tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86066000442970897482024-02-19T09:17:04.109-08:00Sherri Lewis' BlogBlog for Essence Magazine Bestselling author, Sherri LewisAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-26259655074256306032010-06-21T09:37:00.000-07:002010-06-21T09:39:22.416-07:00Sherri's Moving to Cameroon??? Finally an explanation...So inquiring minds want to know…what in the world is Sherri talking about? One minute, she’s releasing her latest bestseller and publishing an anthology. The next moment, she’s putting her life’s belongings on a container sailing to Cameroon, West Africa. Has she lost her mind???<br />Let me explain. I’ve always dreamed about going to Africa as a missionary. I’ve dreamed of full-time ministry, music, dance, writing and expressing the Kingdom of God through the arts. But I got stuck, working a job to pay the mortgage, but not really living the life I was created to live. <br />Finally, last year, I quit my job and decided to dance into destiny. Literally... I got an email from a young woman in Cameroon saying she’d read my 2nd novel, Dance Into Destiny and loved it. She said the youth group in the book reminded her of her youth ministry there. We traded emails back and forth and chatted almost daily. She reminded me so much of myself at her age, it was like reaching back in time and talking to myself. I started waking up in the middle of the night, praying for Cameroon and couldn’t understand why. I found out that her youth group had been praying for me to come speak at their anniversary. I agreed to come visit…on the condition that they would stop praying so I could get some sleep.<br />On my first trip to Africa ever in July 2009, I was greeted by an amazing group of about 75 young people. They loved to sing, dance, worship, pray, do theatre, and express the Kingdom artistically. They were true God chasers, hungry to go deeper in God. I went to teach them, but I learned so much more than I could ever teach. I know I’ll never be the same. It wasn’t long before I just had to back to see my beloved adopted children – November 2009. I can’t get it out of my system. There’s nothing better than teaching and pouring out on people who are hungry for more of God. These kids soak up everything like a sponge and go after God 100%.<br />After much prayer and seeking God, I got permission to take the school of ministry I’ve just completed to Buea, Cameroon. I leave in July – gotta preach for a couple of weeks in Nigeria first – and then the school will start in September. I’ll come home for Christmas and then return to complete the term in January. After that, God only knows.<br /><br />You can check out the website at www.bassmcameroon.com!sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-17292428264944793222010-04-12T06:40:00.000-07:002010-04-12T06:44:04.287-07:00Selling My Soul blog tour!Hey! Make sure you join me for my blog tour this week for the release of Selling My Soul. You can see the schedule of where I'll be by clicking on the link above.<br />Blessings!!!!sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-23655740460389060592010-02-05T11:51:00.001-08:002010-02-05T11:51:54.942-08:00My First Shower<br /><br />So who knew that even taking a bath was going to be a different experience? First, I had to use the bathroom. I was led out into the courtyard up some concrete stairs to the…latrine. Now when me and Mimi had been chatting, she told me there was a toilet in the house. As she led me to the latrine, she said the toilet was in the process of being installed and she had thought it would be in by the time I arrived. <br /><br />(For my African friends reading, bear with me on the bathroom explanation. You’d be surprised at the things so important to us Americans. Toileting is a big one! ) <br /><br />Long story short, you squat over a hole to use the bathroom. And you have to use a flashlight to do so. Imagine coordinating all that. Flashlight, toilet paper, squatting and not missing the hole (splashing is NOT cool). And friends, if you ever find yourself in this situation, resist the urge to shine the flashlight down the hole! (I know what you’re thinking, but surprisingly, it doesn’t smell like you would think. They pour some chemical down the hole to prevent that.) And when you come out, don’t ask questions like, “what do you do when the hole fills up?” You’ll get a brief stare, followed by something muttered in pidgin under the breath equivalent to “silly American…”<br /><br />So on to the shower. I was led to the “bathroom” which is just that – a room with a drain in the floor. No stall, no curtain... I was given a big bucket of nicely warmed water (I now can appreciate the extra time they took to boil water for me to take a bath. On my second trip, we were running late a few times and didn’t have time to put the pot on the stove. Can I just say there were screams coming from the bathroom when I poured the cold water over myself???) <br /><br />As I looked at the bucket, all I could think was, how am I gonna keep from splashing water all over the floor? So I took a bird bath, being as careful as possible to make sure as much as the water stayed in the bucket as possible. <br /><br />When I came out of the bathroom, I apologized for having accidentally splashed some water on the floor. When Mimi came back from examining the bathroom, she asked me how I could have possibly taken a shower when the bucket was still full. There was no way I could be clean. I was completely confused as to why she thought I would splash water all over the clean bathroom floor. She gave me another strange look and explained that what I was supposed to do was pour some water over myself, lather up, and then pour water over myself to rinse off. I was supposed to splash water all over the floor. Mimi asked, “why do you think they call it a bathroom?” She gave me yet another a strange look and muttered something about how I didn’t know how to take a bath. I was feeling the cultural differences already.sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-62882270810322385022010-01-26T08:45:00.000-08:002010-01-26T08:46:19.976-08:00Cameroon - My Life Has Forever Changed!Cameroon – My Life Has Forever Changed<br /><br />The other night, a friend asked me about my trips to Cameroon. His eyes were huge with excitement as he asked to see pictures. He said, “I want you to take me there. By the time you finish telling me about it and showing me the pictures, I want to feel like I just came back.” So many have asked about my trips and I say they were amazing and life-changing, but I don’t think I’ve adequately shared my experience in Cameroon. <br /><br />On the first trip, my dad almost died while I was gone so I cut my trip short and obviously didn’t have time to blog when I got back. When I returned from the second trip, he went back into the hospital for surgery to fix everything that had gone wrong during the summer. So I never really got to share. I’m gonna go back and try to recreate as much as I can with pictures and videos and stories.<br /><br />A little background. I first met my “Cameroonian daughter” – Genevieve Souma – by email. Mimi (as she’s called) had read my book, Dance Into Destiny, and sent me one of the sweetest, most heartfelt messages I think I’ve ever gotten from any reader – and I’ve gotten some great ones. We started emailing back and forth about our dreams and destinies and she told me a lot about her youth group, Youth Aglow, that the youth group in Dance Into Destiny reminded her of. We ended up chatting on a regular basis on Facebook and developed one of those divine connections that only God Himself can set up. She sent me copies of Youth Aglow’s music CD and music video (YA Squad) and I realized we had similar interests in expressing the Kingdom through music and the arts.<br /><br />Soon, I began waking up at crazy hours, praying for Cameroon and for Youth Aglow. For some strange reason, I wanted to visit. When I told Mimi about it, she admitted that she and her youth group were praying that I would come over for their 7th anniversary celebration. I agreed to visit on the condition that they stop praying so I could get some sleep. I’ve come to learn since then that when these kids pray, heaven moves. But more of that later…<br /><br />I ended up going to Cameroon for the first time in July 2009. In retrospect, it’s one of the craziest things I’ve EVER done – getting on a plane – by myself – to go to Africa to meet someone I met online. On the way to the airport, my mom said she’d been unable to find anything about Youth Aglow online. She expressed her fears about it being a scam and me being kidnapped. Needless to say, that made my 24+ hours of travel a little scary. I ended up praying silly prayers like, “God if this is a scam and they’re gonna kidnap me, then let the flight from Switzerland be cancelled.” As if God would let me go to Africa and get kidnapped. <br /><br />When I arrived in Douala, the airport was overwhelming. People were speaking in French and everyone was trying to sell me something. I hate the airport in Cameroon. The so-called porters try to scam you for money to get your bags through customs. When they hear the American accent, you can see the dollar signs in their eyes. In the midst of my angst, I heard my name being called. I looked up and saw the cocoa brown face from the computer screen from my facebook chats smiling down at me and instantly felt reassured that this was a destiny journey and that God was in control. <br /><br />On our long bumpy 2 hour trip from Doula to Cameroon, Mimi gave me a tour and history lesson. The trip was a little hairy as we traveled over potholes the size of craters and had to avoid killing several “kamikaze” motorcyclists. Mimi explained that the motorcycles serve as taxis but they drive so crazy that not a week goes by where someone isn’t killed in an accident. We finally got out of the city onto the pitch black quiet road and I still wondered what lay ahead on my trip. <br /><br />When I arrived in Buea, Cameroon, I was greeted by a beautiful group of young people crowded into Mimi’s living room. It was dimly lit and it was explained to me that they were experiencing, “low voltage” where they electricity levels in the city were low. I could hardly see the eager faces smiling back at me. Some of the leaders spoke about Youth Aglow and how grateful they were for my visit, and then the group sang a song that brought tears to my eyes. Then we enjoyed an awesome welcome feast they had prepared for me. They explained each dish and the only thing I recognized was the boiled plantains (I am a lover of Jamaican food – well all things Jamaican!) As we ate, I shared with them a little bit about my life’s journey and how I was pressing into purpose and destiny. I got to share with them as a group and then had some more intimate conversations with my new friends. As we talked that first evening, I knew God had divinely connected us and that something very special was about to happen. It was amazing how it felt like I had stepped into the pages of my book, Dance Into Destiny – Cameroonian style. <br /><br />You can check out photos of me and my kids on Facebook. Add me as a friend!