Monday, November 30, 2015

New Release: Tell The Truth The Devil Won't by Colette R. Harrell


 Book Title: Tell The Truth; The Devil Won't 
 Genre: Christian Fiction 
 Paperback: 288 pages 
 Publisher: Urban Christian (October 27, 2015) 
 ISBN-10: 1622868196 
 ISBN-13: 978-1622868193 
 Publication Date: October 27, 2015 
 Author: Colette Harrell 

  About The Book


From the author of The Devil Made Me Do It The full-figured Esther Redding doesn’t realize it, but she desperately needs a change. Her Cinderella tiara is tarnished, and her glass slippers cracked. No longer any one’s knight in shining armor, Briggs Stokes always had a soft spot for Esther. She was in his blood, and he didn’t want a transfusion. When he returns to Detroit, he decides that nothing will keep him from her door.

Well, nothing . . . but the once reformed bad girl, Monica Stokes Hawthorne, Briggs’s ex, who wants to be his—give me one more chance, again—wife. The resulting tug-of-war that ensues may be the catalyst that destroys the person they both love the most. More than one household is upset when the prison doors swing open and a “rehabilitated” Roger, Esther’s ex, returns home.

Following Roger is a sinister force so malicious that no one in their community will be left untouched. When truth is held hostage by lies, mayhem ensues. And when it does, the lives of Esther, Briggs, Monica, and Roger are forever changed. Don’t blink—pray—these shenanigans are too shocking to miss . . . The second stand-alone book in the Heaven over Hell trilogy.

About The Author


Colette R. Harrell, Christian Fiction Author Colette Harrell, wants you to know that she’s like you, God’s chosen vessel. She has come to be a gift, to be an encourager and a light that reflects God’s goodness. She’s a wife, mother, author and playwright. A Detroit native, she currently calls Ohio home. She holds a master’s and is a Director of Social Services. Writing with humor and compassion to engage and minister to the human heart. Her motto is: whatever you do, do it “for love alone.” Her newest novel, Devil Get Behind Me! Will thrill this January 2016. It is filled with wisdom and humor.

This adventourous love story goes where Ms. Harrell loves to tread, down an unbeaten path. No millionaires rescuing damsels in distress—although she enjoys these reads herself—but real people, falling and getting back up. The Devil Made Me Do It was her debut novel. It was Nominated for First Fiction for the Phyllis Wheatley Book Award.

It has been held as one of Black Pearl Magazine’s, top ten Christian fiction books for 2014. And, Read Between The Lines radio show, named it as one of its overall top ten books for 2014. Her sophomore novel, Tell The Truth, The Devil Won’t will cement her as an author to watch.


Chapter One It was dead cold. The air crackled with the sound of ice-covered tree branches crashing onto cement sidewalks; it was an unnatural arctic day, even for Harlem. There were motorists stranded on every major highway as an epic ice storm settled over the length of New York City. And while the air over those highways was filled with road rage, explicit language, and hunger pains, the contrasting hush of the opulent brownstones on 132nd Street was shattered by an eerie scream that filled the bitter air. Monica Hawthorne, the ex-Mrs. Briggs Stokes, stood shaking uncontrollably. Her beloved, risked-everything she-had-to-have-him husband of one month, Randall, lay in a pool of blood on their imported Brazilian cherry kitchen floor.

If Randall could, he would have stood up and told her for the tenth time that ten thousand dollars for a floor was too much, and just because she could buy it didn’t mean she had to. But Randall couldn’t utter a word. She watched horrified as his blood seeped into the natural grooves of the wood, giving credence to the fact that maybe the cost was too much. Monica blinked, but he wasn’t getting up or giving her advice about her newly acquired wealth, because standing over him was his newly divorced wife, the ex-Mrs. Meredith Hawthorne.

This She-Spawn-from-the-Pits, with her six hundred-dollar hairdo mussed, her designer clothes askew, and her chest heaving in spastic breaths, clutched the knife that once protruded from Randall’s chest. Words of explanation weren’t necessary; the vivid picture painted its own morbid story. Monica was spellbound. She was in her own home. The ordeal of leaving one husband to claim another’s was behind her. The guilt had been laid aside.

The shame stamped down, at least temporarily. It was Randall and her against the world. But it had all just changed drastically. Snapping to, Monica shrieked, “Oh sweet Jesus! What have you done? You crazy—!” Her cries were halted by the demented gleam in the ex-Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes. The maniac’s focus switched from Randall to her, then back to Randall.

