When You Finally Realize - Excerpt from Shuttered Vision

“Ok Mr. Abrams.” Cody started tartly.  “You don’t have my blessing yet but I won’t actively stand in the way.” Cody declared.

Colan looked at him. “Why not?” He asked. “I thought you were still at camp StayAwayFromHer.”

Cody laughed. “I was. And trust me this FBI cluster is still pending investigation for me. So is the questionable decision to take her out after what she’d been through. I know though that you had things to do and seeing you after she was attacked I know you couldn’t let her out of your sight.”

Colan nodded cowed a bit.

Cody paused as he looked out at Fiona. “Damned if I can’t admit it though she’s blooming.” He said simply.  He put down the glass he was holding and looked at Colan intently. “You did something with her today that I’ve never seen before.”

Interested Colan looked at Cody. He tilted his head and asked, “Which is?”

Cody mimicked the gesture of holding his hands open as he had watched them do with each other. “Even as angry as you were, and you were Oklahoma redneck pissed, you didn’t disrespect her agency. You still took the time to ask for permission to touch her.” Cody paused his demeanor darkening as he continued, “I’m not going to go over some of the less savory aspects of her sexual history with you. That’s something for her to decide to share with you if you two get there.” He shook his head slightly. “As the person she turns to and usually bares her soul to I tell you that alone is very impactful. You want me on your team you keep that up.”

Colan listened to what Cody was saying and the hint of someone taking advantage of Fiona had made him see red for a few minutes. He almost missed how Cody ended his speech. He looked out at Fiona on the phone with her mother.

She painted in jeans and shorts.  She liked dresses though. Pretty frilly flirty sundresses. The one she was wearing now looked perfect for a beach. The way the sun and ocean were positioned behind her was almost a perfect ad to sell the dress. It was a blue and green handkerchief dress that teased her curves, lifted and settled on the wind. Her hair was braided. She hadn’t had time to really deal with it and she slept with it braided.  Her skin was a brilliant deep bronze sun kissed and glowing. Her face was serious but cracked into a smile often as she spoke to her mother. He watched those full lovely lips move and his heart flipped at the flash of white between her lips when she smiled.

Then he thought about the ugliness he had witnessed. He thought about how she retreated from physical contact almost immediately when the spell of their intimacy was broken. He thought about how she had not complained later about being sore after the officer had assaulted her. Not a single grumble. He thought about how she had frozen when he had first kissed her any idea of sexual desire ripped away by pure fear.

He thought about how Cody was never physically forward with her even though he was big enough. Even after the attack he hadn’t run to her and grabbed her. He had stood back called to her and let her come to him. It was the actions of a man used to dealing with someone who needed extra care from experienced trauma.

“She’s been sexually assaulted.” Colan practically whispered.

Cody looked at him wondering how this man had gotten so far understanding so little. “Colan, she’s a woman.”

Colan looked at Cody and was taken aback by the way he said the statement she’s a woman. It reminded him of him yelling at him about remembering she was black. The unmentioned rules behind those statements becoming clear. In this equation expecting to be treated a certain way by people based on race was expected. Sexual assault was so common for women that it was to be assumed that just by dent of being a woman she had experienced sexual assault.

Colan felt his reality warping a bit and he put a hand to his forehead.  His mind stretching as he saw scenes in movies that pushed the idea the narrative of taking women. Doing what you wanted with them as objects and accessories.  Seeing himself suggesting more aggression and pushing for rape plot devices.

Cody watched him and called to him, “Colan are you ok?”

Colan took a few deep breaths and focused on Fiona. Not her pain but on her.  He waved Cody off as his mind started to settle guilt flooding through him.

“I’m ok.” He bit out.

He focused and looked outside at her. He had thought after the attack what a miracle a survived life was. Now he stared at her in a new mystified awe. She carried so much.  How did she manage? He remembered her declaration. No rest for the weary. She had to manage because this was the world she lived in. It was either survive or die. She didn’t have time for his sensibilities and his laziness in regards to understanding why she had to be how she was. She was living breathing walking inspiration. The day was long and she had many to reach.

“Goddess.” Colan breathed. “I asked her before what she was.  I left out the one she is.”

Cody put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re slow but you’re getting there.” 

The Power of Invocation - Clair's Burden

“Goddess.” Colan breathed. “I asked her before what she was.  I left out the one she is.”