<br /><br />Next up – my first trip to the bathroom and the shower. Promise not to laugh!!!sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-15796513777732465272010-01-22T08:19:00.000-08:002010-01-22T08:20:13.422-08:00Selling My Soul - When Life Imitates ArtSelling My Soul – When Life Imitates Art<br /><br />You know how they say art imitates life? Many authors, myself included, write books based on their life experiences. I’ve had an amazing thing to happen recently where life has imitated art. I wrote a book about a missionary returning from Africa before I ever set foot on the continent. I based her experiences on those of missionary friends I met in church. They shared their stories and I tried to recreate their experiences with re-entry – returning to America after being in another culture for a prolonged period of time. <br /><br />Little did I know that in a little over a year, I would be traveling to Africa and experiencing that same thing. In re-reading the book after coming back, it’s almost scary how much of what I imagined the character would feel was exactly what I felt. Even scarier, the main character’s mother was sick when she returned from Africa. As I sat in the hospital with my father watching him cheat death last summer, I felt some of the same emotions I had written for my character. One of the procedures my dad had was exactly as I had described it in the book. That was really scary. And if this is a case of life imitating art, I hope I end up with the gloriously happy romantic ending. <br /><br />Of course, Selling My Soul isn’t so much about Trina’s return from Africa. After all, it is the sequel to My Soul Cries Out. So I HAD to answer some questions my readers felt I left them with. Like, what happened to Monica and Kevin? What happened to their friends Alaysia and Khalil and David and Nakia – did they get married? What happened to Trina – she just disappeared to Africa and fell off the face of the earth. And most importantly, what ever happened to Bishop Walker and those dirty deacons? Was justice ever served?<br /><br />Of course you’ll have to read the book to get all the answers to those questions. You could read Selling My Soul without reading My Soul Cries Out first, but I have to say, you’d enjoy it more as a sequel. You really need to HATE Bishop Walker to get the full enjoyment out of Selling My Soul. <br /><br />You can pre-order your copy of Selling My Soul on Amazon and Barnes and Nobles’ websites. The book will hit the shelves on February 23, 2010. I hope you enjoy the story!<br /><br />In addition to sharing my fictional account of a missionary returning from Africa, I want to share my real life account. Stay tuned to my blog (which I’m REALLY going to keep up with now – I promise!) to hear my stories and see pictures and videos of my two trips to Cameroon.sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-26582523040537336132009-07-16T15:05:00.000-07:002009-07-16T15:09:28.520-07:00Time with my fatherI had the most amazing, invaluable time with my father in the ICU the other night.<br /><br />Two weeks ago, my father experienced complications from routine surgery and almost died. After a second surgery to fix complications of the first surgery, his blood pressure was dangerously low to undetectable, and no amount of fluid, blood, or pressors (medicine to keep the blood pressure up) was enough to fix it. My family and faithful members of my beloved church stood around his bed, warring and praying for about 5 hours. Many times I didn’t think my father would live, but we kept speaking life over him. Declaring his destiny and the fact that God still had much to do through him. <br /><br />Turns out that he was bleeding out after the second surgery and had to go for a third surgery about six hours later to stop the bleed. After 5 hours of intense prayer, my faith wavered. I just knew the doctors would come back to the room with those dreaded words, “I’m sorry, but your father didn’t make it.” Instead, they came back smiling and telling us the surgery went well and he would return to the room shortly. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It was a miracle that he lived through all of that and I’ll be ever grateful to God for it. <br /><br />He returned, 10 units of blood and liters of fluid later, swollen to what seemed to be twice his normal size. Even the white of his eyes were swollen. He stayed on the ventilator for 9 days, most of the time completely sedated. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever gone 9 days without talking to my father before. Even during college. Every day I became more and more anxious for him to wake up. I wanted to see the love in his eyes when he looked at me. I wanted to hear his voice. For him to crack a silly joke or give me some of his invaluable wisdom.<br /><br />He woke up confused. To the point where I wondered if permanent brain damage occurred during that 5 hour period of low blood pressure. The nurses assured us it was just from being sleep for so long on powerful sedative drugs and that he would come back to his full mental capacity. He was also very weak. My dad used to walk 7-8 miles a day, but could barely lift his legs. Putting his hand to his face completely tired him out. Sitting up on the side of the bed with full assistance wiped him out after 10 seconds.<br /><br />But God is daily restoring his strength and his mind. The other day, my dad called my mom and each of his three daughters to his bedside for a talk. He addressed his concerns for what was going on in our lives and pledged to pray. He pledged to be a better husband to my mom and to rise as the spiritual head of his household and to war in prayer over each of our lives. He committed to fully giving His life to God and doing whatever God desires for him to do. In spite of the severity of his illness, he said he’d be willing to go through it again to become the husband, father, and man of God he’s now going to be.<br /><br />He blew me away when he began talking about my trip to Africa. He looked into my eyes and said that if the rest of his money was spent on ministry, it would be okay with him. He said that whatever I needed for life and ministry, he would always be there to support me in spreading the gospel. I could hardly speak. I always talk about how my dad pushed me to go into medicine and caused me to pursue a career I didn’t want and not live my dreams. Now he was not only pushing me to go after purpose and destiny, but pledging to support me with whatever I needed.<br />We spent the rest of the evening talking about life, love, relationships, family, ministry and all sorts of other stuff. He kept asking me if there was anything else I wanted to talk to him about. He was sleepy and weak, but wanted me to know that he was fully available. For every heart issue I brought up, he was full of love and wisdom. <br /><br />Then I sat there and held his hand while he fell asleep. Every so often he would squeeze my hand. His hand was so warm and full of life. I could feel his pulse beating away, reminding me of the miracles God has done this last two weeks. I sat for a long time watching him sleep. Watching his chest rise and fall, thanking God for every single breath. Thanking God for life and love and the new man my father is becoming. <br /><br />Thanking God for more time with my father.sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-83970829905034936972009-04-25T09:16:00.000-07:002009-04-25T09:20:20.526-07:00The All Night "List PartyI had my first “List Party” with a book club yesterday evening. It was literally like a scene from <strong><em>The List</em></strong>. A group of 10 sistahgirls gathered in a living room ready to talk about life, love, and the latest drama. What started as a regular book club meeting at 7:30 pm turned into an all nighter. I started up my car to leave at 4:11 am!!!!!!<br /><br />When I first walked in the door, I knew it was going to be a good evening. The mocha chocolate walls and earthy, art deco décor instantly welcomed me. The lavish gourmet spread and laughter bouncing off the walls let me know these sistahs knew how to have a good time together. As I entered the room, I received wonderfully warm hugs from everyone. I couldn’t tell if it was the “sister in Christ” factor or the “I’ve read your book so I feel like we’re the best of friends” factor, but after the hugs, I immediately felt like I was a part of their sistah circle and took my shoes off and found myself a nice comfortable chair.<br /><br />After eating, we sorta started discussing the book, but sorta not. It wasn’t the usual book club meeting where we go around the circle and discuss the Reader’s Group Guide questions in the back of the book. I can’t even remember how it all started. It was evident the depth of friendship and sisterhood these women shared as they all discussed their relationship experiences and issues, bouncing back and forth between real life and scenes from <strong><em>The List</em></strong>. Their transparency, honesty, and overwhelming love for one another immediately drew me in and it wasn’t long before I went from guest author to new sistahfriend.<br /><br />One of the highlights of the evening was the ladies’ list game. Each had carefully prepared their own personal list of what they wanted in a mate. They went the extra distance to list what they thought they had to offer a mate. I think this step kept their lists from getting out of control like a “man fantasy” can. The catch? They didn’t put their names on their lists. As I read each one, they were able to guess which of their friends had composed the list because they knew each other so well.<br /><br />Then things got real deep as each one of us shared our relationship experiences, failures, fears, hopes, dreams, and current status. We asked each other questions to examine our hearts, identify the underlying fears and obstacles, and make sure we were keeping it real. The first time I actually looked at the time, feeling like it might be late and time to go home, was 2:48am! At the time there was no way I could leave though. We were only halfway around the circle.<br /><br />I must say, this first “List Party” exceeded my expectations. When I wrote the book, I hoped it would create the same scene in living rooms all over the country. It was great fun to experience that dream come true. I hope the book continues to create dialogue among women about relationships, marriage, and love. I also hope I’m able to continue making new friends like I did last night. I can’t be hanging out until 4 in the morning though!<br /><br />I wish I could share with you the name of the book club, but they don’t have one! I think by the end of the evening, they decided they were simply Friends Who Read Books. I wish I had some pictures to share but I think we were having so much fun we forgot.<br /><br />Book Clubs, Single’s ministries, Women’s Ministries or just more “friends who read books” – to schedule your “List Party”, hit me up at sherri@sherrilewis.comsherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-53383575421723148312009-03-13T19:08:00.000-07:002009-03-17T19:21:24.852-07:00Sherri Lewis' Date Confession<div align="center"><a id="ctl00_ContentMain_hlProfilePic" class="iconframe" href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/SistahConfessions"><img id="ctl00_ContentMain_imgUser" src="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/pics/hostpics/811b02e3-6122-4c0b-95b5-b7af6d85fd07circle1.jpg" style="border-width: 0px;" /></a></div> <p align="center"> Original Air Date: 3/13/2009 9:00 PM </p> <p class="blogblurb"> Sherri Lewis chats with Tifany Jones, host of Sistah Confessions radio show and makes a confession regarding the making of her new novel, The List. Listen to hear what the confession is about.