Mrs. Hawthorne had gone mad, crazy, bonkers, craycray. Monica’s head hurt at the thought that she was still addressing this woman by what was rightfully her new name. It bore psychological study that she could only think of the witch as Mrs. Hawthorne. For over three years the woman had railed it at her, negating Monica’s right to ever wear the title. She’d stood in haughty arrogance and promised in divorce court that she would never relinquish it.

At the time, Monica didn’t care; she felt Mrs. Hawthorne could keep the last name, as long as she had the man. Now she felt she had been short-sighted. If in the middle of a bloody rampage, she thought of her that way, then who was she? The murderous interloper looked on in glee as blood bubbled out of Randall’s mouth. Monica observed her spiteful approval as Randall’s hand feebly stretched over his wound, but failed in mustering the strength to staunch the flow of his river of life.

His eyelids fluttered—pausing, fighting to focus as he scanned beyond Mrs. Hawthorne’s face. His eyes settled on Monica’s outstretched hands. “Randall,” Monica whispered. She swayed in agony. Time was grinding to a stop, like an old-fashioned watch discarded in a moth-eaten hope chest, it would soon end, and Randall would be done. She needed a way to get close to him, but Mrs. Hawthorne stood as she had for the last three years, directly in her path. Always . . . in my way. Rage bubbled into a go-for-broke moment. Monica launched forward and charged Mrs. Hawthorne with a Joan of Arc warrior’s roar. The sound of the impact and responding grunt was dulled by the body that crumpled to the floor.

Monica gambled . . . and lost. Her body fell inches from Randall’s. Her hands bloodied, Mrs. Hawthorne rocked in despair. She had meant to take her time with the slut, but her offensive attack had taken her by surprise. Then . . . Monica moved. What she was witnessing had Mrs. Hawthorne’s keening wail ricochet throughout the spacious brownstone. She glowered in anguish, howling as Monica’s fingers inched toward Randall’s, and they entwined even in their near-death status. She watched in ghoulish repulsion as the almost loving tableau played out before her. Her eyebrows arched as she made out Monica’s pleading words, “Jesus, help us.” A rattle of air descended from Randall . . . and then stillness. In slow motion, Mrs. Hawthorne turned in robotic movements away from the scene.

Her steps faltered when she heard Monica’s fading voice, “Father, why hast thou forsaken me?” The prophetic words washed over her as she stood in cold resolution. Shaking it off, she strutted away from the two people who had humiliated her in public and had caused her heart to bleed dry for three unbearable years. Randall had won his freedom, imprisoning her in her own madness in the process. She had sworn to Randall’s dying mother, there would be no divorce. Tears gathered at the end of her hawkish nose, dribbling onto her twice-a-week, spa-waxed upper lip, then streamed down her cosmetic-tightened neck.

 She was Mrs. Meredith Hawthorne, of the Hawthornes, and failure was foreign to her. In agony, she backtracked, and stumbled, tumbling over the bodies. Blindly, Meredith wiped her eyes, reared back, and spit in Monica’s face. Still feeling empty and unfulfilled, she stared, craving the ability to wake Monica and kill her again. Rising, she noted Randall’s discarded, prized Civil War-era, matching pearl- and jewel-handled knives. She blew a kiss at him, and left the knives there. It was only fitting Randall have ownership of what he demanded in the divorce decree.

What better way to deliver his bounty, then to use it as the method of obliteration for both he and his tramp? Mrs. Hawthorne reached into her purse and pulled out her derringer. Acting as a lover whose desire is close to fulfillment, she caressed it. Her insides churning, she panted, taking one last glance at the co-conspirators to her destruction. She could answer Monica’s final question. God had forsaken Monica because she was a Delilah home wrecker. What Mrs. Hawthorne wanted to know, was why He had forsaken her.

She lay the letters for her children—who never called—on the solid mahogany credenza, then her purse. All she’d had was the facade of a happy life. She’d paid for it in an avalanche of tears as she played dumb blonde to Randall’s neglect and numerous indiscretions over the years, anything to keep him home. And how had he repaid her? By falling for a nasty, ashy-prone, ghetto rat.

