To Believe or Not to Believe

Okay. For those of you who know me, I mean really know me, well . . . you recognize that I tend to believe in or should I say, am open to, a lot of unconventional ideas.

Don't laugh. But. . . I believe in reincarnation. I recall years ago, an actress, her name escapes me now, stated she had lived several previous lives and the media had a field day making a mockery of her and her belief. However, I never once thought it was ludacris.

Back in college, I wrote an essay, in my Death and Dying class (which met at 8:00 a.m. during winter quarter) on why I could believe in reincarnation. I can't exactly recall all my major points, but I was open enough to acknowledge it could possibly exist.

1. We know, we as human beings, are on earth to learn life lessons through our experiences, whatever they may emcompass, be it joy, sadness, death, injury, illness, love, pain, kindness, etc. We learn, grow and develop as spiritual beings as we absorb life and elevate ourselves to be more Christ-like through our experiences.

Why wouldn't some of us have to live several lifetimes to gain enough experience to accelerate to the next spiritual level. I've been told that I've been here at least three other lifetimes. I know this sounds like a Twightlight Moment but I'm relaying what I've been told.

2. How do you explain deja vu when it happens to you? We have all experienced it at some point or another, where you have to stop and think. . . "I've seen this before, or been here before or felt this way before with this person." I recall having that experience my first time visiting Jamaica. As the plane flew over the Blue Mountains, I glanced out the window and experienced an immediate familarity. As the plane circled around in preparation for landing, I felt a sudden and unexpected peacefulness descend upon my spirit. I felt like I was coming home after being gone for a long, long time. There was excitement and happiness. . . and a joy to be back where I belonged, to my roots.

During my stay in Jamaica, I experienced even more deja vu. I sensed I had been there before, however, I knew I hadn't. The land, people, the culture, music, food, all felt familiar and safe and like family. I've never experienced that before or since in my travels.

I even found myself getting up early (believe me when I say, I never, ever do that) to have time by myself to simply sit by the pool and enjoy the dawn of a new morning. I stayed seven days and when it was time to return home, I experienced a true sadness that surprised me with its boldness. I boarded the plane for the U.S. with a new sense of relaxation and peacefulness, within. Much like when you go home, when you haven't visited in awhile, and you get pampered, spoiled, fed and rejuvenated.

3. How many of you have ever met someone, male or female, for the first time but felt as if you've known them your entire life.

I have.

The feelings are so intense because there is such a strong immediate bond, much like being reunited with a long, lost relative or spouse or other loved one. Your spirit/soul senses you've been together before, in perhaps another lifetime as sister, brother, lover, husband, friend, mother, daughter. The spirit recognizes what we can't logically understand. Until that first meeting, you never realized you missed them so intensely. There is such a longing to be around that person, in their presence, because you feel like you can't lose them again. You feel a deep sense of completeness when you are around them.

I don't know if reincarnation exists or not. . . I considered doing a past life regression hypnosis a couple of years ago but the person I wanted to facilitate it never toured in Atlanta. That is still on my list of "things to do."

Who knows? Life is mysterious and no one has all the answers or knows all its secrets. However, I've always maintained an open mind to the possibilities.

Prologue, Chapters 1 & 2 - Diary of a Stalker by Electa Rome Parks

available December 29, 2009

                                                                                         

           PROLOGUE

Darkness surrounded her with a thick cloak of protection; shadows bounced and ricocheted off the walls. She embraced it with open arms, like welcoming a long-lost friend back into the fold.

Silence. She felt safe now. While most people gravitated towards the light, she embraced the night, the cover of darkness. From experience she knew that deeds not meant to be seen or heard were best carried out in the deep, secretive confines of the night.

Quietly and painfully slow, she crept out of the shadows, cautiously pushed clothes aside, opened the closed closet door and existed with precision. Her footsteps were deliberate and calculated. She knew every creak and crevice from memory. She walked with the confident stride of someone who was comfortable with her surroundings.

Ever so cautiously, she pushed the closet door open, just an inch. Stopped and listened. Then another inch. Then another. Silence, except for the even sound of breathing. She knew he was a deep sleeper, but she still didn't want to take any chance of him waking up. Tonight wouldn't be the night when she became careless. Even though she had been here before, numerous times, this was the first time with him being inside the house.

With the slinkiness and sneakiness of a feline stalking her prey, she moved from inside the closet to the master bedroom. Stopped just short of the massive bed and simply watched. Watched and reveled in the closeness they shared. Being in the same space with him thrilled her.

She had to force herself to breath because he took her breath away. Every time. He did it for her. If only he would love her back. Even if it were only with a quarter of the love she felt for him. . . she'd still be satisfied. He slept on his back, breathing evenly, legs sprawled wide, with a thin sheet pulled up to his waist. She knew that underneath he was completely nude.

It took all she had not to reach out and touch him. She was so close, yet so far away. In her mind, he was absolutely perfect. Perfect for her. Her eyes eagerly and greedily took him in. Ravished him with her deep carnal yearning.

Why couldn't he simply love her back? This question played out in her mind over and over again, each and every day. Crippling her. Crushing her confidence. Making her crazy. Crazy like a loon. Sometimes she hated him. Hated him with a devastating passion. Those were the days she wanted to do something bad to him. Wanted to hurt him. Make him pay for not loving her.

Tonight, she simply watched. She stood there for hours and watched him peacefully sleep. If he had awakened and looked a few feet in front of him, he would have easily spotted her. Her desire to be near him overrode her fear of being caught.

Once she had her fill of him, she silently crept down the stairwell and out the front door, quietly closing it behind her. The next morning he would be none the wiser. Only the faint smell of her perfume would remain. He'd imagine he dreamt of a dark figure towering over him. Watching. And waiting. Waiting until it was time.


                                                                          PILAR

I'm your #1 fan.

It's funny how one's life can forever be changed with the utterance of four simple words: I'm your #1 fan. Well, actually, they weren't spoken, but sent to my favorite male author, Xavier Preston, by way of e-mail. Man, I love the World Wide Web.

I couldn't believe it; I had recently finished reading his latest national bestseller, Secret Desires, and to put it mildly, I was simply blown away. I felt like the main character was speaking directly to me, like she was inside my brain, picking it apart, piece-by-piece. I could relate to the storyline . . . totally . . . and the ending was spectacular, took my breath away. Secret Desires stayed with me, languishing inside my soul, like a sweet kiss that lingers into the early morning hours as dawn approaches.

Even though I am an avid reader, I should be since I'm a freelance writer; I typically do not contact authors about their books. I don't get caught up in the entire groupie side of the literary industry. Yes, it exists! Surprise, surprise! There is an entire circle of women all across the country, sometimes entire book clubs, who follow the lives and movement of African-American male writers the same way groupies chase after rappers, rock stars, athletes and actors.

In the book industry, it is just a bit more subtle. For example, the book club president might fly the handsome, fine, articulate male author into her city for the weekend, to discuss his most recent hot release at the monthly book club meeting and to perhaps get the added bonus of getting up close and personal between the sheets. It happens.

For me, however, this was different; Xavier Preston made a lasting impression. And generally it took a lot to impress me because I wasn't into the ordinary and I was determined to tell him, how impressed I was. That is, after I went out and purchased all his previous novels. I had a bit of catching up to do.

A week later, after devouring his other six novels from cover to cover like a delicious gourmet meal, savoring every word, I knew I had to make contact. I simply had an unrelenting urge to speak with him. I couldn't get his lyrical, rhythmic, flowing words out of my head. This man moved me. Moved me like I had never been moved before. I felt a connection. A deep connection.

Early one morning, before I began writing an article for one of the local magazines I frequently wrote for, I sent Xavier Preston my sincere, honest thoughts.

“Mr. Preston, I'm your #1 fan. I know you hear that all the time from readers, but I really, truly am. Your characters stay with me long after I've consumed the last page of your books. I never want your stories to end; they move me. You are super-talented, put these other authors to shame, and I'd love for you to autograph my books. By the way, I have all your novels. When will you be in Atlanta? A true, die-heart fan, Pilar.”

Much to my surprise and pleasure, a couple of days later, I received a simple response.

“Pilar, what a lovely name. Thank you, for the sweet e-mail. I'm so pleased you've enjoyed my books over the years. I'd love to meet you as well. I enjoy meeting and greeting my readers. I will be signing at Medu Bookstore, at 5:00 PM next Saturday at Greenbriar Mall. Please, stop by if you get the opportunity. I would love to see you there. Xavier.”

