From The Author’s Corner


Whiskey And Merlot, A Love Story

Based on a real-life happily-ever-after, this is not your typical romantic fantasy. Because Isabelle Perkins doesn’t believe in fairy tales.

Newly divorced and recently transplanted to Atlanta at the age of thirty, Isabelle has never met a man she truly loves and doesn’t believe she ever will. When she meets the dashing Lincoln Davis, she’s smitten by his handsome looks and take-charge confidence. As Lincoln recklessly and persistently pursues her to escape his loveless marriage, she finds herself embroiled in a hot affair and falls in love.

Isabelle’s Christian morals and self-esteem are deeply undermined as the lines between right and wrong become irrevocably blurred. Convinced that Lincoln is her one true love, she hangs on until Lincoln is forced to break off their steamy affair, leaving Isabelle devastated and heartbroken. 

Eighteen years later, they’re paths cross again. After a sobering brush with death and now divorced, Lincoln is determined to win Isabelle back. But can she set aside her deep hurt and disappointment to let him back into her life and heart?

Thank You For Reading. Stay Tuned! Schedule For Release Later This Summer!

The Joy of Good News!

He Has Risen!

Direct quotes from the bible were used in this post. Enjoy!

Shortly after the Sabbath, on the third day of Jesus’ horrible death, Mary Magdalene and her friend Mary decided to visit his tomb. It was dawn. The sun’s yellow rays barely peeking through dense gray clouds as the two women hurried along the dusky dirt road. With tear-filled red swollen eyes, the image of Jesus’ bloody and beaten body remained fresh on their minds. They flinched, shivering when a cold breeze without warning swept over them. “It’s gotten chilly,” Mary Magdalene noticed squinting through swollen dark brown eyes. She carefully tucked her long braided brown ponytail inside her wrinkled, beige robe, clutching it tight to seal in more warmth.

Mary threw her hood over her long black hair as her light brown eyes stared straight ahead. Still a way to go, she was able to see the top of the hill. Three Roman guards dressed in red, woollen tunics and gold helmets, paced back and forth in front of Jesus’ tomb carrying swords. “We’re almost there.” Mary sighed with caution in her voice. The women trudged along, navigating the rocky, dusky terrain. The grainy rocks pierced the sole of their sandals as they walked and their feet ached with pain. Frowning, Mary stopped to rest. Mary Magdalene with her dark features clouded with worry, stood beside her patting her back. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” Mary said starting again. They walked singled file the rest of the way as the path up the hill turned narrow and steep. As soon as they crescented the top of the hill, the ground shook violently, splitting opened behind them. Mary Magdalene screamed. ” Mary, its an earthquake! Run!” The two women ran toward the tomb as large rocks erupted like expolsives around them. The guards fell as the ground shook. Seconds later, the earth laid still. Covered with dirt, the guards struggled to their feet and the sky above bursted open. A white radiant light brighter than the sun, emerged with intense energy, hovering over the tomb, lighting up the entrance.

An angel with clothes white as snow emerged from the light, it’s appearance like lightening. With one swift move, the angel shoved the stone away from Jesus’s tomb and sat on it. The guards yelled, covering their eyes, afraid to look upon the angel. They laid on the ground rolling back and forth, trembling. Mary Magdalene and Mary dropped to their knees with heads bowed, shaking. The angel’s blazing eyes bored down on them. It’s voice, deep and roaring, exclaimed, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples!”

Shaken, Mary Magdalene and Mary rose from their looking kneeling position and crept with caution to the entrance of Jesus’ tomb. Their mouths flew open once they looked inside. Fresh old blood from Jesus’ body stained his rocky deathbed, but Jesus was nowhere to be found. “Where have they taken him?” Mary gasped looking around wide-eyed. The angel with blazing eyes said, “He has gone ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him. Now I have told you. Go.”

Afraid, but with hearts filled with joy, Mary Magdalene and Mary took off running down the hill. Several times they stumbled and fell. Quickly hurling themselves up as they raced to the bottom as fast as their sore feet carried them. As soon as they reached the bottom of the hill, Jesus abruptly appeared in front of them. His clothes were white like pure snow and a bright light radiated off his sun-kissed face. He gazed at Mary and Mary Magdalene with loving copper brown eyes. “Greetings.” He said.