The slut’s resulting pregnancy, and his request for a divorce, “so he could be happy” was the Joker’s wild card. How many wrongs was she expected to endure? She looked around and hiccupped laughter—a great-granddaughter of the confederacy ending up in a brownstone in Harlem? Well, rise up every long-buried plantation owner and move over.

I’m coming in, and from this gaudy, overpriced slum. In the middle of her cynical chuckle, she bit her lip. She was stalling and knew it. The gun shook in her hands as she placed the barrel to her temple; lips pressed together, she focused on the brightness of the moon, brilliant against the frigid dark sky. The trigger was pulled, and the gun clattered to the ground.

Once again blood seeped into the Brazilian cherry hardwood floor. It should now have been quiet in the apartment. Instead, after the booming sound of the gunshot, you could hear through the intercom three things: the startled cries of a newborn, a phone ringing, and a feeble whimper. The air was clear and sweet with the aroma of citrus floral and the essence of myrrh. Large winged inhabitants fluttered about on missions of supreme purpose.

Above, two hovered in midflight, one apparently holding the other from takeoff. “Why do you hold me, Zadkiel? I must go. Did you not hear Monica scream? I am hers, and she is mine. Monica thinks that God has forsaken her. I am here,” he bemoaned. What the guardian saw split him in two. He could not linger. Zadkiel pulled the guardian angel back, his wings clutched, and held him firm through the struggle. “Stand down. She cries out in fear, not faith.

We are not charged to react to tears, but we are rewarders of faith. What is occurring is heartbreaking, but you have not been given leave to interfere.” The guardian wanted to push at Zadkiel’s wings, but that would have been disrespectful. “Oh, why do the humans act this way? Must they torment and cause such pain to each other? They have left a child and though Monica has not been innocent for many years, her screams of pain bring too many hurtful emotions to the forefront.

How can you float above it all?” “I am not above anything, but we must be obedient to our Lord of Hosts. He has not given us permission to intervene; a greater good must be coming.” Zadkiel then telepathically shared with him how he kept the sounds of Randall’s and Monica’s pain in the background of his thoughts. “I am empathetic to your feelings.

I have learned that our God knows all and His will is the only way. He did not create this mess, but He will make a way out for the innocent babe. Go sing a song of praise. It will ease your soul.” Large expansive wings flapped in decisive strokes as a voice of power and beauty soared over majestic heads. As other voices joined in song, the angelic choir trumpeted the holiness and sovereignty of God. Contrary to the chaos, He continued to reign. In another realm, the gates of hell rattled in anticipation of the eventual capture and consumption of the new souls. It was a two-course meal: adulterer and murderer, their favorites.

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Monday, November 23, 2015

Book Spotlight: Sedução (Seduction) by Adrienne Thompson

Title: Sedução  (Seduction) - An Ain’t Nobody Prequel
Genre: Multicultural Fiction
Release date: 11/30/15 - Currently available for pre-order:


Young, handsome, and aptly able-bodied Victor Castro is every woman’s fantasy. When propositioned by the insatiable Myra Jennings, will he take the bait, step onto a new path, and escape his life of poverty?
This novella is a prequel to the novel, Ain’t Nobody.


As Victor stood in the line with the others, confusion spread across his face. What was going on? A second later, the door that led from the kitchen to the dining area flew open and in walked the hotel’s general manager, followed by a white woman wearing a navy blue gown and long, white gloves. She was pretty in a plastic surgery kind of way. Her tanned, taut skin and obviously-bleached blond hair alluded to the fact that she was much older than she wanted to appear. Her face was stoic as her eyes roamed the kitchen staff. That is, until she fixed them on Victor. When her gaze met his, her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and then she let her eyes glide over his entire person.
His facial hair betrayed his age, made him appear older, but she could tell he was much younger than her… and she liked that.
She shifted her focus to the chef and offered him her hand. Before she could speak, the hotel’s manager said, “This is Mrs. Jennings. She wanted to pay compliments for her meal.”
Mrs. Jennings smiled as she firmly gripped the older man’s hand. “Yes, it was absolutely divine, Chef. The best meal I’ve had in ages. And the service was impeccable.” She released his hand and turned to the manager. “I do have a question for you, though.”
He nodded vigorously. “Yes?”
She slowly sauntered over to where Victor stood, her eyes trained on him. “Why is this young man not on the wait staff?”
“Uh-um…” he stuttered, turning to face the chef who shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. He is new here.”
She tilted her perfectly made-up face to the side and said, “He would make a good addition. He would certainly brighten things up out there.” She reached for his hand. “What is your name, young man?”
Victor understood English well, but the sudden attention had taken him aback, so he stared at the woman’s outstretched hand and remained mute.
“Falar!” the manager said gruffly, which translates to “speak” in English.
“Does he not speak English?” Mrs. Jennings said in horror, as if she weren’t in Brazil and the national language was not Portuguese.
“Yes, I do,” Victor said softly. “My name is Victor.”
She smiled, raised her hand a little to remind him that it was there.
He took her hand in his and squeezed gently.
Mrs. Jennings pulled away, her eyes glued to the young man.  “Victor, how nice. Hmm, I’d like for him to serve me in my suite tonight, that is, if he is available. I’m willing to compensate him myself. Would you like that, Victor?”

