Congratulations Class of 2009!!

Well I can’t believe that I did it, but I did.  I am now an ODU Alumni:!)
I promise that Alien Line will be delivered by way of traditional publishing or self-publishing, either way it will be published:)  Good Luck Class of 2009!!

 Here is a NEW short story.  Enjoy:!)

Dilliana by Tanya Yvonne  
On the night when everything changed, this aged mind still holds the image clearly, the once freely naked trees were still as they strained to hold the heavy white dressing that was being forced upon them. They were arranged around the perimeter of the property to create a perfect square. The limbs all arched over stretching across to the opposite side with ends that curled into a spiral. This sometimes made the leaves look like barbs to me. Perched high above on one of those trees was a lone bird that sat and watched over the place. Regardless of the time of day, whenever I stepped out doors that bird would be there vigil like. The falling snow did not seem to bother the creature as it did not stir, only the eyes waiting for her movement beyond the square. The growing pattern of the trees made it impossible for nothing more than hints of sunlight to filter through. Every day was a winter day for my dwelling that sat in the middle of the square.
I was standing just far enough away to take in the whole scene before me. It was beautiful. Nearly as beautiful as the gem it held. My large gray tinged house was the box built to hold my most precious jewel, Dilliana. While standing there that day I saw her peer down at me from the only window. I had preferred none, but at the insistence of my Dilliana I had that one added. All she needed was within the house, so I could not understand why she liked to sit and gaze out that window. She waved to me and I waved back before rushing inside to her, instantly warmed by thoughts of her embrace.
Stepping into the place I heard a soft creek as each one of her feet touched a step. I remember removing my glasses and glancing back before pushing the door shut. The snow was accumulating nicely. I thought I would not have to go through with it after all. But as I saw her gliding toward me my heart sank. There she was outfitted in her finest dress. She had even rid her head of its curls, replaced with locks so straight that not a bend could be seen. For whom had she done this? I adored her curls. My mood darkened. She still wanted to go. Not even the snow could change her mind. So bored of my company that she would risk health to venture out –to a party no less!
She hugged me as she always did when I returned and extracted from me every detail of the brief, always brief, outing. I paused my chatter to watch as her body erupted with coughing spasms. I pushed the swaying hair out from her lovely face that was hard for me to really see in the dimly lit room. Light, any kind, disagrees with my eyes so the house lighting was always kept low. I knew the face was lovely, for I had seen it for the first and last time in natural sunlight only three years prior. Our courtship consisted of dinners at my home which led to the wedding, at my home. I desired no other company than that of my Dilliana. At no time did I like to be without her. Once the coughing ceased I let her lead me to the sofa. With a grasp fastened to my wrist that felt no more solid than a breeze. When seated I pulled her close and positioned her so that her upper half lay across my lap. I looked down at my doll.
All I could see was the outline of her, none of the details. The true color of the hair and eyes were lost to the shadows of the room. No matter, the real details of them were burned on my heart. I ran my fingers along the curve of her neck and shoulder which looked shades darker than I remembered them to truly be. She turned and gazed up at me. I stared at the shape of her lips as they moved. My Dilliana was afraid her dress was wrinkling. I wanted to know why she would risk creasing her brow with such thoughts. I informed her that she were beautiful no matter what the appearance of the dress may be. She called me silly. Never before was I silly, but on this day I was. Not a step over the threshold yet she was already fading from me. How could I have been so careless?
For all those years I never let her eyes see an invite. That last one had been hand delivered though when I was out. Surely due to the careful planning of the cunning host, that vile acquaintance from my past. Despite my reservations about going a quick change of my clothes and we were off, just as night crept down. The snow had stopped and this seemed to delight my doll. The absence of snowfall was deemed by her to be a good omen about the get-together. It was on that night the watching bird finally stirred. My Dilliana had made her way down the front when it took flight soaring just a few feet above. Excrement fell nearly landing on her. Instead of moving back into the house she moved quickly toward our ride.
