to it. As Jennet was about to hang up, the voice on the other end said “I told you signifying was worse than stealing, didn’t I Jennet.” “I told you to stay out of these here folks business.” Jennet couldn’t believe her ears. She thought “oh hell no, not grandma!”

For more info on this short and others contact:

AWP Award Series Seeking Entries! Enter Today!

The Association of Writers & Writing Programs (AWP) is a nonprofit organization of writers, teachers, colleges, and universities. AWP sponsors an annual competition for the publication of excellent new book-length works—the AWP Award Series. The competition is open to all authors writing in English regardless of nationality or residence. The Donald Hall Prize for Poetry is an award of $5,000 and publication for the best book-length manuscript of poetry. This competition is open to published and unpublished poets alike. The Grace Paley Prize for Short Fiction awards the winner $5,000 and publication. Winners in the novel and creative nonfiction categories receive a $2,000 cash honorarium from AWP and publication. The Award Series conducts an evaluation process of writers, for writers, by writers. AWP hires a staff of “screeners” who are themselves writers; the screeners review manuscripts for the judges. Typically, the screeners will select ten manuscripts in each genre for each judge’s final evaluations.

Manuscript Format Guidelines

Manuscripts must be typed and double-spaced on good quality paper, 8 1/2 x 11 inches. Poetry manuscripts may be single-spaced. Photocopies or copies from letter-quality printers are acceptable, but dot matrix is not acceptable. Manuscripts should not be bound or in a folder; they must be binder-clipped or rubber-banded together. Each manuscript must include:

The official AWP Award Series entry form, which includes spaces for your name, manuscript title, contact information, and an agreement to the terms of the Award Series. Please download this form from our website, enter all the information, and attach it to the manuscript as the cover page.
A title page with the manuscript title only. The entry form will be removed so that each submission can be read anonymously. If the author's name appears anywhere except the entry form, the manuscript will be disqualified. Do not send acknowledgement of previous publications or a biographical note.
Eligibility Requirements
Only book-length manuscripts are eligible. The Award Series defines "book-length" as: poetry-48 pages minimum text; short story collection and creative nonfiction-150-300 manuscript pages; novel-at least 60,000 words.

Poems and stories previously published in periodicals are eligible for inclusion in submissions, but manuscripts previously published in their entirety, including self-published, are not eligible. As the series is judged anonymously, no list of acknowledgements should accompany your manuscript.

The AWP Award Series is open to all authors writing original works in English for adult readers. No mixed-genre manuscripts can be accepted. Criticism and scholarly monographs are not acceptable for creative nonfiction, which the Award Series defines as factual and literary writing that has the narrative, dramatic, meditative, and lyrical elements of novels, plays, poetry, and memoirs.

To avoid conflict of interest and to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest, friends and former students of a judge (former students who studied with a judge in an academic degree-conferring program or its equivalent) are ineligible to enter the competition in the genre for which their former teacher is serving as judge.

AWP makes every effort to vary the judges by region, aesthetic, and institution so that writers, if ineligible one year, will certainly be eligible other years.

If a contestant wins in any genre, he/she may not enter the competition again in the same genre for the next five consecutive years.

You may submit your manuscript to other publishers while it is under consideration by the Award Series, but you must notify AWP immediately in writing if your manuscript is accepted elsewhere. No e-mail or phone calls, please.

AWP cannot consider manuscript revisions during the course of the contest, but the winning authors will have an opportunity to revise their works before publication. Please read carefully the entry requirements and guidelines before submitting your work.

Entry Requirements

An entry fee of $25 to nonmembers and $10 to AWP members (not Chronicle subscribers). Make your check or money order in U.S. dollars, drawn on a U.S. bank, payable to AWP. All entry fees are nonrefundable.
An official AWP entry form, completed with the required information. See the links at the top of this page for the entry form, or send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to AWP Award Series and request the entry form.
Include a self-addressed, stamped postcard for notification that the entry has reached AWP. Notification will include your log number for the competition. Please use this number in corresponding with AWP regarding your entry. Due to the high volume of manuscripts, we cannot acknowledge receipt by phone.
Also include a self-addressed, stamped envelope, business size (9 1/2 x 4 inches), if you would like direct notification of contest results. Results will be mailed in September. Do not include an envelope for the return of your manuscripts. No manuscripts can be returned.
Send one copy of each manuscript entered, prepared according to manuscript format guidelines.
You may enter in more than one genre, and you may also enter multiple manuscripts in one genre, provided that each manuscript is accompanied by its own entry form, postcard, and entry fee.