Shocked, they stopped in their tracks and fell to their knees. The two women grabbed his feet and worshipped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

As the story continues Jesus appears in Galilee and meets with the disciples. He encourages them to spread the good news of his resurrection to all the nations of the land. Since Jesus’ time, the gospel of Christianity has lasted throughout the ages. Every Spring, Christians celebrate Jesus’ death and resurrection by holding church services as well as family gatherings. He gave us the gift of salvation by dying for our sins. For those of us who are Christians, it’s a time to reflect on our own salvation. Praying and reconnecting with God as we remember the reason why we are here. We are here to be a service to others. A service to our fellow brother and sister, regardless of race, nationality, age, gender or religion, just as Jesus intended. Enjoy Your Easter Everyone And Thank-you For Reading!

The Author’s Corner

Books don’t just go with you, they take you where you’ve never been.

Last summer, twice a month on a Saturday, I would spend the day selling my novels at the Marietta Square Artist Market. I sold quite a few books this way and met some very interesting people. It’s nice to know people love the feel of a book in their hands as well as a good story.

One muggy, hot Saturday afternoon, an attractive lady with brown shouldered length hair and engaging blue sunny eyes stopped by my table. The bright, vivid cover of the novel, “The Cat on Salter’s Point” caught her attention. She gave me a warm smile as she picked up the book and quickly read the synopsis on the back cover. “Are you the author?” She finally asked in her warm southern accent.

“Yes,” I answered. Her blue eyes lit up and she said, “Your book sounds intriguing. I belong to a book club. The ladies in the club take turns selecting a book for the club to read. I think I would like to purchase your book as my selection for the club.”

“Well, thank-you,” I said. “How many books do you need?”

“Seven,” she smiled.

“Seven, it is, ” I smiled back. I was delighted and amazed at the same time. This nice lady bought seven books and she didn’t know me from a hole in the wall. I signed the books and gave them to her. She paid with her credit card. However, before she left, she surprised me again. “Would you be willing to come to my book club and talk about your book?”

Although I was wearing sunglasses at the time, my dark brown eyes grew big as saucers when I heard her question. I promptly answered her, “Well, yes, I would be happy to come to your book club!”

“Let’s exchange cell phone numbers and I will call you when it’s my time to host the book club,” she excitedly said. She introduced herself as DeEnna and we exchanged cell phone numbers. She promised to call me in the near future. Then she took off. Disappearing into the thick crowd with seven copies of my first novel.

Months passed and finally, in January, I received a phone call from DeEnna. She officially invited me to her book club and the meeting was to be held at her home on the twenty-eighth of February this year. I graciously accepted her invitation, writing the date on my calendar.

So, last Thursday, I show up at her lovely home. I met eight wonderful ladies there. Needless to say, I was nervous at first, but DeEnna and her friends made me feel very welcome. DeEnna made a delectable chocolate cherry cake that melted in your mouth. It was delicious and she even shared her recipe. I was surprised to learn how simple it was to make.

As we settled in for the evening, getting to know one another, sipping on our drinks and enjoying DeEnna’s cake, the discussion turned to my book. The ladies bombard me with a bunch of questions. They were interested in my background and what inspired me to write such a book. The burning question they asked was, “Are these people real?” “Did this stuff really happen?”

My answers to both questions was a resounding “yes!” I explained to them, in the field of mental health, the profession often draws odd and crazy people. Some of them entered the profession with hopes of solving their own emotional issues which often interferes with their ability to be therapeutically effective with their clients. A situation such as this can be murky and unhealthy for all involved. Back in the day, I would often hear mental health professionals say, “Fact is stranger than fiction.”

I found this statement to be true over the years. I have known and worked with many hilarious and crazy acting professionals in the mental health field. Their crazy behavior and antics inspired me to penned two novels. When people read “The Cat on Salter’s Point” and “Three Sheets In The Wind,” they can’t believe mental health professionals actually behave this way but some of them do. More often than not.

