You are invited to a book signing

I have a huge fault as an author; I suck at self-promotion. So much so that even though my book was published last August, I still get asked when I'm going to publish a book! Well, this post should clear that up. My book, Lovers Anonymous, is available for sale at just about all online book sellers. If you prefer, just go to your favorite book store. If they don't have it on the shelf, they will be happy to order it for you. Next month I'll be doing a discussion and signing of my book in South Florida and I'd love to see you there. Here's what you need to know:

Location:
African American Research Library and Cultural Center
2650 Sistrunk Boulevard
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311 US

When:
Saturday, June 7, 12:00PM

Phone:
866-230-5692

Email:
xavierpjr@gmail.com

I’m so convinced that you will want to buy Lovers Anonymous that I’m giving away the first 2 chapters for free. Just click here. I also encourage you to read a review of my book by Ingrid Moore. The review is followed by an interview. You can check it out by clicking here. And since I got such positive feedback from my last excerpt, here’s another preview from my next book, Twelve Steps:

"One Last Time"

A few hours into the work day, Nadine, the receptionist, called me. “Xavier, I have Alice on the line. I told her I wasn't sure if you were in the office. She says if you take the call she promises not to upset you.”

I sighed, “OK, I'll take it.”
The next voice was Alice's. “Good morning Xavier. How are you?”
“I'm OK,” I said suspiciously. “What do you want?”
I could sense her gathering her thoughts and her courage. “I know you're at work so I won't keep you. But I really need to talk to you privately. Can we meet tonight?”
Against my better judgment I agreed to meet her, but I insisted on meeting her the following night. I wanted to be prepared. She was staying at the Olympia Guest House, a discreet place that catered mostly to business travelers. It was clean and had good long-term rates. Our appointment was for 8:00 so the following day I stayed in the office until 7:30 but I got very little done. I kept having conversations in my mind with Alice.
When I got to the hotel, Alice was waiting for me in the restaurant. As I approached her table she stood up and took a step towards me. It was obviously calculated to give me a full view of her body and put me in the awkward position of having to hug her. I looked at her. She wore a short skirt and a jacket. She looked like a very sexy version of a paralegal. Her makeup was tastefully applied so as to highlight the elfish features of her face and her hair was tied up. My ex-wife was absolutely beautiful and desirable.
“Divorce favors you. I really hate to say this, but you look great.” We sat down.
“Well,” she started, “don't let it fool you. I'm not doing all that good, but I wanted to look good for you. I wanted to impress you.”
I didn't want to sound nasty, but I had to make myself clear. “Look, if you called me here to beg for another chance, you're not just wasting your time, you're also wasting mine. The answer is no. It was no yesterday, and it’ll be no tomorrow.” I stood up.
Alice put a hand on my arm. “Wait. I didn't ask you here for that.”
“What then?” I asked.
“Please,” she started nervously, “please sit down. I want to show you something, and I have a favor to ask you.”
Slowly I sat back down. “OK, what is it.”
Alice picked up her oversized handbag and put it in her lap. “Before I show you this, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. Whether we together or not, I'll always love you.” She stared at me earnestly, “and I'll always watch over you Xavier.”
Inside I was feeling a bit uneasy but I hid my anxiety and stared back at her. “Stop with the creepy nonsense and show me what you got.”
Alice smiled and took a small plastic bag from her handbag and handed it to me. I took it carefully from her and peeked inside. It just looked like a white cotton rag. I looked at her and she was still smiling softly. “Go ahead, take it out.”
I inhaled deeply, discreetly, trying to look calm, but I could feel small beads of sweat forming on my nose. I looked around. There were a score of people in the restaurant, but we were sitting in a private out-of-the-way corner. I gathered my courage and reached into the bag and pulled out the rag. I assumed that something was wrapped inside, but when I opened it, I realized that the white cotton rag was really an unwashed, pair of men's briefs. I looked at Alice. “Where did you get this?”
“The real question is when,” Alice said. “You do recognize those don't you?”
Most of my underwear was colored, but I did own a few pairs of white briefs, and I had worn a pair during the week. “OK, what's your point?”
Alice's smile had become a sad and sincere expression. “The point is Xavier, that you can't trust anyone. You wore those the day before yesterday. You took them off and threw them in the hamper like you do every night. The hamper is in your room by the door. You lock your room when you leave for work. You lock the house and it stays locked until either you or Pop come home. But the very next day I had your dirty underwear. You know what I could have done with them if I had wanted to, but I love you Xavier. I just want you to realize that I'm the only person in the world that you can trust.”
I examined the briefs carefully. There was absolutely no doubt. They were mine, the very ones I had worn two days earlier. My mind started to fill with all the obvious questions that she expected me to ask, but I knew her M.O. all too well. Each question would be answered with a carefully crafted lie neatly wrapped around an item of truth. All of it engineered to sow distrust and animosity inside my house. I refused to take the bait, and I was determined to break every last bond we had, once and for all. “Well, this is interesting. Very interesting.” I stuffed the briefs back into the bag and turned around to look for a waiter.
Somewhat surprised, Alice asked, “Don't you wanna know how I got it?”
“Not necessary,” I replied calmly. “Besides, it's pretty obvious,” I lied. “But I do want to thank you. So, what's the favor you wanted to ask?”
I could tell by the hesitation that Alice's confidence was shaken. She looked at me with eyes that betrayed her doubts. “Xavier, I want you to spend the night with me.”
I was pretty sure she would want sex so I had decided in advance that I would give it to her. It would be my parting gift to the woman who had been the love of my life and my wife. “Man, when you ask for a favor you go for broke don't you? Why don't we just spend a couple hours together and see how it goes?”
Tears stood perched on Alice's lower eyelids. “Honey, I know it's over between us, and I know it's my fault, but please do this for me. It's the last thing you will ever do for me. You can take whatever precautions you want, but please spend the entire night with me.”
I considered the request. I had already decided that I would sleep with her, but I really didn't trust her enough to spend the night. I thought about it as she sat there waiting for me to make up my mind. Finally I said, “Let's just have a drink and see how it goes.”

