Valjeanne Jeffers stops by to chat

What is your main characters name?

My name is Priscilla Abigail Changeling

Does she have a nicknames/pet names?

My close friends call me “Butterfly”

What was your life like growing up?

I don’t remember much from my childhood since I’m not from this world. Many of my memories were washed away and remain very foggy. I did spend some years in an orphanage before I was later adopted by a maiden aunt, Gertrude Evening. When I was 18 while I was being educated governess, she disappeared into and another magical being took her place. . . watching over me from the shadows.

Before your story began, what were your hopes for the future?

I just wanted to be normal—I wanted to be able to get angry or cry without strange things sprouting from my back! I wanted to work as a governess for family without being harassed by my male employers. After all, I can’t help the way I look, now can I?

What changed that?

The day Mrs. Flanagan fired me a new world was revealed to me. . . a world of erotic delights and freedom. On that day the other Tishri came to me and showed me the path so that I could be reunited with those of my kind, those lost to me when I was a child.

How would you describe your personality?

I am an even tempered young woman, rather prim and prudish. . . except when I am aroused. Then I become a wild thing! Once I am unbound I can’t control myself and I don’t want to.

How would you describe your looks?

My long face is a comely shade of sepia and I have large hazel eyes. My beasts are full, my is waist small and my hips rounded. I try to disguise my womanly figure with loose clothing (because of my jealous female employers) but it never helps.

What’s your greatest talents?

I speak four languages, French, Italian, Swahili, and German. I’ve been educated in Astrology, Classical Literature and Geometry. But my greatest talent is my love of life and willingness to learn and accept new things. I am strong too—much stronger than I look.

Who are your closest friends?

The other, Tishri, and my lover, Luis. Both helped me remember who I truly am

Who do you love?

Luis, a man unlike any I have ever known. He found me in our dreams. . . and the author of my story, Valjeanne Jeffers.

Who do you hate, and why?

’

What do you think is going to happen next?

I will live with beings like me and visit Earth from time to time; whenever I chose to.

What do you think of your author?

I believe Valjeanne knows just what men and women desire most of all: freedom. . . and to love and be loved.

Did she get your story right?

She certainly did!

Do you want another story to show what happened next?

Hmmm, what an intriguing idea! Perhaps, so that human folks could know more about us— but not too much. I would also like to see more of writings about me and my lover, Luis’s erotic adventures. We might even decide to live as humans for awhile . . .

But that is another story.

Blurb:

Priscilla has reached a crossroads. Her spells are becoming more frequent. She can't continue to pass for human—not without making a decision that would turn her into a zombie. Does she embrace her unearthly power or turn her back on it forever? If she refuses her birthright, she'll be ordinary, human. It would also mean bidding farewell to the gorgeous denizen who visits her each night, taking her to otherworldly heights of pleasure.

Excerpt:

Priscilla, a sepia-skinned young woman with large hazel eyes, leaned against

the servants' entrance of the brick house, trying not to cry again. Her bosom heaved

with conflicting emotions...outrage, anger and fear.

I did everything I could to stay out of his way! The man's been chasing me around the

house since I got here!

The young woman remembered the harsh words, from just minutes ago,

between her and her former employer, Mrs. Emily Flanagan. Their argument had

ended in Priscilla's tears and dismissal.

Priscilla felt her cheeks flame. An instant later, there was the familiar warming

sensation between her shoulder blades that always accompanied strong emotion. Her

shoulders bunched and seemed to grow in size, pushing against her corset. Priscilla bit

her lip hard and took deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves.

Mrs. Flanagan had found her husband, the honorable Judge Herbert Flanagan,

pinning Priscilla against the wall, trying to grope her. It wasn't the first time Judge

Flanagan had done this. But it was the first time Mrs. Flanagan had caught him.

Buy link: http://mochamemoirspress.com/mocha-faeryland-31-days-of-steamy-mocha/

Author's Bio

Valjeanne is the author of Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend, Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, The Switch II: Clockwork (includes books I and II), Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and several short works of fiction.

Her writing has appeared in numerous anthologies including: Steamfunk!, Griots: A Sword and Soul Anthology, PurpleMag, Genesis Science Fiction Magazine, Pembroke Magazine, Possibilities, 31 Days of Steamy Mocha, Griots II: Sisters of the Spear (in press), Drumvoices Revue, Say It Loud: Poems About James Brown, The Ringing Ear: Black Poets Lean South and Liberated Muse: How I Freed My Soul Volume I (also under Valijeanne Jeffers and Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson).

Valjeanne Jeffers is a graduate of Spelman College, a member of the Carolina African American Writers' Collective and The Traveling Round Table of Fantasy Bloggers. She works as an editor for Mocha Memoirs Press and is also co-owner of Q and V Affordable editing. Preview or purchase her novels at: http://www.vjeffersandqveal.com

Excerpt from Jessica Housand-Weaver's upcoming novel, 'Siren's Smile'

Greetings! Today I'd like to offer a glimpse into my upcoming project, 'Siren's Smile', the prequel to my debut thriller, 'The Scream of the Siren'.  

This exciting thriller loaded with both passion and action delves into Alejandro's Salvadorian history, his childhood during the country's civil war, his relationship with his family including his father Jared Whitmore, the retired U.S. Special Forces veteran turned drug lord, and his estranged mother, Ana Santiago, a member of the Liberation Front and a fierce guerrilla fighter. It also chronicles his twisted love affair with a woman so captivating and even sadistic that she becomes the architect of the love-mad Alejandro's ultimate downfall. 