Two ladies in the group supported my detailed explanation. They, too, have worked in similar environments with quirky, crazy co-workers. As the evening wore on, we continued with our lively conversation. I ended my visit by giving them each a copy of “Three Sheets In The Wind.” I can’t wait to hear their feedback once they have read this hilarious, dark novel! As always, thank-you for reading!

“The Cat on Salter’s Point” and “Three Sheets In The Wind” are available on and Google Play Store.

The Joy of Drinking Good Coffee!

Every morning I look forward to the thick scent of coffee. I love to hear it brewing in the pot. The vibrant aroma penetrates my nostrils. The coffee’s unique freshness dazzles my senses.

I pour myself a cup and my mouth waters. As I anticipate tasting the coffee’s nutty spicy flavor. I stirred a teaspoon of half and half creme into the steamy liquid and watch it turn the color of teasing tan.

I wrapped my fingers around the cup and enjoyed the warm heat on my hands. With each steamy sip, I squeezed my eyes shut. The lustrous texture linger on my palate and when the smooth brown liquid eases down my throat, it feels like I died and went straight to heaven!

Starbucks is my favorite brand of coffee. I love its strong robust flavor. When I was growing up, the old folks used to say, drinking too much strong coffee will grow hair on one’s chest. However, I view coffee differently. It has been my saving grace. Not only does it help me to maintain my sanity and not kill my crazy, toxic colleagues at work but it gives me the patience to cope with life’s stressors. Coffee is a hug in a mug. A good idea. A language in itself. It’s nothing like a strong good cup of coffee to begin one’s day!

Out Of The Mouths of Babes

I nicknamed my daughter Sweet Girl when she was two years old. She was a sweet, little thing. Jovial, rambunctious and smart with a hilarious sense of humor. Often coming up with the most funniest statements and comments.

When she was three years old, I began teaching her letters of the alphabet. She would recite them nightly before climbing into bed. She was also allergic to cow’s milk. Drinking soybean milk as a substitute and as time progress, the milk began staining her teeth. I tried desperately to wean her off the milk not only to protect her teeth but I suspected she was no longer allergic to cow’s milk.

Sweet Girl loved to eat hot cereal for breakfast every morning. Any kind of hot cereal , it didn’t matter the brand. One day, I decided to mix two tablespoons of cow’s milk in her cream of wheat along with butter and a heaping teaspoon of sugar. My suspicion proved right. She ate it all without experiencing an allergic reaction.

The following morning, while Sweet Girl was enjoying a bowl of hot, steamy oatmeal, I decided to share my discovery with her Dad. I looked over at him. He was reading the newspaper. “Sweet Girl, is no longer allergic to M-I-L-K!” As I carefully spelled out the letters of the word ” milk.” Thinking she didn’t know what was being said. I further explained. “This is the second day I have mixed M-I-L-K in her cereal and she doesn’t even know the difference!”

“Well, good, that’s an accomplishment!” He beamed.

Then Sweet Girl stopped eating. The small creases in her little forehead wrinkled and her face twisted into a frown. She pushed away her bowl of half eaten oatmeal and folded her arms across her chest. Concerned, her father asked, “What’s the matter, honey?”

This precocious little girl with the hilarious sense of humor, stood to her feet. She placed her hands on her hips looking doleful eyed. Her mahogany brown eyes glared at me and then at her Dad. She shook her head violently, raising her little voice. “Mom and Dad , pleeeease don’t put letters in my cereal anymore! It grosses me out!” Thank-you for reading!

A New Year A New Start!

I always look forward to the new year. It’s a time of reflection and to say good-bye to old habits. It’s a time to start something new. A New Year not only moves the calendar forward, but it also signifies opportunities for bringing about positive change to your personal and work life. It’s about making the world around you a vibrant better place.

Therefore, as you began the New Year of 2019, remember to be joyful and peaceful in spirit, healthy in body and mind. Stay connected to true friends and family and always live your best life! Happy New Year!

