Author's Info Blog

Sharing the things you want the world to know around the literary industry.

Does trust make you hate or just plain stupid? Part 1

Y'all probably want to know where I get these images from? It's from the same infamous site I chose not to name because I don't get a check from them and they should pay people for the amount of time they spend there. That's another discussion. Is there's something wrong with this photo? I don't believe so. it's pretty accurate "according" to today's social climate. But what scares me is the amount of criminality and destruction it took for that picture to be true. Yes, I said it. If the average person took the time to research most of these religions today, I guarantee they would be outlawed. It's so bad that people are defensive of their religions, and others promote false propaganda stories misleading others to think differently. Why? It's all about greed. That's right, GREED. Ok, if you want to get racial we can. It's those who have not...
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4913 Hits

BROKEN PROMISE By V. BROWN


As a child Promise Brown lived the life that every girl in the ghetto would have loved to live. Her parents, Sweet Pea and Biggs, were the head of a fledging drug empire that stretched from coast to coast. They were way passed hood rich but refused to leave the hood—the same place that contributed to their downfall. The hood bred jealousy and envy which would ultimately affect the Brown's livelihood.Just when Promise had gotten use to the good life things went downhill. Her parents were arrested and later imprisoned because of a snitch who hid behind false pretenses causing DEFACS to step in and make her a ward of the state.Now all she wants is out! Escaping the clutches of the system, Promise runs back to her old hood. There she runs into her mother's childhood friend's nephew and together they devise a way to get paid.Promise never imagined she...
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Copyright

© Valia Brown

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THE MAN WHO LOVED CHARLOTTE RUSSE by Salvatore Buttaci


YOUNG BOY LEANING OVER BAKERY COUNTER   Maybe it would have helped if I had raised my hand some decades ago and told my story. “My name is Jeremy and I’m a sugar addict. I’ve come tonight seeking help.” But I didn’t. Nor did I look to psychoanalysis to help me. My father had raised us to distrust “those meddling brainpickers.” In fact, even before dementia riveted him to the same sound-byte loops in which repetition ruled at the slightest provocation, Father was well on his way with a favorite shrink line of his. When he told it, he held his rotund belly, then in raucous laughter his beach ball belly would jiggle and bob as if it had a life of its own. “Anybody who goes to a psychiatrist oughta have his head examined!”  It was no surprise in his last years one had only to say “shrink” or even...
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8595 Hits

Flashes From the Bye-way

They walk the shady paths of the park. He pushes the carriage, which holds their sleeping child. “Have you told your secretary we’re going on vacation?” “Don’t worry about it. Just let me run the office.” He remembers a phone call that must be made. Two weeks later, now alone, she understands. Certainly the secretary had known his plans.
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2845 Hits

THE NAZI BOYS REICHING IT IN by Salvatore Buttaci

This ain’t gonna sit right with most of you out there, but I’m swearin’ it’s the truth. Every word of it. And I’m puttin’ the lingo down here ‘xactly like it happened.  First off, I’m about as simple as God breathed life inta. Growed up in a little Texan town in Bandera County. Hill Country. Little town called Pipe Creek, population less ’n two hundred back in the 50’s an’ most of ’em my blood kin. I worked daddy’s farm, growin’ mostly pecans that with little rain an’ too much sunshine ended up worth less ‘n a hill of beans, but we Floyds kept a-plantin’, kept our achin’ backs an’ skin-raw hands to the plow. We was decent folk, believers in our Maker where every Sunday we sat in our family pews at the Little Rock Church. Like I said, simple. Far as smarts go I never passed the fourth grade...
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5923 Hits