Sisters in Step

There are many people who you meet and experience new things together as you go through this life. I feel fortunate to have met these women who put trust in me in helping to get their books into the hands of readers. As a publisher, they have made me jubilant, and we have all grown to become dear friends. Since I met each lady, we all became supporters of each other and our work. We have also seen the pain, sadness and hurt as lives changed. I believe there are no coincidences and that we are all a part of God’s plan for something bigger and better. It was the way we met directly behind each other, how and why. Finally, we are all Christian Women who have been tested, but came away more determined and stronger. We are all sisters in step with life. Thank you wonderful women for being a catalyst as we each uses our testimonies to help other women. Without a test, there is no testimony!

My Thoughts After Reading Reviews on A Sinner's Cry!

I have never responded to a review before and after this I never will again. When I think about churches, I always think about the sick. My mother always told me that churches are like hospitals, people go there to get better. However, if you are not converted, which takes time, as a person you will continue to fail. That is how I see many churches, and this doesn’t have anything to do with race. Many denominations have their own particular set of problems from abuse of children, stealing money to illicit sex in the church. Still there are many churches that don’t have these problems or these types of issues have not surfaced to the congregation as a whole.

I try to write real stories. We are not perfect, only God is. But if people understand they can come to God no matter what they've done in the past without fear of rejection, then I’m doing my job. I get letters from potential church members saying how my book changed their lives by letting them know God forgives all sin. They feel they can walk through the doors of the church and believe God will do as He promised. Some people are offended by the church’s problems and choose to see churches as a place for perfect people. I see it as a place for imperfect people trying to live as God wants us to. I’m not living in a glass house. I know people fail. I know preachers fall. I believe when people fall, they can still be redeemed.

My book, A Sinner’s Cry is about people. Most of the drama happens at church. But a church is not Heaven, and I do not glorify church as such. I don’t glorify church because they are still managed by people. Imperfect people! I glorify God. I don’t follow men. I follow God. Even if there is sin in a church, you cannot run from it because wherever you chose to move your membership to, you may find sin there also.

When I read I have descriptive sex in my book, I smile because I know I had to do a good job writing this book. This is because the book is a little raunchy, but the scenes are not descriptive. Maybe it’s me, and the kinds of books I read but this isn’t very descriptive, play by play to me. I am providing an example of the two scenes and also an article written by my former publicist. The link for the article is below.  Here are two examples:

 

Example 1:

 As I pulled into the driveway, Darren drove up behind me. I parked in the garage and he followed. Before I could get the garage all the way down, he pulled on my clothes and started kissing my neck. He started unbuttoning my blouse and tried to take my skirt off in the garage. I gently pushed him away and ran into the house through the garage door.

Darren kissed me. He acted as if he was starved, like he hadn’t eaten or had sex in weeks. My skirt fell to the floor and I stood there naked. I wanted him as badly as he wanted me. So I unbuttoned his shirt and he helped me to pull it off. It dropped to the floor. He took me right there in the living room, standing up.

He held my face in his hands. “Denise, I love you, girl.”

I didn’t respond because I was thinking of Pastor Davis, not him. I was scared to speak for I may have said something wrong. I prayed and asked God to help me to be a Christian.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”  I kissed his lips. I felt so confused. I loved Darren, but I loved God, too. I didn’t know if I should follow my heart and keep on loving Darren, or follow God and live according to His will? Loving Darren was so easy, but losing my soul was so hard.

 I walked to the bathroom and filled the Jacuzzi. Darren put on his pants and shirt and walked to the car to get out the food he’d picked up for us. He was so aroused that he left the food and took me first.

 As we sat in the Jacuzzi, I lay my head on his shoulder. “I love you so much.”

“I know. It won’t be long. I saw my lawyer today. I wanted to find out what I needed to do. I told you I was going to divorce my wife soon.”

“I hope you don’t feel as if I am making you do that. I will not allow you to blame me.” I lifted my head off his shoulders and looked into his eyes. Lately, I had been feeling weird, being with another woman’s husband. When I found out he was married I stayed because my heart had planted vines in my soul and I had fallen in love. I couldn’t leave. Then I became comfortable. I got used to him and I did not like the idea of being back out in the world unattached.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Us and where we are headed.”

He swiped a strand of my hair behind my ear. “We are headed to the altar; you are going to be my wife.”

He grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap. We kissed as his hands slowly moved over my body like an x-ray machine, looking for areas to pinpoint for more observation. I felt his warmth that connected from his body to mine. We became one again, the second time that night.

Example 2:

When Darren arrived I opened the door and let him in. Grabbing me, he kissed me hard and I kissed him back. The guilt was killing me, but not enough to stop me. I needed his arms to hold me and to make me feel safe. We made passionate love on the floor in front of my fireplace. He held and kissed me and I kept my head under his armpits. I felt safe and I didn’t want him to leave. As we lay there, saying nothing, the phone rang and I jumped.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Darren turned his head and watched me.

“Hello?”  There was no sound.

I slammed the phone down. “Darren, please stay tonight, please.”

Jumping up, he knocked over the crystal lamp and it crashed to the floor, but it didn’t break. He grabbed me and looked deep down into my eyes as I looked up to him for comfort. “What’s going on?”

“Someone keeps calling and hanging up. Tonight someone followed me all the way from East St. Louis.”

“You didn’t let them see where you live, did you?”

“No, I drove straight to the police station. That scared them and they kept driving. A police officer escorted me home and waited to ensure that I was okay.”

“That was smart of you.” Kissing me on my forehead, he whispered, “I will not let anyone bother you. But I can’t stay. I have to get home. If Jill becomes suspicious, she will take me to the cleaners. We have to be careful. I already stayed once this week, I can’t do it again so soon.”

“Darren, baby, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I miss you when you are not here and I want you so bad to be here with me all the time. I’m so tired of sharing you. Plus, Darren, what we are doing is wrong. It is against what God requires of us.”

“There you go with that mess again.”

“What do you mean that mess? Don’t you believe in God?”

“Yes, I do, but I don’t think God is sitting around worried about who I am seeing with all the problems in the world. I just think that wouldn’t be His concern. Not who I am sleeping with.”

“I’m not going there with you. You know that if we want to see Heaven there are things we need to do.”

“Yeah, but right now I want you before I leave.”

Picking me up and taking me to the bedroom, he worked me over good before he showered. We lay in bed and talked before he left. I lay in bed thinking that lately we had been spending a lot of time in bed. I wondered if that was all our relationship was about. I was beginning to hate myself. I jumped out of the bed and stared at myself to see if I looked dirty. I wanted to know if my sin was noticeable. I looked at every inch of my body, searching for something to show me that people knew I was sleeping with a married man. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew I felt dirty and sinful.

 As tears rolled down my face, Darren exited the bathroom and stood behind me. He was naked. His body was beautiful like a naked god’s—no marks, no fat, no inches of fat over his waistline—just muscle and beauty. He watched me.

“What are you doing, Denise?”  He had a perplexed look on his face. His eyes were looking up and his head was leaning to the side.

I just stared at him through the mirror. I looked for a reflection of something. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was crying and touching my body.

“What is wrong with you? I love you. Stop this now!”

He pulled on his clothes and shoes. Then he checked his phone to see if he had missed any calls. My phone rang again. I didn’t budge; I stood steadfast in the mirror.

Walking behind me, Darren wrapped his arms around my body as if he was trying to shield me from the cold and pain that was so deep in me that if he didn’t spread warmth over me he would lose me. He rocked me as if I was his baby. He kissed me and told me he loved me. I believed him. “I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t you worry a bit, pretty lady?”

 

 Drama in the Black Church

 

Amazon

Barnesandnoble.com

 

Ugly Eye Fashions Become Cool Again

 

As a young girl, I would flip through magazines and look at careers, hairstyles, and clothing to see what I wanted in life. I saw an intelligent looking woman wearing these cool designers’ glasses, and I wanted them. I was eleven when I decided I had to have these particular glasses I saw on a model. I told mom, I had vision problems. When she took me to be examined, I pretended I couldn’t see the letters. I was given a prescription and next I was able to try on glasses. I tried on designer’s glasses until Momma said, “try these.” Having eight kids, she chose what I was getting based on what she was going to pay. I was so mad that mom would not give me my heart's desires. I had worn the glasses once or twice before I crunched them with something heavy. I was not wearing the ugly Superman, Clark Kent glasses.

As an adult, I have great vision. I need reading glasses only when I read small letters. I ended up purchasing the same reading glasses I crunched at 11-years-old. (Wearing them in the car) Now as an adult, I love reading glasses and I love to match the colors and shapes with what I wear. I have more than 30 pairs, but if I see something new and cute I will buy more pairs. Yesterday, my daughter bought me three more new pairs. The benefit of being young and living to see old ugly fashions become cool again decades later.