With a pounding heartbeat, I couldn't believe what I was reading and I re-read it a few more times for clarity. Wanted to make sure I was reading correctly that Xavier Preston asked to meet me. Me. Next weekend couldn't arrive soon enough.





It was Friday afternoon, a week after I had received Xavier's e-mail, and I was lying across my bed, admiring the author photo of Xavier on the back cover of his debut title. Outlining his features with my index finger. He had such soulful, penetrating brown eyes and the sexiest pair of dimples I had ever seen. Such a handsome man. I was so caught up in looking at the picture that I almost forgot I had Leeda on the phone. Leeda and I had been friends since my days in Baltimore. I moved to Atlanta almost four years ago. Had to get out of Baltimore. Held too many memories, most of them bad.

“Pilar, for the life of me, I can't understand why you are so excited about meeting this author. My God, he's only an author. It's not like he's Jay-Z or Denzel,” she exclaimed in her usual authoritative sounding voice, with a bit of amusement.

I sighed inwardly because Leeda didn't understand, or maybe couldn't understand, no matter how many times or how hard I tried to explain it to her.

“Xavier gets me. Period. He gets me. Read Secret Desires and you'll understand. It's as if he patterned the main character after me. Like he peeked inside my bedroom window and started writing. It's almost eerie. I have never met this man a day in my life, but it's like he reached inside my mind and penned my thoughts on paper.”

"Pilar, there are many women who think exactly as you do. They are looking for a handsome soulmate and think there is only one true love for them. You aren't the only woman in the world who is a hopeless romantic. Your thoughts are not unique in that aspect."

Leeda could never understand, so I simply gave up trying to convince her that this was different. Xavier was different; I could feel it deep in my bones.

"Well, it won't hurt anything for me to attend the signing, after all, he did invite me. I can at least get my books autographed. Years from now, who knows, they might be very valuable."

"True. Just don't go there with expectations that are only in your mind," Leeda said.

"Whatever," I stated with an exasperated sigh.

"Pilar, don't get so defensive. You know how you are. We've discussed it before. Every man you meet who is kind to you is not the one. I don't want to see you hurt again."

"Please, lets not even go there," I said.

"Okay, if you say so. Just remember, life is what you make it. You don't need a man to make you whole."

"I know that but I have a feeling that Xavier Preston is going to change my life for the better," I stated with a huge smile. I was on a natural high. A Xavier high.


                                                                            XAVIER

Never trust a big butt and a smile.

I've been in the literary game for several years now, with

seven best-selling novels to my name. I figured out a long time

ago that I have the gift of gab, of storytelling. . . and I love

women. All shapes, sizes, colors and ethnicities. I don't

discriminate; I believe in equal opportunity. Becoming a

novelist was a natural progression seeing as how I've been telling tall tales my entire life. Women purchase most books, which is a good thing since my target market is definitely women, especially African American. If I depended on men for my livelihood, I would literally be a starving artist.

At this stage of the game, I have pretty much seen it all and

done it all. If I must say so myself, I've led an exciting life. The stories I could tell. However, my "psycho bitch" radar must have been malfunctioning when this chick named Pilar first approached me. Damn, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth just to spit that bitch's name off of my tongue.

Never in a million years could anyone have told me that sweet face and banging body would spell trouble with a capital T. Never in a million years. I guess it's true. . . never judge a book by it's cover. If I knew then what I know now, I would have pressed delete real quick when I received her very first e-mail.

"I'm your #1 fan!" Pilar didn't send an e-mail; she sent a virus, in the form of her very presence.

So sweet and accommodating---a boost to my already over-inflated ego, at least that's what I've been told. I received e-mails like that all the time from adoring female fans, so it never crossed by mind that inviting Pilar to my book signing would set my nightmare into motion, with my life quickly spiraling out of control and Pilar as the driver.

Even if I wrote the events that transpired into one of my novels, no one would believe them. They'd think Pilar was just a fabricated, figment of my vivid imagination. Sometimes I think she is. Wake up hoping and praying that she is. However, I'm not that lucky.

I wish. . . I wish I could go back and rewrite the storyline, which is my life. Do some line editing and write that crazy ass bitch out of the major scenes, hell the entire book. No, I'd kill her off in the first couple of chapters. Have her die a slow and torturous death. Yeah, that would make me happy. Very happy indeed.

Now, it's much too late for that. I have to deal with the consequences of my actions---or lack of. It's true---that line from an old BBD song---never trust a big butt and a smile.

I'm hardheaded; I had to learn the hard way.

Living a Purposeful LIfe

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. --- Marianne Williamson

The above is one of my favorite quotes; it's so powerful and empowering and uplifting. Yesterday, I finished an "untitled" manuscript that delves into how precious and short life truly is. It follows a group of friends who are reunited at a tragic moment in each of their lives.

Yes, life is short and precious but we can all make a difference before we pass on to the next state of being. I talk about making a difference all the time and recently I sat down and reevaluated my definition or concept of what I really mean. When I first started writing on a professional level, I used to state that I wrote for entertainment purposes only. That is true. . . partly. However, on another level, I realized I have been given a gift and I can't afford to write just for entertainment. There has to be a deeper purpose.

You say, "But your books aren't literary. They are spicy and fun and drama-filled and relationship based."

True. They are.

But. . . they all carry underlying messages, life lessons that readers can relate to because they or someone they know have experienced them. I used to think making a difference meant making it in a huge, massive way. I thought it meant having an impact on millions of people. Then one day it dawned on me, my books and blogs are read by thousands, not millions (yet), but it really doesn't matter because if I've touched somebody, anybody, then my purpose has been served.

I realize God has bestowed favor upon me for just this reason. I receive emails, sometimes letters, all the time about how my books have made a difference in someones life. . . even if it was to take them away from their own problems for 200+ pages. It's fulfilling to know I've touched someone, connected with a stranger at some level through my words. Words are powerful! The emails are my blessings, my confirmations that I'm doing what God's favor has chosen for me to do.

Sometimes, not always, it's not about the quantity, but the quality. Touching one, two, three here, four or five over there, that's where the magic comes into play. I've learned regardless of what advertisers and the media wants us to believe, it doesn't take much to make most people happy. We all want the same things. We want to feel loved, protected, happy and understood by another being. We want to connect.

Whether it's a smile, a hug, a few kind words, we all have the power to make a difference in the lives of others. I think back to all the times I've felt alone and abandoned, felt like no one understood me---that's when someone came along and said just the right words to make it all better. It may have been, "Good job." "Keep doing what you're doing." "Keep it moving, sista." "You inspire me." "I love your positive energy."

It didn't matter.

However, those words lit a fire underneath me. It gave me the motivation and desire to continue on because I was making a difference, maybe not in the big way I imagined in all my perfect dreams, but in my own way.

Life takes us down many dirt roads, side alleys and avenues before we reach our final destination. Life is short, life is precious, make a difference so that your living will not be in vain. If we realized how much power we truly have, it would be mind boggling. Don't diminish your power.

I Believe the Children are Our Future

I realize I will probably take some flack for stating this, but so be it. Some things simply have to be said: One of my biggest pet peeves is single women placing a man before their child.

Personally, I think it is appalling for any mother, single or married, to place a man ahead of her child. Yet, I know of and hear stories of this happening all the time. Oftentimes with dire consequences.

I realize, for AA women especially, there is a shortage of men and noticeably so here in the ATL, the ratio of men to women is astounding. So the men of Atlanta can and do get away with a lot of unacceptable bullshit. However, we all know that they couldn't get away with this if we, as women, didn't allow nor tolerate it. But. . . it's one thing to know and another to act on it.

I have no tolerance level for women who constantly parade a barrage of man after man in front of their child. One week it's Uncle Mike, a month later, Uncle Paul and on and on and on. I don't believe a man should even be introduced to a child unless the relationship is heading towards marriage. It is too confusing to the child. Translation: Don't lay up with different men, any man, in your bed in front of your children. Your son or daughter shouldn't have to wake up to a half clothed man walking out of mommy's bedroom. Children aren't stupid and besides, what message is this sending to the children? Both the male and female child will internalize this differently.

Secondly, stop allowing men who aren't the babies' father to discipline your child. That child is your responsibility, not some stranger you bring in off the street, who may or may not be in your life a year from now. If you find yourself with child, but unmarried to the babies' daddy, then unfortunately you have to act as man and dad if the biological father is not in your life. It's okay for the child to have a mentor or father figure, but when it ultimately comes down to it, no matter how you slice and dice it, the child is your responsibility.

Finally, don't move yourself and your child in with a man. Don't shack up when a child is in the picture. I firmly believe that children should be bought up to see, from your example, positive, loving, striving relationships. The mother depending upon a man, and not having her own, is not positive reinforcement. Young girls, especially, need to be exposed to independent, strong mothers that set goals and achieve.