Our host whose name I do not care to mention—can’t bring my pen to write it, greeted us with an odd smile. She pointed at Dilliana before chuckling loudly. Oh how I curse that woman now. That horrid woman! If it were not for her, she would still be here. My Doll! My Dilliana. I must force myself to continue. The home was dreadfully bright, so much so that my glasses had to remain on, even still the light intruded upon me. There was a scent in the air. Yes, it was of cinnamon. I pressed my napkin to my mouth while Dilliana drew in a deep breath. I waited for the coughing spasm but it did not come. That is when I saw it. Saw her. I had to blink for my eyes were surely clouded. I almost did not recognize the woman beside me. Who was this woman? The color of her hair was not black as I thought it should be, instead it was the darkest shade of brown with hints of auburn that only showed when the light hit her just right. The lips were also a brighter shade than I could recall them ever being. They were of the softest, lush pink. The eyes, oh the eyes, the part of her that caught my heart all those years ago, how could I not recognize them? Instead of coal black they were brushed with just enough brown to make me doubt ever knowing them at all. The host removed her from me. Even as she was lead away, I continued my silent search for something recognizable. For even the skin had lost its dark luster, replaced with a shade of the palest mocha. It was proof! My Dilliana was fading from me! No longer wanting to be a witness to that betrayal I found a corner and placed myself there. Here I shall note that my doll did not take notice of my absence from her side.
I cannot find the adequate words to describe the torment I had to endure during that hideous affair. Scenes with Dilliana next, no close, to some bloated, bald chap. The way he took hold of her just above the elbow after another joke had spurted forth. No lover should have to endure such torment. I could go on and on but the retelling of such things makes the pen frightfully heavy.
The ride back to the house did little to lift my mood, though the conditions were just as I liked. We left the affair divided by mood. She had, had a lovely time and welcomed many more such nights. I had a dreadful time never wanting to have to endure another. Ever! I still remember how the cold rush of the air felt as it filled my lungs, yet I did not feel invigorated. The affair had also stolen that joy. The dark, sparkling, snow that blanketed all, also failed to comfort me. I reached over to stroke her hand finding it so chilled. That eased my suffering some.
Cage. Oh Cage. It is so cold. The faint sound of her voice as she spoke my name seemed not to come from beside, but rather it seeped from all around.
I let her know that is why she should never do that again. She could not hear me though for she said something about spring. It being better in spring. Oh why did she want to leave me? They had charmed her! The bald, fat and jovial type guys all trying to steal my jewel. Shoving aside the invisible divide I pulled her close. You see? Now you must surely understand. I could not let them steal my Dilliana. The days after the affair did little to squelch her desire for another such evening. She even went as far as to suggest that we host such an affair. The thought of those like the fat, bald and jovial guys thrusting themselves into my jewel box and erupting with drunk filled pleasure all over my Dilliana right before my eyes made me physically ill. I could not allow it. No husband should have to. Dear reader I have done all I can to try to make it easy for you to understand my final request that will be revealed at the conclusion of this dying man’s tale.
One night just before the edge of spring I sat alone in our bedroom and waited for her to come find me. In my hand I held a hollow rose shaped pendant that I stroked much like one would a cat. Empty then though soon it would be filled. The essence of my doll would fill it to the brim. Somewhere in my trance I heard the door as it creaked open. It was the only evidence I had of her presence, for her steps were no louder than those of whispers. Moving into the dim light I watched until it caught the whiteness of her dressing. I moved my gaze down observing the night gown stirring about the thin frame. My brow was lined thickly with horizontal tracks of worry. She could not see them for the near darkness of the room provided me with the perfect mask. I sat in silence as she glided near the bed, feeling for me. Still I watched as she paused listening for my breaths. Still I watched as her ears caught the soft sounds of air rushing as it passed through my slightly parted lips. Still I watched as she finally discovered my hiding place and made her way toward me. I stood to greet her but not before slipping the pendant into my front pant pocket.
I closed my eyes before pulling her close and tried to absorb her taking in deep, long breaths of her scent. I continued to tighten my grip around her too thin frame, it was as if I could not feel her. I kept opening my eyes to make sure she was still actually there. I released her only after she expressed some discomfort. My doll had felt the slight bulge in my pocket and inquired as to what it was. She tried to reach in to grasp it. I would not let her, could not. Her flesh was not yet ready for it. To ease her curiosity I promised to soon reveal it. I moved my gaze to where on a small table next to the bed sat a glass partially filled with a brightly colored liquid prepared earlier by me. I told her it was for her cough. That cough that would not cease since the cold air had filled her during the ride back to the house after the affair. She did not want for drink yet I could be quite persuasive and eventually convinced her of her thirst. The details, ugly as they are, cannot be omitted. I apologize for the images that will no doubt be pressed upon your mind by the following ugly details. But they are essential, so very essential in me getting you to understand just how important my request is to me.