Your submitted manuscript must be an original work of which you are the sole author.
Your manuscript must be submitted in accordance with the eligibility requirements, format guidelines, and entry requirements or it will be disqualified.
No entry fees or manuscripts will be returned.
This competition is void where prohibited or restricted by law.
The decision of the judge is final. The judge may choose no winner if he or she finds no manuscript that, in his or her estimation, merits publication and the award.

Manuscripts must be postmarked between Jan. 1 and Feb. 28, 2010. All manuscripts and correspondence should be sent to:

AWP Award Series in (genre entered)
The Association of Writers & Writing Programs
Carty House, Mail Stop 1E3
George Mason University
Fairfax , VA 22030-4444

2010 Prizes, Final Judges, & Participating Presses

Donald Hall Prize in Poetry: $5,000
Alberto Rios
University of Pittsburgh Press

Grace Paley Prize in Short Fiction: $5,000
Peter Ho Davies
University of Massachusetts Press

AWP Prize in Creative Non´Čüction: $2,000
Luis Alberto Urrea
University of Georgia Press

AWP Prize in the Novel: $2,000
Francine Prose
New Issues Press

Questions? E-mail

SixWordStory 1.0.2 for iPhone and iPod touch released!

CJApps has released SixWordStory 1.0.2 for iPhone and iPod touch. Ernest Hemingway once wrote a story in just six words ("For sale: baby shoes, never worn."). It was said that he claimed it to be his best work. Be part of a new internet fun phenomenon and write your own six word stories.

Use your creative minds to write a story in just six words - may they be funny, sad, serious, or just plain silly. SixWordStory allows you to be part of a growing community of writers, creatives, and fun people who love to read and share stories. This app also allows you to comment on existing stories - let authors know what you think about the stories.

CJApps has been developing fun and innovative applications on the Apple iTunes store, ready for use on the iPhone 3G/3GS and iPod Touch devices. CJApps is a leader in providing simple and addicting games and applications, with numerous apps found within the top sellers' lists.

For more info visit:

FastPencil iPhone App!

FastPencil announced the availability of its free mobile authoring application allowing iPhone and iPod touch users to capture inspiration anywhere. The FastPencil ( mobile app enables authors to read, write and work on books hosted at the free FastPencil publishing platform whenever and wherever they want.
Mobile authoring, an emerging confluence of mobile technology and creative content generation, mobilizes authors like never before. FastPencil's mobile app lets on-the-go authors use their iPhone to easily capture and organize inspiration within their FastPencil book projects and edit their books anytime. Authors can now collaborate with reviewers and editors on the fly and connect with their community all while the book is safely and securely stored in the author's FastPencil account.

"Jack London once wrote, 'You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club. Keep a notebook. Travel with it, eat with it, sleep with it,'" said Steve Wilson, FastPencil Co-Founder and CEO. "Our new mobile authoring app allows writers to access and edit their projects at any time because sometimes the best ideas come to us in random places."

FastPencil democratizes publishing by blending social media, marketing, production and distribution so authors make more money and sell more books, while maintaining control of the content creation, price, distribution decisions and sales activity every step of the way. The FastPencil Author Concierge service gives each author personal service throughout the publishing process, including access to graphic designers, editors, social media experts, sales tips and more.

FastPencil puts more money in authors' pockets by stripping out the cost and complexity of publishing in hardcover, paperback or eBook formats. By securing agreements with 32,000 book and eBook retailers, FastPencil ensures each author's book is available to the broadest audience. Nearly 25 million eBooks were downloaded in 2009, about twice the amount from the previous 10 years, and the FastPencil write-once, publish anywhere approach ensures an author's book can be read anywhere today and in the future.

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Friday, January 15, 2010


"For sale: baby shoes, never worn." By author Ernest Hemingway. It was said he took a bet to see if he could craft a story out of six words. It was said to be his greatest piece.