Again, I know my comments may not please some, but I also know some women will do or say almost anything to have and keep a man in their life and bed. Lets simply not forget the children in the process. That's all I'm asking. They are the future.

Secret Lover

My lover is like no other. . .
The only one for me. . .
My lover takes me to new heights and beyond. . .
I yearn to be near, caught up in your delicious rapture. . .

You come to me during the deep recess of dawn, catching me in the midst of lovely dreams and the beginning and promise of a new day.

Oh, your touch sends shivers up and down my spine, arching my back, smiling even in sleep. You do that for me. . . you make me smile. Reaching for you, trying to pull you closer, to be a part of you, seeking out your mystery, so that I may never lose my joy or the passion you bring.

My heart beats for you. Can you hear it?

Your words, soft whispers in my ear, they are magic. They move my soul to depths I've never known before or after you. You comfort, hypnotize, seduce and arouse me all in one, with one caress. Only you. Only you can make me feel the tings and zings of life, passion and depths of living and I feel it radiate from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.

Ummm. You make me feel so good. I sigh, exhaling, taking you in, all of you; damn, it can't get any better than this. Do you know what you do to me?

You know how to stroke the inferno flames that take me to the peak of the mountaintop and how to ease me back down into that peacefulness of heaven on earth where it all makes sense.

You move me like no other. Oh, you make me come alive and tremble and shudder from just the mere thought of being near you. When you embrace me, I feel you deep inside, my very spirit cries out and rejoices in your presence. I glow. Only you. . .

Stay with me. Never leave me. Stay true to me as I'll always be dedicated to you. I adore you.

My heart. My soul. My muse. My lover.

Who are you?

Why of course, you're my lover of words.

I am Phenomenal!

I was raised with a healthy level of positive self-esteem! I can thank my mom for that. I've always believed people are people. Titles, awards, status, degrees, money, prestige, beauty. . . it means nothing to me. When it's all stripped down and set to the side, people are people. If you are cut, regardless of who you are, you will bleed red.

I measure people from a level of integrity, morality and character.

I've never gotten caught up in thinking that because someone has a certain title, especially during my professional working career, that I'm suppose to bow down to them. Not!

There's a very big difference between showing respect and kissing your ass, brown nosing or thinking less of myself when I'm around you. I've never even embraced the word that classified the difference between the boss and the employee. Insubordinate.

I'm not insubordinate to anyone but the man above---God. Therefore, I'll never allow anyone to intimidate, belittle, or even attempt to make me feel a level below them.

I feel that everyone from the janitor to the CEO of a company is to be respected and admired for the job they perform, because it is necessary for us to have our various duties and roles, but when it's all said and done---we are just human beings, regardless of race, sex, or nationality and that in itself places us all on the same level.

Life lesson: Created in the image of God, you are phenomenal! Don't allow anyone to tell you any differently.

Toxic People

1. Treat others as you'd like to be treated.

2. To have friends, you must be a friend.

3. Expect to be treated a certain way---a respectful way.

4. Never trust a liar.


These are just some of the creeds my children have heard from me at various times
during their short lifetime. They are simple antidotes that have served me well in life and I gladly pass them on to Brandon and Briana. There are many others, too many to name, that I share as well when the need arises.

Expect to be treated a certain way. We receive only what we allow.

I live by that on a day-to-day basis. I am special; we all are. This statement is not coming from a place of arrogance but from a stance of spiritually. I am special. And because of that, I expect to be handled as such. I value my life, my body, my intellect, my talent and I expect others too as well. If a person can't handle that, well, they need to get to stepping because I don't need them in my life.

I will not allow someone, anyone, to talk down to me or attempt to make me feel like a lesser person. I know clearly who and what I am. Do you?

I don't need anyone in my life who isn't supportive, encouraging, inspiring and positive because I try to bring those qualities to the table when I deal with others. I can't deal with, nor do I have to, people who are unhappy with their lives for whatever reasons, so they attempt to make everyone around them unhappy and miserable. Does that sound like someone you know?

If you are unhappy with your life, then change it, you have that power in your hands to make a difference in how you live your life. Don't go through life miserable; it's too short. Make a change(s). Be happy. Be free.

I can't tolerate people who always see the negative side of every situation they find themselves in. The cup is always half empty, not half full. They complain, complain, complain --- no matter how trivia the situation may be. Ask yourself: Will it matter a year from now?

I try not to surround myself with people who are constantly talking about someone else. People they know and even the ones they don't know personally are fair game. Take a quick look in the mirror before you throw stones.

I refuse to deal with people who think their opinion is the only one. They talk over you, under you, refusing to let you get a word in edgewise. We can agree to disagree and remain civil. Here's a clue: The loudest talker doesn't translate to the smartest one.

I hate being around people who as long as they are sharing and talking about things of interest to them, they are fine, but as soon as it's the other person's turn, they lose interest. Wake up. The world doesn't revolve around you. Share in the joys of others.

Life lesson: Life is too short to waste on people who sap you of your positivity.

Talk To Me

Alone in a room, it's just me and You
I feel so lost 'cause I don't know what to do
Now what if I choose the wrong thing to do
I'm so afraid, afraid of disappointing You

There have been numerous times in my life when I have had moments of despair and self-doubt. Even when in my heart, my soul, my very being, I knew the answer. We all do. Deep down, when we are silent, the answers are there. . . if only we will be still and listen to our inner voice.

That inner voice is God. God is always with us. He wants us to succeed, to reach our destiny.

So I need to talk to You and ask You for Your guidance
Especially today when my life is so cloudy
Guide me until I'm sure
I open up my heart, oh, yeah

There have been so many times in my life when, like now, I feel compelled to write. Write because the overwhelming emotions and feelings that are leaping and raging within can only be placed on paper, captured for eternity, that one moment in time. . . to read and feel over and again during the quiet, endearing moments of life. Moments like this come far and few, when you want to reach back and remember, "Oh yeah, that's how I felt."

I wouldn't describe myself as religious, but more as a spirtual person. I know God is real; I feel Him all around me. Each and every day. He's been with me through some of the most difficult moments of my life; that's why I'm still here to write about it. He carried me through when I couldn't walk through it.

My hopes and dreams are fading fast
I'm all burned out and I don't think my strengths gonna last
So I'm crying out, crying out to You
Lord, I know that You're the only one who is able to pull me through

God has been by my side for my joys and triumphs as well. He has celebrated my successes and knew they would happen because they were all written in my divine plan. I simply had to believe I could do great things because I am created in His image.

He has heard me call out his name and He has answered my call, time and time again. Sometimes I felt as if I didn't deserve his divine grace. . . but he still gently gathered me snugly in his arms and soothed my soul. Told me everything was going to be okay and you know what, it was.

So show me how to do things Your way
Don't let me make the same mistakes over and over again
Your will be done and I'll be the one to make sure that it's carried out
And in me, I don't want any doubt, that's why

There have been numerous times when I've been confused and I've prayed and asked Him to provide guidance. Send me a sign, send me a message, send me someone. . . something to show me, I'm like that; I always have to be shown. He didn't fret, didn't blink.

All I need to do is just hear a single word from You
I open, I open, open up my heart
Just one word could make a difference in what I do
Lord, guide me until I'm sure

Well, He did it again. In another moment of self-doubt, I asked for guidance and He delivered. Sometimes the very thing I know without a shadow of a doubt, is the one thing I fight, subconsciously, against. I say out loud negative thoughts that enter my mind: "Why me? Why aren't things happening faster for me? Why do I want the one thing that brings me the most frustration? Why do I let people bring me down?"

And He always eagerly responds with wisdom: "Why not you? This is your calling, your gift; use it wisely and don't take it for granted. You have the ability to reach thousands and thousands of people with your words; you have the ability to make a difference with your stories because no matter the format, they touch people. . . because they relate to the realness and vulnerability your characters reveal. Don't let the naysayers and the dream dashers allow you to lose your vision and divine destiny.

"Things are happening just the way they are suppose to happen. Don't forget, things happen in my time, not yours. You are exactly where you are supposed to be and no one, no one, can take that from you. What's meant for you, is meant for you. Be patient, my child. Patience is a virtue.

"You want the one thing that brings you frustration because that one thing speaks to you the loudest, speaks to you from a place within; a space that no one else can touch or see or hear or smell but you. Remember that. It's special; it's your magic. That's why even though you butt heads; you could never turn away from it because it defines you in as much as you bring it alive and place dept to it. Passions run deep. . and strong. . . and real. Embrace it and it'll love you back ten-fold."