Clair felt a rush of wind at the spoken words. Her eyes opened as she sat straight up.  Her husband Sergei stirred near her.  She absently rubbed his shoulder and back.  She looked down and his ice blue eyes were glazed over.  Then they were stark and with her.

"Did you expect that to happen?" He asked Clair in a sleep hazed voice.

Clair shook her head. "No these two are progressing much faster than anyone anticipated." She admitted as she settled back in next to her husband snuggling into him.

They kept odd hours due to the planes they could travel.  They slept when they could and worked when they could.  Luckily they both had careers that let them set their own schedules. After the Virgin Launch project Sergei left corporate life and went into teaching.  His patent would take care of them as long as money was a valued resource. She didn't play as much anymore because the power in the music was hard to control. She still struggled in controlling the effects. She had known the price she would pay would be high.  She just had no idea how much would be taken from her as she tried to become what she needed to be. Or how much would be given, she thought as she pressed a closed mouth kiss to her husband's collarbone.

So much had changed since that day that Max had come to see them for the first time. Clair pursed her lips thinking about him.  Had she known then what she knew now. She pushed the thought aside.  If she thought about the rascal too hard Sergei would get into a fighting mood again.  She was still not sure if they could trust Dalen anymore than they could trust Max.  The redhead had an odd way about him. But she was worried about what she saw could befall her first couple.  If he was willing to babysit she was not going to argue. They might need some extra muscle after everything hit the fan. Which she had guessed would be happening very soon.

"When?" Sergei asked in a distracted fashion as he pulled Clair closer to him.

"Soon like in a day or so." Clair responded evenly.

"Can she handle it?' He stressed the last.

She thought about it.  He wasn't talking about the mess they were in because of Colan. He was talking about the invocation Colan was about to unwittingly commit. It was an odd thing invocation. If one person declared someone a goddess it didn't do much beyond a blip of power.  However the power of individuals has never been equal. Colan was not a normal man.  He made movies.  So while an invocation from a single man would not stir much, the invocation of a man that influenced so many manifest itself in power fitting the scope of influence. His vision influenced millions of people.  He will soon unwittingly send Fiona into a magical wellspring.

Clair traced all the major events in Fiona's life.  Her first experience with her latent abilities.  Her father's death. Meeting Cody. She also saw the scars from her first loves before Colan.  The ones that had hurt her. She watched what she did with her power.  Fiona was damaged, but ultimately kind even when it wasn't deserved. She was her first choice for a reason.  Max's opinion of her be damned. They did have a difficult road. That she did admit to.  But having faith meant having faith.  If she was going to do this right, faith was going to have to bear the heavy load, especially in these early days.

She shivered in her husband's arms.  He tightened them and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He could feel what she was thinking about.  The echos of the horrors to come. The weight of her deal with The Council  to save some.

"We'll get through love." He whispered. "You're going to make it right I know it."

* * *

Find Clair and Sergei's story in So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar.

Then continue the tale with Fiona and Colan in Shuttered Vision.

What they don't get - From Shuttered Vision Now Available

“You don’t get it. Other populations know white people better than white people know themselves,” she said in a candid hushed way.

His eyes snapped to hers. He was oddly still as she continued. He couldn’t help but catch the humoring pitying head shake from Cody as she continued.

“See America isn’t built where you have to figure out how to constantly avoid people of color, or LGBTQs, atheists, Muslims. Name a none Christian religion or sect, or even women. Your spaces are already set up that way. Just the hint of having to tolerate or stomach another sends average over 30 white folks into a tizzy,” she threw out casually.

She then pinned him with the intensity of her eyes as she finished. “However, every corner and facet of staying alive and living as free as I can manage has literally depended on how well I can navigate straight white Christian male spaces. Looking like this.” She loosely gestured to herself.

Colan stared at her. In that moment, he couldn’t really imagine anything or anyone to be more beautiful. She rendered him speechless. He didn’t know how to relate that. The gumption of the woman was stunning in a number of ways. She stood in his house serving him his booze and then shot out her truth regardless of the consequences.

“You are exhausting,” he finally admitted.

“So, I’ve been told,” she countered. “What I just said is long speak for no rest for the weary. I don’t get to turn it off or tank it down. Look where I’m standing.”

He did just as she asked. He could find no reason whatsoever as to why she shouldn’t exist or be in his house. However, he was honest enough to admit that there were a ton of people who could and would actually think it was valid that she not only shouldn’t be there but that she literally shouldn’t exist. It sickened him. Mostly because he had gotten to be the age that he was and it had never crossed his mind. He had done what was easy. He had rendered himself blind just like the masses of ‘polite’ white folks that pretended not to see color. The thought was actually the most offensive thing when you really thought about it.