The Christmas Gift

The short story below is based on actual events. Names and the location where the event occurred have been changed to protect the privacy of the innocent.

It was Christmas Eve in Paris, Tennessee, Sunday morning in nineteen ninety-three. A wintery mix hovered over the town and mass at Saint Mary’s Catholic Church was about to begin. Carla Diego, with her red and black checkered wool scarf covering half of her face, took a seat in the front pew. Her dark brown eyes zeroed in on the divinity scene in front of her. A replica of a manger made up of wood and moss sat in the pulpit. Larger than life ceramic statues of Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus were strategically placed in the manger.

She thought about her three young sons in Sunday school and her constant struggle to financially support them. She was twenty-five years old, a single mother and she worked two minimum waged jobs everyday to make ends meet. Although, her chronological age deemed her a very young woman, spiritually and physically she felt old and worn out.

Carla inhaled sharply and bowed her head. A lock of her curly red hair fell stubbornly on her face and she tucked it behind her earlobe. She clasped her hands together and whispered a prayer until the choir bursted into loud song. Slow to open her dark brown eyes, she was drowsy and exhausted from insomnia. She stared blankly into the pulpit as she waited for Father Jennings to appear.

By the time the choir finished singing their long hymn, Father Jennings was standing behind the podium. He was wearing his usual. A long fitted black robe with gold trimming. He was short in statue and up in age. His laughing brown copper eyes panned the congregation. He gestured for them to stand and with his direction, they promptly recited the eucharistic prayer. Carla, feeling out of it, mumbled out the words. She blew out her cheeks in relief when it was over collapsing in her seat with exhaustion.

The congregation took their seats and prepare for the sermon. Getting out their bibles, eager to hear from Father Jennings. Instead, the priest had another agenda, gesturing for the congregation to put their bibles aside for a minute. He told a compelling story of an old sick retired army colonel. An eighty-eight year old who was unable to leave his home. He was physically ill with debilitating Parkinson’s disease and he suffered from depression. He needed help with his grocery-shopping and someone to cook meals. Except for a few distant cousins in Atlanta, he had no close family. He ran off his friends; his cantankerous personality the reason. He was a cranky, old fellow with a blistering nasty temper. His name was Abe Charleston and he lived in a modest townhouse community two blocks from the church.

After Father Jennings finished his story. Whispers erupted around the sanctuary. No one stepped up. No one volunteered. This bother Carla Diego. Although, she was struggling herself to keep her head above water, she felt empathy for the old man’s plight. She decided she would stop by Father Jennings office after service, to get Abe’s address and phone number. She figured since she worked part-time at Winn Dixie Grocery Store, she could bring the old man groceries once in a while.

Father Jennings silently moved his lips, citing another prayer as his large fingers made an invisible crucifix over his chest. Then he jumped right into his sermon, his message, “The Joy of Giving Back.” After he preached for thirty minutes, Father Jennings concluded the service. Carla rose to her feet and made a bee-line to his office. She made herself comfortable on the wood bench next to the door. She waited for him and it wasn’t long before she spotted him coming down the hall. She stood and greeted him with a broad, warm smile. “Father Jennings, how are you?”

“Hello my child!” As he reached for her hand and gingerly held it. “What brings you to my office?” He asked with an equally warm smile.

“Your story about the army colonel moved me. I wondered if I can get his information. I would like to help,” she revealed.

His wrinkled face lit up. “Bless you my child! Let’s go inside my office.”

He unlocked the door and she followed him inside. His office was simply decorated. Two huge leather black chairs sat in front of his shiny oak desk and the windows were stained glass. An oil painting of the adult Jesus pinned to a cross hung on the back wall. Father Jennings went into his desk drawer and grabbed his address book. His large fingers raked through the pages while Carla, getting antsy, toyed with a lock of her hair. “Here it is!” He announced, with his face beaming with excitement. “Let me jot down the information for you!”

“Thank-you,” Carla replied. He scribbled the information on a piece of paper and gave it to her. Then he cautioned. “Don’t bother calling Abe. He’s not going to answer the phone. Just make a visit!”