I always pray for God to speak to me. . . to show me. . . to silence my struggles. You see, I've been nervous, pondering my next move and uncertain of the future, but He knows. . .He knows the beginning, middle and end. For it was spoken even before I was born.

I'm so happy that good news was sent my way, at the precise moment that I needed to hear it. Always right on time. . . with a warm spirit as the deliverer.

God is good! All the time!

You're the lover of my soul
Captain of my sea
I need a word from You
That's why I open up my heart

100 Questions

What's your purpose in life? Does hell really exist? Why do the good die young? Do good girls really finish last? Is it better to marry for love or money? Do you believe in the Big Bang Theory or God created the heaven and earth? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Does love really conquer all? Does age bring wisdom? Is life fair? Is all fair in love and war? Is the grass greener on the other side? Does extraterrestrials exist? If you follow your passion, will money follow? Whose sexier, Denzel or Idris? Is it true, the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice? Is there life after death? Will the world end in 2012? Have you seen any miracles lately? Can you survive on love alone? Is abortion right or wrong? Are lying and murdering equal sins? Can pedophiles be reformed? Are young African-American males on the path to destruction? What is "good" hair? What would you do to be successful? Is life predestined? How far will honesty and hard work take you? Do we live in a world of reality or perception? Will an unhappy person equate to an unhappy life? Does God like ugly? Is mind really over matter? If he hits you once, will he hit you again? Does human kindness always triumph over cruelty? Does size matter? Does hand and shoe size mean anything? Is it possible to love two different men? Is our legal system fair to minorities? Is the SAT test fair to our children? How do you know the sky is blue? Is education the key to success? Has rap music corrupted our children? Is reading fundamental? Is sex overrated or underrated? Can you tell if you'll sleep with a man within five minutes of meeting him? Are women still treated as second class citizens? If you had to change one thing in your life, what would it be? What's your best feature? Is there a God? Have you witnessed any miracles lately? Is the devil real? Can men ever be content with one woman? Are there guardian angels? Do we each have a soul mate? Does our attitudes affect our lives? Would you rather have money or good health? Would you do something illegal if you knew you'd never get caught? What's your secret? Would you betray a friend? Is love blind? Do you believe in same sex marriages? Would you alter your appearance? Do you believe in marriage? Can we ever truly be happy? Could you kill to protect your family? Is beauty skin deep? Would you rather be with a very handsome man or an average one? Would you stay with him if he was horrible in bed? Does the media taint our image of the world around us? Do you strive on drama? Can money buy you class? Will you do almost anything for your child? Can you tolerate great pain? Would you die to save your child? What really brings you joy? Could you be with someone if you mother didn't accept him? Could you lie in court to protect someone? What are your regrets? What do you see when you look in the mirror? Have you accepted Jesus as your Lord and savior? Do you literally believe everything in the Bible? Do you think certain people have the abilities to see into the future? Do you believe in past lives? Can you really tell the character of a man by the why he treats him mother? Can a woman raise a boy into a man? Is love colorblind? Would you choose a man over your child? What is your biggest pet peeve? Are you living life or simply existing? Who is the craziest relative in your family? What is the most daring thing you've ever done? Can you tell a lot about a person from her friends? Do you smile every day? What do you think of homeless people? If you died today, how would you be remembered? Are you a follower or a leader? What are your dreams? Who are your heroes? Do you take a moment to smell the roses? Do you love yourself? What do you believe in and would you die for it?

Dynamics of a Family

"Drive carefully, be safe, and keep in contact with everyone on your drive home."

Those were the words that were spoken over the phone to me by my stepfather, Laymon, the day heavy rains hit metro Atlanta and caused historic flooding.

His words brought both comfort and tears. Why the tears you may ask? The tears came because I wasn't expecting anyone, besides my husband, to call concerned about my safety and well being. I know that's a drastic statement, but it's true. To understand that statement, you have to understand my family. The family dynamics.

Most of my family members, a very small group, do not freely express emotion; it comes hard for them. They show the world a tough exterior, whereby the interior is soft and cuddly. I realize I am very loved but I know this from actions, not words. Actions do speaker louder than words but sometimes. . . words are nice, too.

If my mom were alive that phone call would have been expected because she was always concerned about my safety, with me working in downtown Atlanta, and simply by me being a black woman in this crazy world of ours. My mom was a scary cat in some ways; she wouldn't take a shower unless someone was in the house with her. Many times I had to delay going home in order for her to take one. Yet, on the other hand, she'd stand up with a powerful and strong voice for anything she believed in and felt passionately about.

I've spoken in other blogs about the death of family members over the last few years. All the pillars of my family are gone and sometimes I wonder if things will ever be the same again. Then I realize I can't live in the past; we have to create new beginnings. Of course, I have my immediate family and cousins that I see on a non consistent basis. However, no one has risen to the position as the matriach and that is sadly missing.

Life has changed since I lost the "wise" ones whose words and comments kept me rooted, comforted and ground in family and tradition. I still remember how happy I'd be when my Uncle Robert would say: "You looking pretty today, gurl." "I miss you, when you gonna move back to Georgia where you belong. Ain't nothing like family." Or my Aunt Doll saying, "Come here and give me a hug. How you been doing? Still ain't no bigger than a pea. You need to come by and visit me more often. "I cooked some collards, chicken, corn bread and potato pie. Fix you a plate to take with you. Foils on the counter." "Or my Aunt Cat saying: "I saw you in the paper again, keep up the good work."

Mostly I miss my mom saying: "I'm proud of you." Or her bragging to her friends about me. Now. . . achievements come and I move on to the next goal without much fanfare because I don't expect to receive it.

Eventually, just a lingering emptiness remains, unspoken.

I'm so happy and rejoice in the fact that I'm raising a son and daughter who are not afraid to say, "I love you," or bestow hugs and kisses, even when their friends are around. That makes my day and places a big smile on my face.

Why Can't We All Just Get Along?

I have a hobby. . . I have been a casual observer of life, people, relationships and their dynamics for many years now. It's fascinating work. As I've mentioned before, one of my favorite pastimes is to sit in a busy shopping mall or other heavily trafficked/traveled venue and simply people watch. Watch and observe. Oh, and listen. It's amazing what one can see and hear by simply sitting back; it makes for great visual and dialogue in my contemporary fiction books.

However for the life of me, in observing group dynamics, I've never been quite able to figure out why some people think they are better than others. Superior is another term. It's an amazing phenomenon. It shows in everything about them from how they relate or don't relate to others; it shows in their actions or lack thereof; it shows in body language, conduct and demeanor. Their nose is so high in the air that if a heavy rainfall came down, they would drown.

I've never understood how some people try to make themselves look better by attempting to make others feel small. Maybe it's simply human nature. Oh, it's done in various ways: by exclusion, by forming cliques, by subtle comments or looks. Most of all it's sad. If belittling others makes you feel bigger, better and superior, then you have serious self-esteem issues. Seek therapy as soon as possible. Run, don't walk.

One of the worst scenarios: I hate it, simply hate it, when another woman literally looks me up and down. From the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. . . and then doesn't speak.

Coming in a close second: Don't you just hate it when you have to almost force someone to speak to you? They are looking over your head, around you, through you. . . and then suddenly they see you. . . and speak without an ounce of sincerity.

Do until others as you'd have them do until you!

You see. . . I'm not a hater, never have been and never will be. Excuse me if I feel it is my moral obligation and duty to be positive, uplifting and real. That's who I am. Isn't that what genuine, nice people do? I get so much more out of smiling, speaking, embracing, mentoring, encouraging, engaging, developing. . .

I personally believe that no matter how far or how high you may go in life: what was in you to begin with will only shine brighter, be it good or bad.

Speaking from Beyond the Grave

I am seriously thinking about starting a personal journal for each of my children, Brandon and Briana, for when I am gone.

No, I don't have any immediate plans to pass away anytime soon. God willing, I hope to live a long, healthy and productive life. However, I know from experience that the best-laid plans don't always pan out the way we would like them to.

My plans are to leave behind a journal so that my children can always have a piece of me with them. I hope that doesn't sound too morbid. I realize I will always, hopefully, be in their hearts and memories, but wouldn't it be cool to physically have a record/journal of my thoughts, hopes, fears, joys, triumphs, failures, loves, dreams and pains? They may not appreciate it now, but when they become adults, I think they will.

This is something I'd like to do because I recognize how I would love to have the opportunity to sit down and have one last conversation with my mother. Yet, I guess I do, in my very vivid dreams. I have always had so many questions that I was never able to ask.

