Intimate Conversation With Electa Rome Parks

BPM: Tell us about your passion for writing. Why do you write? What impact do you want your book to make on the readers?


Wow! Where do I begin? There is no way to best describe it. I always jokingly state that I have a passionate love affair going on with reading and writing. Our torrid affair has consumed me for much of my life. Writing is in my blood and I can't imagine life without it. My very spirit would probably shrivel up and die if I couldn't write. Writing is my therapy. My Voice. My sincere expression of the world as seen through my eyes.

I don't write as a hustle. I write because I'm passionate about the power and beauty of words. As my children say, "That's real talk."

When I write, I am transported to another dimension. My soul feels free and at peace. Writing brings me serenity and peace like no other. When I write I feel powerful---after all, I'm creating life with the stroke of my pen or computer keys. My characters come alive on the pages of my books. And when my readers read my stories, they get to meet these incredible people, faults, imperfections and all.

What drives me? Life, the precious beauty of existing, the experience of learning something new each and every day. Joys, pains. Failures. Accomplishments. Life lessons. My children, my spouse. Observing people in their beauty and splendor and seeing the not so pretty side. Writing is my essence, my link with the world.

As far as an impact is concerned, I simply want my readers to be entertained and pulled into a world completely different, or maybe not, from their own. If a life lesson is learned during the process that makes the experience all the sweeter.

BPM: What are two major events taking place in True Confessions?

True Confessions starts off bringing the drama. Readers are introduced to Kennedy Logan in her most desperate and lowest moment in time. . . she is thinking her final thoughts after making the tragic decision to end her own life. Readers, hopefully, sense the level of despair she has reached, how low she has sunk to decide to go this route. As you read the excerpt below, you will see how painful life is for her.

Questions are immediately raised. Why? What so horrible could possibly have happened to this person?

As the story unfolds, readers have the opportunity to meet one of the major reasons life looked so bleak and hopeless to Kennedy. Enter Drake Collins, her love or ex love interest. It is soon apparent that what looks good and smells good and says the right words on the outside isn't necessarily so perfect on the inside. Drake is not as he presents himself and during the course of True Confessions, many secrets are revealed where Kennedy can say, "In hindsight the clues were all there. I just refused to see them. But love will make you do that sometimes."

BPM: What specific situation or revelation prompted you to write True Confessions?

True Confessions actually started out as a short story titled These Are My Confessions in the anthology These Are My Confessions (Harper Collins, 2007). So many readers emailed or excitedly asked me during signings about Kennedy and Drake and their back story that I decided to pen the novel length version. I've always believed in listening to my readers and taking their suggestions:).

Kennedy and Drake captured my imagination as well; they stayed with me long after the short story was published. I wanted to delve deeper into what made them "tick" and a short story didn't allow that.

As a writer, for me, it is always about what makes up the core essence of my characters. How did they become who they are? What event(s) shaped their lives? What brought them to this place in their lives when they are introduced to my readers? We are all products of our childhood and I adore piecing the puzzle together to create a likeable, sometimes not so likeable character(s) that has faults, imperfections, just like we all do.

BPM: Who do you want to reach with True Confessions and the message within?

I would like to reach the readers who have wisely figured out we are all works in progress. Can I get an amen? If we are truly honest, there are aspects of our lives that we can all work on during our journey of self exploration.

As with my previous titles (The Ties That Bind, Loose Ends, Almost Doesn't Count, Ladies' Night Out, These Are My Confessions and Diary of a Stalker), they have dealt with topical issues that are prevalent in our communities and society in general.

And True Confessions is no different. At first glance it appears to be a relationship gone bad type of storyline, but True Confessions is so much more than that. Issues of suicide, adoption, dysfunctional relationships, bond of a mother and daughter, father and daughter bonds, divorce and low self esteem issues are all addressed. Bottom line, if I had to encompass a general theme prevalent throughout the novel, all of Kennedy's problems and issues stem from feelings of low self esteem and unworthiness.

