1734It is the temperature at which paper burns.

I read the book (many moons ago) and just finished watching the HBO special. As usual, Michael B. Jordan did an excellent job of portraying a man with two opposing ideologies battling within him, all using the smallest shifts in his expressions. As movies do, it wasn’t able to explore the depth of what Ray Bradbury gave us, but it was still an enjoyable Sunday evening watch.

The book was impactful for me because while I’d always read, I did not have a clear understanding at the time why I did. I didn’t realize the wealth of information, the exchange of ideas, and how it all can shape our perspectives of ourselves and the world around us.

With each flame to paper, I cringed a little bit. Not simply because I am a writer, but because of the difficulty in writing. The difficulty in conveying thoughts, building worlds, creating human beings so tangible we can feel the flush of their flesh when they stand too close to the heat. If creativity is life, then writing is its incubus, taking until you’re nothing but a relic, a drained literary corpse; a masochist because even without recovery, you thirst to wash-rinse-repeat.

We are in a Golden Age. With the internet at our fingertips, the vast amount of information available to us should make us seek more knowledge, thirst for the unknown, for things we never knew we could conceive. But yet, we lay disappointed by the inability for much of the populace–relatives, lovers, friends–to comprehend anything over one hundred characters.

We are words. We are history. Our malleable minds, constantly shifting and creating is what makes us remarkable.

Tonight, when you curl up with a book, bask in the freedom of your thought. The freedom to enjoy a happy ending, to delve into romance, to argue principles and theories, and the freedom to be the wonderful person you are.


Something lovely, something unique, something romantic. Everything you needed in one novel. From my love, Yolanda Hatcher.


Eleven years of Parker Stevens’ life have sped by, the time moving so slowly, he’d assumed he would be in the mental institution forever for the murders he’d committed when he was fifteen. His days are monotonous and uneventful…until he is released and meets her.

She elicits a feeling in him so strong that a power awakens within his very being. He doesn’t recognize himself or understand why the power ignites whenever he’s around her. Either way, Parker knows he’s in love.

Luna is trapped. She lives with the man who kidnapped her as a child and subsequently raised her. Now, she’s his lover, a role she is forced to portray and to accept. However, it doesn’t stop her from hating his guts.

She remains because she is indebted; she must continue to use herself as payment in order to free her father from captivity. But then she meets Parker, the man’s nephew, and starts to want something…for herself…for once.


Carter turns to me, his green eyes boring into mine. “It was so long ago, little brother. Let’s just focus on the future, okay?”
He smiles and walks down the rest of stairs. At his words, I am overcome with emotion. I smile. A real smile. One that promises a better life. It makes me sick, how hopeful I am. If only I could remember all the details of that day—I take a moment to collect myself and then follow Carter to the living room.

As I round the corner, I hear a female voice laughing. The laugh stops my heart. I didn’t know it then, but it’s the laugh that belongs to the one person who would ever truly own me. Probably more than I own myself.

She’s laughing at one of Carter’s jokes, his arm around her shoulders. They are looking down, laughing together as if they’re best friends. Uncle G lies across a huge couch, his green eyes sparkling as I approach. He eyes me with a smirk, like he has so many secrets, and that I should be so lucky to be invited to be a part of his club. I look at him briefly, enough to see it, but I’m distracted by my feet. I stare at them, afraid to see who belongs to that musical laugh. If I do, it will damn me forever, I know it.


Did you guys know “Angels and Assassins 1” went through seven rewrites before publication? I literally got to 55K words and erased everything because I hadn’t hit on Gage and Tayler’s dynamic the way I saw it in my head. There were ten for “The Woman He Wanted.” Both times I wasn’t working, so I was able to give them more of my attention.

I’m now at that place with Dez and Larke. They’re where I want them to be, so I literally can’t stop writing. Dez is surprising me a bit with his development, however. He has me feeling like I’m writing a paranormal. This man…whoa.

Dez takes you more into the world Gage introduced with his groupmates and his reaction to what they do, and having to be entrenched in that world. But he’s developed this weird little place in my heart. You want to run away and hug him at the same time.