Believe me, I don't usually sit around pondering my own immortality any more than other people, but occasionally I think about how life will be for my family when I have moved on to the next level.

I guess I have always had a slight fascination with death and dying. Who else would have had a Death and Dying class at 8:00 a.m., in the morning, winter quarter when I attended college? It was actually a great class and I took a lot from it. I wish I still had those old journal entries we had to write each and every day.

I've always believed in alternative ways of thinking and I've never allowed myself into thinking only "this" or "that" is the absolute right or wrong way. I've always questioned everything and thought of the what ifs, ands, buts and could ofs for everything in my life.

So. . . that's it. I've released it to the universe. It's a done deal as I have now committed to the project. Since I believe in seasons and cycles in life, I think I'll start this process in January 2010.

Swimming in Opposite Directions

I am a Pisces. I have always been interested in astrology since I was a little girl and I read my first horoscope. Seems like my life has been a continuous quest to discover the "real" true essence of me. Electa Bridgett Rome Parks. Pisces is the symbol of fish swimming in two opposite, distinct directions.

It is still amazing that that categorizes me in a nutshell because I realize I can be such a contradiction to most. For instance, even though I have always been quiet and laid back; I'm also very opioninated and vocal (whether verbally or written) when I am passionate about a topic or subject.

I embrace everything steeped in tradition; in fact, sometimes I think I should have been born in another century and time. On the other hand, I'm not conservative at many levels. I'm always open to other ideas, beliefs, customs, thoughts and anything considered outside the box. I probably believe in "stuff" that some people would deem crazy. Again, I'm forever on a quest to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. . . to figure out the great mystery of life.

I am most definitely a true, hopeless romantic; I admit it. You see, I'm a prissy, girly girl (woman) and I adore sappy, romantic movies. . . I have even been known to shed a few tears while watching them. The entire idea of a black knight in shining armour riding in to whisk me away is intriguing and exciting. Visualize the final scene of An Officer and a Gentlemen and Urban Cowboy. I'm not going to lie; I love, love, love those movies and have watched them countless times, with the same reaction. The concept of a soul mate, that one person made just for you, who completes and complements your life, man, that just takes my breath away. Blows me away. Yet, with all that said, I don't believe in happily ever after endings. I'm too much of a realist and I accept that no one is perfect. And. . . with imperfections comes grief and disappointments.

Contradictions are present everywhere in my life and have also been evident during my literary career. The genres I write under are classified as contemporary fiction and erotica. My novels are known for having elements of drama, volatile relationships, a topical issue and most of all, raciness.

From the outside looking in, my novels are everything that I am not (on some levels). And. . . that's the great beauty of being a writer. . . having the ability to create and structure characters the way I see fit. From day one, my novels have always carried my name, not a pen name. Electa Rome Parks is my real name, not a pen name as some readers have thought. I'm very proud of my creations, my babies, and have never felt the need to hide behind a false name. Side note: I do realize there are other reasons authors use pen names to conceal their identities.

Yet, from family and friends who know me well, at one point or another the inevitable question has been raised. Why do you write such spicy novels? Why don't you write inspiration or Christian fiction or literary? My answer remains the same: "Because I don't want to. Contemporary fiction and erotica speaks to me. I can deliver my messages and be just as effective this way."


No, my novels aren't literary masterpieces that can be broken down and dissected by the best literary reviewers of our times. I write for entertainment purposes and the desire that the reader takes away my underlying life lessons in the process. I adore writing about imperfect people living their imperfect lives in an imperfect world. No. Most of my novels don't have a happily ever after ending because life isn't that sweet, and cozy and tidy. Mishaps, dysfunctional relationships and sexual gratification is a part of all our lives. . . it's human nature.

Who knows? I learned long ago to never say never. Never say what you will never do or do. You never know where life will take you. Down the line, one day, I hope to write an inspirational novel because I think I have many life lessons to share. I think I'm what one would classify as an old soul and I connect with people because they sense a level of sincerity and realness in my demeanor.

In the meantime, I'm simply happy that my novels are touching lives, connecting with my readers based on the many emails, letters (yes, letters) and feedback I receive at signings. Puts a big smile on my face every time. My readers can relate to my imperfect characters doing what imperfect people do, including having sex (LOL) and that makes it all worthwhile.

Truth or Dare

Truth or Dare

Truth or Dare. Have you ever heard of this game? It's a game my friends and I used to play, back during our college days. It was simple, fun and revealing. Very revealing. Truth or Dare is played by at least two or more people. The more participants, the more fun it is.

Participants sit in a circle, preferably on the floor (with favorite alcoholic beverage in hand. LOL.) and basically go around the circle, starting left, to each person by asking a question, which has to be answered with the absolute truth. Or the player can decide not to answer the question and therefore has to take the dare.

Sounds simple? It could be. . . depending upon how open you were to revealing your truths to sometimes, complete strangers or depending on how daring you were to perform unknown stunts (which were usually embarrassing in some form or fashion).

However, that was the absolute beauty of the game. You never knew what question was going to be asked until it was your turn and if you chose dare rather than answer the question, you had no option but to perform it. At that point, there was no turning back. You chose carefully and cautiously.

Some of the random questions were:

At what age did you lose your virginity?
What's your favorite sexual position?
Who is your least favorite person in this room?
What do you hate about_______? (someone in the room)
Would you participate in a threesome?

Remember we were college students, back in the day, everything was sexual in nature, and these were daring, bold questions to be asked and answered. The dares were usually extreme and never tasteful. Sometimes, one of the participants would take mercy on you and give you an easy question or dare. Sometimes, not most of the time.

Some of the random dares were:

Knock on the dorm room next door and moon the students in there.
Run down the hallway butt naked.
French kiss the person next to you.
Tell your secret crush that you like him or her.
Take two shots of liquor.

It's funny because I recall telling the truth the majority (98%) of the time. I rarely chose the dares. Me, quiet Electa, revealing her truths to a room full of strangers, male and female. Empowering. Friends would bring friends and you'd end up with a room full of people who didn't really know one another. Maybe you nodded or said hello in class or you saw each other at frat parties or from a distance across the yard. Maybe a basketball game. And now, suddenly you know their most intimate thoughts and secrets. It made you see that person in an entirely new light. Eye-opening.

I loved playing Truth or Dare and many late Saturday nights or early Sunday mornings would find me participating. . . and having the time of my life. Those were the days. When I look back on those years, I see myself laughing, unafraid, bold and free. Always laughing. Dancing like no one was watching. I had so many dreams yet to be fulfilled. There was magic in the air. The sky was the limit. To be young, single and the world as your canvas. . .

Most people in my inner circle would most likely describe me as very private. Not simply private, but very private, yet when I blog I reveal a side of myself, my truths, my reality, to the world. As seen through my eyes and my eyes only. I realized by playing Truth or Dare or via blogging, it allows me to place my truths on the table to be dissected, scrutinized, questioned and absorbed. And in the process I am free.

It's not about the reader; it's all about me and allowing my thoughts to be read, that gives them power.

In revealing your truths, you are liberated. You are stripped down to who you are as a person. You are vulnerable. There are so many fakers in this world we live in and most people rarely allow the true, real side of ourselves to be peeled back like an onion, revealing many layers, for all to view. Sometimes the truth is ugly. Sometimes it is painful. Sometimes it holds scars. Deep scars. But. . . on the flip side there is beauty as well. So much beauty. Good or bad, in the end, they are yours alone.

That is what blogging does and that is what Truth or Dare did for me and in the process I see myself for who I really and truly am. I've always said writing is my therapy. And I've always wanted to look in the mirror and know who and what was peering back.

Looking back, I didn't want to participate in outlandish behavior, so I rarely chose Dare. However, I had my moments when I reluctantly did. There were some truths that I wasn't ready to reveal to the world, wasn't ready to share. There were some that I hadn't worked through myself and chose to keep carefully hidden behind closed door until they were ready to be revealed. Just like in blogging, there are some topics I'm not ready or able to explore yet.

When you break it all down, everyone is a product of his or her truths. Our very own personal truths determine who we are as a person. Our truths determine what type of life we lead, how successful we are or not. Our truths are the very fabric or fiber of our being.

We are who we believe we are.

Hate Him or Love Him. . . you still have to admit. . .

Terrell Owens is a lot of things -- narcissist, team cancer, fan of front-yard topless sit-ups during press conferences -- but you can never accuse him of not being fine.