<br /></p> <div align="center"><a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/SistahConfessions/2009/03/14/Sistah-Chat-w-Sherri-Lewis">Click here to </a><a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/SistahConfessions/2009/03/14/Sistah-Chat-w-Sherri-Lewis">listen</a><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-53241294557952396622009-03-01T17:54:00.000-08:002009-04-25T09:59:02.035-07:00An Online Bookclub Invitation Chat at KCGirlfriends<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a class="iconframe" id="ctl00_ContentMain_hlProfilePic" href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/kcgirlfriendsbookclub"><img id="ctl00_ContentMain_imgUser" style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; WIDTH: 254px; HEIGHT: 191px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" src="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/pics/hostpics/33035384-84c2-4d24-8939-95a31baae3b1KCGirlfriendsBookClubOpenBookLog-1.jpg" /></a><a href="http://sherrilewis.com/books/thelist_excerpt.html"><img id="Image1_img" height="180" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QNnsiZ7270Ay0MF-IfUEnYVpcCcH05wgReG6faEA0F6_Qk3gZisW3KG6czrhU5XVSWhsLsQkeAWc0NnMNE5YoGai-xDK0NZNBbddQZAwkH5FXL_VYsGo2TOpvyEBhjDOshEfDIOEfGw/s180/sherrishort.JPG" width="158" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Join Author, Sherri Lewis, tomorrow March 2nd on KC Girlfriends Bookclub<br />at 8PM EST<br /><a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/kcgirlfriendsbookclub/2009/03/03/Author-Spotlight-Featuring-Sherry-L-Lewis-with-Dana-Pittman-of-Nia-Virtual-Book-Tours">http://www.blogtalkradio.com/kcgirlfriendsbookclub/2009/03/03/Author-Spotlight-Featuring-Sherry-L-Lewis-with-Dana-Pittman-of-Nia-Virtual-Book-Tours</a><br />Discussion Topic: Her latest novel, <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">The List</span>. </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-9561457459511678482009-03-01T17:50:00.001-08:002009-03-01T17:50:44.523-08:00TitleTrakk.com features The List<a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?et=1102482352224&e=001OtmJP5jqHW3GIOdArbR1hvcC9V6eK0eRs9UUCGJgqei7BSXdxnJAZGvFsvnmlZlkk236cdCYBvKqZ8oGhALwBrId56MX-738R973uST99plxw2jiiUz0sw=="><img name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.1030" alt="Header" src="http://origin.ih.constantcontact.com/fs052/1101376921552/img/1030.jpg?a=1102482352224" border="0" width="600" height="125" /></a><br /><br />TitleTrakk.com spotlight's an excerpt of Sherri Lewis' <span style="font-weight: bold;">The List</span>. Visit the site <a href="http://www.titletrakk.com/book-excerpts/the-list-excerpt-lewis.htm">here. </a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-280090251796976712009-03-01T12:53:00.000-08:002009-04-25T09:42:20.941-07:00A sneak peek at the first chapter of The List<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadCT4IcbflL7egrSyNa2yU_6oUXmKgHkZ2ljk0vGG6RGtr4RxqsBj_8HHYwZXL0LAF43g5IjE7PvQ4Knfg8T7GWLsLFatUtqC9Ot6lttHSu26ZQNgCUEWVNmv3cu0cxvmN_n4S0dU_Kq-/s1600-h/wild+card.jpg"></a><a href="http://firstwildcardtours.blogspot.com/"></a><div align="center"><strong><span style="COLOR: rgb(204,0,0);font-size:180%;" ><a href="http://www.sherrilewis.com/"></a></span></strong></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwzykB6S2MJCVvJJpEtaHzMpZ_o3xgm__wSc9YhSJkGZaOSDigz9hD3bgaxpAgxJANPa_DY1CfcPlnLgx4K_HIbLFfaBi-qQrGuU6wD9-u_AsJ3lKDjxJe4bZ7DgTQZ0Nzw3PVVVfvj8K/s1600-h/slewis-bio.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306941469410801122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 100px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwzykB6S2MJCVvJJpEtaHzMpZ_o3xgm__wSc9YhSJkGZaOSDigz9hD3bgaxpAgxJANPa_DY1CfcPlnLgx4K_HIbLFfaBi-qQrGuU6wD9-u_AsJ3lKDjxJe4bZ7DgTQZ0Nzw3PVVVfvj8K/s200/slewis-bio.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Sherri Lewis is the Essence Bestselling Author of <strong><em>My Soul Cries Out</em></strong>, <strong><em>Dance Into Destiny</em></strong>, and <strong><em>The List</em></strong>. She's an MD, author, ordained minister and conference speaker. She lives in Atlanta, GA.<br /><br />Visit the author's <a href="http://www.sherrilewis.com/">website</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br />Product Details:<br /><br />List Price: $14.95<br />Paperback: 300 pages<br />Publisher: Urban Books (February 24, 2009)<br />Language: English<br />ISBN-10: 1601629826<br />ISBN-13: 978-1601629821<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(204,0,0)"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:</span> </strong><br /></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Agr6wupDVuU6-shN2-1wBDifuTWZHCorf3JReL4hyphenhyphen6dK2ErevhCTo7wNIe_GppOQ8EQnMnGlIEGV4660AadoyzKJDxcvQ8mAJ6_SrSC0KW3RtUKkHR9FdD1ZPGiTQvTIgaQmwCdyKpH8/s1600-h/the+list.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306941541449944450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Agr6wupDVuU6-shN2-1wBDifuTWZHCorf3JReL4hyphenhyphen6dK2ErevhCTo7wNIe_GppOQ8EQnMnGlIEGV4660AadoyzKJDxcvQ8mAJ6_SrSC0KW3RtUKkHR9FdD1ZPGiTQvTIgaQmwCdyKpH8/s200/the+list.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div style="OVERFLOW: auto; HEIGHT: 307px">Tick, tock, tick, tock…<br /><br />There it was. The sound that had been growing louder and louder in my brain – until now, it was no longer background noise. Groaning, I rolled over in bed and pulled a pillow over my face. I peeked out and cast an annoyed glance at my nightstand clock, but it was digital, so it couldn’t be blamed for the relentless ticking in my head. No, it was my own internal clock – the proverbial biological one. And now there was an alarm to go with it. An alarm with no snooze button to make it stop. The AMA alarm. Today was my thirty-fifth birthday and I was officially AMA – advanced maternal age. The age at which my eggs, encased in my ovaries since birth, started to get old and decrepit. If by some magic I were to meet Mr. Perfect tomorrow and we fell overwhelmingly in love and got married within the next six months, then got pregnant right away, I would still be considered a high-risk pregnancy just because of my age.<br /><br />I sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched my arms upward, resolving that today, I would celebrate my life with thanksgiving, hope, and faith.<br /><br />Hey, God. Thanks for waking me up healthy, beautiful and strong this morning. Thanks that I turned thirty-five today…<br /><br />And then, for no apparent reason, I burst into tears. Sobs actually. I rolled onto the floor and curled into a fetal position, crying like someone had died.<br /><br />I guess someone had. The thirty-five year old woman I had dreamed I would be when I was a little girl. Married to a gorgeous, black Ken look-a-alike – plastic smile and all – with two beautiful children living in a castle on the hill with two ponies in our stable and a thriving career as a firewoman or a ballerina.<br /><br />Okay, so I was seven.<br /><br />But still. I didn’t expect to be thirty-five, single and childless. I was supposed to wake up to breakfast in bed cooked by my wonderfully loving husband and two beautiful daughters – all bouncy, bubbly and giggly. They were supposed to burst into the room and scream, “Happy Birthday, Mommy” and cover me with little girl kisses. My husband was supposed to kiss my cheek, say “Happy Birthday, Dear” and give me a knowing look that said as soon as the girls got off to school, he was going to really wish me Happy Birthday.<br /><br />But instead, I was all alone in my king-sized bed. Well, actually on the floor next to it. I grabbed a pillow, then pulled the comforter off the bed and snuggled underneath it. I could see God looking down from heaven shaking His head. He’d elbow Jesus who would roll His eyes. They’d both look at the Holy Spirit as if to say, “Please, go help our pitiful child.”<br /><br />I imagined the Holy Spirit swiftly coming to my rescue. He’d come and get under the comforter with me and hold me in His arms, promising to love me until my earthly husband came along.<br /><br />“God, for the millionth time – why can’t You take it away? Just make me completely satisfied with You and You alone. If You’re not going to fulfill it, then take away my desire for a husband and kids.” I yelled at Him from under the comforter. I imagined the Holy Spirit hugging me tighter. I appreciated the fact that He wasn’t moved by my angry outburst. He loved me no matter what.<br /><br />I relaxed in His arms. Imagined myself snuggling into His chest and instantly felt better. “God, why can’t You send me a husband just like You? Send me You wrapped up in chocolate.” How awesome that would be. To be married to a guy like God.<br /><br />I must have fallen back asleep in His arms, because when the phone rang and I looked at the clock, it was two hours later. I wasn’t in the mood for the onslaught of phone calls from people wishing me happiness for my birthday. I should have gone out of town like I originally planned. Instead, I had let my friends talk me into a “Girls’ Day” – some big surprise they had planned. Much as I loved them, I wasn’t in the mood for surprises.<br /><br />All I wanted to do for my birthday was be alone with God.<br /><br />The phone rang again and I ignored it. I thought about getting up to do a quick half-hour Taebo tape. Maybe some kicking and punching would get rid of some of my frustrations. Billy Blanks had become my best friend in the year right after my divorce. There was just something about being violent and calling it exercise. I had joined a gym with a big punching bag that I pretended on a regular was my ex and his mistress. I got a reputation at the gym as the girl no one wanted to spar with and would never want to meet in a dark alley.<br /><br />My stupid ex. This was all his fault. My marriage should have never ended. After eleven years he decided that twenty-one was too young to have gotten married and that he needed to see what else was “out there”…<br /><br />Fresh tears flowed down my face. What in the world?<br /><br />Was I really crying over my ex? Really? My divorce was final almost three years ago. I hadn’t cried over him, or even thought much about him in the past two years. Had to check the calendar when I got up off the floor. This had to be my hormones.<br /><br />I guess it wasn’t my ex I was crying over. It was the fact that the marriage hadn’t worked. That I was thirty-five, divorced, childless, and oh yeah, hormonal.<br /><br />My cell phone chimed to indicate that I had gotten a text message. I picked it up and looked at the screen.<br /><br />Get up off the floor. Dry your eyes. Get dressed and get ready to be celebrated. I promise the day will get better, but you have to get up first. Happy Birthday. Please, girl – get over it. Thirty-five is not that old! Love you!!!<br /><br />I had to laugh. My girl, Vanessa. I decided to take her word for it. Maybe the day would get better if I just picked myself up off the floor.<br /><br />***<br /><br />I pulled up at Vanessa’s house an hour later – fresh faced and comfortably dressed as I had been instructed. As I got out of my car, I took authority over my hormones as I did every month. I could overcome in most battles in my life, but once a month, the day before my cycle started, I wound up crying endlessly and reacting irrationally to the dumbest things. Amazing that a strong, successful woman – producer at the nation’s newest up-and-coming black television station – and experienced spiritual warrior could be reduced to such ridiculousness by some estrogen. Please, God. Not today.<br /><br />Vanessa must have been watching for me, because before I got out of my car, she threw open the door and held her arms out wide, walking toward me. It was rare that her petite frame was casually dressed in jeans and a simple blouse. She was one of those elegant suit ladies who wore shimmery stockings and 4-inch heels with the perfect short, sassy haircut. In spite of her casual attire, her make-up was flawlessly done as if she was about to do a photo shoot. Wearing her signature brilliant smile, she sang out, “Happy Birthday, Michelle!”<br /><br />She looked so happy to see me and her eyes were so filled with love that I burst into tears. A look of horror flashed across her face. “Oh no!” She shook her head slowly in disbelief. “Hormone day on your birthday? What was God thinking?”<br /><br />I laughed a little. She took me into her arms and held me for a few minutes. Her comforting voice spoke directly in my ear. “Oh, Father, help us today. We take authority over estrogen gone awry.”<br /><br />I laughed a little more.<br /><br />She broke our embrace and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Fix your face, girl, and snap out of it. It’s your birthday brunch.” She rubbed my arm and smiled. “Actually you know what? It’s your party and you can cry if you want to.” I laughed more and sniffled.