Worry and dread clouded Carla’s features. “Does the man have a gun? Will he shoot me if I stop by unannounced?” She asked with questioning big eyes.

“Dear child, no!” Said Father Jennings with mirthless laughter. “He’s got a temper, but don’t let that bother you.”

“Okay,” said Carla giving him a leery eye. She left his office feeling uneasy as she raced downstairs to retrieve her sons. On the way home, she drove by the townhome community Abe lived in, deciding she would visit him after Christmas.

A week later, after Carla dropped her sons off at school, she headed straight to Abe Charleston’s home. She drove into the complex and it didn’t take long to locate his townhouse. She parked her Ford Focus in front of his home and got out of the car. As she stepped to the door, a faint tobacco scent hovered in the air. Carla rang the doorbell. The sound of squeaky wheels came to the door and screeched to a halt. Her small frame flinched hard when a gruff voice boomed from inside. “Who in the hell is it?”

She shuddered. Scared to death. Then she barely blurted out. “Father Jennings sent me to visit you. I’m from Saint Mary’s Catholic Church up the street!” She said.

A roving eye pressed against the peek hole of the door. Then the door flew open and a frail, elderly man appeared. He was hunched over in a wheelchair, smoking a wood pipe. On his head, he wore an army cap decorated with service award pins with wisps of white hair sticking out from underneath. There were tobacco stains on his tan flannel pajamas and his long, sharp fingernails were stained as well. Carla’s dark brown eyes were wide as saucers and she hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. “Are you Mister Abe….Abe Charleston?” She stammered.

“Whose asking?” He growled with deep set blazing blue eyes.

“Father Jennings sent me to help you with grocery shopping and……”

Abe cut her off. “Lady, I don’t even know your damn name! Who are you?”

“I am sorry. Let me introduce myself. I’m Carla…….Carla Diego,” she stammered again, cowering down.

“So that rascal of a priest sent you here, yeh? Mind telling me what the hell for?”

“He told me you needed help with grocery shopping and meal preparation,” she iterated again with her voice quivering.

“How do I know you are not a thief?” He questioned her with his eyebrows furrowing.

Carla shot him a funny look. “Sir, I take offense to that!”

“I don’t give a damn what you take offense too! Every time I give you silly sapsuckers money to do my grocery shopping, you end up stealing from me!” He said bucking his eyes.

Carla stiffened. Aching to go off. Instead she elected to maintain her composure as she reached in her handbag. She pulled out a notepad and ink pen and scribbled down her phone number. “Look, I don’t know who stole from you, but it wasn’t me. Here’s my phone number, call me if you need some help. Goodbye Mister Charleston!”

She dropped the note in his lap and turned to leave. “Hey wait,” he said softening his tone as tension eased from his face. Carla whirled around and her dark brown eyes met his. “I do need groceries,” he admitted as he looked her dead in the eye.

Her lips curve into a smile. “Well, all right!” She answered. “Let’s work something out.”

He backed his wheelchair up against the door and Carla stepped inside. He closed the door and gestured for her to follow him. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” he suggested.

“Very well,” she said.

Abe Charleston’s townhouse was a typical man cave. In a corner in the living room sat a fifty-two inch screen TV. There were sports magazines scattered everywhere and the place reeked of stale tobacco. On the kitchen counter, he kept a collection of wooden pipes. In the sink, dirty dishes and pots were stacked to the rim and his stove was soiled with grease. “This place needs a good cleaning,” Carla muttered to herself with her hand covering her mouth.

“What’s that?” Abe growled with icy deep set blue eyes.

“Nothing,” she fibbed, suddenly feeling uneasy again. Abe reached in a drawer over flowing with crumpled up paper and pulled out his grocery list. “Here,” he said.

Carla took the list from him and briefly looked it over. “I’ll be right back!” As she rushed to the door. Abe followed her in his wheelchair. “Don’t you need some money?” He called out.

“You can pay me when I return with your groceries!” Then she opened the door and walked out. Leaving the poor man with his mouth hanging open. An hour later, she returned as promised with his groceries. Abe, beaming like a cheetah, promptly paid her.