Link to book trailer:

Purchase Links:


Adrienne Thompson has worn many titles in her lifetime–from teenage mother to teenage wife to divorcee to registered nurse to author. This mother of three young adults currently resides in Arkansas where she writes and publishes her stories full time.
You can connect with her via:

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Giveaway: A Praying Heart Audiobook Winners Announced

Sending out a special thank you to everyone that participated in the A Praying Heart Audio book Giveaway. The winners have been chosen an will be contacted personally by me later today. Congratulations and than you so much for your continued support.

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Friday, November 20, 2015

Book Spotlight: Foolish by Donneil D. Jackson

Foolish Book Excerpt:
“What are you doing here?” She took a step back.
Although Shawn was tempted to say forget this bourgeois broad, call Tasha to apologize for leaving her and take her on the cruise to avoid losing his money, he decided to give Kayla one last try. He couldn’t figure her out. When he left her brownstone that morning she couldn’t keep her mouth off of him, but now she was giving him the cold shoulder. “Do you want to sit and I stand?” he asked, trying to make her feel comfortable.
Women flocked to Shawn. He never had to beg for the attention of a female. Yet Kayla was not budging. The challenge turned him on.
“I didn’t come here to hurt you or anything like that. I am not a stalker, mass murderer, or rapist. I came here to tell you I like you. I thought the feeling was mutual.” He grinned. “I thought we had a lot of chemistry.”
The memories of the chemistry they shared made her smile.
“I just wanted to see what’s up and see where we can take this. I thought I would take you on a cruise around the Hudson, to get to know you better.”
Kayla smiled, loosening up a bit. She hadn’t been on a date in months. She sat on the step next to Shawn. “That sounds nice. Look, I apologize if I came off a bit stuck-up or reserved. Can you imagine how I felt coming home to see someone I’ve only met once sitting on my stoop? You shouldn’t just show up on people’s doorsteps without calling or something.”
I did sleep with him, didn’t I?
Shawn must’ve been reading her mind. “I thought we were past all the formalities. Remember last night? This morning? Plus, when you kissed me good-bye this morning you didn’t give me your number. How else was I going to see your beautiful face again, unless I just showed up on your doorstep?”

Her insides began to tingle at the mention of last night’s activities. The familiar feeling of her nectar oozing between her thighs caused her lips to curl up, forming a great big smile.

Enjoying the sensation, she held her thighs tighter. “Let’s go inside?” Kayla said, getting up.
She closed her front door behind Shawn and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch next to her. “Let’s discuss last night. Despite what I did, that was my first time doing something like that.”
Whatever, Shawn thought.
“Okay. Some of the things I did, it was my first time doing them. The point I’m making is that I am no one’s whore. Last night, the alcohol took over. I don’t go after other women’s men. I don’t have one-night stands. I don’t screw on the first date and I don’t invite strangers to my house, swallow, or invite them into my ass. So it was my first time doing those sorts of things.” She looked away, embarrassed by her actions.
He nodded. “Okay. I still respect you in the morning.”
“Now that that is settled…” A sexy grin crept upon her face as she walked over toward the door where she had left her shopping bags. After searching through her bags Kayla pulled her dress over her head revealing her birthday suit and a box of condoms.
Shawn bit into his bottom lip, admiring Kayla’s flesh. No panties.
“Do you think we have enough time to do what we did last night before the boat leaves?” Kayla winked over her shoulder as she headed up the stairs.
“I think we have enough time for that and some other things.” He followed.   