Now folks the ball is in your court. Take the six word story weekly challenge. Come up with something creative and interesting with just six words. Send them to: The challenge starts Mon 1/18/2010. The deadline for the "six word flash fic" is every Wednesday. Get them in on time so we can notify you if your story won. Again take the challenge and send us the greatest six word stories that you have. WE WANT TO HEAR THEM!

(One per person each week)

Monday, January 11, 2010


Tugging and jugging I see summer. Magnificent sunshine with bubbles of sweat pouring down the face of dreamers; it’s hot. Hoping to get lucky with coolness I walk in the moment and spot bunches of brown leaves left over from fall and spring. Reminder of how things can get lost in locomotion.

Feelings of lightness pour into my soul as I breathe in summer. The days are long and the nights are short, but for summer’s peak it’s glory and fanatical. Forgiving all that happened before I spend the days of summer thinking, drowning, and smiling for I feel my peak.

I’m bursting with emotions of strong thoughts of summer and how time goes by. As I peak in summer I live free like a butterfly in sunshine and in love. Hoping to get lucky with coolness I walk in the moment and spot bunches of brown leaves left over from fall and spring. Reminder of how things can get lost in locomotion.

Sprinting, and walking fast I hurry to reach the sunshine in time to feel the sun’s rays burst a bright beam of light on my face. It feels good, and it opens my soul to the depths of being free with myself as summer peak brown leaves. I open up to warmth and knowing who I am as I peak. As I reminisce I stand free, strong and open to my soul peaking like summer. As droplets of sweat pour down the face of dreamers; it’s hot. Hoping to get lucky with coolness I walk in the moment and spot bunches of brown leaves left over from fall and spring. Reminder of how things can get lost in locomotion.

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I coo little breaths as the free bird in me spins around in the moment of tragedy. Time goes on and I stand still thinking; will I remain here as me. Not easily broken I feel tight but whimsical as I close my eyes and feel the cloud pass over me as I coo soft little breaths in my soul.

As rain-drops drop on my tongue my mind takes over and burst with helplessness and freedom as the bubbles burst like a fresh drop of lemon on my tongue. Freedom feels good as I feel the rain drops explode in my mouth; as I think of all the tiny bubbles finding its way to my soul. Feelings of living and dying run rampart in me as my tongue collects rain-drops to cleanse the depths of the deepest part of me.

I swirl in the midst of time as tragedies and moments of glory are current, but fading. It hits me like bad news as I try to make it in my mind. As it hurts it touches softly and keeps me present for time to pass by. As I stand still I coo and taste all the good, tragedies, and hopeful moments of the future. It’s time to go in, but not before I get one last rain-drop on my tongue. Momentum is building as I wait for the last drop to fall and burst on my tongue.

Seeing is believing and as I close my eyes, and taste it for the last time, I coo deep but little breaths as the free bird in me spins around in the moment of tragedy. I stand still and taste bursting wet rain-drops on my tongue.

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Sunday, January 10, 2010

*QUICKSAND-Moments Of Sinking Deeply*

At a moment’s notice our mind fold like a building getting demolished on a hot one hundred degree day. The mind is what controls the flow of evolution and hard hitting degrees of filth that takes us to unnecessary moments.

Time and deep existing go hand in hand. Only you can tell if the mind is sinking in the moment. Mountains of trash of helpless hopefuls are falling in the pit of hell as we continue to save ourselves in our own quicksand. Wow, this shit is mind altering to the tenth power of life being thrown at you when you first arrive from your mother’s womb. Breathe, breathe and take a breath to save your self, but only to keep your head above water. Limited time and questions bring madness and chaos like cavemen adapting to change when it first went down.

Digging in your soul and adhering to the perils of the mind is what makes us who we are in the those moments we start sinking and falling in the hands of the beast. Loving, needing, and whispers of the mind are the kind of shit that takes us in those sinking moments. Not knowing that change can be made when you just use your head and think for a moment. We live silently in our own turmoil and sink into dark moments of nothing. No air, no time; time stops and then the real sinking begins.

Quickly and motionlessly sinking into something of the deep and no where to go, nothing to see. Eyes are the windows into the soul, but our eyes are silent and itchy like sand paper scraping the inside of our precious souls. Soul time and life time are both what brings together the evolution of us, you and me. The screaming of the eyes are making waves in the mind that continues to sink and fall into a chain reaction that is marked like a ten car pile up. Time fades in and out for all of us who wish we had more of it to seek and save ourselves from our own demise.

