I had a story that had been nagging me to be written. I wrote it and something interesting happened. I couldn’t publish it. I didn’t send it to any publishing houses. What I did do was sit on it…for years.
Not because I thought the book was bad. I certainly don’t think it is. The research was a beast, hiding in chat rooms and copying the verbage and rhetoric I came across. Cringing when derogatory statements were made and laugh out loud in computer speak so the others wouldn’t realize I was a black woman in an Aryan Nation site. As much as some scenes pained me and I had to step back and stop writing I muscled through and wrote the book my characters demanded. Then I read it and told my characters naw, it ain’t happening, I don’t think the world is ready for your story.
Don’t get me wrong. I am by no means some world famous author. I write erotic romance that is always IR. I doubt the NYT or USA Today are going to knocking on my door but I am fortunate enough to write the stories in my heart. Some of them are well received, others not so much. I sorta pushed my personal envelope for this book, I mean the conversations are raw, the words I came across were used. The situations I watched on documentaries became a mix-mash of events in my head. Falling is different than any book I have ever written.
Earlier this year I pulled that story out and read through it again and I realized it was me who wasn’t ready to show it to the world. I set about fixing that issue and expanded the book giving birth to details and very real incidents. While making these changes it dawned on me it wasn’t about where these character came from it was where they were going. This was their love story. Some people will love it others will hate it but in my heart I know I told Whit and Bobby Jack’s tale with unabashed truthfulness. It wasn’t my story to tell it was theirs, warts and all and to watch them grow and blossom was the greatest understanding I as a writer can witness of the characters.
I truly hope you enjoy Falling as much as I did.
Bobby Jack believed in anarchy. He was taught, keep the races separate and let the best man survive. Fresh out of jail, he searches for his son, born while he was locked up. The journey takes Bobby Jack to dark places, ultimately leading him to an eye opening truth.
Whit stepped in to take the toddler when his mama was arrested. She has her own troubles but couldn’t stomach watching the little fella be taken away by Child Protective Services. Given her circumstances she does the best she can with what she has.
He’s a monster whose hate runs deep and she’s a woman doing the best she can to keep from letting life break her. An unexpected turn of events sets these two people on a collision course and no one will walk away unscathed. Sometimes you can’t stop falling.
***Warning*** There is explicit use of derogatory (racist) names used in this book you will find offensive. Graphic violence and sex scenes. ***
Whit needed to move but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Their disagreement was none of her business. She understood what life the fat fella was about so the nice looking one was probably about the same thing. The chubby one’s tats told his story, swastikas framed an image of Hitler etched into his bicep. A noose next to the words, the only good nigger is a dead one was written on his neck in script. Yeah being caught alone by these two guys wouldn’t be smart.
“I want Isaac with me. Who knows where he’s at or if he’s being taken care of. How the hell could y’all not help her!” Jacket guy screamed down at fat so.
“We didn’t know.” The big man turned his head and caught Whit watching. “What the fuck you looking at bitch.”
Whit glanced around. No one, man, woman or child called her out her name. “A pussy” She kept walking.
She was jerked back by her arm and swung around. “Who you talking to nigger?” Spit sprayed her face and she struggled to free her limb as the short, stubby guy got in her face.
The tall built one strolled up behind him. Instinctively she knew he was the one she should be worried about. Whit looked over the shoulder of the man holding her and met the evergreen gaze of the other fella. His eyes narrowed as she was sure hers widened the guy on the sidewalk from last week. She pulled back her leg and kneed the bastard clutching her arms. He crumbled like a sack of dirty laundry grabbing his balls.
She leaned over and spit. “Fuck you.” Whit stared over at the other fella forming a fist, preparing to fight if she had too.
He waved a hand, as his shoulders shook. She narrowed her eyes. Was he laughing? He stuffed his hands in his pocket and cleared his throat. “You’re a feisty colored girl. Don’t look so scared. I ain’t going to do a damn thing to you here, too many cameras.” He nodded toward the corner of the building. “My cousin, Andy, ain’t quite all there, he don’t think before he acts. I suggest you leave before he can get up.” His voice was deep sexy rasp like the sizzle of water poured over hot coals.
“You’re not going to help him?” She swallowed.
“Hell no, the fat fuck pissed me off,” he pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and slid the piece between his lips. “I’ll just wait until he can move. Normally I would leave his ass but this is a jail house.”
The sleeve on his arm inched up and she saw the tip of an image on his wrist, a hood. His hands were calloused like he did hard labor for a living. Why was he still talking to her? She noticed the dirty blonde stubble on his chin. A strong jaw, she’d bet her next paycheck he was stubborn as all get up.
He toed Andy with the tip of his boot and nodded. “Yeah he may be out a while.”
His cousin groaned and rolled over on his side.
“Good I tried to send his nuts up his nose.” Whit pulled her keys from her pocket.
“I saw.” He chuckled again “What’s your name?”
“Why?” She glanced down at the prone figure and snapped her head back up at the stranger.
“I’m just being a southern gentleman. My mama taught me it’s not polite to talk to a woman without knowing her name. That way were not strangers.”
“Well I’m not from here so we should be good.” Why the hell was she still standing there talking to him? Curiosity sent her thoughts in a million directions. “It’s my understanding that your kind don’t mix with mine.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.” He shrugged. “I take exception to the pretty colored ones.”
“Let me make one thing clear, no mother fucker took a brown crayon to my skin.” She growled.
“Like I said, you have spirit. So what’s your name sugar?”
“You’re not going to drop it are you?” Whit inched toward her car.
“My mama use to say I had the tenacity of a coon hound. Surely you’re not gonna leave without telling me your name?” He peered down at her hand.
She shook the keys maneuvering a key between her fingers. If the SOB attacked she would gouged the hell out of him. “How about you tell me your name?’
“K” He dropped the tail gate and took a seat. “Name’s Bobby Jack.”