Everybody who knows me KNOWS that I have been in full blown lust with Terrell Owens, AKA, T.O. since the first moment I saw his commercial advertising his not-so-popular reality show, The T.O. Show. Mind you, I'm not a sports fanatic or could even be described as an average sport's fan (sports is not my cup of tea). I had only heard of T.O. from listening to my husband speak of him and from random sport's reports; I knew T.O. had a tendency to run his mouth, alot. Translation: Terrell garnered a reputation as being arrogant, uncontrollable, not a team player and a loose cannon. When he opened his mouth to speak, there wasn't any telling what would come out and that made a lot of people nervous, I suppose.

All of that means absolutely nothing to me. I simply appreciate a fine, chocolate brother. . . and T.O. is definitely fine with a capital F. And oh, by the way, yes I did state that I am married. However, being married doesn't mean that a person is blind, deaf and dumb. I still have eyes.

Anyone who can look at T.O.'s photo and not readily admit his body is a piece of art, all by itself, is blind. I now understand and appreciate why artist will sculpture and paint canvases of people in the nude. The human body holds such beauty and strength.

However, I digress. The point of my tale is that after declaring my lust for T.O.(which in and of itself, makes me a cougar, I guess) and admitting my guilty pleasure is to watch his reality show every Monday night like clockwork, I didn't get a lot of love from my sistahs. Nope, I wasn't feeling the love, ladies.

I received responses and questions such as: I can't believe you are watching that show. How can you watch that show knowing his preference for non-African American women? Oh, I can't stomach his show and his taste in women. I can't stand, T.O. He's a joke. And the list goes on. . . I began to feel like I was betraying my sisterhood if I watched the show. However, lust beat out sisterhood. LOL.

I'm not going to lie; I admit I was a bit turned off as well when I discovered his preference appeared to be non African-American women (mainly white and exotic looking chicks). I definitely do not consider myself prejudice or racist in any form or fashion, however, I also do not condone when one person decides to date exclusively outside their own race. It's one thing to fall in love with someone outside your race, but it's entirely different to actively seek them out, exclusively. My mind can't logically wrap around that mindset. I seriously question how can you hate what you come from? I can't understand that rationale because even if you were hurt in the past, one bad apple doesn't make the entire batch rotten.

The amateur psychologist in me didn't miss the fact that during an episode of his reality show, T.O. spoke to a group of high school football players. In fact, they were from his former high school, a small town in Alabama. T.O. sadly spoke of not having a great high school experience.

1. He was only an average football player; never revealed an inkling of the beast he is on the field now.
2. He was raised by his grandmother (whom he loves dearly). Still, it's hard for a young person, especially a boy, to be raised by an older adult.
3. He was called names such as darkie, blackie, ugly, etc. This wasn't great for his self-esteem.
4. Girls were not attracted to him, at all.

So. . . now that he is successful, he's not attracted to women who didn't want him. Black women represent the rejection and hurt he suffered in high school, i.e. Wesley Snipes.

Just my take on things. . .

Bottom line: T.O. can date whomever he wants to (that's his prerogative); it's his life and he's rich, successful and powerful. And as an added bonus, he has a gorgeous smile and dimples. . . dangerous combination. T.O. can do whatever the hell he wants to. If the sistahs don't make him happy and he's not attracted to us, then so be it. However, that still doesn't take away for the fact that the man's body is a work of art!

T.O. is fine. . .and there is nothing sexier than a fine, chocolate, southern brother.

Amen. Amen.

Top Things I Hate

It's Saturday night; I'm home alone and bored, so I thought I'd have some fun. Since I'm notorious for writing down lists of things to do, I thought I'd pen a different type of list. I really need to get a life, don't I? LOL


Top Things I Hate

1. People who will look you straight in the face and not open their mouth to say hello.
2. People who are ALWAYS negative; they never have anything positive to say about anything or anybody.
3. People who are selfish and feel that "it" is all about them.
4. People who won't say I'm sorry, even if they are the ones at fault.
5. People who are dream dashers. Enough said.
6. People who are downright haters.
7. People who try too hard to impress you.
8. People who try to keep up with the Joneses when they don't have a pot to piss in.
9. People who are quoting Bibles verses on Sunday and was in the club on Saturday.
10. Women who make the same mistakes over and over again concerning men.
11. I hate hypocrites.
12. Women who will put a man before their child or children.
13. People who think they know every damn thing.
14. People who are hung up on the light-skin, dark-skin, good hair complex.
15. People who think money can buy them class.
16. Women who would rather have a piece of man than no man.
17. People who think the world owes them.
18. People who think racism doesn't exist in our country.
19. People who are brown-nosers and ass kissers.
20. Women who support lazy ass men.

What's in a Date?

What’s in a Date?

At this very moment, as I watch the rain fall in heavy droves in downtown Atlanta, I sigh. My heart is heavy. I feel as dreary, gloomy and gray as the weather. My soul is sad... My spirit feels alone. . . I see the rain as being symbolic of my tears and the state of my downtrodden spirit.

My mother’s birthday is fastly approaching and I always get this way around this time of the year, like clockwork. She would have been 66 on August 23rd. The passage of time never seems to make the realization any better to accept.

I often question the “whys” of life. Why did I have to lose my mother to breast cancer? Why me? It’s simply not fair that I didn’t get to spend the time I needed and desired with her. It’s simply not fair that I didn’t get to share precious moments and events in my life with her. I wasn’t ready to let her go. We never are.

However, no one ever said life was fair.

I’ve heard it all: It was her time, she’s in a better place now, it’ll get better with time, she’s no longer suffering, you’ll see her again some day. I realize people say these things and they do mean well, but. . . it doesn’t lessen the pain. Unless you’ve walked in my footsteps, you can’t truly understand. True, with time, life does move on; it has no choice but to. Yet, there is still a dull, piercing ache that reminds me at inopportune times how I am a motherless child. I’ll never have anyone say, “That’s my child” or “I am so proud of you.” I’ll never have that unconditional love again. My heart aches and I feel all alone in the world and then just like that, the moment passes and life begins again. Life goes on, regardless.

God has blessed me with “substitute” mothers at different times in my life, even though I didn’t realize it at the time. They gave me what I needed and was missing at that moment, a mother’s love and guidance. I am so thankful and grateful for their entry into my life. I guess when it is all said and done, at the end of the day, God really doesn’t give us more than we can bear.

When Sunday, August 23rd rolls around again, I’ll try to focus on the good memories, and there were many, that I keep close to heart. Memories that I will treasure until the day I die. I’ll share stories with my children who never truly got the opportunity to know their grandmother. They were very young when she passed. Mostly, I’ll give thanks and celebration for the years I did have with her and for the independent and loving spirit she instilled in me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Why Do Black Women Hate On One Another?

Why Do Black Women Hate On One Another?

Why do black women hate on one another? That was the question which was posed by a local, Atlanta radio station personality. I was outraged that he (yes, a brother) had the audacity to broach such a totally bias and inaccurate discussion. Needless to say, the morning show and he in particular was bombarded with phone calls and e-mails. Deservedly so. . .

There is power in our words. Being a black female and fully knowing my daily reality, I get so frustrated and upset when I hear or read of such outrageous comments that perpetrate stereotypes to mainstream America. And when it comes from one of our own, it’s even more of a slap in the face. To say the least, it is dangerous and reckless to pose such a question on the airways.

In itself, the question is utterly ridiculous to assume that an entire race of women consistently cut each other down with our looks, gestures, comments, jealousies, etc. On the contrary, my experience has been the exact opposite. I’ve found the majority of the women I’ve dealt with to be uplifting, inspiring, and supportive. That’s my experience. My success is their success.

Maybe the radio personality should have taken a moment to speak with some real African American women.

Don’t get me wrong! I’ve met women who didn’t like me for unknown reasons. Oh sure, I’ve gotten the looks, you know the ones, the look starting from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes. Yeah, that’s the one. Andy you can just see it on their faces that they want to say, “Who does she think she is?” Yes, those insecure, narrow minded, jealous women do exist in our community. And guess what? They exist in other non African American communities as well. It is what it is.

Personally, I think it is irresponsible, uncouth and mostly dangerous of a person with the ability to reach millions on a daily basis to put out such a stereotypical question. Use your medium to showcase positive attributes. We get enough of the negatives simply by watching the evening news and to be honest, some people really do believe everything they see, read, and hear. If it was stated on V-103, then it must be true.

Okay, I know you have to keep your ratings high. . . to remain the #1 radio station in Atlanta. Is it okay as well to sell out your black women in the process? These are the same black women who are listening, supporting, loving you and giving you the high ratings to be the #1 radio station in Atlanta. Hmmm?

