You Are So Nice!

You are so nice. You are so kind.

 

If I hear those words one more time, I'm going to throw up in my mouth. Don't get me wrong, I am nice. I am kind. And. . . I'm very proud of these genuine qualities I possess.

 

However, I have a question. Why is it perceived by some as a weakness? Why do I have to be a bitch to be respected? Or why do I have to be an "A" type personality to get attention? Why do I have to be aggressive and in your face? I don't!

 

Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I repeat, do not because you may be surprised. I don't have to talk the loudest and carry the biggest stick.

 

I will continue to be me and that's just fine with me.



Enjoy Every Moment

Enjoy Every Moment

Take a moment and tell me what part of this scenario doesn't quite fit.

I was watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and crying.

Yes, crying. You read this correctly.

Most of us know for an absolute fact that an episode from any of the The Real Housewives franchise means pettiness, craziness and drama, drama, drama. An emotional moment is not usually part of the equation.

My emotional outburst and tears surprised even me.

Yes, I am an emotional person. Yes, I cry at sappy movies. Yes, I will cry from watching the evening news. But not from watching The Real Housewives.

I was watching the episode, the one right before the season finale. This is the episode where Kyle's oldest child/oldest daughter, Farrah, graduates from college. There were several touching moments that spoke from somewhere deep within and tugged at my heartstrings because I could relate at a maternal level.

I have a daughter, Briana, who's fifteen years old. She is full of life, always has a smile and a hug to offer to those around her. She keeps our family full of laughter. Saying “I love you” is a part of her every day lingo. Kisses follow. Plain and simple, Briana is a happy child. She’s a mini me.

During the celebratory lunch in honor of Farrah, with family and friends surrounding her, Kyle makes an emotionally-laced speech. My tears started to flow. At that point I realized, no matter how rich or poor, no matter what race or ethnicity, country or culture, there is a bond between mother and daughter that is powerful stuff.

With tears and a shaky voice, Kyle speaks of her love for her daughter, and there is no denying that, and how she has been blessed from the day she was born. She is so proud at the way her daughter turned out and the person she has always been. Let me repeat that. . . always been. Kyle triumphantly proclaimed she had waited for this moment for twenty-one years. In that moment, Kyle and I connected because I knew exactly what she meant and the emotions she was experiencing.

More tears flowed, from me.

And, I know that my moment is just around the corner; the moment when my daughter will go off to make her place in the world. This same daughter who told me many years ago: “I’m so happy that out of all the mommies in the world, God chose you for me. I love you Mommy!”

It’s true. Daughters are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. My daughter is only fifteen years old, but she has been the joy of my life, along with her brother, Brandon. They have taught me the true meaning of love, unconditional love, and motherhood and sacrifice and a willingness to lay down my life for another person, if need be. I can be a fierce tigress when defending my precious clubs. When they hurt, I hurt. When they are happy, I bask in their joy. Their triumphs are my victories.

I pray for them. I pray for greatness from them.

I could not picture life without them. My children make me proud every moment of my life. And because of them, I am a better person. I have enough wonderful memories of them growing up to last a lifetime. I smile in reflection. My only regret is that my mother never had the opportunity to get to know the wonderful people they are. My gifts.

Children grow up so fast. I will never forget, years ago, a complete stranger approached us in a store, maybe Sears. Brandon and Briana were smaller then and my husband and I were carrying them in our arms. He had Brandon and I had Briana. The middle-aged white male smiled and told us to always kiss them, hold them tight, and enjoy every moment because after age twelve, the years zoom by, in the blink of an eye. How true he was.

Enjoy every moment.



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.

A Conversation with Electa Rome Parks


Tell us about your newest release, Diary of a Stalker.

Diary of a Stalker: a best-selling male author gets more than he bargained for when he meets a fanatical female fan. What starts out as a one-night stand quickly spirals out of control and into a dangerous game of obsession and pain.

As always, I offer readers an entertaining, steamy story that is fast paced, thought provoking, relationship based with an added twist. Readers will be fascinated and appalled at what drives some people to go after what they want at whatever cost. I think I have birthed characters that my readers will develop a love/hate relationship and hopefully will be talking back to the book as they experience the various emotions that my characters pull out of them. Diary of a Stalker will make for heated book club discussions across the country and readers will definitely be talking about it the next day.

Since it has been a couple of years since my last novel, Ladies’ Night Out, dropped, I wanted this new release to be something a little different from my previous novels. Yet, I wanted to maintain the core elements that my books are known for. The drama, the fast-paced nature, and the steamy relationship-based elements are still alive and well.