I had helped her onto our bed. The brief game of hide and seek had worn my Dilliana out. Always tired was she. A body not made for much movement instead it were the kind that needed to be placed on a chair or bed. Oh how I loved to sit and watch her sleep hardly stirring. My beautiful Dilliana. I had pulled the thick blanket with dark gray and deep blue roses sprinkled about just above the stomach. I ran my fingers over a spot where there was a cluster of the deep blue roses. I don’t care much for color though I liked the quilt very much because it did contain color, that dark blue color. Blue roses. A passage from a book that I had memorized floated across my thoughts, "The plant held special meaning. It was used to symbolize the attachment between loved ones. Hence the name, attachment hybrid rose. It was given to newlyweds on their wedding day, to adoptive children from their new parents, to siblings and so on. The plants came in sets of two. Though they could be planted hundreds, even millions of miles apart, one plant could not survive without the other still living." Don’t you see? Actual attachment. The book suggested that it were more than just a feeling but an actual thing like a cord. Connecting people together through all space even in death, as long as the roses lived the bond lived. That’s what the roses represented. The blanket which covered my Dilliana was woven with the fibers of special blue roses that had gone through a particular drying process. It was genius, pure genius and it was discovered by me. The chain from which the pendant hung contained the fibers also. I remember stroking the patch of blue roses on the quilt while thinking of the one in my pocket. The spot seemed to grow very hot almost burning. My Dilliana moved. I withdrew my fingers. Her body began to tremble as a low muffled sound escaped from the mouth. Her lips drew back showing her teeth. I tore my gaze from the sight of them. I reached for a handkerchief to place gently on her mouth. The coughing was always worse when she laid down. She wanted the drink. I wanted to gaze at her one last time. She wanted to be well. I wanted to be able to admire her without the jarring interruptions of the coughing spasms. She wanted to rest. I wanted to never leave her side. But I knew it was time, that heartbreaking affair had shown me that. And here is where the before mentioned ugliness begins. Even now with so many years having come and gone, the mere thought of that night fills my nostrils with the stench of her shell.
I gently placed my hand at the back of her neck and head to help her lean up enough to take a few sips from the glass. I tried to get her to consume all of the liquid but she refused with the slight turn of her head. With regret crawling along my spine I did not force her. Her head touched the pillow and I slowly lowered myself onto the bedside chair not knowing what to expect. My doll’s eye lids were half down causing only a sliver of the eyeballs to show. My gaze moved down to the perfect nose and then lips that were now closed, hiding the teeth that before seemed oddly too large for her delicate face. It was not until my attention settled on her bare neck that I remembered the pendant. The drink did not seem to be having any noticeable effect. She lay there sleeping like she always did while I watched, so beautiful she was when lying near motionless like that. While waiting for something to happen my eyes and thoughts began to wonder. They moved to the doorway of the room. My gaze ran over the carvings that outlined the opening. Cupids with large heads that smiled in a perverse way exposing teeth that were in major disproportion to the rest of them ran along it. I turned my head from the sight of them only to have my gaze inch back toward their leering images. After examining the large teeth for a few moments I was able to finally tear my gaze away. My patience was waning. I thought of walking down the stairs and back up to help rid my body of the anxiousness. But the teeth of the cupids would not allow me to pass by. I did not want to go near them. Instead I rose from the chair and eased over to the bed. I leaned over her and spoke her name. She arched her head up slightly and the eye lids were suddenly drawn upward. Her mouth moved but no sound emitted from within it. I was leaning in closer straining to hear her when I saw the thing. A circular, dark spot just above the cleft of her chest. It was at first nothing more than a dot that soon widened to be about the circumference of the pendant on the end of the chain that still remained hidden in my pocket. The appearance of the blemish was the start. Her flesh was ready. I removed the necklace from its hiding place.