.../...

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Copyright © 2007-2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

"The Devil's Bride" (excerpt)

This is a preview of one of my upcoming novels. The main character is based on my first wife. Let me know what you think. All feedback is appreciated.

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from Chapter 1 - Belle-Glade

“One of my fondest memories as a little girl was going for ice cream with my dad. I suppose all little girls love their dads, but my dad was special; he was a real adventurer. Sometimes he would be gone for months at a time. Once he was gone for three years, but he always came back. My mother told us he was never coming back, but I knew he would, if only because he had promised me.”

Claude reached over the edge of the bed and flicked his ashes onto the the bare concrete floor and stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth before speaking. “Just like that?”

Nancy sat up, took the cigarette from Claude's lips and took a short drag before returning it to his mouth. “No, not 'just like that', nothing about my father was 'just like that'.

Claude rolled onto his side and propped himself on an elbow to face Nancy. “So what he do, show up in a big fancy limo?”

Nancy smiled, “No, that wasn't my Daddy's style. One day we were playing in the front yard and I saw him walking up the road with a big old duffel bag over his shoulder. I told my sisters it was him but they wouldn't believe me. They started laughing when I ran down the street to meet him, but sure enough, it was him.”

“So where had he been all those years?” Claude asked.

Nancy got up from the bed, stepped over to the small vanity and sat on the stool. “Texas, Columbia, then jail for a while until the FBI let him out for some under cover work, but he screwed them and made his way back home.”

Claude sat up and planted his huge feet on the floor, careful not to step in the pile of ashes. “Your father told you that?”

Nancy looked at her reflection as she fixed her hair. “He sure did.”

“And you believed him?” Claude let out a raucous laugh.

Nancy swirled around on the stool. “You callin my daddy a liar?”

Claude just kept laughing.

Nancy stood up and faced Claude. She wanted to strike, but that would have been foolish. Claude was just under seven feet tall, and weighed over two-hundred and fifty pounds. By contrast, Nancy was 5'2" and weighed just over a hundred pounds. “Fuck you Claude! I really hate you some times.”

Claude still had more laugh in him but he fought to hold it in as he reached out to her. “I'm sorry Ceecee. Come here and lemme make it better.”