Below is a very brief excerpt.

********************************************************************

Alejandro glanced briefly at the girl who had come in. She looked to be about twenty and of mixed ethnicity. Her short, choppy hair was dyed pink, and she was wearing knee high boots, a plaid skirt, and a white cutoff shirt with safety pins down the center. She had a big black bag draped over her shoulder with a white skull head sewn on the cover. She slipped into a desk diagonal from Alejandro, pulling out a pen and paper from her bag, the studded bracelets on her wrists gleaming. She glanced back at him, her eyes moving over the drawing on his desk. Her skin was a deep bronze reminiscent of acacia wood and her startling eyes were exotic, hazel-green, the way sunlight looks when it reflects into a troubled, churning sea.

She smiled in amusement at his drawing.

            He held her gaze, surprised by the feeling inside of him. He was no stranger to beautiful women; in fact, he was used to being with his father around women wearing less and with much more class on private Florida beaches. But there was something unusual about the girl, something beyond her punk gear and striking looks that excited him. She possessed a bewitching magnetism and yet there was something familiar about her, something natural and laidback at the same time. He couldn’t stop staring at her, even after an ugly look from the instructor forced her gold-flecked, olive gaze away from him.

He chewed the eraser on his pencil and tried to concentrate on his drawing, but he was agonizingly aware of her every movement. In agitation, he bit the eraser completely off, the metal tip cutting into his gums. Bleeding, he stared at the image on his paper and swallowed blood. The scrawling of the skeletal woman he had drawn made him suddenly uneasy—as if any moment the bones might materialize in front of him, the horrible skull-face with its pleading eyes turning to him in supplication.

It was the blood.

He shut his eyes, pressing his fists hard against his temples in an attempt to keep the old noise from intensifying and joining the ghosts and ghastly memories in his mind. In that moment, he desperately needed to crowd out the past with something—anything.

Then the young woman moved, and he opened his eyes. Everything—the noise, the faces, the blood, the whole world—it all fractured into meaningless splinters as his gaze fell back onto her. She was the only thing…

The Devil is in the details.

I recently had a space age, sci-fi, hybrid dystopian story pop in my head. I'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to all things sci-fi and was particularly excited that the plot was mulling away in my brain. I've been on a writing hiatus of sorts recently because life has been too damn busy. Not necessarily in a bad way but it has definitely put a cramp in my writing schedule. Therefore, the opportunity to do something new and creative had me jotting down notes excitedly.

Now here's a not so secret about me, I'm quite obsessive when it comes to story details. I think that's probably one of the leading factors in why I write such short stories. World building on a large scale has me obsessing in such minute details that it almost becomes a compulsion, more than an extension of my creation. It's all ridiculous of course because I'm building the world and thus it's just a figment of my imagination. Who cares if the effects of the second sun of the planet influences the crop formation of a desperately needed grain of the indigenous sentient beings of the planet that have been displaced by the new humanoid race? No one really.  Except me of course, and my methodical sociological prospective of things not important. What is particularly interesting is all of these facts never actually get included in the story. Their sole purpose is to make me and my obsessive nature happy. 

Yes, I know, totally cray cray. I just can't help myself, but this idea is SO good and I'm SO excited to get it written that I'm going to have to perform an exorcism and get that devil of details behind me....fingers crossed.

Fredrick Book Festival

 I'm back and fashionably late with my blog post. I attended the event with fellow publishing authors, Serenity King, Stephanie Burke, and Reana Malori on behalf of Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

 

Of course, I had a blast and am now fully exhausted, but one of the things the festival taught me was the value of putting yourself out there--as an author and as a publishing partner. Most people know that Nicole and I work very closely at MMP, but most do not know how closely we work with other publishers too.

 

It's important to maintain those relationships and support each other. The festival taught me the value of planning and asking the right questions. Overall, despite the cold weather, I had a very good time. I grabbed a lot of ideas about marketing too. Let's hope we can put some of those into practice for both myself and for MMP.

 

Best,

 

Rae

Where's Your Hammer?

I've always said (and you know that I'm the ultimate authority) that songs are poetry set to music.  Depending on the song, you can find a lot of truth in the lyrics, which is why so many people have written and identify with songs over the ages.

On May 15, 1963,  the song  "If I Had a Hammer", won a Grammy for Peter, Paul and Mary.  Written by Pete Seeger and Lee Hays in 1949, it was a song that supported the progressive movement .  Like most folk songs, it was recorded by a number of people such as Johnny Cash, Sam Cooke, Trini Lopez, Aretha Franklin and of course, Peter, Paul and Mary.

The song was also an anthem of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.

The power of the song , is how the lyrics so clearly state that each of us has the power within us to make change.  We don't have to wait on others to make the first move.  At first glance, though, that may seem like the case:

"If I had a hammer/I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land...."

The use of the conjunction "if" creates a subordinate clause that says if the singer had such equipment, he/she would do the following things.  The song starts out talking about all the things the singer would do "if" they had a hammer, a bell and a song.

By the end of the song, however, we see that he/she does have the equipment needed and thus can go out and make a mark in the world.  

"Well, I've got a hammer, and I've got a bell, and I've got a song to sing.....it's the hammer of justice, it's the bell of freedom,  it's the song about love between my brothers and my sisters...."

Do you have a hammer?  A bell?  A song? All three? Then you are more than ready to effect change in your corner of the world.   

Do it.

Dahlia

The Sultry Scribe