My doll’s eyes followed my every move. I forced my mouth to turn up a smile as I revealed the pendant to her. She spoke to me and again no sound could be heard. I gently brushed some stray hairs off her forehead. The dark spot on her neck caught my attention as a faint smell wafted into my nostrils. I recoiled some wanting to be away from that blemish on her neck. Intrigued and repulsed all at once by its appearance I could not help staring at it. The stench, that terrible smell was coming from the dark spot. I could even see faint streams of gray drifting up from inside the dark mass. The part of the skin that was marred by the blemish started to pucker. With every part of me I willed my eyes to move from the hideous spot. They would not. The dark, raised spot had a wet look about it. The hand without the necklace was moving, it was not until my fingers were just inches from the blemish that I became aware of what I was doing. Awakened from the trance like state I withdrew further into the shadows but my eyes, traitorously they kept my gaze on that blemish. The foul smell moved from the room as the pus that caused it to obtain a wet like appearance disappeared, leaving the skin with a crumpled look. My body moved forward to examine it more closely. The rest of my Dilliana was lost to me. I could see nothing aside from that blemish. I wanted it gone and had to fight the strong impulse to rub at it with my bare hand. I picked up the handkerchief and clutched it tightly. Cautiously I bent down easing up on the thing that lay there marring my doll’s beauty. I pressed the hanky onto the blemish then lifted it. Some of the darkness stuck to it looking like warm taffy. The stench returned so strongly that I almost reflexly used the stained hanky to cover my nose and mouth. I threw the filthy thing aside. Like a magnet the stain pulled my gaze back to it. Just then is when I noticed the sweat, a drop slid onto my eyelashes. I rubbed at it annoyed at the thought that my vision would be clouded. So hot, so very hot in that room. The hotness had come on me so suddenly. My heart was beating fast and hard. I could hear it pounding in my ears. Like someone stomping up a stairway. The moisture from my palms was causing the necklace to slip. Suddenly reminded of its presence I was able to pull my eyes from the blemish. I used my shirt to remove the wetness from the chain caused by my perspiration.
Cover the thing with the pendant.
A far off voice gave me this command. I shook my head trying to free it of the invasive influence. I did not want that thing to blight the rose pendant as it did my Dilliana.
Cover the thing with the pendant.
All of me froze except for the eyes that moved about the room. Where was the command coming from? It was in my head, yet all around me.
Cover the thing with the pendant. Like a strong wind against a thin tree branch, this last command pushed me to move. With a trembling hand I placed the beautiful, rose pendant atop the mark. I drew back afraid of what I had done. Hidden within the shadows I watched the awful transformation of my Dilliana take place. Her beautiful body, every perfect inch of her fading, crumbling all the while with me staring in sickly awe. A few times I tried to shut my eye lids, yet I could not. I had to watch. The once clear pendant took on a dark color. The veins on the neck surrounding it bulged. They were almost as blue as the roses on the comforter.
Churn, churn, gurgle.
I heard the blood as it moved about in those bulging, blue veins. How obscene it all was. I never took my eyes from them though, could not.
Churn, churn, gurgle.
With my pointer fingers I dug in my eyes until I drew blood. Those sounds, so deep in my ears. I wanted to get them out. I knew the origin of them. I could tell the blood, the life of my Dilliana, were being drawn from all of her and marching to one location. The covered spot. The stomping in my ears was forgotten as a dark, thick liquid seeped into the rose shaped pendant. It was then that I was able to see her again. My eyes moved over every exposed inch of her form. Each vein was bulging against the skin. The nail tips, they went from white to grayish in color before splintering in some places. Veins grew plumper. The skin became thinner. Those veins strained so against her skin that I feared it would tear. Detestable, so very detestable the sight was. But the drying was worse. Like a leaf through the seasons her body went from pliable to sapless. The fingers curled inward as the arms jerked upward, it were as if someone was pulling on each of the veins causing her body to draw up. Also, like a leaf, the color of her grew darker. The colors of death were repainting my doll. How very ugly it all was, yet I could not try to stop it or turn away. I had tried to calm myself with the fact that the ugliness before me was not my Dilliana. My doll, all that made her beautifully her was safely there in the pendant. Once the veins had emptied themselves into the pendant they collapsed. The eyes and hair of her could not even be left untouched by the death brush. They were turned ashen in hue. You must surely understand by now. This was the only way that I could ensure that she would always be with me. This pendant that you see hanging from the chain that is hung around my neck must never be removed. It is rooted there now. The boards under the bed are what cover the remains of my doll. The comforter that is over her no one must try to remove, for it also has been rooted. If you separate either body from the roses our bond will break.
The person reading the plea looked from it to the body of the old man and back again to the scrawled writing. The reader had lived in the town their whole life and thus was very familiar with the stories surrounding the character of old man Cage. He shunned the sun. He didn’t care for company. He rarely went beyond the perimeter of his grounds. He only wore black. He never went without his dark sunglasses. All were speculations about the strange man that dwelled in a house with only one window. But among all the speculations there was one sure fact, Cage, the dead man whose body lay in that bed just inches away, was a life long bachelor.                                                                                                                                          