 

 

 

Meet Shana Burton, author of Flawfully Wedded Wives

About the Book

Just when Sullivan, Lawson, Kina, Angel, and Reginell finally think they’ve gotten life figured out, fate steps in and throws them all a curve ball, adding fuel to the drama that seems to follow the ladies wherever they go.

Mt. Zion’s first lady, Sullivan Webb, has left her philandering ways behind her, but lingering questions surrounding her daughter’s paternity motivate Sullivan to seek out her own absentee father, Pastor Samuel Sullivan. What her search uncovers is years of lies, secrets, and betrayal that threaten to destroy the lives of almost everyone she loves.

Kina Battle’s newfound celebrity status as the winner of a popular weight-loss reality show goes to her head as quickly as she shed her unwanted pounds. Kina is prepared for the fame, endorsement deals, and celebrity appearances that come along with stardom. What she isn’t prepared for is the harsh backlash when her secrets are exposed and the public starts to question whether she is the devout Christian that she’s led everyone to believe she is.

Lawson Kerry Banks could get over her husband’s affair if the evidence wasn’t staring at her through the eyes of his love child. Lawson’s insecurities and inability to accept his child force Garrett to choose between the woman he loves and the child he’s fathered.

Life as the soon-to-be wife of high school football coach Mark Vinson lacks the excitement of Reginell Kerry’s former life. It certainly lacks the financial security that pulling down $1000 a week as an exotic dancer afforded her. When the bills start to pile up, Reginell goes back to doing what she knows best, only this time it may cost her more than she’s willing to pay.

Angel King’s broken heart finds a safe place to mend in the arms of high school classmate Jordan McKay. He respects her decision to abstain from sex until marriage, he loves the Lord, and he adores her. However, Jordan is harboring a dangerous secret that could destroy their relationship and leave Angel brokenhearted once again.

The ladies often fall victim to being led by their hearts instead of their heads. This time, they may have gone too far.

About the Author

As a child, Shana Johnson Burton, a native of Macon, Georgia, wanted to be two things: an author and a flower. Eventually, she sided with being an author. She is a two-time Georgia Author of the Year nominee and has received many awards and accolades for her work as both an author and educator. She is the mother of two children and enjoys reading, dancing, traveling, and taking long naps.

In addition to Flawfully Wedded Wives, Shana Burton is the author of Suddenly Single, First Comes Love, Catt Chasin’, Flaws and All, and Flaw Less.

As a child, Shana Johnson Burton, a native of Macon, Georgia, wanted to be two things: an author and a flower. Eventually, she sided with being an author. She is a two-time Georgia Author of the Year nominee and has received many awards and accolades for her work as both an author and educator. She is the mother of two children and enjoys reading, dancing, traveling, and taking long naps.

In addition to Flawfully Wedded Wives, Shana Burton is the author of Suddenly Single, First Comes Love, Catt Chasin’, Flaws and All, and Flaw Less.

Purchase the Book Online at:

Amazon

Barnesand Noble

Book Trailer:
Visit the author on line at:

View the author blog schedule at:

A Sinner's Cry!

Chapter 1
Rinnnnnnng. Rinnnnng.

The sudden shrill of the phone jarred me awake. Pulling my hand from under the soft bed covers, I fumbled and patted the cherry wood nightstand in search of the sound that annoyed and interrupted my peaceful slumber. My fingers made contact with the hard receiver, as I lifted my head off my satin pillow and put it up to my ear.

“Hello,” I groaned as if in pain.

The woman on the other end screamed, “Who is this?!”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes while I averted a yawn. “You called this number, so you should know.”

I closed my eyes and lay back down.

“This is Jill Tate, you trick.”

My eyes popped open as if a fairy godmother had sprinkled dust in them. All the sleepiness I felt was gone. My body sprung up to attention as I turned on the lamp. The bright light temporarily blinded me. My heart began to pound like little staccato
drums being brutally hit. I took a deep breath and released the irritation that
threatened to consume me. Finally, I asked, after reeling my voice back into
control, “Jill who?”

“Tate.” The woman smacked her lips like she was sampling a sour piece of candy.

“You know who I am. I’m tired of you little tricks sleeping with my husband.”