Even when you have a black mother and a black wife? Then on the other hand, to speak highly of how our non African American sisters support and nurture one another all the time. Bullshit. I’ve been in the workplace too many years to know that is misinformation and an inaccurate statement.

Why couldn’t the show give uplifting statistics as to how more and more AA women than men are completing degrees in higher education? Speak to how many black women are out earning our black men. Speak to how many black families are surviving based upon the blood and sweat of African American women. Speak to how our AA sisters are being placed in more and more positions of power in corporate America.

Do not use your power within the media to uphold stereotypes:

Black women are angry
Black women are over sexual
Black women hate our black men
Black women are too outspoken and aggressive
Black women want to be the man

Not everyone has the power to make a difference in a huge way every Monday through Friday. I implore these personalities to realize and accept this privilege, as just that, a privilege, with the greatest of responsibility and moral obligation to your community. Ratings aren’t everything!

A Star is Born

I'm simply beaming. . . grinning from ear to ear. Actually, cheesing!

I'm so excited and I just can't hide it
I'm about to lose control and I think I like it
I'm so excited and I just can't hide it

I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning or maybe the never-ending night before Christmas. My anticipation is heavy in the universe; seems like I've waited forever for this moment. Today, I officially received my sonogram photo (my book cover). And the projected date of birth is December 29, 2009, a few days earlier than expected. However, from all indications, my baby girl, Diary of a Stalker, is healthy and strong, in the best of hands, and ready to make her glorious entrance into the world. She is being highly anticipated by many aunties and uncles (avid readers) eager to take that first glimpse. So, the countdown begins. . .

Diary of a Stalker will be my sixth book and I'm still as excited and antsy as I was when my first baby, The Ties That Bind, entered the world on a cold wintry morning. Wow! Do I really have a six-year old? My, but time does fly!

It is such an exhilarating feeling to see all my hard work, all my blood, sweat and tears finally pay off. To witness an idea/storyline start from scratch, simply from my imagination, to feel the characters grow stronger and more vibrant each and every day, to literally come alive in my mind, to see the final result. . . of my vivid imagination. . . to hold the finished product in my hands, there are absolutely no words to describe that feeling. It is such a nature high that it is truly magical, almost spiritual. Dropping a novel really is tantamount to giving birth and announcing your baby to the world.

I have always been a very protective, shielding and super sensitive mother because I want everyone to love and embrace my new child as they did her siblings before her. I want her to be welcomed into the fold and for everyone to "ooh" and "aah" over her and tell me how beautiful she is:} I sit back and simply beam like the proud parent I am. I can see no wrong, in my eyes!

After all is said and done, I wouldn't trade it for the world, being an author. I love my life. I love being a creator of characters that will live on long after I'm dead and buried. It blows my mind to think that someone, possibly 50 years from now, could be reading my books. I've always heard and know from personal experience that the pain of childbirth is all but forgotten as soon as the new parent takes a glimpse of the new baby. I am pretty sure that on December 29th all my worries, fears, misgivings and doubts will dissipate like a thief in the night and all that will remain is. . . joy, pure absolute joy.

So stick around as I prepare for my new addition. I'm sure I'll offer up plenty of commentary. Of course, my readers (I'm so possessive of you guys) are cordially invited to the baby shower. I can share all my tales of how she was conceived (LOL). I was sitting in a restaurant and I said, "I'm going to write a book about this fanatical fan who..." And now, she is almost here. Unbelievable.

Wow! I have a new baby coming soon and I couldn't be more excited or proud.

It Shall Be Done

It's quiet.

Peaceful.

There's a tranquil gentleness that cloaks the essence of my home right now. It's a little after midnight. The bewitching hour. My husband and children are fast asleep; quite a contrast to the chaos and frenzy that is the typical evening mode of operation in the Parks' residence.

I should be in bed, preparing myself for another busy day. However, I feel almost compelled to write; to release my energy and words to the universe. It's almost like I have no control over the situation at hand. There is an almost urgent need for me to express myself, not tomorrow, but right now. Maybe my words will speak to someone else who is searching for a solution . . .searching for guidance.

In the stillness of simply listening, that's always when I get the answers. The answers, the quiet reassurance that I have not been forsaken nor forgotten. Most of the time, in the hectic lifestyle I lead, I forget or don't have the luxury to sit back, put my feet up, be still and just listen. . . listen to that inner voice that speaks only the truth that soothes and touches my spirit.

Even though I don't like to reveal my frailties, I admit, some of the time, many times, I'm afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of not reaching my goals, my dreams. Afraid that life is moving too fast. Afraid I'm not going to reach the greatness that is within me, in all of us. Terrified, I become paralyzed with fear.

To those of you who have followed my blogs, you've read my tales and thoughts about the publishing industry and life in general. Good or bad, I usually put it out there. My view of the world. Most of you have shared my ups and my downs, my triumphs and my defeats. I've revealed my ultimate goal. . . to become a NY Times bestselling author, to touch lives and make a difference. It is grand and lofty, but certainly not unachievable. All things are possible to those who believe.

I believe I have a gift of uplifting others, but a lot of times I fall short in doing so for myself. It's like I'm immune to my own inspirational words at times. I've been published by three major NY publishing houses, my alma mater, University of West Georgia, uses my story and photo in their orientation brochure, in a month I'm going to participate in a 4-day event as a featured author along with other A-list authors I have admired from afar before I even had a writing career, and tonight a young man came to me for advice and mentioned how much he admired me (that made my night). Even with a highly anticipated book dropping the first of the year and an impressive literary resume. . . still I have my moments of doubt. Fear sets in.

Tonight, in a moment of stillness, a peacefulness enveloped me and a great calmness settled upon and embraced me. . . because suddenly without a shadow of a doubt, I knew that everything would be okay. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. It's as if I heard an angelic voice lovingly whisper, "Electa, God, didn't bring you this far to forsake you. This is your season and his will shall be done. Be patient."

I've handed it over, it's out of my hands. He knows my heart. . . and my pure aspirations.

IT SHALL BE DONE.

Another Life Lesson

Another thing I've discovered about the beauty of life is that it doesn't matter how many years may come and go, there are always new life lessons to learn. Isn't that amazing? We are never too old to learn.

Lesson learned: Friends will disappoint you, but if the friendship is worth salvaging, then you will work through it.

I've determined one of my personality traits in dealing with people is that sometimes I tend to place them on a much higher pedestal than they deserve to be. When they disappoint me in one way or another, which they almost always do, the effect is much greater because I thought so highly of them to begin with.

Now,I understand that it is unfair of me in a lot of ways because no one is perfect and no once could ever live up to my high expectations, not even myself, if I were my friend.

When you really break it down, life is a series of people who come and go throughout your lifetime. You have to determine the ones worth keeping, the ones worth fighting for and the ones who have completed their journey with you.

As I've made my journey through life, I've had the opportunity to meet and befriend many wonderful people. Some have been with me for only a reason, others a season, but the life lessons they have passed on will last a lifetime and I am forever grateful.

Shy Like Me

Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people. - André Dubuson

I've always been shy. It's as much a part of me as breathing. I was extremely shy as a child and when I grew into a young woman I lost a level of extreme shyness, but it is still here, just barely visible on the surface.

Growing up, I used to hate being shy and quiet. I felt like it was a bad quality or trait to possess. I always felt like I was missing out on something special by being reserved. I longed to be the life of the party, the belle of the ball or simply have the ability to capture the attention of a crowd of people who hung onto my every word. And of course, the boys that fascinated me the most were the ones who were popular and outgoing.

Over the years, people have mistaken my shyness for standoffishness, aloofness and snobbishness---it never crossed anyone's mind that I was simply quiet. My reserved nature made them unwilling to get to know me.

As a child, writing in my trusted diary and later journaling as an adult were my methods of expressing myself. What I couldn't express verbally, I expressed on paper. I still have the ability to place on paper my most passionate, personal thoughts and feelings...it always liberates me somehow.

I always thought it was strange that I was blessed with a good speaking voice (at least I've been told) and yet I was shy. All though school, my teachers and professors were constantly encouraging me to participate in public speaking competitions/events. And I complied and enjoyed them thoroughly. I even placed at these events. No one ever knew that those first three minutes in front of an audience were the most frightening for me. After that I was always okay. Even today that is one of the most difficult parts of being an author, the public speaking aspect. However, I find that after those first three minutes I'm fine and can talk to you from now to eternity about the joys and lows of being an author.

Even now I still consider myself somewhat shy or maybe just quiet is a better word, even though my family and friends would totally disagree. When I'm comfortable with a person my layers tend to fall away. There are actually two sides to me and depending on what role you play in my life, you may have only witnessed one or the other.