Below is a picture taken of my little Halloween Princess Ghoul, she was born on Halloween:)  This winning picture was taken by Nicole B. who won first place at this year's Virginia State Fair.  Congrads Nicole:!) 

Team Tanya Yvonne raised nearly $300 for Making Strides of Hampton Roads 2008:)  Thanks to everyone who made a donation and a special thanks to K.J., Tracy, Kim, James, Montrese, JaeLynn and Tahann.

My Fiancé K.J. is back from his nine-month stint overseas:!)
I’m still hard at work on the new manuscript, so sorry no new free shorts for a while.
A new event has been added to the calender. Keywords are always BOOK SIGNING.
Pink and grey, "Hope starts with me" canisters will be placed in about seven Hampton Roads business locations. Please drop your spare change in to help raise funds for Making Strides of Hampton Roads 2008. Download my free short stories and Enjoy Your Summer! 

I made the Dean’s List at ODU!!

Excuse me while I give myself a pat on the back:) Whatever!:)

Here is a picture from my Sigma Tau Delta induction ceremony.

Hello All! I know that October seems sooooo far away, but it is time to start thinking about Making Strides of Hampton Roads 2008. The annual walk to help raise money and awareness for the fight against breast cancer. I need your help and would love to have you as a team member. Please click on the link below to sign up. Thanks!
JOIN TEAM TANYA YVONNE

Making Strides of Hampton Roads 2008
Walk date: Saturday, October 4
Walk location: TBD
Registration: 8:00 am.
Walk begins: 9:00 am.
No registration fee.

Well during the past two weeks people have been engaging in a public debate that is exactly like the one, which has been going on within my close family circle for sometime now.  The debate over whether Tyler Perry’s work is a reflection of actual black life, or is crudely based on stereotypes. I won’t discuss my family members’ stance, but rather I will just state my own.
Tyler Perry’s work is crudely based on stereotypes that help to thrust unfavorable images about Blacks into society. I have no problem with someone doing what they have to do to get a foot in "the door."  At some point though, one has to forget about the dollars and focus on the sense, as in substance:)

              The Mothering

      Sophia reluctantly let her now frustrated husband, lead her from the room. Just before she took that last step, she could not resist looking back. To her surprise, the baby still lay sleeping peacefully. Once in the den, Sophia eased her exhausted body down onto the sofa. From where she sat, the lanky woman had a clear view of the outside. All she could see was miles and miles of soil and vegetation. Her husband was sitting near her and was presently talking on the subject of strange behavior. He seemed to be concerned about something, but what Sophia did not know. The young mother’s mind was elsewhere.
The Mothering

The rejection rate for manuscripts is 90% plus. Yes, more than 90% of all manuscripts submitted to publishers and agents are tossed in the trash UNREAD. Recently I have come across several people who have looked at me smugly once they found out that I, oh my gosh, self-published. The lowest of the low for any would be respectable writer. Oh so they think.

Instead of looking down smugly upon the self-published author. Perhaps those whose favorite statement always seems to include some form of, "I still have my rejection letters," this is often said as a badge of honor, should reconsider their view of the self-published author.  I don’t have a stack of rejection letters, but I will tell you what I do have. I have the sales information of books sold. I have signed copies of my books in the hands of numerous people. I have good and even a few great reviews splashed about on the world wide web. I have readers out there who know my name. I also have a good reputation that is rising daily. Most importantly I have my first published book in hand. And while those of you who look down upon the self-published author while wearing your rejection letters proudly pinned to your lapel, I Tanya Yvonne and all the other published authors out there will continue to sell books. How about the next time you hear that someone has been proactive about their dreams you smile, give encouragement and then go trash that rejection lapel pin:)

Hello All! I recently got braces:) I posted a picture below. Whatever:!) My third and final short story will be reviewed this week in the fiction workshop/class. I have had some inquires about how to access my downloadable stories. You must click on the words sign up in order to access them. You will then be on my IT list (like a celebrity A list). You will be among the first who will have access to the first chapter(s) of my new manuscript. And of course you will be able to read all my short stories.  Hope that helps to clarify things.

Hello All! I had my last book signing this past weekend and it was very enjoyable. I encountered a bunch of interesting and nice people. As always, thanks to those who stopped by to chat and/or purchase:) 

Signed copies of Alexander are available at the TCC Barnes & Noble bookstore located in MacArthur Center Mall.

I have some good news! I am one of the new members of Sigma Tau Delta (STD) English Honor Society!

Last week I had my second story reviewed by the workshop/fiction class. The response was again favorable. One suggestion made by L.H. was that perhaps I should add a little to the beginning, creating a frame story around the inner story, which leads me to my tip from the workshop/fiction class.