“Sorry, but I think you have the wrong number,” I said as I rubbed my right eye.

“I don’t think so. I checked my phone bill and your number is all over it. Your trifling ass is sleeping with my husband, Darren.”

I sat straight up in bed and changed the phone from my left ear to the right one, trying to assure I heard what the woman had said. “Darren is not married, not the one I know.”

“Are you serious? Is that it? Really, is that all it takes for a man to get into women’s panties is to say he’s not married?”

“Sorry, but the Darren I’m seeing is not married.” My heart was beating hard inside my chest as my left hand balled up into a fist. I needed more information. I tried to think of what would be a good facial distinction to share with her to assure she had the wrong number and wrong man. “Is the Darren you’re seeing a professor with green eyes?”

“You’re not stupid. Yes, he has green eyes and I’m sure you knew he was married. All you skanks know. You’re just playing a role like you don’t.”

Silence.

“The cat got your tongue, doesn’t he, sucker? You can’t say a word?” Jill’s voice echoed so loud in my ear, I had to pull the phone away to prevent harm to my eardrum.

As I held the phone tightly, my right hand turned numb. I shook my hand, trying to get the blood moving again. I was getting angrier by the minute. Beads of sweat flowed down my oval-shaped face, colliding with the tears that stained my smooth mocha-colored skin. The phone call was real. The man I loved was not mine. He had a wife. I couldn’t think nor swallow the saliva as it increased in my mouth. Activities we did together became blurred; the passion shared became foreign as I tried to remember how his hands had caressed my body. But what I felt at that moment was pain ingrained in my heart like rough sandpaper. How dare that snake make me believe I was the only one?

Normally, I was quick on my feet with smart responses when faced with uncomfortable
situations, but I couldn’t think of anything substantial to say,so I blurted out, “You need to talk to him.”

“I’m talking to you, trick, and I demand you stay away from him or your ass is grass. Leave my husband alone. He needs to be home with his wife and kids.”

I hung up the phone and sat in the same spot frozen, unable to think about what to do next. As my nerves settled, I lifted my left hand to the side of my left temple and tried to wipe away the feeling of dread that crept over my skin like little ants roaming on an ant hill. I swiped away at the tingles that nagged my right arm.

Darren couldn’t be married. I tried to reason by crossing out conversations as they rolled through my mind. Some of the conversations left more questions than answers. Why did he sometimes disappear when I needed him? Why did he sometimes rush me off the phone?

I grabbed the phone and punched his cell phone number into the phone pad. The phone rang until it went to voicemail. “Darren, please call me, it’s urgent.” I left message after message, as I lost hold of myself in my attempt to reach out to him. “Please call me back. Some woman called, Baby, and said you were her husband. Baby, please call me. I need to know if this is true.” The calls were never returned.

Darren always called back, so I was surprised he had not returned my voicemails. I began to feel the caller had told the truth. Lately, Darren had been slipping out of my bed. It seemed that he could not spend the night as he had done so many times before.

After I waited about two hours for him to call back, I lay down and cried until I fell asleep on my soaking wet, tear-stained pillow.

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

The next morning Darren arrived before nine A. M. I was headed to work. I was dressed in a red two-piece suit, but my 130-pound,well-toned body felt naked. To have someone call to say you are sleeping with their husband leaves you feeling unclean and vulnerable, like you need a bath.

Every part of you is exposed. My heart pounded through my chest at a rapid pace. The doorbell rang and I darted to the door; I knew it was Darren. As I swung the door open with much force, the slight wind circulated the cologne I had given him. The scent wafted through the front door before he did. It assaulted my nostrils and floated through them with a fierceness that made my knees buckle. Oh, how good this man smelled and how good he looked in his dark Armani suit that fitted his body as if the seamstress had made it just for him.

“Baby, I got all your messages. Let me explain.” He reached his arms out to me as if my five-foot-three stature would just fall into them. I stepped back.

“Are you married?” I asked in a pitiful, wounded voice. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes,threatening to cascade like a river down my face.

“Yes, but we filed for divorce. It’s over with us. It’s been over a longtime.” He looked down like a rat caught in a trap as he begged to be released from the contraption causing him pain. His eyes looked puffy like he had either been hit in them or as if he had not slept in days.