As time went on, the two of them became close friends. Every week, on Saturday, Carla would visit Abe and stay all day. She would clean up for him, purchase groceries to last him for a week and cook him a meal. They discovered they both had a love for the game of chess. Abe’s chess set was made of greek marble and Carla fell in love with it. She often told him when she got enough money she was going to purchase a set just like his one day.

Two years later, precisely two weeks before Christmas, Abe Charleston died peaceably in his sleep. He was ninety years old. His attorney called Carla the next day after his death to delivered the bad news. There was no funeral or memorial service. Abe wanted it that way. He was cremated by the end of the week and placed in a niche in the military cemetery.

Carla mourned her old friend for several days, often enduring sleepless nights. Then on Christmas Eve morning, after a long night of tossing and turning, she threw back the covers and struggled out of bed. She opened the blinds and squinted. A blanket of fresh glistening snow covered the ground and vegetation. As her eyes adjusted to the bright snow outside, she spotted a postal worker delivering mail on her street. He stopped at her mailbox and dropped off an envelope.

She rushed to her closet and slipped on her red rubber knee high boots. She found her jacket on a chair and threw it over her shoulders. She swung the door opened and stepped outside. Her boots crunched as she navigated through the icy thick snow. Leaving size seven shoe prints along the way. When she finally arrived at her mailbox, she flipped up the lid. She gasped when she picked up the envelope. It was from Abe Charleston! The envelope was postmarked December, nineteenth, the day before he died. “So weird!” She exclaimed not believing her eyes.

She fastened the lid on her mailbox and hurried inside. She threw off her coat and kicked off her boots and then she plopped down on the sofa. She ripped open the envelope. Out dropped a check for a million dollars signed by Abe. Her mouth gaped open. He had written her a note and it said. “To my guardian angel, Carla Diego, Thank-you for your kindness and unconditional love. You made an old, cranky man happy these past two years. I am sure you will put this money to good use. P.S. The chess set you love so much is on the way! Merry Christmas! Love, Your friend, Abe.”

Tears came to Carla’s eyes. Abe’s wonderful Christmas gift was not expected. She kneeled on her knees and thank God for Abe’s friendship and their precious time together. Then she called Father Jennings. During her phone call with him, she discovered not only was Abe Charleston a multi-millionaire and a blessing to her but he was a generous undercover philanthropist to his community until the day he died. I hoped you enjoyed the story. Merry Christmas Everyone And A Happy New Year! Comments Are Welcome!

Meet The Jazzy Sisters from the Godyva Chocolate Sensation Book Club!

Pat McCoy, Karen Moody, Dr. Marla Kendall and Jacqueline Morris

This past Thursday Evening, I had the privilege of visiting the jazzy sisters of the Godyva Chocolate Sensation Book Club in Riverdale, Georgia.  Dr. Marla Kendall invited me to her book club after reading my first novel, “The Cat on Salter’s Point.”  She  enjoyed the book so much, she convinced the lovely ladies in the Godyva Chocolate Sensation Book Club to read the book as well.  

I met Dr. Kendall at the Marietta Artist Market this past summer in August.  She and her husband stopped by my booth one scorching, hot Saturday afternoon, after being drawn in by the colorful sunflower sign displaying the covers of both books.  

I discovered during our conversation, her husband and I work for the same federal agency.  We even passed each other in the hallway on occasion, often speaking briefly as we went about our work duties.  After listening to my spiel on both books for ten minutes,  Dr. Kendall decided to purchase one.  She settled on  “The Cat on Salter’s Point,” promising to read it within the next couple months.   She, then asked, if I would be interested in coming to her book club and of course, I told her I was.   I gave her my phone number and she promised to contact me after she finished reading the book.

As promised, I received a telephone call from her last month. A few days before Thanksgiving and she excitedly told me with lotsa of laughter in her voice how much she enjoyed reading the book.  Again, she invited me to her book club and on Thursday evening I had a wonderful time talking with her and her friends about “The Cat on Salter’s Point.”