<br /><br />I wiped my eyes as she led me into the house. Vanessa was my shero. She had kept me alive and sane during my separation and divorce. She was the ministerial counselor at our church. Through our sessions, I decided that not only did I want to live, but that life could be good after divorce. Not too long after she released me from therapy, her husband died tragically in a car accident. I could only hope I was half the friend to her then that she had been to me. Our losses and our relationship with God had bonded us together into one of the best friendships I’d ever had.<br /><br />Vanessa’s house was immaculate as always. I was amazed that a single mother of two teenagers, full-time counselor and minister could keep her five-bedroom house perfectly clean without a housekeeper. I, however – single with no kids – couldn’t seem to keep my townhouse straight to save my life.<br /><br />As we entered her two-story foyer, I looked above the winding spiral staircase and saw a huge banner reading “35th Annual Michelle Bradford Celebration Day”. Simultaneously, I heard several voices cry out, “Happy Birthday, ‘Chelle!”<br /><br />At the foot of the steps stood my girlfriends, Nicole, Lisa, and Angela. I burst into tears again. Lisa and Angela ran over to hug me.<br /><br />Nicole stared at me. “Are you serious?” She looked over at Vanessa who winced and nodded. Nicole picked up her purse. “I’m out. You know I can’t stand her when she’s like this.” She got halfway to the front door before Vanessa grabbed her.<br /><br />“Stop playing, Nicole.” Vanessa put her hands on her hips.<br /><br />“Who’s playing? I can’t stand being around her snotting and crying because a butterfly splattered on her windshield or Revlon discontinued her favorite lipstick color. Naw, I’m out. I’ll meet you guys for the big celebration later.” Nicole turned toward the door again.<br /><br />“Nicole.” Vanessa put on her mother voice and evil eye that always snapped her kids into perfect obedience.<br /><br />Apparently it worked on Nicole too, because she took her purse off her shoulder and came over to hug me. “Happy Birthday, Michelle. You know I love you like a sister, but dang – can’t you take the pills for this? I know God is a healer, but for real though, until your manifestation comes, you need some earthly medicine. ”<br /><br />“Nicole.” Vanessa said it like Nicole had one more time before she got sent to her room for a time-out. Lisa and Angela disappeared into Vanessa’s massive gourmet kitchen.<br /><br />I had to laugh. It was funny to hear Nicole using spiritual lingo. She had just gotten saved two years ago and was still a little awkward when it came to using spiritual terms.<br /><br />She gave me a big hug, which set off a new flood of tears. “Dang, girl.” Nicole called into the kitchen. “Can y’all see if Vanessa has some olive oil or something? Shoot, some Crisco will do.” She looked at Vanessa. “Can’t you lay hands on her and cast out this estrogen demon so we can all enjoy our day?”<br /><br />That sent me into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. When I laughed really hard, I couldn’t stop myself from snorting. Snorting the snot from crying made me cough until I could hardly breathe. Vanessa pounded me on the back.<br /><br />Nicole stared at me and let out an exasperated sigh. “What a crackhead.” She disappeared into the kitchen to help Angela and Lisa with whatever they were doing.<br /><br />I was glad Vanessa had only invited my closest sister circle for brunch. At least they all understood my condition. Premenstrual dysphoric disorder was what my doctor called it. Insanity was what my friends called it. Hell on earth was what I called it. Fortunately, it usually only lasted a day in my case. I hoped it would pass before the big celebration later Nicole had mentioned.<br /><br />Vanessa led me to the breakfast room table and sat me down. Angela, Lisa, and Nicole emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, each carrying a tray. Vanessa fastened a tiara onto my afro, wavy from being let loose from two-stranded twists. “Today, we’re celebrating you with your favorite things. Sit back, relax and enjoy.”<br /><br />I looked down at the trays my girls had brought from the kitchen. There were finger sandwiches – peanut butter, honey and bananas on wheat bread – chocolate covered strawberries, mango slices, crab cakes, jerk chicken wings with rice and peas, fried plantains, and ginger beer to wash it all down with. I clapped my hands and laughed. “All my favorites. Kind of weird together, but still. It’s so nice to be loved and for you guys to know what I love.” I looked up to see everyone holding their breath, as if they were afraid I was going to cry. “Loosen up, guys.” I smiled. “This brunch is perfect.”<br /><br />I frowned at two capsules filled with greenish stuff on the side of my plate. Vanessa answered before I could ask. “It’s St. John’s Wort. The herb I told you about. I picked up some at the health food store.”<br /><br />I stared at the pills.<br /><br />Nicole put a hand on her hip. “God gave us plants for natural cures so it’s not like you’re not having faith for healing.” She picked up the pills and shoved them at me. “Look, we’re the ones that have to spend the whole day with you. The least you could do is try them.”<br /><br />Angela tsked at Nicole. “Girl, stop being evil. You’ll only make it worse.”<br /><br />Lisa chimed in, “Yeah, Nicole. At least she can blame emotional craziness on hormones and it only happens once a month. What’s your excuse?”<br /><br />Nicole shot Lisa an evil stare.<br /><br />I obediently swallowed the pills, ignoring the organic taste in my mouth.<br /><br />We filled our plates with my special treats. Everybody was silent for a few minutes as we started eating.<br /><br />Lisa finally spoke. “So, Michelle, you’re thirty-five today. How does it feel –”<br /><br />She stopped talking when Angela elbowed her in the side and shook her head. Everybody kept eating.<br /><br />After a few minutes, Vanessa said, “Michelle, we want you to know that…” her voice trailed off.<br /><br />Nicole rolled her eyes. “This is ridiculous. We’re all afraid to talk because we don’t want her to cry? I tell you what. Michelle, talk about what’s bothering you – what we know you cried about when you woke up and in the car on the way over here. Let’s get it out in the open and deal with it so we won’t be dancing on eggshells all day. This is supposed to be a celebration. Sheesh…”<br /><br />Everyone stiffened a little and looked at me.<br /><br />I stared past Angela and Lisa out Vanessa’s breakfast room bay window at the lake behind her house. The water moved slowly with the sun reflecting off it, creating a tranquil glow.<br /><br />“Well…” I nibbled on a chocolate strawberry. The bitter sweetness of the dark chocolate blended with the natural sweetness of the strawberry. “I woke up alone this morning. No husband. No babies. And I’m thirty-five. This wasn’t the life I dreamed of. But I have no choice but to accept it.”<br /><br />I took a bite of mango. Its tropical, tangy sweetness contrasted sharply with the strawberry-chocolate combi-nation. I wondered if being hormonal made my taste buds more sensitive. I watched everyone waiting for the tears as I continued sampling the fruit. I was more surprised than they were when no tears came.<br /><br />I decided to continue. “I’ve asked God countless times to send my husband, but I guess He’s not listening. Or maybe He doesn’t think I’m ready. I’ve done therapy. I’ve healed and forgiven and realized my mistakes. I think my heart is ready to love again. But I guess He doesn’t.”<br /><br />I stopped for a minute to listen to the wind chimes tinkling outside the breakfast room door. It was a breezy, spring day and I could imagine how sweet the wind would feel kissing my cheeks. I almost wanted to move the party onto the patio but didn’t want to upset Nicole’s allergies. Her sneezing and snotting, and my crying and snotting would make for a very bad day.<br /><br />“It’s pure torture. Wanting something you can’t have. Craving something, needing something and it not being there. I’m tired of begging. I want to not want it anymore. Just focus on my career, my friends, and chasing after God and let that be enough.”<br /><br />Angela and Vanessa nodded. Lisa shook her head like she couldn’t get with me on that.<br /><br />Nicole reached over and took my hand. “See? That wasn’t so bad. If that’s the worst, we can talk about anything now.”<br /><br />I smiled. “Yeah. Thanks, Nicki. You can be pretty all right when you want to be.”<br /><br />Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief, myself included. Maybe today could be a good day after all. Nicole squeezed my hand. As much as she could be evil and blunt, she was full of love – that ride or die chick a sistah always wanted around to have her back. I looked around the table and appreciated God for my friends. Maybe I didn’t have a man, but I had some beautiful, strong women in my life that loved me. For now, that would have to be enough.<br /><br />I looked out the window at the lake again. There was a long-necked duck with her babies trailing behind her on the water. “Look! Baby ducks.” I pointed and everyone turned to look out the window. “They’re so cute.”<br /><br />And with that, I burst into tears.<br /><br />Nicole dropped my hand and shook her head in disgust. “Crackhead…” she muttered as she disappeared into the kitchen.<br /><br />Vanessa passed me a napkin and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.<br /><br />“Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.” Lisa got up and followed Nicole into the kitchen. They both came back a few moments later – Nicole carrying champagne and orange juice, Lisa carrying Vanessa’s crystal flutes.<br /><br />Nicole set the bottles down on the table. “I’m not sure how smart it is to mix alcohol, herbs, and hormones, but it can’t get much worse than crying over baby ducks.”<br /><br />Lisa cut her eyes at Nicole. “You were the one that wanted her to talk.”<br /><br />Nicole answered, “How was I supposed to know there would be ducks on the lake?”<br /><br />Lisa said, “All we had to do was –”<br /><br />“Ladies!” Vanessa interrupted. “Chill.” Vanessa opened the orange juice and began filling the flutes. “Honestly, I think Nicole had a good idea.”<br /><br />Nicole crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at Lisa like she was five years old.<br /><br />“In fact…” Vanessa topped off the glasses with a small splash of champagne. None of us were drinkers, but we always had a drop or two of champagne when we celebrated. I guess it made us feel grown, even though we always ended up throwing away almost a full bottle of the expensive stuff. “…I think it’s a perfect idea for a birthday celebration. Instead of going to the spa, shopping, and eating cake, every woman’s birthday party should be a look at her life.”<br /><br />Nicole muttered, “Oh boy, here goes the latest Vanessa psychobabbleology. Just when I thought this party couldn’t get any worse.”<br /><br />Vanessa ignored her. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it should be.” Vanessa stared into space as she pushed the cork back into the champagne bottle.<br /><br />“What?” Nicole tapped her fingers on the table.<br /><br />“Shh, she’s thinking.” Lisa smacked Nicole’s arm.<br /><br />Vanessa handed each of us a mimosa glass and sat back down in her seat, the wheels in her brain ticking. “For a woman’s birthday celebration, she should be surrounded by her sister-circle in a safe, loving environment. She should look at her past and see where she made it and where she missed it. Look at her present and see where she is and where she wants to be, and look at her future and if she’s doing the right things to get there.” Vanessa nodded and smiled to herself. “Then her friends should celebrate her by telling her wonderful things about her, giving her affirmations, blessings and prayers to press her toward her future.”