The frame story, I learned, is a very old device that was used by writers to connect a series of stories within a larger story. One example would be starting a story with a narrator that is old. That elderly narrator would then begin to tell another story about something that occurred during his/her youth. After the flashback story was complete, you would then bring the story back to the presently older narrator. Usually this is when an explanation for the telling of the flashback is given.

A new short story will be posted this weekend!

I won’t get the critique of my second short story until this week. I will not be looking forward to them. After all, I did not get past the first page of my last critiques. Atop the stack of marked papers was one where a classmate suggested that I omit all descriptive lines like, "The lanky woman . . . " and replace them with flat words like she instead. Oh my, oh my, oh my:) I smiled as I threw the stack in a nearby trash can. Whatever.
Here’s a tip from the class/workshop. Never start a story with an alarm clock scene. The experts find this to be a boring opening as the reader has to get through the whole waking up, showering, getting dressed and so on and so on stuff.
One of the short stories I wrote, The Mothering, was inspired by my new manuscript. The new shorts won’t be posted until this spring. They may only be available for It list members, so please sign up:) Joining cost you nothing and you will be able to read more stories for free.
Thanks to Barnes & Noble and to those who have chatted with me recently at signings, and a special thanks for those who purchased a copy.

Thanks for the support:!)

I have added a new short story (The Last Snowfall of Childhood).  It was one written for a class I took last summer.  You can click on the link below to read it.    http://www.tanyayvonne.com/Downloads.php

The holidays this year have been a little less jolly for me. Toward the end of the summer, I bid farewell to my fiancé for a year. He is in the Navy and is currently stationed in Diego Garcia. As I was boxing his present up to be shipped out, my thoughts turned to others who are faced with the same situation. This post is for all of you who have a loved one ( not just in the military) who is too far away to hold. I wish for them to be safe and hope you can find some cheer with the loved ones who are near.
Below is a picture of my honey taken just days before he left.  

Here are some pictures from my launch event.
We had a great turn out!!
And for those of you who missed out,
I have one final local appearance
in February, at the Williamsburg Barnes & Noble.
Happy Holidays!

The gentleman in the picture, wearing the hat,
is Michael Taggert Magician Extraordinaire.
Michael performed at the book launch event and was a big hit.
I have posted a link to his website for more information.
http://www.gigmasters.com/magic/MichaelTaggertMagicianExtraordinaire/

Hello All!
I have two reviews posted on Barnes and Noble.com, to read them please click on the link below.
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/results.asp?WRD=tanya+yvonne&z=y
 
I am also the spotlight author at great reads.com, again please click on the link below to read the review.
http://great-reads.blogspot.com/2007/11/alexander-by-tanya-yvonne.html
 
Special thanks to the science fiction literature class at Thomas Nelson Community College. I really enjoyed our discussion on Butterfly Kisses.

Please check the event calender. Keywords are BOOK SIGNING.
Thanks!

Please check the events calendar.  Key words are book signing.

Hello

Don't forget about this weekends Walk for the Cure, taking place in Norfolk, VA.  For more information click on the events calender page. 

Hope to see you there!

Tanya Yvonne

Hello All!

Just a reminder that I will be at the fanta-sci 2007 convention this weekend. 

 
Area book signing events are coming soon.  I am also in the process of putting together a belated book launch event.  The IT list newsletter will be arriving shortly. 

Thanks!

Tanya Yvonne

So I was in the middle of doing thirty on my treadmill when this song caught my ear. It was that new song by Rihanna. She had the chickest haircut and I was instantly inspired, so now I am sporting a new haircut myself. Feeling quite sassy and working on the next Alexander installment, I sort of let that sauciness seep into a few passages. Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Back to Alexander the appetizer.

Alexander is a novella about a boy who not only is dealing with the death of his mother, but also the strange dreams that now plague him. Home is now where his aunt lives. Dreams filled with images of candy fields and sport figures, are replaced with ones of unearthly looking creatures in strange meetings. Alexander’s life is forever changed by events that began before his conception.

Alexander begins to become aware. Aware of his ability to see a person’s true self, aware of the ugly that lies dormant within him, aware of the weapons that dwell just beneath his skin.

I refer to Alexander as an appetizer because, well it is. The novella gets you acquainted with the characters, while also arousing your curiosity.

Anyway.

Don’t forget to join the IT list and just maybe you, will be invited to my up coming release party this fall.

Gotta go, you know classes to prepare for, writing to do whatever, whatever...