The constant harmonious of sinking moments that play musical chairs in our mind and soul will continue to play over and over until the breaking point of busting out and being who we are begins. Time is limited forever and we must take our moments and make them count and dive into life with common sense. Seeking time and soul time is what keeps our sinking moments from getting roughed up and hounded by bouts of de-evolution.

Planting our feet firmly on the ground and facing those hard hitting demons with shackles is a must. As the old folks say keeping your head above water is a must, but the real deal is keeping your mind from sinking into your own quicksand and never coming out of it, is the real test.

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Friday, January 8, 2010



Join us as we bring something new and fresh. This series will inform you and allow you to hear literary readings from authors of the past and the present. The world of literature is growing bit by bit. As things change we want you to be informed and in the know. Everybody it's time for the "read up." Tune in and keep it locked.

The read up will air every friday on Diva's House. Check us out at at 5pm est.


Living in a big city where you have access to many different things is a great thing according to many. That’s the case with Michelle. Young, beautiful, go-getter attitude is Michelle Bryant. The life of this young hottie is one that most women would want to emulate even if for a day. She has everything at her finger tips and sees the world as her gold mine. So naturally Michelle would want someone like her, but what Michelle has in her mine will definitely leave you wondering.

Deep in the heart of Phoenix Arizona, Michelle lives, works and know how to have fun. Her life is a fabulous one filled with friends, family and all the men she can get her hands on. However what Michelle wants is a man, a rich man who can love her and care for her in more ways than anyone can imagine.

As the week starts Michelle wakes up in her upscale Phoenix town home that she has decked out with designer goods and more art work than anyone her age. Looking at the clock she had time to play a little. She called up her friend and left soft sensual messages on his voicemail. As she hung up she bit her lip as it really got her hot and bothered. This was typical for Michelle to do because for some time she wanted her man or at least she thought he was her man. It was time for her to leave for work so she jumped in her BMW and hit the interstate. When she arrived she hurried in her office and made a quick call to her same friend. Again no one answered nor called her back. Michelle didn’t care; she was into him and wanted him to know it. While at work for the day a co-worker walked up to her and asked to speak to her privately. Michelle looked at him in a puzzled way. After getting into the office the co-worker James who was the top manager for the company asked did she know of anyone making obscene phone calls to Darryl Thomas. Michelle shook her head no, and said, “Why would you ask me, I don’t know who he is.” “Come on Michelle, everyone knows who Darryl Thomas is, he’s the top NBA player in the league and his company won numerous awards this year.” “No I’m sorry I still don’t know who you are referring to.” She then walked out, but again bit her lip as she knew who Darryl Thomas was. To Michelle Darryl Thomas was her friend, her man, her lover. She knew him quite well. When Michelle returned to her office she started thinking about Darryl Thomas, and the things she wanted to do to him. She barely could focus on her work because she wanted to see and here her man.

After the work day ended she quickly packed up her Louis Vuitton brief case and left for the day. As she was driving she sent text messages and left a titillating voice mail for her man. Getting with Darryl Thomas was what Michelle wanted. For a young ambitious woman like Michelle to do this wasn’t anything knew. Partying, hanging out and meeting men in the best clubs in Phoenix is what Michelle and her friends did all the time. They are always at the top spots where they meet basketball players, football players and famous actors. While at a Party one night, at a exclusive celebrity club is where Michelle met Darryl Thomas. It was a meeting that would go on forever, at least in with Michelle. Michelle instantly became attracted to him and did everything she could do to get next to him, including reading “how to be a groupie and be damn good at it.” This set the stage for Michelle to be in Darryl Thomas’s life for as long as she wanted.