“Don't touch me you jerk!” Nancy stepped out of range and picked her panties up off the floor at the foot of the bed.

Claude Realized that she was serious. “Come on baby, where you goin now? Hey if you goin near the kitchen, bring me back a beer will ya.”

Nancy sliped into her panties and walked out of the room. A short hallway led to the kitchen. She walked through the kitchen and sat on the worn, threadbare couch in the small living room. She tucked her legs under her, exposing the dirty soles of her feet, lay her head on the arm of the couch, and cried softly. She cried for her father. “Oh Daddy, I miss you so much. If only you could have stayed with me.”

Despite what Claude thought, Nancy's story was mostly true. Nancy's father, Billy, had come walking up the road one day after taking a Greyhound bus from Amarillo Texas all the way to Riviera Beach, Florida. Belle Glade was such a small, out of the way town that it didn't even have a bus station. Nancy's dad had hitched a ride for the two-hour drive to the small town near Lake Okeechobee. Three years earlier he'd left after being home for almost a year. He tried to be a good husband and dad and supported his wife Mabel and three daughters by fixing TVs, radios and other electronics. The computer revolution was just starting and he was saving money to buy one when life took him for spin.

Billy and Mabel were always fighting, and the fights were always the same. Billy was a ladie's man and a drinker. Mother's warned their daughters about him, and husbands kept a close eye on their wives. But Mabel was up to the challenge. She was fearless and when it came to her man, she wasn't shy about starting scandals. If she suspected that Billy was sleeping with a particular woman, she might go right up to the front door, ask for the man of the house and tell him to please keep an eye on his woman. Needless to say, Mabel made a lot of enemies.

Nancy was the middle sister. Her older sister Marlene had a son and lived with her boyfriend. Her younger sister Stephanie was a high school freshman. Nancy had dropped out of school after getting left back in the 8th grade. Her boyfriend Claude was the coach of the high school football team. For obvious reasons, their relationship was secret. In fact, even if told, most people would not even have believed it because Nancy had a reputation as a tomboy. Nancy idolized her father so much, that she wanted to do everything he did. That included having at least three girlfriends at any given time. Nancy had no romantic interest in men. To her, they were just a source of revenue. Claude was the exception for a very simple reason. He had an uncanny resemblance to her father.

Nancy dried her eyes and picked herself up off the couch the same way she always picked herself up between her father's adventures. But she knew he wasnt comin back this time. Her father had been dead for two years.

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Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

A Bit of Prose ... to Break the Monotony...

Not that it ever gets monotonous around here at BD2Write -- I just like that phrase cuz it makes me think of Will Smith's song: Summertime;-). Anyway... I hope u enjoy this teaser excerpt from the novel I'm shopping currently;-):

Reyna Seaton is the main character and narrator. Reyna was introduced to the world in Bloggers' Delight, Vol. 1's "Rey of Hope". Now, enjoy the "show"...

"... Dammit, Mimi! If she hadn't brought up the whole singles' event earlier today I wouldn't be so focused on the fact that I'm at home with a laptop and a cat while she's out possibly meeting her soul-mate because she didn't give up." A small voice in my head chided, "Don't blame Mimi."
Feeling highly agitated, I pulled out my journal:

All the sexperts write that self-pleasuring is normal and healthy. Then why doesn't it feel healthy to me? The sexperts reason that in order to help another pleasure you, first you had to know what brought you such delights. Well, someone should have written that notice to Antoine who touched me in ways and in places that I didn't know had nerve endings. I could have never pointed him to those spots. And what do the sexperts say about being touched from across the room by a simple glance? I sure as hell could not have ever practiced that on myself. Why did self-pleasuring leave me feeling cheated and more alone than ever? The sexperts never discuss the side effects of all that self-indulgence. There was no one to hold me together and snuggle with after the explosion blew me to pieces. No one to even kiss that special curve at the bottom of my spine. I have concluded that self-discovery was fine for kids, but after junior high school it was simply self-torture. I had to chuckle as I continued to write. In junior high school I thought I had discovered some great secret to the gateways of sexuality. Now that I know the real deal: that's just a waste of good energy and juices. If I'm ever blessed with children I'm going to teach them that as soon as they hit puberty: get your play in now, kids because once you discover the touch of another the thrill will never be the same.