<br /><br />Angela and Lisa nodded. “I like it.” Lisa said. She turned to Nicole.<br /><br />Nicole shrugged. “Y’all know I don’t like all that touchy-feely, psychobabble stuff.”<br /><br />Lisa rolled her eyes. “Lord, Nicole, can’t you get over yourself and help us celebrate Michelle’s birthday?”<br /><br />“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I’m just saying…” She pursed her lips together and glared at Lisa.<br /><br />“Okay, then.” Vanessa glared at both of them like they were about to get a beating. “Since Michelle has identified what’s bothering her the most, let’s focus on that. If there are other areas you come up with, we’ll deal with that, too. We’ll break away for an hour or two and everybody take some paper and write something special for Michelle. Michelle – like I said, take an honest look at past, present, and future and whatever else you need to get out, and then we’ll reconvene. Pick your favorite spot – out by the lake, in the sunroom, by the fireplace, wherever you can get comfortable. Okay?”<br /><br />“But I don’t want to spoil whatever you guys already had planned for me just because I woke up hormonal and lonely,” I said.<br /><br />Nicole sucked her teeth. “Please, girl. We had planned to watch all your favorite movies. Love and Basketball, Love Jones, Brown Sugar...” She looked around the room. “There’s not enough tissue in the house for that. Even though it’s warm and fuzzy, touchy-feely, this is way better than you snotting and crying all day over a bunch of movies. And we still have your surprise for tonight.” She looked at Vanessa with a nod of approval. “It’s actually a good idea.” She frowned. “Just don’t expect to be psychoanalyzing me for my birthday.”<br /><br />Vanessa laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t think my years of training or experience have in any way prepared me for that.”<br /><br />Nicole’s eyes widened with obvious surprise at Vanessa’s dig.<br /><br />Lisa laughed. “Good one, V.”<br /><br />“Whatever.” Nicole lifted her champagne flute and indicated for us all to do the same. “To Michelle and celebrating her life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”<br /><br />“Nicole!” Lisa, Angela, and Vanessa said in unison.<br /><br />Nicole looked around at everyone and shrugged her shoulders. “What?” She lifted her glass again. “For real though, we love you, girl. I haven’t known God long, but what I do know is that He’s good. And faithful. And you’re a beautiful example of Him living and breathing on earth. And no matter what, man or no man, your future will be bright and beautiful. I’m looking forward to being a part of it.” She looked around the table. “Is that better?”<br /><br />Everybody laughed and lifted their glasses. “To Michelle.”<br /><br />And, of course, I burst into tears.<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-48825607439900204702009-02-27T10:48:00.000-08:002009-02-27T10:51:04.767-08:00Here's where you can find meCome get your autographed copy of The List or check out an upcoming interview on BlogTalk Radio.<br /><br />March 7th 1-3 pm<br />Book Signing at Barnes and Noble Camp Creek Parkway Atlanta, GA<br /><br />March 14th 3-5 pm Book Release Party!!!<br />Mocha Match Café,<br />627 E. College Street, Decatur Georgia<br /><br />March 15th 12:30 pm<br />Global Impact Ministries Books and Brunch Atlanta, GA<br /><br />March 15th 4:00pm<br />Jazzy Sistahs Book Club<br /><br />March 21st 2-4 pm<br />Book Signing at Stonecrest Mall, Lithonia, GA<br /><br />March 28th A weekend with Mocha Readers in Dayton, Ohio<br /><br />April 25th Words of Inspiration Book Club, Atlanta GA<br /><br /><br />BlogTalk Radio Interviews<br /><br />KC Girlfriends March 2nd 8pm EST<br /><br />AAMBC March 5th 7pm EST<br /><br />The Rapturous Reader March 8th 5pm EST<br /><br />Sistah Confessions March 13th 9pm EST<br /><br />ASA Network March 21st 8pm ESTsherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-28873536004250861392009-02-27T08:21:00.000-08:002009-02-27T08:24:58.258-08:00To List or not To List?You're single and looking. Should you have a list of what you want in a man?<br /><br />My new release, The List, is about single, successful, saved but still sexy African American women who are tired of waiting on God to bring them their soul mate. Angela, Michelle, and Lisa think they need to give God a little extra help in getting them “found” by their husbands. They devise a list of what they want in a man – the essential must have’s, icing on the cake’s, not so nice’s and total dealbreakers. Armed with their lists, they embark on a hilarious dating adventure that leads them right back around to realizing they have to trust God to bring them His best.<br /><br />The question of whether a woman should or shouldn’t have a list is a good one. In having conversations about the book I find that women are completely for it or completely against it. I think there are certain benefits to having a list. Some women don’t know what they want and are willing to compromise and accept anything just to avoid being lonely. A friend of mine recently met this awesome guy – gorgeous, well off, well traveled, interesting, romantic – every girl’s dream! But their destiny and purpose didn’t line up. At all. So she let him go. Another friend has been going back and forth with a guy who’s great in most areas but has a few flaws that may be deal breakers.<br /><br />Where a list is a problem is when it’s unrealistic. One of the characters is the book, Lisa, has a list that’s a 10 page Excel spreadsheet of what she’s expecting God to bring her in a man. She’s actually based on a real person, a friend of mine who I constantly warn that she’ll never get married because only Jesus was that perfect.<br /><br />In the 5+ years since my divorce, I’ve met a LOT of guys. (My best friend accuses me of being a serial dater.) I haven’t met the perfect man yet and I really don’t expect to. People are people and we all have issues, flaws, and imperfections. I’m not perfect so I can’t expect any man to be. It comes down to which imperfections we can deal with. I’ve decided what I must have and what I can’t deal with but I’m also realistic. That’s what love is all about. Being able to accept someone being fully aware of their imperfections.<br /><br />So should we have a list? After 5 years of disappointing serial dating, I’ve thrown my hands up and told God to send me His absolute best for me. I know there are certain things I want and things I absolutely can’t stand, but ultimately, I trust Him to know what’s best for me.<br /><br />Share your thoughts. List or no List?sherri lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18403103430817171738noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-10037387705157504532008-12-08T09:15:00.000-08:002008-12-08T09:16:54.366-08:00APOOO Reviews The List<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.apooobooks.com/list-sherri-lewis/#comment-6199"><img class="alignleft" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51ZypiFilDL._SL500_AA240_.jpg" alt="" width="240" height="240" /></a><br /></div>Statistics says that single, professional African American women have a very slim chance of finding a mate. Could the reason be that they do not know what they want? Or, is it that they set their standards so high, their ideal man does not exist? In Sherri Lewis’ third novel, The List, Michelle, Angela and Lisa are tired of waiting on their Mr. Right to find them, so they decide to give God a little help.<br /> <br /> Michelle, divorced for five years, is ready to start dating and get married so she can have that family she has been longing for. Lisa, celibate for nine years is waiting on her ideal Mr. Right to find her. Angela, a 41year-old virgin has been patiently waiting on the Lord to send her the right man. Their lack of prospective dates could stem from them limiting their search for eligible men from church or work. To increase their odds, the women try internet dating. But, before signing up, they first need to compile a list of characteristics the potential husband must possess. Their venture into Internet dating sets the stage for hilarious experiences.<br /> <br /> The List is Christian fiction and dating the Christian way is the main focus. Throughout the novel, Dr. Lewis offers the single reader many things to ponder about why God has not answered the ladies’ prayers. Could it be they just are not ready? What are they doing while waiting? What are their finances like? Does she keep her home clean? Does she cook? And does she really know what she wants? Hence the reason for a list. How can God bless you with the man you desire and you do not know the kind of man you want? I found the novel to be thought-provoking and it offered good advice to those in the dating game. I think fans of Christian fiction will enjoy this inspiring, yet funny novel.<br /> <br /> Jeanette<br /> Motown Review Bookclub<br /> <a href="http://www.apooobooks.com/list-sherri-lewis/#comment-6199">APOOO BookClub</a> <p style="text-align: justify;"><a title="The List by Sherri Lewis" href="http://www.amazon.com/List-Urban-Christian-Sherri-Lewis/dp/1601629826/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1228679590&sr=1-1/apooo-20" target="_blank"><strong>CLICK HERE</strong> </a>to pre-order a copy today.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-27988362995477471922008-09-17T10:11:00.000-07:002008-09-17T10:12:27.252-07:00Meet Me in MinnesotaHi, Gang. Can't wait to see you tomorrow through Sunday in Bloomington, MN at the American Christian Fiction Writer's Conference. Please stop by and say hey to me at The Mall of America on Saturday. I will be signing books near Sears.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-81171459418489445872008-09-15T10:11:00.000-07:002008-09-17T11:09:48.805-07:00Photos from the NC Lit Fest<a href="http://www.new.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=939576&id=520726901" id="myphotolink"><img id="myphoto" src="http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v333/233/20/520726901/n520726901_939577_77.jpg" width="340" height="256" /></a><a href="http://www.new.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=939501&id=520726901" id="myphotolink"><img style="width: 339px; height: 259px;" src="http://photos-a.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v333/233/20/520726901/n520726901_939576_5186.jpg" id="myphoto" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I had a blast September 6, 2008 at the <a href="http://www.charlotteliteraryfestival.com/">Charlotte Literary Festival</a> in Charlotte, NC. Beautiful city, beautiful book club fans. Can't wait to do it again. Here are a few pics my galpal, Dee Stewart took of me there.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-5875854686308178632008-08-07T20:07:00.000-07:002008-08-07T20:28:39.111-07:00Chat with Sherri & APOOO This Sunday Evening on Blog Talk Radio<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHc8QIiI7bFSMh53dCktiEfasRP3ny3d7eujof8XeBJbIk3j-1l37nI36mXXsU1DZn8p4QFv2Ou3IPwypB6ypATiBRa_vxQk6m6mrJm5thxUcIRXJwUK6xxSlEaapyPM3uG3osdKD1lQ/s1600-h/sherrishort.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHc8QIiI7bFSMh53dCktiEfasRP3ny3d7eujof8XeBJbIk3j-1l37nI36mXXsU1DZn8p4QFv2Ou3IPwypB6ypATiBRa_vxQk6m6mrJm5thxUcIRXJwUK6xxSlEaapyPM3uG3osdKD1lQ/s400/sherrishort.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231981545312220642" border="0" /></a><strong style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Tune in to APOOO Books Blog Talk Radio To Hear Sherri Lewis</strong></span> <div class="entry"> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong> </strong></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Discuss Her Latest Release with the Members of APOOO BookClub</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">DATE: August 10, 2008</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">TIME: 6:00 PM EST</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">LOCATION: <a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ycoleman">http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ycoleman</a></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Call-in Number: 347-838-8511</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbJYeogU1SnoD0U3M_1kfK_NNwkF6Tr9ajCOxPyLhbz5_ckvEHb48ueWjhEovM2NbD2DrdZ3se0TXIP_SBezIUEkooArw-53d-tsA1V7_e1o_1Q5CphqzZflTKSfPn__COPEGD-OE8Ns/s1600-h/dance-book.