Arriving home she ran straight in the house to get on the phone to call her man. She bit her lip while talking very dirty to him. Calling Darryl was like a job for her. It consisted of calling him before work, calling him at work, calling while on her way home from work, and calling him after she arrived home from work. Michelle didn’t see it as her being a groupie, she saw it as calling and getting next to her man. It was her way of getting what she wanted by any means necessary. Finally after showering and putting on more comfortable clothing, she decided to called her favorite girlfriend up. That girlfriend knew all to well about groupie status. Her name was Regan. Regan was a white busty girl who dated all sorts of celebrities. She knew how to be at all the right spots and get her hands on men with money. However, Michelle didn’t fit that mold. She was the typical black chick with a nice curvy figure. Weaves were her friend and being decked out in the latest designer ware was what this chick was all about. One thing for sure, she handled her business with big ambition and determination. Money was her best friend because she made lots of it and needed lots of it to support her life style. She had all the things that a man would want without her being a groupie. Since her hookup with Regan the groupie effect rubbed off on her, but in a way that wasn’t normal.

As Michelle picks up the phone to call up Regan, she gets a knock at her door. It was the cops. Opening the door she couldn’t imagine why the cops were at her home. Michelle opens the door and the detective asked if she was Michelle Bryant. Michelle says yes. Then there was a pause that seemed like an eternity. “Mr. Detective what is this all about?” “I have things to do this evening.” “Well Michelle, do you know a Darryl Thomas?” “Yes we have gone out a few times.” The detective looked at her very confused.” “Are you sure you know Darryl Thomas.” “Yes we were dating at one point.” “Ms Bryant I think you are very confused about something.” “What do you mean detective?” “I mean the Darryl Thomas that you are saying you have been out with is married and doesn’t know you.” “Look detective there must be some kind of a mix up because Darryl and I talk all the time.” “Ms Bryant there was a report made that someone was harassing him and it linked back to you.” “Detective you are mistaken I would never harass anyone. I mean look at me, I am all that.” “Well I just came over here to talk with you, and if you do call Mr. Thomas again you will be arrested for harassment, got that!” “What ever detective.” When Michelle closed the door she knew very well what the detective was talking about. It was only in Michelle’s mind that she and Darryl were together. For some reason she convinced herself that they were together and in a relationship. She told herself everyday, “why would Darryl Thomas resist me, I’m pretty, damn good in bed, and a strong woman.” To her it was real and not a joke.

After closing the door she finally called Regan. She told Regan what happened with the detective asking her all sorts of questions. Regan thought it was odd also, but kept it moving onto something else. The two hotties were going out for the evening at the premier hot spot in down town Phoenix. The upscale night club was called “Donovan’s.” It was owned by a multimillion dollar business man from London. After hanging up with Regan she went to get ready, but not before she called her man Darryl again. This time instead of calling his cell phone she called his house. A lady answered the phone and wanted to know who Michelle was. Michelle bit her lip as all the drama and the action got her hot and bothered. She told the lady on the other end of the phone to tell Darryl to call her if he wanted some tonight, then she hung up. As she hung up the lady was about to get irate with her. Michelle hung up smiling and laughing. It was Darryl’s wife on the other end, and she didn’t care. It was time to get ready to party the night away. Deciding between the Gucci dress and the Christian Dior dress was hard, but she went with the Gucci. She fixed her hair that she just got done the other day at “Sharmein’s premier weaves. Then it was time to dip out and party.

Regan arrived in a limo decked out for the privileged. “Hey Regan girl what’s up?” “Nothing much, but that damn detective shit, I can’t believe he came to me and thought I was the one who did that shit.” “Well Michelle are you and Darryl seeing one another?” “We were at one time, but he’s married and I can’t deal with that shit girl.” Regan looked at Michelle and didn’t recall Michelle even mentioning Darryl as a potential suitor. Everyone knows Darryl Thomas. It’s not like people don’t know about his life, and how much he loves his wife and kids. Regan didn’t say what she was thinking, but said “Michelle if you are seeing Darryl then good for you, because he has bank!” Michelle smiled and drank her champagne. They finally arrived at Donovan’s. The party was bumpin and everyone you could think of was partying inside. The two got in with ease, and went in to scope out the place. Just then Michelle noticed Darryl Thomas was in the house. She smiled from ear to ear. Regan noticed Michelle starring at Darryl like she was in a trans. Regan finally tapped Michelle on the shoulder, but Michelle didn’t answer. Regan looked at her and told her she was obsessed but that didn’t sway her from eyeing Darryl.