* * *
My journal was cool for venting, but I still needed to hear a male voice.
"Hey, Larry."
"Wha's up, Baby?" He must have noted the heavy inflection in my greeting and added, "You a'right?"
"Yeah…and no"
Larry was one of my ex-lovers who I continued to call from time to time. It was an inexplicable relationship, that I knew was rather unhealthy, but I couldn't fully detach, just yet. Most of the time he irritated me, but he was the one person with whom I felt comfortable bitching and moaning when things weren't feeling okay. I got tired of calling girlfriends to complain, and half the time I'd end up having to cheer them up after listening to their problems, anyway. I hated to burden my parents with more problems since I knew they worried about me enough as it was. My attachment to Larry may have been unhealthy, but I didn't feel guilty when I vented to him. I wasn't sure what he thought of this non-relationship, but he seemed to answer the phone more often now, than when we were officially dating each other. I couldn't worry about him right now, I just needed to bitch and hear a male voice.

* * *
I hope u enjoyed that li'l teaser. Click on the image to read more...
The above excerpt was also read during my May 4th BlogTalkRadio show.

Raising Awareness

Just about every woman I know has been sexually assaulted at some point in their life. While the attacker is often a stranger, more often than not, it's someone they know. Sometimes the attacker is a close relative or even a brother or a father. But make no mistake; women are not the only victims. Young boys are increasingly being victimized by friends and relatives. Please share this page with as many people you can. The people you least expect might be the ones who need to read this the most.

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This is from my upcoming second book, “Twelve Steps” which is the sequel to “Lovers Anonymous”. The Character of Terry is introduced in chapter 11.

"A Casual Conversation"

The two-bedroom apartment we shared had come fully-furnished. To us everything spoke of quality and comfort, if not luxury. To the vast majority of people living in Haiti, even most middle-class people, our home was an example of the extreme disparity that polarized the impoverished island nation. Terry, my roommate, was something of an art collector and had managed to acquire some impressive pieces over the years. Fabrice had paid for most of it of course, but Terry didn’t like to talk about her ex.
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and we sat in the living room doing what we did best; lounging in our underwear, chatting about happier times and exchanging memories of our misspent youth as the tropical breeze danced through the apartment. Though we were not intimately involved, we seemed a living picture of domestic tranquility; I with my mango smoothie and Terry with her rum and coke.
I don’t remember how we got on this new subject, but when Terry spoke she erased everything that had previously been said from my memory.
She was slouched on the loveseat in her mismatched bra and panties with her legs spread slightly apart, “I was raped once,” Terry said matter-of-factly.
“Oh my God,” I said sitting up, “what happened?”
Terry leaned back, extended her long white legs out in front of her, and folded her arms across her chest as she looked up at the ceiling. “I was about 19 and I was hitchhiking home after a night of drinking. This car stopped for me… They got me.” Terry let out a nervous giggle before continuing. “I knew better than to get in a car with 2 guys, but one of them laid low. By the time I saw him it was too late. He just jumped out and grabbed me.”
“Holy shit.” That was all I could say as I leaned forward on the couch.
“Yeah,” Terry started again in a calm voice, “they fucked me up pretty good. They took turns in the back seat. Good thing I was drunk or it probably woulda hurt more.” Another nervous giggle.
“Terry, I am so sorry.” I said softly, not sure what else to say.
Terry looked at me and smiled distantly, “oh it’s ok man, that was years ago.” She pulled her legs back and reached forward to get her rum and coke from the coffee table. After taking a slow sip she looked past me to a bare spot on the wall and spoke again. “I just wish they had left my boots on. I had just bought these brand new cowboy boots. But I was wearing a skirt. They could have ripped that off without taking my boots off.”
I tried to imagine Terry fighting for her life. “I bet you were trying to kick the shit out of them.”
Terry looked at me. “Nah man, these were some big guys, I didn’t stand a chance. When they were done they drove for a few miles then threw me out onto the side of the road and tossed my clothes out after me, but one of my boots stayed in the car.” Terry looked at the wall again with an annoyed look on her face. “I really liked those boots.”
.../...