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbJYeogU1SnoD0U3M_1kfK_NNwkF6Tr9ajCOxPyLhbz5_ckvEHb48ueWjhEovM2NbD2DrdZ3se0TXIP_SBezIUEkooArw-53d-tsA1V7_e1o_1Q5CphqzZflTKSfPn__COPEGD-OE8Ns/s400/dance-book.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231981271660250594" border="0" /></a>Tune in to the APOOO Books Radio Show, Sunday, August 10th, 2008 at 6:00 PM EST to listen to Sherri Lewis discuss her latest release, Dance Into Destiny, with host, Yasmin Coleman, and the APOOO Books listeners.</span></p> </div> <span style="font-size:130%;"><img src="http://www.apooobooks.com/wp-content/themes/mimbo2.2/images/admin.jpg" alt="" /> <strong><a href="http://www.apooobooks.com/author/admin/" title="Posts by APOOO">APOOO</a></strong> is an online author and reader community dedicated to advancing African American literature. Our mission is to expose readers of all ages to a good book in any genre; to support African American authors, books, literary events and bookclubs; to provide marketing resources, tools and tips to authors; and, to promote literacy within the African American community.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-74480053430405242392008-08-02T08:10:00.000-07:002008-08-02T08:14:52.574-07:00Atlanta Journal Features 3 ACFW Authors Cracking Essence Magazine Bestseller's List<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="template"><span class="body"><a href="http://www.ajc.com/living/content/living/stories/2008/08/01/essence3_0802.html"><img src="http://img.coxnewsweb.com/B/09/59/68/image_7368599.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></span><a href="http://www.ajc.com/living/content/living/stories/2008/08/01/essence3_0802.html"><span class="template"><span class="body"></span></span></a><a href="http://www.ajc.com/living/content/living/stories/2008/08/01/essence2_0802.html"><img src="http://img.coxnewsweb.com/B/01/60/68/image_7368601.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.ajc.com/living/content/living/stories/2008/08/01/essence2_0802.html"><span class="template"><span class="body"></span></span></a><a href="http://www.ajc.com/living/content/living/stories/2008/08/01/essence1_0802.html"><img src="http://img.coxnewsweb.com/B/03/60/68/image_7368603.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">My write-or-die chicks and ACFW-VIP members, authors Kendra Norman-Bellamy, Tia McCollors & me are featured in today's Atlanta Journal & Constitution. All women have cracked the <a href="http://essence.com/">Essence Magazine</a> Bestseller's List; All women sit on this month's top ten edition. Here there stories:</span><br /><span class="template"><a href="http://www.ajc.com/living/content/living/stories/2008/08/01/essence_atlanta_christian_authors.html#" onclick="javascript:OpenC2LWindow('COXNewspapers','ajc_living_stories_2008_08_01_essence_atlanta_christian_authors','http://alt.coxnewsweb.com/cnishared/newsworthy/ajc//living/stories/2008/08/01//ajc_living_stories_2008_08_01_essence_atlanta_christian_authors.mp3','AdUrl=http://ad.doubleclick.net/adj/ajc.cni/$PAGE%23ap%40click2listen%23pg%40$PAGE%23sub%40$SUB%23fromsite%40ajc%23','ajc','','');return false;"><img src="http://alt.coxnewsweb.com/cnishared/newsworthy/images/click-to-listen.gif" alt="Listen to this article or download audio file." border="0" width="15" height="23" /><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Click-2-Listen</strong></span></a></span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /><br /><a href="http://tinyurl.com/6z5r4u">Click here to Read</a></span><br /><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-6706655582620166982008-08-01T13:21:00.000-07:002008-08-02T08:18:16.987-07:00Excerpt: Sherri Lewis's Dance Into Destiny<h4 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.new.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=814114&id=520726901&ref=mf"><img style="width: 387px; height: 387px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51hOl1VEzgL._SS500_.jpg" id="prodImage" /></a></h4><h4 style=""><a href="http://www.sherrilewis.com/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:180%;" >by Sherri L. Lewis</span></a><br /><h1><br /></h1><span style="font-size:100%;">Chapter</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">One</span></h4> <a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51hOl1VEzgL._SS500_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; height: 100px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51hOl1VEzgL._SS500_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227910218932266754" border="0" /></a><div style="overflow: auto; height: 307px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Quite honestly, Ms. Banks, if you’re not able to bring all your course grades up to a B average by the end of the semester, I’m afraid you’re going to have to withdraw from the Master’s program.”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>Keeva Banks stared at her counselor, watching her cheap, red lipstick bleed into the little wrinkles around her lips. It was almost as if she was mesmerized by the words coming out of her mouth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She wasn’t. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She knew this was coming. It was just a matter of when. Even still, hearing it out loud…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva grabbed a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>Ms. Parker pulled a green file folder from her desk with Keeva’s name printed on the corner and began flipping through the papers in it. “I’ve received progress reports from each of your professors and I have to tell you, things don’t look good.” Ms. Parker’s voice faded into a droning tone like the adult characters on a Charlie Brown cartoon. “Waa wa wa wa…”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva fastened her eyes on Ms. Parker’s clothes. She had to focus on something – anything – other than her impending doom to make it through this meeting without falling apart. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Her blouse was made of some cheapy, chintzy fabric with wide, horizontal brown and beige stripes. How could she have thought it matched the completely different shade of brown of her shapeless skirt? And didn’t she know someone with her figure, or lack thereof, should never wear horizontal stripes? Not to mention that her skin was too sallow to wear brown anyway.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>Keeva looked at her own tailored Donna Karan pantsuit. The rich, burgundy color accented her cocoa brown skin perfectly. She had dressed carefully that morning, knowing she’d need to look good in light of the news she was about to receive. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>She made her eyes go back to Ms. Parker’s face, not wanting to appear rude. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>“From what I understand, so far this semester you’ve made, at best, C’s on your exams and you still haven’t completed the project for your Research Methods class.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>Ms. Parker paused as if waiting for Keeva to speak.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">No way she could answer without her voice shaking. Or worse still, her bursting into tears. She nodded slowly, hoping that would be a sufficient response.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>Ms. Parker’s closet of an office seemed to be shrinking. And did they have the heat turned up in this part of the building? Keeva pressed her hand down on her knee to stop her leg from bouncing. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her pantsuit. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>“I have to ask, Ms. Banks, do you really want this degree?”<span style=""> </span></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>Keeva almost laughed. What difference did it make what she wanted?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She sat up straight and pasted on a camera-pleasing smile. “Of course I want this degree. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">For the first time, and only for a minute, she thought about it. <i style="">Did</i> she want a master’s in Professional Counseling?<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">How could she help anyone when <i style="">she </i>didn’t have the answers? Keeva imagined herself counseling people, passing them tissue when they cried, patting their arms and giving them understanding looks in that annoying, empathetic way; bandaging them up to send them back into life to be bruised all over again. What was the point?<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Would she ever really change anyone’s life?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Ms. Parker stood, came around to the front of her desk and leaned against it. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva watched her hips spread out wide across the wooden edge. She sat back a little. <i style="">Oh dear. Here comes the heart to heart. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Ms. Banks, is there something going on that you need to talk about? A problem affecting your academic performance?”<span style=""> </span><i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""></span>Keeva mustered her last bit of emotional stability to paste on another smile. “No, Ms. Parker. There’s nothing going on. Thank you for your concern, though.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And that was the worst part about it. There was nothing she could blame this on. She was healthy, all her needs were met; she had supportive parents, plenty of friends and a wonderful boyfriend. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Her life was…perfect. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">All she had to do was get this stupid degree, start her career, get married, have 2.5 children, buy a Volvo and a home in an exclusive neighborhood and live out the rest of her years in Utopian suburbia. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What more could she ask?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span>She reached down to pick up her Coach briefcase and stood. She had to get out of the office before she erupted. “I really appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">That much was true. The last graduate program she flunked out of just sent a “warning” letter in the mail. It pretty much said get it together or else. Else had landed her here at <st1:place><st1:placename>Georgia</st1:placename> <st1:placename>State</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place>. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva flipped her hair over her shoulder and smoothed out her suit. “I assure you I’ll do everything I can to pull it together. Things will be better by the end of the semester.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><i style="">At least I hope.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">***</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Midtown <st1:city><st1:place>Atlanta</st1:place></st1:city> was a blur as Keeva drove to her apartment building. She couldn’t wait to get upstairs to the haven she had created for herself. She loved her one-bedroom loft. The airy openness of it gave her room to breathe. The large floor-to-ceiling windows let in abundant sunlight that kept her numerous plants flourishing. The designer yellow paint gave the room a happy feeling and was further brightened by the red, leather couch.