As the party continued Michelle finally got herself together. She was having a great time chatting it up with different people and of course getting phone numbers. All night she kept her eye on Darryl. At times she even stopped to make calls to his phone and leave sensual and sexual messages. Darryl just played it like he didn’t know what was going on. The party was finally winding down and Regan and Michelle was about to leave, until Michelle told Regan to go on with out her. The two went their separate ways for the evening. Michelle knew that Darryl was still in the club with a bunch of his NBA buddies, so she took upon herself to break into his car and plant herself in the back seat. She waited and waited. While waiting she made phone calls, sent text messages and surfed the internet. Finally she spotted Darryl coming out of Donovan’s. She scooted down in the back seat to hide. This was her chance for him to know that she was into him and wanted him badly. As Darryl opened the door he looked around then sat in his seat. Michelle being very quiet laid as still as ever. When Darryl started the car, and drove off, Michelle pops up out of know where with her small gun and tells him to the hell pull over! He does just as she says. She hops up in the front passenger seat with ease and crosses her legs because after all she was a lady. Darryl looks at her and says “you are the one who’s been calling me everyday for the last six months!” “Bitch what the hell is wrong with you, and who the fuck are you?” “Look Darryl from the first time I met you, I knew you were the one for me.” “I couldn’t help but to contact you and try to get at you.” “Don’t you understand, I’m in love with you and I know you love me.” “We had a special moment that night and I know you loved it just as well as I did.” “Don’t fight it Darryl we belong together.” As Michelle was talking Darryl was thinking of ways he could get away with out getting his ass shot. “Look whatever your name is I have a wife and kid at home and they love me and I love them.” “Now do us a favor and put down the gun!” Darryl was shaking in his boots and about to piss him self. Michelle held the gun firmly and told him “look either you love me and only me or I blow your ass out this mutherfucking car!” “If I can’t have you then that damn dog of a wife you have at home ain’t gone get your ass neither!” “Now you see Darryl, give me what I want and I will be happy.” “I don’t mind going off, I may be pretty but I will kill your ass!” “Look Michelle; see I got your name right.. just put down the gun and we can talk about this.” “I ain’t doing shit unless you agree to divorce your wife and marry me!” “Michelle these things are going to take time, but I’ll do what I can so we can be together.” Darryl said calmly. It was obvious that Darryl was trying to save his own skin. Michelle knew that and she wouldn’t let up until…

A car pulls up and lights are everywhere. Then another car pulls up, and some tall guys get out and start walking near Darryl’s car. Darryl, by this time is thinking “this bitch got the fucking mob after my ass.” “I can’t believe she went to this length to get to me!” What Darryl didn’t know was that his wife Sonya was with the tall guys who happened to be his buddies from Donovan’s. They knock on the car window to see what was happening. Michelle was still holding the gun up to Darryl’s face. They knock on the window again and then again. Someone then says “Darryl are you ok man?” Darryl couldn’t look nor move, the gun was way to close. Then all of a sudden Ashton Cutcher walks from around the other car and tells Darryl that he was punked! The film crew comes out with cameras and everyone starts laughing hysterically. Michelle who was holding the gun was laughing so hard she was crying. Everyone played a huge part in this charade. Darryl jumps out the car and says “ah man yall got me!” “Wifey you in on this to?” “Yep and yo ass got punked!”

For more information on this story and others contact: *Literary Diva*

Monday, January 4, 2010


Trembling in a sea of silence, I go under and can’t find my way. A way to somewhere, anywhere but where I’m at. Time goes by…tic toc-tic toc. It’s dark and lonely, no one is here but me. Inside, my soul is crumbling into little pieces that I can’t seem to find. Finding the pieces of a broken soul is not something that I can bring myself to do. They scatter and fall and I fall with them into a million little pieces. Coming up and gasping for air is hard-I go under.

A million little pieces of nothing is spread out across America. In a place where there’s so much shit banging at your door, you can’t help but gasp for air. Crumbling under the divine order is what happens to us when we can’t find our way home. Our souls are steadily gasping for air from unfinished business, to destruction of ourselves on a daily basis. When you see others going up for air and go back under you know the inevitable has occurred.

I’m not sure why the self destruction with our selves happens. For reasons not known to me but known to God, we self destruct and there go our poor souls, being taken by the cold limited darkness. I’m gasping and I like others are stuck, trapped, and lost. I try to come up but only get so far. Is it too late? Am I going to go out like this? I’m losing my energy and my mind. It’s hard to come back up to the top. As I float and find my way, I keep finding myself gasping for air.