I have attended a lot of literary events such as conferences, signings, workshops, etc. After awhile I started to notice a pattern no matter what city or state I was in. Even though the avid readers, mostly female, poured much love my way (I love you back), I noticed the male authors received an extra dose (smile). Maybe because there aren’t as many male authors??? I noticed if I attended a large event, I would see some of the same female readers hanging out with the same male authors. Hmmm. So then, I started thinking about how groupies follow rock bands, rappers, professional athletics, actors and entertainers. Why wouldn’t this exist in the literary arena as well? Throw a few over the top “what if questions” into the mix and Diary of a Stalker was born.

Besides the actual writing process, what is the most gratifying aspect of being a writer?

Hands down, the most gratifying part of being an author has been meeting and greeting new and interesting readers who are embracing my stories and e-mailing me and writing me and meeting me at signings and telling me how much they've enjoyed my books! We talk about my characters like they are old friends. No matter how many times I've experienced this, it always makes my day. Puts a big smile on my face (LOL).

Their (the readers) feedback and reactions totally validates that my craft is a gift from God! If I can touch a number of people with my stories or even if I only entertain them and they don't walk away with a life lesson, then I've still done my job.

As you know, my stories are typically relationship based, very drama filled with an ounce of spice thrown in, well maybe a pound of spice thrown in, and they usually cover a topical issue that is prevalent in today's society. Believe me, I have so many characters screaming inside my head, waiting to tell their story, that I feel like the lady from the movie Sybil (LOL). So, bottom line, I pray and claim that my readership base will continue to grow and I'll have wonderful opportunities to meet many more fans.

If you weren't a writer what would you be?

Don't laugh, but if I weren't a writer, I'd probably be a psychiatrist. I absolutely love getting inside people's heads and seeing how or why they tick the way they do. The human psyche totally amazes and intrigues me to no end.

How do you deal with adversity and failure?

I stress out! I totally freak out, have a pity party, and take to my bed (LOL)! I'm laughing, but I'm pretty accurate. I'm so hard on myself, I'm my worst critic, and I've got to stop doing that. I can't enjoy my successes because I'm too busy worrying about what I could have done better or thinking about the next venture.

After I finally pull myself out of bed and stop my pity party (this usually lasts for roughly 24 hours), I analyze my situation like I'm breaking down a trigonometry problem. After all is said and done, I learn the lesson, file it in my permanent memory bank, remember I'm still standing and move on. In afterthought, life lessons are wonderful, even the ones filled with adversity and failure; they make us stronger and wiser and who we are today.

Also, if I may add, I have a good support team in place with my family and friends. Plus, I have a solid spiritual foundation that keeps me strong and undaunted by the dream dashers.

How do you define success?

Good question. Personally, I define success as being able to do something you truly love on a day to day basis, getting paid for it in the process, giving back to the community (to whom much is given, much is expected) and being the best person you can be which enables you to sleep peacefully at night. To me, those combined elements make you a successful person. And. . . if you place God and your family first, the sky's the limit!

What is one thing most readers don’t know about you?

Most readers don't know that I'm moody, I’m a true perfectionist, I love, love, love adventures, I believe in many unorthodox ideas, I’m sweetest person you ever want to meet until you step to me the wrong way, and I think Terrell Owens is super sexy and. . . Well, I guess that’s enough (I’m telling all my business) and you only asked for one. LOL. Oh, and I sometimes share too much.


Peace & Blessings,

Electa Rome Parks

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.

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.

Guess Who's Back?

Never judge a book by its cover. . .

Xavier Preston is tall, dark and handsome and the problem is that he knows it. He's a best-selling author who is accustomed to adoring female fans, both young and old, flirting with him, throwing themselves shamelessly at him and trying to get between more than the covers of his novels. And he has always been more than willing to accommodate their needs and desires. However, his womanizing days have finally ended. . . he's engaged to a beautiful woman, Kendall, and he's decided to walk the straight and narrow. Or has he?

From outside appearances, the very stunning Pilar has it all---a great career, a beautiful home and a trust fund that keeps her financially secure. However, looks can be deceiving. All that glitters isn't gold. Pilar is searching for her one, perfect soulmate. And she thinks she has found him in Xavier. She believes in going after what she wants with a vengeance. . . and she wants Xavier. And that is not negotiable.

When Xavier meets his fanatical fan, Pilar, who declares herself his #1 fan, he gets much more than he bargained for. What starts out as a one-night stand quickly spirals out of control and into a dangerous game of obsession and pain with both parties playing to win.

Think you know what goes on behind the literary scene? Think again.....


DIARY OF A STALKER by Electa Rome Parks. . . coming soon. . . January 2010!