“I see you, Fiona,” he said in a low measured tone. “I see you,” he repeated forcefully.

Stunned Fiona just stared at him as she felt her heart expand and her eyes tear. She didn’t know why that sentence was so impactful. Right now, it was almost enough to drop her into a puddle on the floor. She could see it in his eyes. They were a clear grass green. They met hers without flinching and without shame. No true judgement, not looking down on her, not pitying her. He just looked at her as another human being with thoughts dreams goals and more than all of that with inherent value. Cody clinked his martini glass to hers. That finally broke the spell.

“As usual these are delish, love,” he said sweetly which gave away how he felt about what happened.

She looked over at her best friend. He countered with an even sweeter smile. She returned it and he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Colan turned and grabbed the popcorn. He went to sit gesturing for the two of them to come over. “This is a new one opening in a month and a half starring Dwayne Johnson,” he tempted.

Fiona lit up. “The Rock? Hell yeah.”

Colan smiled. “I did expect the Texas girl to know him as a wrestler,” he said densely.

“I’ve been to shows where he was the main event,” Fiona confirmed.

Cody was staring at the heavens. “Dear God are you also a wrestling fan?” he asked in an exasperated fashion.

Fiona clucked. “Cody is originally from Michigan, he doesn’t get it.”

Colan smirked, “I did think it was just state policy in Texas.” He watched Fiona with barely banked appreciation and asked. “So, you have no problem watching one of his films?”

Fiona plopped next to him in one of the leather recliners with Cody hot on her heels. Cody looked at her in an expectant fashion. She squinted at the challenge in his eyes.

Non-plussed she responded like she often did when they talked about the man known as Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. “I’d watch that man make toast,” she said with relish.

Cody smiled and whispered, “The balls on my girl,” then gingerly sipped his martini.

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New Paranormal Romance Release Shuttered Vision

I started Shuttered Vision about 8 years ago. Then it was intended to be a love lost letter to a man I knew I'd never have or ever be with.  When I started it I outlined the pervasive issues that were the problem of us ever ending in mutual bliss with each other. Those issues in my eyes were race, class and media bias. I've been a dark girl in white spaces for most of my adult life.  My assumption was that for the man to end up being a man that could overlook or readjust to these differences, love was not going to be enough. What this book started was a journey for me that I didn't realize I needed until of course it landed me right here.

8 years ago I was an administrative assistant for a college in Baltimore. I was pursuing my undergrad in video game design and planning to create a game engine to beat all game engines.  My plans changed mostly because I so needed to answer the question posed to myself due to falling for a man that would never be able to see value in me due to my race, my poor upbringing and the avid brainwashing media intentionally and unintentionally sustains with pervasive anti-blackness. That observation by the way is not up for challenge.  I will allow no one to disavow my lived experiences.

During this investigation of the whys of American racial discourse I learned from those around me. Social Sciences professors teaching History, Political Science, Sociology, Women's Studies and Teacher Education.  What I ended up building was a need to confont the problem on the ground floor. I started to research game based learning and ended up pursuing a Masters by 2011. This halted my writing until roughly around last year.  As my life started to change again I went back to what had sustained me the first time my life fell apart. Writing.

After 8 years and more experiences Shuttered Vision morphed.  It became too important to waste on a man who willfully choose to disavow me as a potentially worthy partner. I learned that it really is his loss.  I also learned that there are some people you reach back for and some you don't.  Something I constantly ignored in previous years for that hero narrative I wanted my life to reflect. I saw an opportunity in this book to truly be as authentic as I can imagine and to add a narrative to the growing ones being built by female authors of color.  Romance as a genre has not always embraced nuance, however this is changing.  I would like to add to that change.

Shuttered Vision then became a love letter to me and to all women who had to get passed that moment of feeling not good enough for reasons that are so beyond your own control.  Its a love letter to those in the trenches, bound in the struggle.  Its a love letter to those who have lost not just love, but freedom and their lives to narratives that refuse to allow basic humanity.

The message is keep creating, keep building, never surrender and be at all times your authentic self.  Because that is what actually defines humanity.

Fiona and Colan have born the weight of realization and discovery for me. They have given me so much of myself back that I adore them. I hope you come to love Fiona and Colan as I do.