I shared with them my inspiration for the book as well as my professional background and inside knowledge on some of the characters in the books.   We had an insightful and moving conversation about the topic of mental illness.  Our discussion first focused on the humorous side of mental health then we talked about the dark side.  The recent mass shootings came up and we took note of the disturbing correlation mental illness often plays in these horrific situations.

Two of the ladies shared their own personal experiences with mental illness.  One had a family member suffering from paranoid schizophrenia while another had a friend who committed suicide.  We talked about the opioid drug epidemic and the impact opioids have on the rising suicide rate in America. It was quite a conversation, and I was delighted to know my novel inspired these ladies to openly share their experiences and feelings on the sensitive topic of mental health.

By the end of the evening, these jazzy sisters in the Godyva Chocolate Sensation Book Club decided to purchase my second novel “Three Sheets in the Wind.”  My second novel is  the sequel to “The Cat on Salter’s Point.”  These lovely ladies have invited me back to their book club in June to discuss their take on  “Three Sheets In The Wind.” I am looking forward to meeting with them and I can’t wait to hear their reviews!

“The Cat on Salter’s Point” and “Three Sheets In The Wind” not only gives the reader an in-depth look on the commonality of mental illness in our everyday lives, but the novels are hilarious, dark and quirky; promising to keep you on the edge of your seat!  You can purchase both books on Amazon;  available in paperback, and on Kindle.  To order a copy, click  on  the link below.

Note: If you participate in a book club and live in the Atlanta metro area, consider  adding “The Cat on Salter’s Point” and “Three Sheets In The Wind”  on the club’s reading list for 2019.  If you wish to schedule a question and answer session with me in the near future after reading both books, don’t hesitate to email me at  In the meantime,  Have Yourself A Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year!


Embracing The Big 60! What I Discover So Far!

Today I turned age sixty.  I feel no different today than yesterday at the age of fifty-nine.  But I’m here, the big 60!  A monumental birthday!

When I was a little girl back in the sixties, I used to tell people I plan to live to be one hundred years old. It seemed at the time a long time away and now,  I am over half way there.  Forty more years to go to age one hundred and don’t worry I’m not rushing to get there.  I am perfectly happy being the age I am now. Living my best life with no apologies or regrets!

 I thank God above for my health, my successful career spanning forty years and my supportive family and friends.   I thank Him for my God-given talent for writing and the good, loving man in my life.  I  view my sixtieth year as a new phase in my life journey and I plan to celebrate it wearing my sassy high heel shoes and drinking my favorite red wine Saint Michelle’s Merlot from Washington State.

As I pour myself a glass of wine and slip on my sassy high-heeled shoes, I have discovered many reasons why it’s so cool to be sixty.  Below I listed thirty-four cool reasons why age sixty is definitely the “bomb!”  The list is as follows:

1. I am more independent than I ever been.  Freedom to be.

2. I know myself better.  I know what I want and what I am NOT willing to put up with.

3. I have more discernment.  I know who my real friends are and I have learned to weed out toxic and emotionally needy people from my life.

4. I no longer strive for needless goals. It’s a waste of time.

5.  I have embraced my God-given talent to write.  I have written two novels and working on a third.

6.  I am okay with spending time alone, in fact, I prefer it sometimes.       Less drama and stress.

7. I am more wise, but still youthful.

8. I can say “no” and not feel guilty about it.

9. I can speak my mind respectfully and not care what others think.

10. Although, I love my family dearly, I no longer need approval from them.  Hell, now I simply do what  I want to do!

11. I am bolder than I ever been.

12. I know money isn’t the path to happiness.  Love and supportive family and friends matter in one’s life.

13. I know for the time being, I must work, but it’s not my whole life and it doesn’t define me.

14. I can laugh at my imperfections and I have many.

15. I know diet is a lifestyle and not a temporary restriction what one eats.

16. I have a few aches and pains, but I am still very healthy and fit.

17. I laugh off jerks instead of allowing them to enrage me.

18.  If I don’t feel like wearing a bra, I don’t !

19. I no longer worry about my hem-line. If I want to be sexy and wear a short dress or leggings with a pair of three-inch heels, I do, I can and I will!