Author Bio:

Donneil D. Jackson is a writer by nature and a Jersey girl by heart. Growing up a sheltered child, she used writing as an escape from her everyday life. She discovered that with writing she could be someone else, do things Donneil would never do and entertain others. One day she began writing Chante’s Song marking the beginning of her professional writing career. Donneil has since penned another novel, Foolish.
Donneil resides in Northern New Jersey with her daughter and significant other

Writing for me is like living in La La Land, where my best friends are Nia Long and Regina King. My neighbors are Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big. The love of my life is tall, dark and handsome; maybe he resembles Morris, is sexy like Mekhi, or has the swag of Idris and Denzel rolled up into one. Or maybe I have a taste for something different, in the form of Laz Alonzo or Dwayne Johnson. I am desired by many, but one man holds the key to my heart, while there may be a Jason lurking around possessing the secret to my love coming down. Christian Louboutin’s cover my perfectly pedicured toes. The finest fabrics and best designers dress me, while a girl’s best friend, diamonds is my accessory of choice. A Porsche Panamera sits in my parking spot with a tank full of premium gas waiting for me to drive off into the sunset.

Writing for me is an escape. The same goes for reading. I love the writing of Terry McMillian, Lolita Files, Aliya S King, and Electra Rome Parks to name a few.

Contact Info:

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Author Interview with Arnitris Strong

LaToya: If you could choose a famous African American who has impacted your life who would it be and why?
Arnitris: At the age of 12, I was a skinny brown girl raised by a loving family but I was struggling with my self-esteem and identity. My mother gifted a copy of “I know why the caged bird sings” I read the story of a skinny brown girl raised by a loving family who was also struggling with her self-esteem and identity. I related to her story in a way that I’d never related to a story before. As I read the book, I could smell, taste, hear and feel everything she experiences. I strive to recreate that experience for my readers. She was an amazing poet as well who wasn’t confined by conventional standards for what poetry should be.

LaToya: Where are you from? Where do you live now?
Arnitris: I was born in Augusta, Ga but raised in a small town called Waynesboro. I live in the metro Atlanta area now.

LaToya: Did you always know you wanted to be a writer? 
Arnitris: I’ve been having this love affair with words since the age of 9. I lost the class spelling bee and vowed that I would never compete again. My mother never responded, but that summer I was gifted a tattered green edition of the Webster’s dictionary by my grandmother. Each day, I had to learn 10 new words – I had to learn the part of speech, the definition, spelling and how to use it in a sentence. I realized that I could impress adults with my vocabulary and I used it to my advantage. I honestly never really considered writing as a career, until very recently I struggled with calling myself a writer. A good friend of mine called me a fraud, because I would always describe myself as an aspiring writer. It was hard to hear, but I realized he was correct. I have finally given myself permission to explore this career path.

LaToya: When did you first start writing and when did you finish your first book? 
Arnitris: I started writing my first book 12 years ago! Since that time, I have struggled to finish it, because it revolves around the complexities of the mother/daughter relationship. I finally finished it last Christmas and it was such a cathartic experience. “The tie that binds”  is a Christian fiction novel about a mother and daughter with a strained relationship that is further tested when the daughter is involved in a terrible accident. It will be released in the spring of 2016.

LaToya: How did you choose the genre you write in? 
Arnitris: I am actually surprised that the first book I published is a children’s book. I never desired to write children’s books. However, I have been blessed with two beautiful daughters that give me plenty of subject matter. I would frequently entertain my co-workers with their antics. One day a coworker suggested that I write a book about them. The seed was planted then, and 2 years later Nappy Tornstockings was born!

LaToya: Where do you get your ideas? 
Arnitris: I have always been a people watcher. My parents constantly chastised me for staring at people. As an adult, I have learned to observe without making it  so obvious.  I love to study their mannerisms, their speech patterns and their weird idiosyncrasies -all of these elements help me to build my characters. I get ideas from everyday life, from snippets of conversations I overhear, from situations my friends endure ( I make sure to warn them that they may revisit the situation one day between the pages of a book or on a movie screen)  and of course I still have to use my imagination.

