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Being thankful sometimes requires action.

by on November 9, 2012

Some of you are reading the title and I can visualize your expressions as the word “huh” falls through your lips. I have been thinking about this post since Tuesday night. I wasn’t sure which way the election would turn but I was a praying somebody. That said, all of these scenarios rolled through my mind like a movie clips. Hundreds of what ifs barraged me to the point where I couldn’t hold on to any one thread. All because although hopeful I wasn’t sure who would sit in the oval office for the next four years.

Now, I’m no spring chicken, I remember some things, others are a bit hazy and I’m sure there is a reason for that. I’m guessing those are the times I choose to forget. Because of my experiences I was was girding myself in the event Mr. Romney  actually did get enough votes to become president. As sad as it is to say I truly think it would have been bad for some folks in general if he had. In a round about way that brings me to why our immediate actions produce wonderful results that we should be thankful for.

For instance take the era of the sixties and seventies. My mother and father marched. Hell, my mother helped take over Howard University for a few days and proudly tells you there are pictures of her floating around the FBI somewhere. My father wouldn’t bow down to the Klu klux Klan and had to be shipped north to stay with relatives because my grandmother feared he would be lynched. The idea of being beaten with water hoses or having dogs sic’d on them were not idle thoughts but everyday occurrences. Several of my aunts marched for women’s suffrage, equality so they would no longer be considered chattle. I am proud to say no matter the circumstances, I come from a long line of fighters and they weren’t just warriors for me or my family but for everybody. They didn’t care about the color of your skin, who you married or how deep your pockets stretched. No, those men and women cared about the future and how they could make a change.

Their beliefs are a part of me and I gladly pass their ideas to all and any that would listen. No matter the times, we as a people are connected in one way or another whether you believe it or not. Hatred doesn’t change, it is an evil, vile emotion but people can, they can put aside their differences and work toward a positive future that will benefit not just a few but all. Ultimately I am thankful for a chance to be a part of that. Yes for very step forward we might have to regroup and take a few steps back, that is okay. Why? Because it will only make us stronger and in the end it will be our determination and character that carry us through.  “We shall overcome one day.” I don’t believe Martin Luther King was referring to only black people. I think he was referring to all people and the chance we have to come together and make a difference for the next generation.

Think about it, if the last few generations hadn’t come together to make it better for me then where would I be now. I am an author. I have a degree. I can stand in a crowd without worry about being separated. I am considered an equal in my field and can love who I want no matter their color or gender. I am thankful for that because it didn’t have to happen that way. So lets shovel up the bullsh*t and toss it on the grass (good fertilizer) roll up our sleeves and make this world an even better place for our children.

I hadn’t planned on writing this drawn out commentary. I actually wanted to tell you about my new release, A Pussy,a Pirate and Poachers. Please allow me to add a little fun something to my oh so serious beginnings. Check out the Blurb and Excerpt below. Oh one more thing I’m thankful for…the opportunity to write a raunchy sex driven comedy about a panther and a pirate. Have a Fantastic Friday and a wonderful weekend.


Milla didn’t know who or what she pissed off but she was having the worst week of her life. Her ship had sunk during a freak storm. Luckily, she’d gotten her crew and most of her cargo off.  But somehow she ended up on an island with a neurotic cat, a black panther to be more specific. Her week from hell culminates when they land on an island owned by an ex-drug lord with security issues.

Then there was one little issue she didn’t see coming. Ole pussycat wasn’t a panther at all.

Alex had no clue why he didn’t want to leave the infuriating woman. At least he didn’t until he got a good whiff of her. Now all he could think about was mating her. That alone was ridiculous, she was human. What made it worse was her penchant for illegal activities.  As an ATF officer he was geared and ready to take her down for smuggling. Now he found himself doing anything to protect her. And she thought her day was bad.


Taking a different route from the one he’d started on, Alex headed back toward shore. Milla was sitting close to the waterline, staring at the sea. She shook her head as she rose. He watched her chest rise as she took a deep breath and started limping toward him. This was his chance to disappear into the jungle. Alex chuckled at the realization he didn’t want to leave her. He needed to decide, however, if he would shift to cat or appear before her as a man. Loping toward her, he changed back into his panther form.

Stopping just out of her line of sight, he blended in with the foliage and watched as she walked the beach. Milla was about to walk right into him when she realized he was there––only inches stood between them. She jumped back, falling on her ass, and backpedaled to put some space between them. He stretched his front paws and eased from the brush. His stare clashed with hers. He finally had the opportunity to get a good look at his captor as he sat on his haunches and took in every nuance from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

Milla’s hair had dried into a two-tone afro of black and blonde. Her large eyes dominated her face and were the color of liquid gold. High cheekbones and plump, bow-shaped lips completed her features. His gaze skimmed over her tan skin.

The blue tank top she wore was ripped up the side, exposing the soft curve of her breast. Her sodden jeans clung to her curvy hips and were intact with the exception of multiple long cuts in the fabric on the inside of one leg.

Guilt washed over him. He’d been angry at being caged with no way to free himself on a ship that was sinking. He continued his study of her. She was missing a boot. The missing footwear was his fault too. She dug her hands deep into the soft silt, pushed up from the sand, stood, and limped a few more steps back, favoring her left leg.

She never looked away from him. Alex could hear her rapid heartbeat from where he crouched. His cock jumped. The predator in him responded to her fear by crouching low to the ground and flicking his long tongue out to wipe his muzzle. Alex prowled toward her.

“Nice pussy cat. Remember me? You saved me.” She spoke quietly, raising her hands with the palms facing him.

Why did she insist on talking to him as if he were a housecat? He was a predator, not a pet. He growled his frustration and watched her eyes widen. The smell of fear rolled off her. He chuffed at the odor surrounding him. Suddenly she planted her feet, and her scent toned down considerably.

“Listen here, kitty; I am not your enemy. We’re caught in a bad situation. You can go your way, and I’ll go mine, but after the night I’ve had, you’ll have a fight on your hands if you expect me to lie down and be breakfast.” She turned her body toward the trees and, after a glance over her shoulder, limped away.

Turning her back on him was a bold move, and he was impressed. Alex walked behind her. His gaze was drawn to her ass, cupped so lovingly by the jeans. The sight made him groan inwardly. Damn, but she had a nice ass, and once she got hold of her emotions…he’d even admit she would make one hell of a cat.

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  1. So true. Howard University, huh? Well tell her Thank You.

  2. Shyla Colt permalink

    Fantastic post!

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