Always w/love,

Sue

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Missing Love Stories

When I write it is often a plea or has a correlation to desires I possess in my day to day life. I write the world I'd like to see as opposed to the one I live in. Very simple method displacement. I take the reality that bothers me and I replace it with a viable beautiful one.  So of course my genre is romance. I find the world in my sight to be painfully devoid of true romance, honest passion and selfless love.  So I write about it. I pair up people and give them hell and let them figure out where they stand, what they want, and what they need.

Love Alchemy

A couple of years ago I decided I wanted to change the world. So I began mapping my Sci-Fi series which will be called loosely and subject to change Genesis 2020.  I'm giving humanity a spiritual reboot of sorts. This series features a changing of the guards as mortals will attain immortality in some instances, some will be the earth mothers and fathers of a new generation of humans, and many will be there to see to it all.

One of the books that I began features a couple that I feel like expresses the most conflicting dynamic in American culture. The male is a white, southern, high powered movie producer.  The woman a mixed race poor artist. I met Colan and Fiona in a dreamscape. They were hiding in a place that I seldom find myself in yet have made the most wonderful discoveries there. I call it my space of truth. They contacted me and wanted to tell me their story. It’s a good one, and they knew that someone like me would understand.

When you live life as an American, especially a dark female American from a poor southern family there are many aspects of life from your childhood that you were never included in or invited to. Somewhere along the way you have to either conform to low expectations or refuse the whole damn thing.  I chose the latter. To this day I cannot place my finger on how or why because I've never really seen much that was different than what is portrayed on television, in movies, or magazines like everyone else. I chalk it up to my mother's unending faith in me to be who I needed to be and not settle for who others wanted me to be.

Classic Romance Novel Cover

I say this because media is what it is. In my recollection the 80s where overrun by respectability politics and racial caricatures. But that was for everyone, white, black, red, yellow, male, female, teenagers, and children. Everyone had a prescribed formula. It wasn't till the late 90s early 2000s that characters became deeply complex people. All accept for women and minorities. So not even close to everyone. As a dark woman I've always taken those images with a grain of salt as I much preferred getting lost in a book as opposed to an unrealistic impersonation of who I was supposed to be. The irony is that you tell yourself it’s not that bad. You actually try to accept some of it as truth because the alternative is too much to bear, which is the evidence of others denying you and those like you the very basic staples of humanity.

One night I was shown how bad it was. I was dreaming with Colan.  He showed me a place that he would like for American film and cinema to get to now that he's head over heels for our lovely Fiona. You'll get to read the fit Fiona put him in for the first book of the 9 set series called Life Goes On sometime next year. It wasn't just a breaking in spiritual realization as much as it was an epiphany of a lifetime of strategic and collaborative brain washing.  As an artist Fiona forced Colan to see the things she could see and to replace the images he often associated with grace, beauty, love and valor with an image hardly ever associated with it in mainstream media. His open eyes became mine.

See how gorgeous we all are: http://humanae.tumblr.com/

For years I thought the portrayals of dark skinned people both men and women where as fair as possible and this instance destroyed that thought. I told myself it would be nearly impossible to reproduce the vivid imagery of that understanding in the written word. How can I show what I saw? The scene was resplendent. A scene of love and courage, the beauty of it pouring from the two souls. The scene was shot close, mostly faces of the man and the woman. They were exchanged plateaus of love and affection. She glowed in the scene.  Her lovely brown skin showing all the colors hidden there within. No brown is just brown, it’s a sea of shades of yellow, red, bronze, beige, slightly bruised peaches and chocolate milk. Papaya and carrots, beets and butternut squash.  His skin reflecting a myriad of colors as well. They stared into each other's eyes intently with purpose and grace. Love pouring true. She was going to leave, trying to leave because it’s what she thought he needed. The heroine, constantly by his side and pulling him though his darkness. He's grateful, complete and fulfilled from the journey. Through shared pain and shared grace they had found that point, that moment of divine grace within each other.

Up!

At no time did the scene reposition to show her breasts. The language used was vernacular English, no so called 'black' speak.  The man and woman were on equal footing. The lighting just so to give the ethereal nature of the connection. No body shots at all, this was an intellectual meeting of the minds and a stunning interaction of the soul. It was saying nothing but everything in Lost in Translation, it was the unveiling of the art room in 50 First Dates, it was "Thanks for the Adventure" in Up.  It was every instance of pure beautiful perfect love I've ever seen that made me cry and yearn for a love like that which now I saw, never had previously contained a single dark face.