LaToya: Name one book that you would categorize as a life changing read. 
Arnitris: Other than “I know why the caged bird sings” there would be “For Colored Girls, who considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf”. It  is actually  not a book, but a series of poetic monologues originally performed as a theatrical piece. The stories of the nameless women speak about sexism, racism, oppression and unrequited love. It is amazing that the piece was written in the 70s, but the stories are still relevant today. Every author’s goal should be to produce work that is timeless in its appeal. In that way, writers are immortal. I want to be immortal.

LaToya: Who is your favorite author? 
Arnitris: Maya Angelou, of course!

LaToya: Name one book you wish you’d written. 
Arnitris: I wish that I had written “The Color Purple” it is an African-American classic that has transcended time and space, it has been adapted for both screen and stage. How cool is that?  I think we can all relate to the characters in this story. I’d like to write books that resonate with people – books that transcend time and space.

LaToya: Tell us about your latest book. 
Arnitris: My latest book, “Nappy and the first day of kindergarten” is about a little girl on the first day of kindergarten who is struggling to manage her fears while also trying to assert her independence. Lynn has many nicknames, Princess, Honey Bunny, Panda Bear, and Jiminy Cricket - but her sister calls her Nappy and she doesn’t like it. “Nappy and the first day of kindergarten” is the first in series about Nappy – the next in the series is “Nappy for Bus Monitor”.

LaToya: How can readers connect with you?
Arnitris: Readers may email me at & follow me on social media @arntrs77 on Twitter and Instagram. My FB fan page is Blessed be the tie.

LaToya: What advice would you give to aspiring authors?
Arnitris: Just write! Someone’s breakthrough is dependent upon your story.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Author Interview with Donneil Jackson

LaToya: If you could choose a famous African American who has impacted your life who would it be and why?
Donneil: Terry McMillian, Sheneska Jackson and Lolita Files. I can’t remember the first African American author I read, I know it wasn’t Terry, maybe it was Valerie Wilson Wesley with her Tamara Hayle series, I can’t recall. But anyway. Reading her novel Waiting to Exhale, had a huge impact on me. I began writing before I read the book, yet reading a book, about the relationships between girlfriends and their trials and tribulations reinforced what I knew I could do. I learned there is an audience out there who would enjoy to read my tales. Lolita Files and Sheneska Jackson. Their writing style was refreshing. The tone of Scenes of a Sistah and Lil Mama’s Rules was comical and I loved it. It taught me that my style of writing was, acceptable, right up their alley. I could tell my stories in the same manner and people would read and enjoy it. All three of them inspired me and Lolita Files is a big sister in my head.  I love her.

LaToya: Where are you from? Where do you live now?
Donneil: I am from Newark, New Jersey. I lived in Florida for short period of time in the early 90’s. Currently, I’m residing back in New Jersey.

LaToya: Did you always know you wanted to be a writer? 
Donneil: I knew in the 7th grade, for sure, I was going to be a writer. My words had the power to entertain others. I still get off on that.

LaToya: When did you first start writing and when did you finish your first book? 
Donneil: I began writing Chante’s Song in 1999/2000. Life happened, and four years later Chante’s Song was complete.

LaToya: How did you choose the genre you write in? 
Donneil: I love love, romance and all that good stuff. I can relate to a lot of women issues. It was a no brainer for me to write erotic romance and contemporary women’s fiction.

LaToya: Where do you get your ideas? 
Donneil: I have gotten ideas from song lyrics, as well as true life experiences.

LaToya: Name one book that you would categorize as a life changing read. 
Donneil: I don’t know if I would say it was a life changing read, however I will say the book will be implanted in my head forever. That book is Tastes Like Chicken by Lolita Files.

LaToya: Who is your favorite author? 
Donneil: I have three and a bunch of runner-ups. Terry McMillian, Lolita Files and Sheneska Jackson are my top three.

LaToya: Name one book you wish you’d written. 
Donneil: Waiting to Exhale. Not because I could have done a better job. But I could have done a just as good job with it. The book was published at a great time in the literary industry. It was something new, and who wouldn’t want their novel turned into a movie?

LaToya: Tell us about your latest book. 
Donneil: Foolish is my latest novel. It’s steamy. It’s relatable. It’s a must a read. 
Kayla Washington is no different than any other woman. She wants what she wants when we wants it, regardless of if her longtime beau, Shawn wants it too or is ready for it. After a decade of being with a man who makes her constantly question her role in his life and her vision of the perfect family, Kayla has to ask herself, “Am I right to fight for this love, or am I being foolish?”