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Friday, January 1, 2010


Smooth, slow, and fine is Caramel Jones. I see him going and coming with his long lean muscular body down Constitution Ave everyday. This brother really has it going on. Back in the day I wasn’t too fond of Caramel Jones. Let’s just say he wasn’t my type. I’ve known Mr. Caramel Jones just about all my life. He was the nerdy bookworm type and let’s just say I was the Benita apple bum girl that wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Now things are different. We still in live in chocolate city as they call it, D.C. We’ve grown into mature adults and I see him very different. He’s not the bookworm nerdy type anymore, and I am still the Benita apple bum girl, but more refined and professional. Caramel Jones has been on my mind since I heard he got elected to the senate. Young handsome and ready to take on the world is Caramel Jones.

As I go about my daily grind on capital hill I see him in passing. I’m not sure if he remembers me, but maybe I’ll nudge him a little to reintroduce myself. At this point it’s all about Caramel Jones and me. Taking the plunge into something as fine as that is what I am determined to do. As I dream of Mr. Caramel Jones I start to sweat and peak like no other time in my life. This man has me on fire and I want him more and more. All I can say is this man has my mind on lock. If I want this reunion I better make it happen.

Getting up to start my day I have butterflies in my stomach. I put on my nice suit and my spanx to make sure all that should not jiggle won’t. I grab my coffee mug and I am out the door for my chance meeting with Mr. Caramel Jones. Walking to the door to leave for work is like getting ready for the best love fest of my life. My head is spinning and I feel the passion burning in me as the blood rush through my body for the meeting with Mr. Caramel Jones. As I walk up on the hill I am jittery and eager. I see him and I can’t say anything. Seeing him walking by me, I feel like I’m still and I that’s how I know I’m in the present. My brief case drops as he walks by me. I stop and bend down to pick up my mess. “I thought I blew it…this wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” I see him doubling back to help me. This I didn’t plan on, but its working. As he comes back to help me pick up my mess that fell out of my brief case, I hurry to fix myself. He comes over to me and says “you need any help with that?” As he says that in a nice deep tone, I melt but only inside. I just want to fall to the ground. However, that can’t happen because these folks will think I’m a lunatic. I look up at him and I say “no that’s ok, I can manage.” If only he knew that I wanted more than his help. As he took it upon his self to help me I made a point to say “hey don’t I know you?” “I believe we went to school together.” He looks at me as if he was thinking. “Yes I do remember you…Shawn right?” “Yes it’s me in the flesh.” “Wow Shawn it’s been years since I’ve seen you.” “Yes I know Jason “aka” (Caramel).” “Congratulations on your election to the senate, it’s been definitely a long time.” “Thank you Shawn, and how are you doing?” “I’ve been doing great; you know the daily grind of capital hill.” As Caramel was talking to me, I was bubbling up and wanted him to wrap those strong arms around me.

When we finally finished picking up my mess, I smiled at him I see him smiling back, but eyeing me up and down. I’m thinking to myself “yes please look all you want Mr. Fine Caramel Jones, check me out.” At that moment we were silent, it seemed like an eternity, but it was only a split second. As he turned to leave I said to him “are you free to meet for coffee some time?” He looks at me like what she’s asking me! If only he was really thinking that. The real truth is he wasn’t thinking that because he smiled and told me no, he was married. That was crushing, because I wanted to connect with him. I looked at him and said “okay then I’ll see you around some time.” He smiled at me with those chocolate lips and those white teeth and walked away. As I walked off and went into my building to start my day, I thought to myself, “should I be a bad girl and get at him anyway, or should I be a good girl and leave well enough alone?” It was burning in me to be the bad girl and get at Mr. Caramel Jones. If only I could pull it off. As the day went on I was contemplating about snatching up my man Caramel Jones. It’s easy to be the bad girl and do something bad, but should I really? Well it would be fun to be sneaky and be with a man that is fine. It’s more fun then I’ve had in such a long time.