So. . . my underlying message is that just because someone appears to have it all together doesn't mean they actually do. Kennedy and Drake were prime examples each in their own way. Before we can receive love or give love, we have to love ourselves first. Kennedy and Drake didn't love themselves and it showed up in various aspects of their personalities and life.

BPM: What is your most valuable lesson about the publishing industry?

A few years ago I came into the industry with rose colored glasses. Lets just say, I no longer wear those glasses. A lot of my illusions have been lifted at this point in the game. However, my most valuable lesson about the publishing industry is that it is a business first and foremost. The bottom line, the dollar bill, still takes credence over talent and creativity. Even though I was a business major in college and realized this at some level, I naively thought considerations would be adhered to based on a level of talent.

Black Pearls Readers, to find out when and where Electa will be in your area, check out her website at www.electaromeparks.com

True Confessions

Prologue



My reality is surreal and happens in super, slow motion. A nervous giggle escapes my chapped, dry and parched lips. I lick them to restore moisture. Then, there is utter, deadly silence. If I listen closely, I can hear my heartbeat beating away at an accelerated pace. My senses are heightened and I marvel over the brilliant, bold colors of my bedroom as I inhale my favorite fragrances, from their spot on my antique dresser, colliding into one another with their potent allure. Even my sense of touch is different somehow. Everything is magnified to the nth degree. It’s like I’m looking down at myself from a huge movie screen with surround sound as I ready myself for the big finale---the final shot and then fade to black.

I’ve never been good at saying goodbye, even on short, weekend trips. I keep the handwritten note short and sweet and pray to God that mother will understand, and hopefully, one day, forgive me.

I don’t mean to hurt her or cause her any fresh pain. I sincerely don't. I hope she understands that this isn't her fault, that I love her with all my heart and being. No matter what, that fact will never change. I’m so thankful and forever grateful that she chose me to be her daughter out of all the orphaned babies in the world. She chose me. I told myself over and over again that that made me special. I needed to feel special instead of unwanted and discarded.

I’ll miss mother the most, but the hurt I feel inside is too unbearable and indescribable. It is too painful for me to continue, day in and day out, with just a hollow emptiness that erodes and corrupts any happiness that briefly surfaces. The dawn of each new day only brings me more heartache and renewed memories. Some memories are like leeches. They latch on for dear life and slowly, ever so slowly, suck and drain all the blood, all the living out of you. You are left with just a shell of the old you and that's no way to survive. Not for me, anyway.

When they find me, I want it to look like I’m sleeping, peacefully. Just like Sleeping Beauty who only needed a handsome prince to kiss her and awaken her from the darkness that engulfed her. However, for me, there won't be a handsome, charming prince to wake me, save me, and ride off into eternity. All my so-called princes were monsters in disguise with their own hidden agendas that attempted to crush and stamp out my self-esteem. Yes, just blessed sleep awaits me.

I chose pills. I couldn’t subject mother to a messy, bloody scene that comes with slitting one’s wrists or shooting one's self. I refuse to take my final breath with that heavy on my heart. I don't think my heart could handle anything else weighing against it. As it is, I feel like I have three hundred pounds weighing me down. Crushing the life out of me.

As I settle myself comfortably on my queen-size bed, slowly pull the red, satin comforter up to my chin and stare at the full bottle of prescription pills carefully nestled in my right hand, I can’t imagine not waking up in the morning.

What will it be like to not see the rising sun? To not hear my alarm clock going off announcing it’s time to get ready for another day of work? Not hitting snooze to give myself another fifteen minutes? Not rushing to finish my morning rituals before I dash out the door and into rush-hour traffic? What will that feel like?

More important to me now, though, is will it hurt? I hope not. I have never been able to tolerate too much pain, physical, mental or emotional. Yet, that’s what Drake has caused me for the last year of my life. Pain. Intolerable suffering.