<span style=""> </span>Her place had an interior design magazine, art-deco feel to it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva winced as she imagined losing her apartment. She’d been there since her senior year at <st1:place><st1:placename>Spelman</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>College</st1:placetype></st1:place>. She and her boyfriend, Mark, then a senior at Morehouse, had picked it out together for her. If she flunked out again, her parents would withdraw their financial support and her penthouse loft, luxury car, and generous allowance would all be gone. There was no way her dad would call in another favor to get her into another graduate program.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva dropped her briefcase off at the dining room table, ignoring the books there, begging to be read. She had to study, but needed to get rid of the heaviness that had been riding her since she stepped into Ms. Parker’s office.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva went straight to her bedroom and peeled off her pantsuit. She put on some comfortable leggings and a T-shirt, and walked barefoot into the living room. She pushed the furniture towards the kitchen, careful not to scratch her hardwood floors. They had been a must when she was looking for an apartment. Even though she had given up hope of a professional dancing career, she still loved to dance. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She flicked on the stereo and pushed the “skip disc” button until she got to her African drumming CD. The pulsing tribal rhythms connected with something deep within her and began to restore the energy the day had drained.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva inhaled slowly, breathing the music into her body. She began to sway back and forth until the music got into her feet, her body, and her soul. She moved around the room, slowly at first. Her movements grew bigger and stronger as she allowed herself to become enraptured in the music. As she leaped and twirled and kicked, the tension streamed out of every pore of her body. She danced herself into a frenzy until she reached a climatic point of release, and then lay in the middle of the floor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She missed dancing. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Her mother enrolled her in her first dance class at the age of six so she could develop grace and good posture. Her father took her to see the Alvin Ailey dance troupe when she was ten. After that, all she dreamed of was being a professional dancer. She planned to audition for the troupe when she was seventeen, but her mother refused. Neither of her parents thought a dance career was appropriate for Keeva. They thought she needed a professional career to support herself, and that she could dance in her spare time, as a hobby. After they canceled her audition, dancing became bittersweet for Keeva and she quit taking classes.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva jumped when the phone rang. She stretched back out and stared at the ceiling. The hardwood floor felt cold against her hot, sweaty skin.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The answering machine beeped. “Keeva, this is Shara Anderson from your Foundations class. I know you’re probably bogged down with studying for your other classes, but we need to get this project started soon. Please give me a call when you get a chance so we can set up a time to meet.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva rolled her eyes. In the midst of her midterm exams, her stupid professor assigned a research project. He randomly grouped the class into teams of two and she ended up with Shara. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> Why was she calling her now? The project wasn’t due until the end of the semester.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva didn’t know Shara too well. The most notable thing about her was how plain Jane she was. Her hair was always pulled back in a ponytail and she wore no earrings, no makeup, no nothing. She had a pretty face and would probably be nice looking if she fixed herself up a little. If she didn’t wear jeans everyday, Keeva would think she was one of those fanatical religious people who thought it was a sin to wear pants or look good. Like God would send someone to hell over a tube of lipstick and a pair of earrings. Shara definitely wasn’t the kind of person Keeva associated with and she wasn’t looking forward to the project. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She looked over at the clock. Mark would be dropping by in less than an hour to check on her. Keeva pulled the furniture back into place, then grabbed a quick shower. As she put on her make-up, she had to laugh at her new hair color. By some strange reasoning, probably a television commercial she had seen, she thought all she needed to fix her life was to spice up her hair color. She pulled her thick, brown hair, now with auburn highlights, up on top of her head and fastened it with a tortoise-shell clip. Mark liked her hair up. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">As she poured a generous glass of wine, the buzzer rang, indicating that Mark was downstairs. A few minutes later, she heard him fumbling with his keys and went to open the door. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He pulled her into his arms. “Hey, how’s my Princess?”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Somehow Mark had adopted her father’s nickname for her. It was really a private joke between she and her dad. When she was growing up, he always thought Keeva’s mother was too hard on her and wanted her to be perfect, like a little princess. He thought she should get to enjoy herself more and not worry about what fork to use or how to enunciate perfect English. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Keeva inhaled the strong, masculine scent of Mark’s cologne and snuggled into his chest. “Fine, now. Do you want to come in or are we going to stand in the doorway all night?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He kissed her on the nose. “You look beautiful as always. I love your hair like that.”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She beamed at his compliment. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mark took her glass so she could twist the lock on the door he could never seem to work. He took a sip and frowned. “Wine? I thought you were studying.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“I’m through for the evening. I was relaxing until you got here.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“You know I don’t like it when you drink wine. How many times do I have to tell you that?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva clenched her teeth and turned to walk toward the couch. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He followed her. “All you had to do was wait until I got here. I know how to relax you.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She rolled her eyes. <i style="">Oh, no – not tonight</i>. She searched her mind for excuses but couldn’t think of anything. She took a deep breath and turned towards him, making herself smile. Demurely, she asked, “Really? How?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Come here, I’ll show you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mark kissed her for what seemed like an hour. She knew him well enough to know what was next and wished she hadn’t said she was finished studying. She slowly pulled herself away. She dodged his searching lips every time he tried to reengage her in another kiss until he finally gave a frustrated groan and said, “What?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She lowered her eyes. She couldn’t look in his face and lie. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s that time of the month.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Again? Wasn’t that two weeks ago?” He was paying more attention to when her cycles were, probably because she was using that excuse more and more. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Truth was, she’d barely had a period since she started getting Depo-Provera shots over a year ago. “You know that Depo has my cycles all crazy.” She turned her back to him.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He rubbed her shoulders. “You know I hate that stuff. It’s unnatural – all those extra hormones in your body. That’s probably the reason for the extra pounds you’ve gained and your constant moodiness.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She whipped around. “What?”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Don’t get upset. I’ve noticed you’ve picked up a few pounds. And you’re always in a bad mood. I know school is difficult, baby, but you can’t just let yourself go.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva took a deep breath and pulled a strand of hair. “Mark, I’m really tired and I need to get some rest. I have to get up and study early in the morning. Thanks for coming by, but –” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He tried to smooth things over with a kiss. She stood there limp.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Mark, I have a study group in the morning. I need to go to sleep.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She did eventually have to set up a study date with Shara. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“You don’t have to be so sensitive. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry, Princess.” He slunk to the door like a sad puppy with his tail between his legs. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She walked over to kiss him. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired from all the studying. I’ll feel better after a good night’s rest. I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I promise we’ll spend some quality time together after midterms are over.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mark accepted her apology with a kiss on the forehead. “All right, we’ll make it a date.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva closed the door behind him. She went to her dining table and flipped open a textbook. She had to make herself read at least two chapters before she went to bed. For the past few weeks, whenever she tried to study, she somehow ended up on the couch watching television. <i style="">Lifetime</i> always had a good movie on, one after another. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Later, as she undressed to get into bed, she stood in her full-length mirror and turned from side to side, trying to find the extra pounds Mark mentioned. She studied her twenty-five year old body, but didn’t see any difference. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She pulled her favorite pair of jeans out of the closet. They were a size four and usually fit her perfectly. She pulled up the zipper. They fit the same way they always did. Mark probably noticed something she didn’t. <i style="">Gotta start going to the gym.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keeva sat on the edge of the bed and opened her nightstand drawer to pull out a bottle of Ambien tablets. She didn’t like having to depend on pills, but she had to get a good night’s sleep. If she did her usual tossing and turning for hours, she’d never be able to study tomorrow. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She slipped between her crème-colored, satin sheets and started her deep breathing and relaxation techniques, hoping for sleep to come. The pill would soon chase away images of her flunking out of school and losing everything she held dear. (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1601629508/103-1350437-1684646?ie=UTF8&tag=christianfi04-20&linkCode=xm2&camp=1789&creativeASIN=1601629508">Urban Christian</a>, $14.95, 300pp)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Come visit my bookclub blog at <a href="http://sherrilewisbookclub.blogspot.com/">Sherri Lewis Book Club</a></span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >and follow me on <a href="http://twitter.com/sherrilewis">Twitter.