20.  I color my hair to get rid of the gray because I want to not because I trying to please someone else.

21. I discover sex is better as you grow older.

22. I seek out kindred spirited people and create new friendships.

23. I  can afford to travel to foreign countries and I do so every chance I get.

24. I  have no problem making my own decisions and taking responsibility for my actions.

25. I have lived through some amazing, perilous times, such as the  civil rights movement, the first man on the moon, the assassination of a president and two great civil rights leaders, and the forced resignation of a president from office to name a few that younger people have not.

26. I am old enough to remember simpler times when there were no smart phones, iPhones, computers, internet, social media, mandatory auto insurance and credit card interest used to be filed as a deduction on one’s tax bill.

27. I am conservative about some things, but liberal enough to embrace ideas and/or programs that lift up a majority of us. 

28. I can tap into my 401K, but I am not ready to retire yet.

29.  My mortgage will be paid off in 7 years. I will retire then.

30. Menopause for me is a distant memory.

31. Hooray for senior discounts!

32. Bell Bottoms are back and I recently bought two pairs and I am wearing those suckers like nobody’s business!

33. My daughter has turned out to be a capable, independent, interesting young lady! Not dependent on me! Thank Goodness! I love her with all of my heart!

34. I am happy I am not seventy yet!

 Yes, I am older.  However, sixty is really just a freaking number and I embrace it wholeheartedly with style, class and a little sass!  Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! Enjoy Your Holiday!





My Craving For A Doubled Chocolate Donut!


This morning around ten o’clock, I yearned for a doubled chocolate donut. I was shopping at Kroger Grocery Store and as the hour flew by, my craving got the best of me. So I packed my groceries in my Nissan Juke and I took off across the parking lot to Dunkin’ Donuts. When I walked into the shop, there was a long line, ten people deep.

I went to the counter and leaned over just a tad.  Stretching my neck to check out the display of donuts. I grinned like a little kid when I saw the tray of doubled chocolate donuts in the back.  Only eight left, and the line was now twelve people deep. “Lord, I hope these people aren’t going to order a doubled chocolate donut!” I anxiously told myself.  

The cashier, a caucasian, forty-something woman with a permanent scowl upon her face, had been checking me out behind the counter.  Her  dishwater, crinkly blond hair, although off her face, was pinned in a messy mop on top of her head. She glared at me with her icy blue eyes and said. “Lady, you need something?!”

Immediately, I wanted to engage in a war of words with her, but I thought better of it. Instead, I gave her my most radiant smile and explained. “I was trying to see if there were any double chocolate donuts left before I stood in this very long line.”

“As you can see, there are some!” She huffed, rolling her eyes heavenward.

“Thank-you,” I said.

I went to the back of the line and stood there for a good fifteen minutes.  Finally, I reached the counter again and lucky for me, there were four donuts left. The same cashier with the dishwater, crinkly blond hair no longer had a permanent scowl on her face.  Instead she gave me a big smile and said. “Ma’am, can I help you?”

“Yes, I would like a double chocolate donut to go,” I told her.

“Just one?”

“Yes, just one.  Thank-you.”

She reached for the tray of doubled chocolate donuts and put one in a paper bag. Then she handed it to me and said with a smile.  “Anything else?”

“No, that’s it, I believe,” I told her as I reached in my handbag for my wallet.

“Ma’am, don’t worry about paying!” She said with a smile.  “Your donut is on me.  I feel bad about the way I talked to you earlier. Enjoy and have a nice day!”

I was flabbergasted, but pleased. What a turn of events.  I thanked her then I grabbed my donut and hurried out the door. 

On the way home, I thought about the cashier. With so much anger and turmoil happening in the world today, this interaction between her and I could have turned out less than desirable.  However, it didn’t.  We both chose to take the higher road.  Recognizing each other’s common humanity instead of our differences. Recognizing being gentle and kind is far better than an attitude of anger and strife.  My yearning this morning for a doubled chocolate donut, not only satisfied my craving, but it  turned into a meaningful and worthwhile blessing.