I've morphed into something quite curious. I often wonder how one can be shy, quiet, outspoken, opinionated and fiery. . . that's me all rolled up into one. If I'm passionate about something or someone, I can't be quiet---it's like I'm compelled to project it to the world. I'm very outspoken. I have strong opinions---we just have to agree to disagree, after we have debated the topic to exhaustion. Oh, I'm definitely fiery and sassy (just ask my husband) and sometimes I am too real for my own good. I tend to tell it like it is.

Yet when you break it all down, I'm usually the quiet, observant one who simply soaks up life and my surroundings like a sponge. And. . . get this, I've found that you don't have to be the life of the party to capture people's attention. I find there is something magnetic that draws people to a quiet aura; a pull that attracts them to my quiet spirit.

I finally realized that being shy is not so bad after all. Sometimes being shy helps you to see and appreciate the world through a whole nother set of eyes. Sometimes the best observations are made through silence, by simply listening.

Low-down, disgusting, heartless %$#$$#@

I've learned over the years that by being an emotional person, I internalize a lot of stories I hear on the news or read online, especially if they deal with children and child abuse. Children are my weakness and those stories hit me hard. To the core of my being.

Roughly a week ago, I read an online article and it is still with me---I can't seem to get the graphic images out of my head because I am so upset and angered by the incident. With me, the only way I can let bad feelings dissipate is to write about them; writing acts as my therapy.

Before I get started, let me preface this by saying that typically I don't curse. Trust me, I have to be really upset in order for me to start with the four-letter words. So readers beware and pardon my french!

I am so freaking angry right now. A Duke University associate professor, purposely adopted a five-year-old black boy, for the sole purpose of making him a sex slave. Yes, unfortunately you heard me right! This is one of the most disgusting, cruel, heartless and totally evil scenarios I've heard of in a very long time. It breaks my heart.

This person, if you care to call this piece of shit a human being, along with his gay partner, intentionally went out of their way to adopt a black child "because they are easier to adopt." This mother%%#@&% then proceeded to not only have sex with this baby, while his prestigious university community thought he was noble and grand for adopting this child, but broadcast his acts online to his filthy, disgusting pedophile friends.

The final act of evilness resulted in him being apprehended by the FBI when he attempted to have another man (an undercover agent) travel to North Carolina from out of state to have sex with this baby for money. Yes, he was a damn baby pimp!

A moment of silence while you let your brain comprehend what I just stated.

This perverted motherf%#@&* deserves everything and more that he receives when his ass is carted off to prison. Authorities need to burn the key and then bury it six-feet deep. I hope he is shown not one ounce of dignity or humanity. Disgusting, low-down, heartless %$#!!%&. How dare he use and abuse this child for his sick, perverted pleasure and then have the audacity to broadcast it across the Internet? Sick bastard! How dare he take the innocence and trust of this baby? How dare he warp this boy's precious body and soul for life? How dare he? How dare he not value human life?

I am sick and tired of these grown ass men messing with our children. They are so sick they will travel to other countries to have sex with children, willing to risk everything. Unbelievable! I sincerely believe that they can't be rehabilitated and it's useless, unproductive and too expensive to lock their perverted asses up. I suggest they all get the same punishment: a snip and cut, with a very big, sharp knife.

"No body wanted him anyway". Like he was doing that child a favor. I wish I could personally place him in a locked room with African American male prisoners and have them give him a big dose of street justice. On second thought, no amount of punishment would be horrific enough compared to how this monster has damaged this child's life forever.

His ass will truly rot in hell!

You Are Cordially Invited To My Pity Party!

No RSVP is necessary. Simply show up feeling defeated, discouraged and miserable with the world on your shoulders. Feel free to invite a friend or two. Misery loves company.

I'm knee deep in the midst of my very own pity party and I don't even know why. Or maybe I do know why and simply can't deal with it. I'm sure, as always, my impromptu pity party will be over and done with by tomorrow. As always, it starts with a bang and ends with a wimper.

I'm a moody person (wish to God I wasn't) and sometimes my bad moods simply slip up on me without any major announcement. I wish I could get some form of a warning: WARNING, WARNING, ELECTA! In just two days, you are going to get a doosey of a bad mood. Prepare yourself, hang on tight and hope for the best.

I feel. . . I feel like my life is in limbo. I also feel like a cry baby, like I wear my emotions on my sleeve and I admit, I feel totally powerless at times. I know where I want to go, I clearly know where I want to be, but the problem appears to be in the many paths to get there. It's so totally and utterly frustrating to feel you know your divine destiny and yet can't quite complete the mission.

I consider myself one of the most positive people I know. 95% of the time I count my blessings, give praises to God for my life, health and strength and I'm more than appreciative of the people, family and friends, in my life. I consider myself divinely favored.

The other 5% is where my problems begin and end. I feel like I'm my own worse critic and I never give myself enough credit or praise for the accomplishments in my life. I try not to compare my current situation with others because most of the time, 95% of the time, I realize I'm exactly where I'm suppose to be at the moment. What's meant for me is meant for me and no one else. And the absoulute beauty is that no one can change that. It is said, it is written, it is done.

However, lately I've wanted to speed up the process and arrive at my destination. And since I haven't (arrived) I come away frustrated and my faith dims. I begin to question my destiny and when I question that, I question who I am as a person. I feel lost and off balance. Instead of being positive and uplifting, doubt and fear set in. . . the twins of destruction.

I know for a fact how powerful our words and our thoughts are. We should use our words to change our situations and call the things that aren't as if they are. I truly believe that with all I know. However, sometimes I'm weak and I get tired of struggling and hoping and striving and taking three steps forward only to take one backwards.

I just want to arrive! Serve! Give back! Make a difference! Live out my destiny!

Is that asking too much?

Dream In Color

I have this curious thing I can do. I first noticed it around 12 years old, so this ability has been with me for quite awhile. Well, it's not really an ability . . . I'm not quite sure what one would call it.

Occasionally, I can dream something and it comes true or I can dream about a deceased relative, as if I'm talking to them and they are alive and well. Throughout the years, I have had dreams in which an event I dreamt of, actually happened. It may not happen the very next day or happen exactly like the dream, but it happens. Typically within two weeks. Don't believe me? Ask my relatives. The joke used to be: "Electa, don't come calling me talking about a dream you've had. If I was in it, I definitely don't want to hear it." There have also been many instances of visits from deceased relatives either while I'm awake or via a dream. Curiously enough, I'm not ever frightened. I always say, "We have nothing to fear from the dead, it's the living we should be afraid of."

Roughly two nights ago I experienced such a dream. I remember falling asleep with my thoughts clearly focused on my mother. I had a lot on my mind, situations that were bothering me. When my mom was alive she was one of the few people I could talk to who always put my mind at ease with just a few encouraging words. I would call her up sad or upset about something or another and it never failed, with just a few words of wisdom, in a calm, reassuring voice, my soul would be put at ease. Just like that. I never doubted her wisdom. Usually, I'd hang up the phone with my spirit lifted, laughter in my soul and seeing the problem in an entirely new light. How I miss those conversations and having someone in my life who can reassure and make everything okay in my world.

Right before dozing off that night, I recall silently asking God to send me some sign that my situation would work it's way out for the best. In the past, I've always asked for my sign to be something specific, like a red butterfly or a purple flower. For whatever reason, this time I didn't specify. Being exhausted, I fell asleep pretty quickly. That's what I do. When I have a problem I sleep and sleep and sleep.

The next morning I awoke feeling refreshed and eager to start a new day with a burst of energy. All was well in my world.

As I started my day, I vividly recalled the dream I had the night before. Most of the time, I never recall entire dreams, only bits and pieces. In my dream, myself, my sister and my mom were sitting in the kitchen at her house. The kitchen always was the central gathering spot, the center of activity. I was seated in the bar stool/chair at the counter, Tresseler (my sister) was at the kitchen table and my mom, as usual, was cooking something on the stove and drinking a cup of coffee.

To be honest, I don't remember any of the conversation. I just recall we were laughing and having a good time being in each other's company. And most of all, I recall the emotion I felt in the dream. That was what stuck with me and greeted me the next morning like an old, long lost friend. For a brief moment in time, my mom was back and I felt the familiar blanket of security and peace back in my life. I experienced the sensation of pure, unconditional love embrace and envelope me like a silky cocoon. And I awoke with the feeling, though never spoken directly to me, that everything would be okay. This too shall pass. . .

The words softly caressed my soul, lovingly whispered in my ear. And you know what, it did pass.