</a></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-61632290377573666682008-07-27T14:20:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:34:35.641-07:00Boys Who Dare Book Signing Event<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw92gMSPNCd4fdXCyC97fED4Zpe1UJnb-S5dddntn4KymsaYTFnRxoflRmJJQ6wehiF_rcK0D9oYRHfhZxfFio429yWCmO2MVNtsoS5AJfz-aYGDajdxvTjxMMnRx9VtA64HumNzC3l0Q/s1600-h/Revised-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 449px; height: 580px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw92gMSPNCd4fdXCyC97fED4Zpe1UJnb-S5dddntn4KymsaYTFnRxoflRmJJQ6wehiF_rcK0D9oYRHfhZxfFio429yWCmO2MVNtsoS5AJfz-aYGDajdxvTjxMMnRx9VtA64HumNzC3l0Q/s400/Revised-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227808161125651762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hey everybody!!!<br /><br />Just wanted to let you know about a booksigning coming up next weekend. Not only will you get to meet an awesome group of authors, but you'll have a chance to support a group of young boys in a book club called Boys Who Dare (Dare stands for Dream About Reading Everyday.)<br /><br />On Friday, August 1st, in Atlanta, Georgia signing with Travis Hunter, Denene Milner, Nick Chiles, Sherri Lewis, Tia McCollors and DiShan Washington to raise money for a group of young men in a program called Boys Who Dare. This is a group of young boys (ages 6 - 16) who belong to a monthly book club, but who are now raising money to attend the inauguration in January! Barnes and Noble will be donating a percentage of every book sold to this cause. Imagine, we can change these young men's lives. Please come out, and support not only the authors, but these young men!:<br /><br />Friday, August 1 7:00PM -9:00PM 2370 Union Road, SW Atlanta, Georgia 30336Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-33034266257188970282008-07-17T22:49:00.000-07:002009-01-13T20:41:31.595-08:00Atlanta Author Shorts Christian Fiction’s Best<span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtVDT5Dttr8MTNBuqGgesAcgD47DUDx1PqnM9vt-6i7whvEEurSUlwTh1_DTOZTxEmhrzECRRz_5aYa_Wwks_rZ1ALRWENwNQR0AJGIAOYdwQFSOzcm5Zm49LKfJ1OUJGyB3h-tyQGMNs/s1600-h/mysoul.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtVDT5Dttr8MTNBuqGgesAcgD47DUDx1PqnM9vt-6i7whvEEurSUlwTh1_DTOZTxEmhrzECRRz_5aYa_Wwks_rZ1ALRWENwNQR0AJGIAOYdwQFSOzcm5Zm49LKfJ1OUJGyB3h-tyQGMNs/s400/mysoul.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224218355903663522" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >July 18, 2008</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Contact: Dee Stewart</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >(770) 298-7539, deegospelpr@gmail.com</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span> <p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Atlanta Author Shorts Christian Fiction’s Best<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Marital Grace Defeating Homosexual Disgrace Makes Debut Novel a Good Read</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><atlanta, today="" american="" christian="" fiction="" writers="" announced="" their="" finalists="" for="" acfw="" book="" of="" the="" atlanta="" author="" sherri="" s="" debut="" and="" controversial=""><b style=""><i style="">My Soul Cries Out </i></b>made the list. <strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">The novel</span></strong> depicts an unsuspecting wife realizing that her husband, a music minister has been struggling with homosexuality since childhood, and that their church has been covering up this secret shame for just as long. The novel has already received acclaim through book clubs, reviews and author endorsements. It is also an Essence Magazine Bestseller.<br />Winners will be announced on September 20, 2008 at the ACFW Convention in Minneapolis, Minnesota </atlanta,></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyNBs5df7rps4l6bG9Q8wg2c88mVrdE5hPb_fqKrbIyAPgC52ZG7Y0GlztRZLG1BrJfnlvGltDn9J0ZmpNZyNXSWvKbJGMiasJJp8bOh2r6fXkK8SGVyXZzDyVQdtPPYWhwp7z7RdzYV1/s1600-h/sherrishort.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyNBs5df7rps4l6bG9Q8wg2c88mVrdE5hPb_fqKrbIyAPgC52ZG7Y0GlztRZLG1BrJfnlvGltDn9J0ZmpNZyNXSWvKbJGMiasJJp8bOh2r6fXkK8SGVyXZzDyVQdtPPYWhwp7z7RdzYV1/s400/sherrishort.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224219396023144946" border="0" /></a><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >About Sherri Lewis</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Ms. Lewis is a staff physician at a Georgia Department of Corrections’ women’s prison, and the author of two bestselling novels, <i style="">My Soul Cries Out</i> and <i style="">Dance into Destiny</i>. Her third novel, The List will be released March 2009. To learn more, visit Sherri Lewis at <a href="http://www.sherrilewis.com/">www.sherrilewis.com</a>.<br /><br /><u style="font-weight: bold;">About ACFW</u><br />The American Christian Fiction Writers <a href="http://www.acfw.com/">(ACFW</a>) is an association of 1500 authors, editors, agents, publicists and aspiring writers working in the Christian publishing industry. </span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-56054173492462905382008-07-09T16:31:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:31:50.963-07:00Essence Magazine Aug. 2008 Best Seller<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.essence.com/essence/inside/index.html"><img src="http://img.timeinc.net/essence/images/homepage/augcover_131x166.gif" alt="Essence Magazine" width="131" height="166" /></a><br /></div>When you pick up your copy of the August Edition of <a href="http://www.essencemagazine.com/">Essence Magazine</a> (Usher Raymond and son is on the cover) check out the books section, then go online.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.womenofcharacterbookclub.com/images/042008_dance_into_destiny.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.womenofcharacterbookclub.com/review-042008.html&h=449&w=300&sz=64&hl=en&start=2&sig2=EVP0Yoqko2QcOMT_uu-Uyg&um=1&tbnid=2ozDlIJRV8nNgM:&tbnh=127&tbnw=85&ei=YQF0SPW2H5CeiwHPxemEAQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dsherri%2Blewis%2Bdance%2Binto%2Bdestiny%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN"><img style="border: 1px solid ;" src="http://tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:2ozDlIJRV8nNgM:http://www.womenofcharacterbookclub.com/images/042008_dance_into_destiny.jpg" width="85" height="127" /></a><br /></div>My second novel, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1601629508/103-1350437-1684646?ie=UTF8&tag=christianfi04-20&linkCode=xm2&camp=1789&creativeASIN=1601629508">Dance into Destin</a>y has made #6 on the Essence bestselling book list. Thank you all for supporting this novel, and once again getting my books on the list. Now if you want me in the magazine I have to get on top five, so my call to you is to get the word out and let's get me in the next issue.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-82716895799306128542008-07-07T14:55:00.000-07:002008-07-27T15:40:09.228-07:00July 08 Book Of the Month: Sugar & Spice Magazine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDfgNWGR9OvBzshWm5H7qm510gVAB_cMSDRathvMGRPNdp-sX7KMXsXo30I9lTQO9L8XdAbk5-p4xNhHnGSBjU8k70SNL51JbAWEW4YMAXH9_ZsZ7aGTMyu9AK25c0xNJ54zy73CYijw/s1600-h/JULY08COVER.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDfgNWGR9OvBzshWm5H7qm510gVAB_cMSDRathvMGRPNdp-sX7KMXsXo30I9lTQO9L8XdAbk5-p4xNhHnGSBjU8k70SNL51JbAWEW4YMAXH9_ZsZ7aGTMyu9AK25c0xNJ54zy73CYijw/s400/JULY08COVER.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227821361355732786" border="0" /></a>This month <a href="http://sugarandspicemagazine.homestead.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sugar & Spice Magazin</span>e</a> chose <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Dance into Destiny</span> as their July book of the month pick. Please stop by and join in on the conversation. They have an online community. Click <a href="http://http//sugarandspicemagazine.ning.com/group/SugarandSpiceBookClub">here</a> to join and share. It's free.<a href="http://http//sugarandspicemagazine.ning.com/group/SugarandSpiceBookClub"><img src="http://sherrilewis.com/images/books/dance-book.jpg" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-47747887419327189742008-06-04T15:51:00.000-07:002008-06-04T16:16:25.840-07:00My June Events<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7KauAJ07NSa4sbpPIlCSdotTJQd3hRRpXg_0ScaJo56qzYkKjjPyd_FgEtN-rbTJVcWVh2Nw7aNLfO1CUYPmIsyz5vx6Ajxbp6CzoJkHGSaPrZPSvQCNkwTm9M4qvf4hWPfs7be6PgAk/s1600-h/conversations+book+club+logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7KauAJ07NSa4sbpPIlCSdotTJQd3hRRpXg_0ScaJo56qzYkKjjPyd_FgEtN-rbTJVcWVh2Nw7aNLfO1CUYPmIsyz5vx6Ajxbp6CzoJkHGSaPrZPSvQCNkwTm9M4qvf4hWPfs7be6PgAk/s320/conversations+book+club+logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207753853985235650" border="0" /></a>* <strong>Saturday, June 28, 2008, 11-3p.m.</strong><br /><strong>2nd ANNUAL STATEWIDE BOOK CLUB MEET AND GREET </strong>--- Held at the <strong>Richard Wright Library (515 W. McDowell Road * Jackson, MS), </strong>book lovers from all arond are invited to meet and discuss their love of words with <strong>Bestselling authors Diane Dorce', Electa Rome Parks, V. L. Green, Terrance Dean, Joy King, Craig Alexander, Supreme Understanding, Sherri Lewis and Voncele Savage.</strong> Bring your lunch and be prepared to hear from some of the most powerful voices of our generation and learn what others are reading as well. Admission is free.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8606600044297089748.post-32476838556740418062008-05-27T15:20:00.000-07:002008-07-09T18:06:27.122-07:00Want to Get on the VIP List?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPyBXB4fckUuMtZ9NEPvJCc0RyhnghCJ_14kyibGzHWLgoxDQHHOMUDpDu7pkvX7fpc1isR0JuO0a1ESRaZRWvDMF6yO4-Q3Hisle1VDaLXAhJaROkfnU-J5nv96PRm_2U8sw8idpdk9y/s1600-h/2008+VIP+Online+Conference+Flyer.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195419038513387794" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 269px; height: 410px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPyBXB4fckUuMtZ9NEPvJCc0RyhnghCJ_14kyibGzHWLgoxDQHHOMUDpDu7pkvX7fpc1isR0JuO0a1ESRaZRWvDMF6yO4-Q3Hisle1VDaLXAhJaROkfnU-J5nv96PRm_2U8sw8idpdk9y/s400/2008+VIP+Online+Conference+Flyer.jpg" border="0" /></a> This Saturday I will be very busy.<br /><br /><ol><li>I will be participating in "Book Lovers Day" with Conversations Book Club at Comfort Inn, 795 Pollard Drive, Atlanta, GA.</li><li>Teaching you how to develop your writing craft from Rejection to Redirection during the <a href="http://www.myspace.com/visionsinprint">ACFW-VIP</a> Online Writing Conference</li></ol><br />Those of you who register for the VIP Conference, earns a ticket in a raffle to receive a free 20 page critique from me. Wow!<br /><br />I remember when I had my writing critiqued by Victoria Christopher Murray. I was so excited and so scared at the same time.<br /><br />But you know what?<br /><br />It was everything I had hoped it would be, and more. To have a published author--one whose books I so admire--read my writing emboldened me. My mustard seed faith blossomed into a published, bestselling author.<br /><br />Can you believe that?<br /><br />It can happen to you. Please join me this Saturday. If you're in Atlanta meet me at the Conversations Book Club. It's free. If you're not or can't leave home, then meet me online.<br /><br />Get on the VIP List. Let's see where your faith will take you.<br /><br />I would love the chance to chat with you.<br /><br />God bless you,<br />SherriAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07932082084523211319noreply@blogger.com