I constantly day dreamed throughout the work day about being knee deep in Caramel. As the work day ended I was asked by one of my co-workers Tony to join him for an after work drink. I politely declined. I’ve gone out with Tony before, and he’s a bit boring. I even went back to his place to continue our little date. Needless to say it turned into an evening I care not to remember. During my date with Tony, back at his place he started to come on to me, in his corny way. I hadn’t had any action in such a long time that I took the bait and decided to get my groove on. OMG! It was the worst time in the bedroom I had ever had. I could tell Tony never really saw or had any sex. The whole time we were in the sheets I laid there with my hand over my eyes thinking to myself “please hurry up and get done-this shit is whack.” After that, it was silence and I got dressed and left. Every since that night he’s been running down behind me like a dog in heat. Not what I want ever again. I got home and sat down and took off my heals and laid down on my couch and dreamt about Mr. Caramel Jones. He’s been heavily on my mind since earlier today.

I wish I had access to Mr. Caramel Jones in ways I can reminisce for years. It would be spectacular to be with someone who has it going on. Not the capital hill type that’s into just hitting it and not acknowledging you afterward. I want that someone who takes their time with my body and shower with me kisses and gentle touches that just makes me climax without even having actual sex. I long for that. It’s not like I know what Caramel Jones is all about; I just want to believe that he is that way especially with me. I am making a decision to get close to Caramel Jones no matter if wifey likes it or not. I want that man and I’m going to have him.

The next day when as I was walking up to the hill, I see Caramel Jones, walking with his long lean and muscular body. I stop him and ask him how he’s doing. He looks at me like he doesn’t want to answer, but he does anyway. I try to make small talk so he would notice my nice plump breast and round tight black girl ass. Boy did he notice, and then some. I could tell because he was tripping over his words and trying hard to keep his attention to my face. When I ask him this time to have coffee with me he gladly accepts. After getting him to say yes, I hurry and get to my office with joy. My work day went by quicker than usual. I hurried to the local star bucks coffee house on the hill to meet Mr. Caramel Jones. When I arrived he was there in all his caramel glory. I sat down and instantly he we started to talk about our school days. We laughed and giggled and talked more. I was cheesing like a hot and heavy school girl. He asked me did I want to leave and take a walk. We left the coffee shop and started walking. For some reason we headed to my place. When we walked in the door, he sat down and boy did I want to sit on him. He looked at me with those sexy dark brown eyes and when I saw that it was on. We instantly wrapped our arms around each other and started kissing and holding each other tight. He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his muscular body. As we entered the bedroom I’m thinking that we are going to get busy. Just then he throws me down on the bed, rips off my clothes. As I’m laying there naked and hot and heavy he takes off his clothes, then the unthinkable. Mr. Caramel starts hopping around on my God damn bed like a damn frog saying “rivet, rivet.” I’m like what the fuck is this shit here. I’m laying there looking at him act a straight fool and do unspeakable acts to him self. My mouth was gapping and eyes bucked! This isn’t what I pictured being knee deep in caramel to be. As I was trying to put my clothes on, Mr. Caramel started jerking his own self off and then wanted to put that shit on me, like I had anything to do with it. By that time I was mad as hell. OMG, the damn ghetto ass black chick was coming out of me then! I put my clothes on and told his ass to get the fuck out of my house and take his freaky deaky ass on somewhere. Hey I like to be a freak but not that way. After Mr. Crazy Freaky Caramel Jones left, I sat down and started laughing at the whole thing. Boy was I wrong about Mr. Caramel Jones. I said to myself “this is definitely something I don’t want to reminisce about for years.”

The next day I called my girlfriend Jen up to tell her what happened. Since it was a Saturday she told me to meet her at the star bucks. How ironic the same coffee shop where Mr. Caramel Jones and I met before all the hot mess happened. As I entered the coffee shop I see my girl Jen. I sat down and started telling Jen about what happened. Jen looked at me and started laughing. I knew it was funny but not that funny. "However it was funny now that I think about it." Then Jen tells me “Shawn that’s what your ass get for thinking every fine, muscular chocolate man in D.C is great in bed!” Then the unthinkable, Jen tells me that the same thing happened to her. I couldn’t believe it! However it was the same person Mr. Caramel Jones. I couldn’t be mad at my girl. We laughed and at the same time we said “don’t judge a book by its cover; you never know what you will get when you open it up!”

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