I only wanted to love him and for him to love me in return. Simple enough. Was that asking too much? My part of the equation was accomplished, effortless. Drake claimed he loved me, but he really didn’t. Probably never could. Didn't know how to love or receive it. After what happened last week, I know he didn’t. Yet, I gave him everything: my heart, my body, my soul. Now, I have nothing left to give myself. I'm empty inside.

As tears slowly flood my weary eyes and blur my vision, I look around my cozy bedroom for the last time. Ever. It used to be one of my favorite rooms in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment. There was nothing better than lighting several fragrant candles, drinking a little white wine and cozying up with a good romance novel. Yes, that was heaven. Simple things excite me. Always have. Watching a sunrise or sunset, waking up to birds chirping in the treetops, walking hand in hand through the park with the one I love, all these things brought me great joy.

Mother will have to understand. I left her a note, propped up on the nightstand, in full view, that explains how much I love her and daddy. What will she think when she can’t reach me tonight? I would love to hear her soothing, loving voice one last time. Yet, I know I wouldn’t be able to go through with my plan if I did. I’d give away my intentions over the phone or mother would pick up on my foul mood and that would be that. I’d wake up another day with this aching, dull pain inside, tearing me apart, bit-by-bit. Pain that dulls and diminishes every ounce of my strength, all the way down to my pores.

Drake Collins. His name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Just the thought of him brings bile to the back of my throat. I will forever regret the day I met that man. If I could turn back the hands of time, do it all over again, I would have called in sick that day or run for the hills. I was just fine with my life the way it was. Sure, it wasn’t exciting or glamorous, but it was enough for me. Drake came with the charm, movie star looks, glitz and high drama and reeled me right in like a bass caught at sea. I gladly jumped into his net.

I say a silent prayer of forgiveness as I place one, then two colorful pills on my tongue and swallow dry. I didn't think of getting a glass of water. I can't think. The lump in my throat quickly diminishes. There’s no turning back now. Just like there was no turning back when Drake turned me out. The countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight. . . I've lived a happy life. I have tons of good memories. I've treated others the way I wanted to be treated.

I hope this happens quickly. I steadfastly place three, four pills on my tongue and swallow again. Hot tears start to spill forth and stream down my cheeks as I realize the final result of my actions. Seven, six, five. . . It’s for the best. I need to stop the pain. Will he even miss me? Or will he just move on to his next victim? Will all this be in vain?

I guess I’ll never have that family now. The one I used to daydream and write about in my journal. The family with the almost perfect mommy and daddy and two kids, a boy and girl. The boy would be the oldest, and he'd look out for and protect his younger sister. They'd have cute, adorable names and they'd know they were wanted and loved and cherished by their parents. They'd never feel unwanted.

Four, three. . . I swallow a handful of pills this time. I've lost count as to how many I've digested. As spittle escapes from my mouth, I gag. I wipe the overflow away with the back of my hand and keep right on shoving pills in my mouth until the orange-brown medicine bottle is empty. I look inside, in awe, shake the bottle, and can’t believe the pills are gone so quickly. Just like the illusion of love. If you blink, you'll miss it.

I wonder if Drake even realizes how much I loved him? Now, I wait for blessed relief and peace to take away my hurt and pain. I’m so tired. Tired of loving the wrong men. Tired of giving my all, coming up empty, and getting absolutely nothing back in return. Good sex isn’t the end all to everything. Drake taught me that lesson.

Two, one. . . It won’t be long now. I faintly smile and lay back against my down pillow. I welcome peace. In my mind, I start silently repeating Psalms 23. I shall walk through the valley of death; I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. I’m so sleepy. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can feel myself giving in to the fog that slowly invades my mind. Maybe if I close my eyes for a few moments. Yeah, just rest them for a few minutes without seeing Drake’s face behind my heavy eyelids.

Suddenly, I feel lightheaded, like I’m floating on a big, fluffy white cloud, bouncing up and down, giddy with not a care in the world. This is a different sensation that I literally reach out my right hand to embrace and never let go of. Not a care in the world. Nothing matters but blessed, uneventful sleep. I close my tired, weary eyes as the countdown ends. Fade to black.