Black Love

When I woke the image of it blazed brightly in my mind. Complete, perfect and beautiful and I knew in that moment that I had never seen it.  It wasn't part of my lexicon as a lover of romance. There was not a single movie I could recall where the scene had been built so painstakingly and so beautifully. Never for someone who was dark. Our love is always relegated to giving in and giving up like Jason's Lyric, or Love Jones. Sent to the seediest place, over sexualized, over stimulated and then tainted with tragedy.  Calm acceptance in the face of insurmountable odds like Monster's Ball. Happy endings need not apply because they are happy enough.  But not only that, those moments of true blissful acceptance and love are lost, never viewed or portrayed as something you would die for. Our moments of triumph always involve being given the opportunity to excel, still not quite human, but good enough in some matters of social change and of course feats of athletic excellence. But a love story. A true story of love between people of color that involves nothing more than a heartfelt desire to create the most perfect moment even if all others are lost is beyond us. Not seen, built and not given. Those stories of true love are found as standalone testimonies of dark women learning to accept and love themselves, implying that the rest of the world is not capable. We are too foreign, too unrecognizable as lovable beings to hope for anything more.

Romantic Movies

The loss I felt at that realization was one of the most profound moments in my life. As a woman who is encased and dependent on love, it never struck me that the reason why it always seemed like such an unsolvable mysterious fairytale was more than just inexperience. It’s an internalized attitude of love not being an available commodity for those like me. Love was contingent to acceptance, something that is usually not a part of the American experience for anyone regardless of background, yet even more so for those of the other variety. So the outliners of love became obvious points of acceptance. Perhaps love can overcome the racial issues in a relationship, the cultural calamities, even the religious bias. But love, for the sake of love was not a possibility. As a person of color you must be exemplary and perhaps someone will forgive your background enough to develop a passing acceptance and affection for you and this includes other people of color.

How it Can Feel

The stunning truth of what I had been shown all my life crippled me for hours. I cried as if everything beautiful and precious in this world had been stolen from me.  I cried as if all faith and hope was lost. I cried for the crime committed to so many like me. I cried for my femininity which suffers blows of lack of love constantly as I blame my figure, my not so perfect face, my hair length for lack of love. I cried for my darkness that rendered me unlovable for more of the population than I would like to know. Mostly I cried for my humanity because of all the things lost with the realization that love was not something portrayed as something I was fully capable of that was the one that denied me all I've ever wanted in life.

Love, the ability to feel it, give it and receive it is an inalienable human concept. Personhood of other animals is usually determined by the ability to attain complex thought and love. You will find that they are not mutually exclusive as we equate complex thought without emotion as an inanimate function. Emotions, and not just any emotions, but love specifically is the high bar for being human. Being willing to risk all for love, to survive for love, to overcome for love. In many ways none is more human than romantic love. The inexplicable pull and tug to a complete stranger for no comprehensible reason shows the extraordinary capacity of humanity and life. To be denied that, in any form is tantamount to death. Stolen then are the chances to redeem the glory of all life holds that is sublime and precious.

Who Love is For

When people are cut out of stunning and moving instances it not only cripples the people who are not being portrayed. It equally cripples the people who are, who are being told that love comes in shades of beige, blonde, maybe redhead or brunette. That love has a certain figure and form. Being told that love exists within confined spaces determined by socioeconomic and religious guidelines. Those being told that what they may feel for someone who is not of this character mold must not be real because its outside of the lines where love lives.

I came to the understanding years ago as my marriage fell apart and birthed my path as an author that I was, still am, and will always be a love based creature. As love left my life I had to create new ways to pull it back in. I cannot live without love. I craft for joy and I create for passion. I reach out for love, always reaching out for love. I will always write of love and the beauty it brings to this place. I'll write of the lives it has changed.  I'll write of the healing it has done. And I will write it with faces that we never get to see experiencing these amazing events with hope in my heart that those days will end one day and love will be truly available and visible for all.

Love Alchemy from http://www.tellurideinside.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/osho-wake-up-dangerous-love.jpg

Classic Romance Novel Cover from http://www.respiring-thoughts.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/lady-of-winter-_bg_042.jpg

Up! from http://fictioncalling.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/up__married_life_by_symphonikaa-d59vz42.jpg

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How It Can Feel from http://www.christineduvivier.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/website-24.jpg