LaToya: How can readers connect with you?
Donneil: Readers can connect with me via Facebook, twitter, Instagram and my website.
Instagram: @donneil
Twitter: @donneildjackson

LaToya: What advice would you give to aspiring authors?

Donneil: Always follow your dream. Sometimes the flame will burn out, or attempt to fizzle out, writer’s block is getting the best of you and you can’t see the end of the being published tunnel, don’t give up! Write your heart out!

Book Blast: A Gentleman's Agreement by Joy Avery


Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publication Date: 10-24-2015
Author: Joy Avery


 When it comes to love, all deals are off! Blake Farrington knows exactly who to call when he finds himself needing crisis management. Yes, this task is outside Eunice Howard’s usual realm of responsibilities, but he’s willing to make it worth her time. Plus, she’s ideal for the role. Who better to play his pretend lover than the one woman who knows him almost better than he knows himself? The last thing Eunice Howard expects when summoned to her boss’s office is a request to play the role of his new love interest to appease his mother, restless to marry him off. Foolishly agreeing, she ventures with him to Farrington Estates for the Thanksgiving holiday. She thought she’d seen all sides of Blake Farrington, but the man who emerges is a man she could easily love. Their agreement blossoms into a connection neither expected—nor are willing to admit. When the lines between make-believe and reality blur, something phenomenal occurs.  


 Joy Avery is a contemporary romance author who loves watching her imaginary friends fall in love. When not crafting her next love story, she enjoys reading, spending time with the family, playing with her two dogs, and cake decorating. She’s the author of the novels Smoke in the Citi, His Until Sunrise (book 1 in the Indigo Falls series), Cupid’s Error-a Valentine’s novella, and His Ultimate Desire (book 2 in the Indigo Falls series).  


  The second they rounded the corner, Eunice snatched her hand away. “What the hell was that?” she asked in a whisper. “What?” He wasn’t truly that clueless, but played so. She released a heavy sigh and hiked up the stairs. Inside the bedroom, he was on her heels—right until the moment she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door in his face. Blake leaned against the door jamb. “Are you upset?” “Yes. No. I mean—” She cursed under her breath. He couldn’t understand why she’d gotten so distressed. Okay, maybe he’d gone a little overboard, but… Eunice continued. “I don’t know. Did you—” She yelped once the door slung open and he was standing there. He flashed one of his award-winning smiles in hopes of lightening the mood. She pushed him out of the way and moved toward the bed. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she wore a simple white nightgown shirt. It was sexy as hell. “Did you have to take it that far?” she said. “We’re supposed to be a believable couple, right?” She narrowed her eyes at him. Had she been a bull, he had a feeling this was the moment she would have charged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my words would affect you so…deeply. They were pretty poetic, huh?” Eunice snatched a pillow from the bed and hurled it at him.

What was with him and women with pillows? “Enjoy the floor, Mr. Poetic.” Blake barked a laugh. Eunice climbed in bed. He sobered. She pulled the covers to her chin. Blake pulled his hands to his waist. “Eunice?” When she didn’t answer, he rested his hand on the back of his neck. “Come on. You can’t be serious. You’re really making me sleep on the floor?” “Goodnight, Prat. Sweet dreams.” There was a hint of laughter in her tone. Frankly, he didn’t find anything funny. “Seriously, that bed is the size of a small island.” “In that case, you should feel privileged. You have the entire ocean to yourself.” Every damn body is a comedian in this house. “Okay. I’ll remember this.” This time, humor played in his tone. “See if you get a Christmas bonus.” He escaped into the bathroom, did his before bed rituals, then returned and made a pallet on the floor. Using the remote, he shut off the lights, then attempted to find a comfortable position. “Blake?” Ah-ha. I knew she’d feel sorry for me. “Mmm-hmm,” he hummed. “Your story… This is going to sound strange, but it actually happened to me in Central Park. Weird, huh?” Not weird at all. Unlike her story, his had been steeped in truth. All except for the approaching her part. Unbeknownst to Eunice, he’d seen her in the park doing exactly what he’d stated. He’d also wanted to ask her out. But before he could, he discovered she’d recently started working for his company. Imagine his surprise when they’d bumped into each other at the annual Spring Fling he threw for his staff. “Huh. Yeah. That is weird.”  


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