Slap! The sound across his face exploded like a huge wave slamming against hard steel. He tried to grab my hands to stop the sudden thrashing against his body. My hands and arms flapped out of control as they swung at him in all directions. The hits jabbed and punched him in every part of his face and chest. My mocha-colored fists began to blur as they pounded into his ribcage. He grabbed my hands to slow the rhythmic thuds that battered his chest and stomach. With the right eye-hand coordination, he was able to secure my arms stiff against his body with a firm grip. “Stop it, Denise. Stop it now.”

“Let me go!” I cried out between sobs as I tried to wiggle out of his embrace. “You are hurting me.”

He loosened his grip and I dropped to the floor in agony. Nothing could have hurt more. “Get out, Darren. Just get out.”

“You don’t mean that. I love you.”

As I looked up at him, the frown on my face thickened at the nonsense this man had spilled out of his mouth. “Love? What do you know about love, you cheating dog? I trusted you!”

Darren’s eyes widened as he bent down to my level and grabbed my hands. If he had not been holding me so tight, I would have attacked him again. He blinked back tears. “You don’t mean that. I can explain everything. Just listen to me.”

“Get out!” I screamed. “I said get out of my house!” Hurt by his deceit, my voice roared like thunder. The rumble snapped him out of his trance-like stance. Not wanting to upset me anymore than I was; he stood up,turned around on the shiny wooden floors and walked briskly to the door. As he neared the doorway, he turned back. Looking over his shoulders with his beady swollen eyes, he said, “This isn’t over.”

As he walked out, he slammed the door behind him. I sat on the foyer floor for about ten minutes. I bawled until the heat that beamed off the window warmed my skin. The sun’s hot rays were dangerous to my unprotected skin, but I couldn’t move. It caused the suit I wore to stick to my clammy, sweat-soaked body. Embarrassed by the snot that bubbled out every time I took another deep breath and let out another sob, I forced myself to get up. To do so, I had to crawl toward the hall’s table and use it like an anchor to pull up my weakened and angry body. This was the second Friday in March, my favorite month. Instead of laughter, excitement and happiness, as I planned my wardrobe for tonight’s activity with some friends, I felt like someone had knocked my teeth out of my mouth. Instead of preparation for a lovers’ weekend, I felt sad and broken. My heart felt like someone had taken a hammer and cracked it into little pieces.

How could I celebrate love when the love I had was not real?

After I pulled up on the table, I walked to the living room like a dead man taking his final walk right before being electrocuted. I grabbed the phone when I reached my destination. I gathered all my emotions,put them in check and breathed in hard as I prepared to talk calmly to my secretary. When the secretary answered the phone I told her I would not be in and then called my mother. Standing there, listening to the phone ring, I breathed in hard to control the sad, squeaky voice laced with pain that had become routine when I was upset. When I heard my mother pick up the phone I said, “Hello.”

“Denise, is this you?” my mother asked in a soothing voice, reflective of soft jazz.

The words lingered in my throat.

“Denise. Honey, what’s wrong?”

I felt like a little child who needed the comfort of her parent. At the sound of Mother’s voice, I gathered strength and whispered with a childlike soft voice,
“Mommy, I need you.”

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

Before leaving to visit Mother, I showered again to knock the sweat off. As the water battered me in all the right places, I grabbed the soap and let the sweet smell of strawberries soothe me. I dried off, oiled my body down with Shea butter and put on a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Brushing my sweaty, long, brownish-black, damp hair into a ponytail, I dabbed some brandy-colored lipstick on to mask how drained and broken I looked. I grabbed my purse, searched for the car keys, located them on the table in the foyer, put on a light jacket to ward off the thin chill in the air, set the house alarm and left. I drove thirty-five minutes to mother’s house.

As I drove to Mom’s, it occurred to me that Darren had provided so many signs of another woman being in his life. There were times he would leave early, arrive at my house at awkward unscheduled times, not answer his phone after he checked to see who was calling and the big one, going into the bathroom while lifting his finger to his mouth to shush me as he shut the door before talking on the phone. He would later explain it was the Dean of Students or the president of the college. Students or the president of the college. Like a fool, I believed him because I didn’t want to think he was seeing anyone else. I took the reasonable route and put my wild imagination into the back of my mind where I allowed it to stay under lock and key.

As I drove down the highway with plenty of time to cry again, I dried the tears that ran down my face with the back of my hand. Every now and then I banged my open hand against the steering wheel to punish myself for getting caught up, which was something I promised myself I would never do. One thing was certain: If I lived through this pain, I could make it through
anything.

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