For Me

Too busy to write
Is like too busy to breathe
Yet gasping for fleeting minutes
Til I had to hold my breath...
I mean I held my pen
But it exploded
Exposing my thoughts
My feelings and frustrations
Climaxing repeatedly
Onto the black fabric of my blog

Reading it leaves a stain
An indigo blotch
Nestled in my empty pocket
Turned inside out like my soul
Even after many washings
Resisting all attempts to make it clean
An ever-present reminder
From the neglected pen
That screamed out for attention
Thinking about it makes me want to cry

And tear drops fall like ink
Black rain on skin-colored paper
Like obscene tattoos of my visions
But this is more than skin deep
This is the reality of human waste
Mortals too blunted to be mortified
Too dead to be considered normal
Yet so much like me that I love them
The wretches no one cares about
Given life by the ink of my eyes

And what about the soundtrack
Should I share the stories of
Pride gone and self-esteem so low
Some pay cash for a chance to give blowjobs
To condescending self-important scumbags
Because it make them feel special
To feel hot sweaty palms on their heads
While being told they give the best head
That sucking sound is not their lips
It’s their souls being drawn from their flesh

But this is not about them
It’s about my selfish need to be selfless
It’s about my insatiable thirst
To drink the bitter dregs of pain
From every Jane Doe’s cup of misery
A gesture of goodwill to those I meet today
In memory of the ones who kept me warm
When my world was lonely and cold
It’s about wanting to make a difference
In the life of a fatherless child

Yet another fatherless child

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

PS: April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM). I am PASSIONATE about this issue and I’m determined to do my part to help educate as many people as possible. Please join me in spreading the word. Sexual violence must stop!

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Elders talk it over...

Aunt Yvonne lit up a cigarette and plopped down in her chair nearest the front window, her “neighborhood watch seat”. We sat on the sofa across from her.

“Paul, you know damn well, that John ain’t bit mo’ thinkin’ ‘bout no GED than that damn dog o’ his.”

“That maybe so, ‘Vonne, but these kids need somebody to keep talkin’ it up. Maybe somethin’ will get into their heads. You know how wild we were at his age. Who knows what turned me around out them streets.”

“Chil’, will you go get me a beer? I got some sodas & juice in there, too if y’all want somethin'. I think I got some cookies & chips in ‘ere, too. Bring 'em out here.”

I stood up, “Daddy, you want somethin' to drink?”

He glanced up and grinned at me, “Yea, I’ll take a beer, too, please. Thanks, Susie.”

“Paul, I’m tellin’ you, these damn kids ain’t like we were. They ain’t got respect for nobody. Yea, we did our li’l shit, but they on a whole ‘nother level. We wasn’t gettin’ locked up every time you turn aroun'. These damn kids'll shoot you as quick as speak to you.”

“’Vonne, kids are still kids. They just want guidance. Tha’s why they keep gettin’ locked up. Parents ain’t guidin’ ‘em, so they going up ‘gainst the other authorities. I still think kids want to know that everybody ain’t gave up on ‘em.”

“A’ight, Paul. You keep your faith in ‘em. But I’m just saying you betta watch yo’ back and ya damn wallet ‘roun’ ‘em.... Thank ya, baby.” Aunt Yvonne reached up to take the beer I extended to her.

I handed Daddy his beer, put the snacks on the low coffee table in the center of the small living room, then reclaimed my seat on the sofa. I munched chips and listened to my elders banter back and forth about the future of my cousin, John.

“I know what you sayin’. I ain’t completely out of touch, 'Vonne. I figure if John don’t call me ‘bout his GED I ain’t gonna keep houndin' him or come lookin’ for him. But if he do call me, what harm is there in helpin’ the boy? It ain’t no skin off my back to drive him to the city college and help him in enroll in the program.”

“Shit, you betta sit there and take every damn class with him. That boy don’t do nothin' like he ‘sposed to. He don’t show up nowhere regular unless it involves drinkin’ a forty, smokin’ a blunt or a damn dog to fight.”


...an excerpt of a work in progress by The Writeous1
*click on image for source.