Month: December 2015

A Man Will Be A Man (Nate’s Redemption)


If you’ve read Loving Nate, then you’re familiar with the heartache Leah by way of Nate. When I originally set out to write Leah’s story, I sought to explore losing one’s self in love. I never planned on writing a follow up, but here we go. Leah’s story was about her journey alone. Since then, I’ve been asked about Nate and his lesson in the entire plot. As much as I’ve tried to shy away from doing so, Nate has been whispering his desires in my ears.

Due to his constant bickering, I present to you the very first (unedited) chapter of Nate’s Redemption in “A Man Will Be A Man“! (The anticipated release will be in the early part of 2016.)


Chapter 1

Nathan Moore strolled into the Philadelphia International Airport on a Thursday afternoon. His skin was a succulent shade of chestnut, adding to the firm allure of high cheekbones and a sharp gaze. He wore sexual appeal as naturally as any man could. His presence inside and around this public domain only added to the value of the location. To see him was to crave him for his command was unwavering. He had been forced to remove his summer blazer, even though it was later in the season and the temperature hadn’t quite reached normal levels. Yet in making this slight wardrobe adjustment, his cologne trailed along his movements. And his off white Polo button down clung to the mountains racing across his chest, while his lower portions provided the usual sexual relief. Heads turned and lingered, while some followed… Literally.

He had just left a meeting with one of the division heads of Rush Media. Nate, as some might know him, considered returning to the South Florida office. It wasn’t that he was hoping to work there. Not at all. There was a certain woman; a very special woman he’d once known and loved. He was curious about how her heart was holding up.

As Nate took wide strides towards the check-in point, he couldn’t help but notice the women that paused to admire him. He shrugged them off.

Poor Nate…

He loved women, yet was not in the mood for this sort of thing… Contrary to popular belief, a handsome man was capable of loving one woman. Hell, a striking man of more than six feet, with muscles in all the right areas, was more than able to dedicate himself to a single relationship. Nate knew this, though history hinted to the contrary.

“Sir?” a thin female voice called out to Nate. Her words crept alongside the back of his head, filling his ears. He stopped advancing towards the checkpoint.

A long line had formed. Prior to Nate looking around in search of the owner of the salutation, he took a moment to make note of the time, 3:20.

He was usually very punctual, yet had been feeling a bit sluggish. Perhaps it was the whole thing of getting your heart broken. He sighed, flexing his chest only to shift around and glance down at a TSA agent.

“How can I help you?” Nate questioned. His left brow arched as he eased his attaché over to his free hand in order to comfortably entertain the agent.

“You can take the VIP line,” she offered, extending her fingers towards a much shorter line.

Nate would typically follow along the frequent flyer, VIP or business lines. This afternoon was different. Business was set aside for the time being. He was en route to a mini-vacation in Las Vegas.

“I’m not traveling on business today-”

“That’s okay.” She flashed slick white teeth and winked.

Nate returned her smile before thanking her and moving in the appropriate direction. He was able to clear security in less than five minutes thereafter.

He continued on as before, pacing through with an unmatched purpose. Although the airport was filled, nothing was capable of claiming his attention. Or so he thought…

There was a time when he lived for the kill, looked for those rare opportunities or even thought he could conquer the game without consequence. He knew better now.

The typical crowd that would normally surround the podium had faded. Most people seemed to be waiting on another flight.

Nate knew he was late. He half didn’t care, but had promised himself this getaway.

“You guys are still accepting passengers, right?” He spoke in an important type of tone, allowing the words to caress his tongue.

“If not for anyone else, we’ll gladly accept you, Mr…” The attendant reached for his ticket. “Moore,” danced on her tongue.

Nate couldn’t resist a smile. Standing there, being reminded of his appeal, always got to him. You see, these chance happenings caused him to fall into trouble. What was a man to do when women eagerly wanted to engage him? No, seriously; the proper term was engage.

“You’ll be in Vegas for four days?”

“Yes ma’am,” he confirmed. Though her words were innocent enough, Nate wasn’t clueless as a man.

“I’ll be there for the weekend…” She allowed her words to linger, and even took longer than needed to return his ticket and identification.

Nate shifted. He cleared his throat. About a few extra seconds later, she returned his items with one additional.

Vanessa had written her name on a piece of paper along with her number. She winked as he advanced through the glass doors and into the corridor for boarding. Nate couldn’t comprehend what it was about him that caused women to disregard the very idea of losing their job, just to “catch a man”. Those were the words that his Jamaican born mother would use.

But the real question at hand: would he call Vanessa?

She was eye candy, a cutie with deep honey skin. He’d even noticed her shapely thighs as he’d started walking away from the podium. Yet deep down inside, Nate no longer wanted to be a part of the single life.

He’d just bent his knees to get seated when his phone vibrated. Nate closed his eyes before reaching into his pocket. It was only a text, but that was the CEO’s usual style. He got under Nate’s skin. It almost seemed like since Nate had gotten promoted to AVP of Operations, the bastard Wendell Cummings suddenly saw him as a threat. Sure Nate was one of the youngest officers within the team, he sure as hell wasn’t thinking about backstabbing his way to the top. During his entire tenure, Nate had done things the old fashioned way… Hard work.

Wendell: Nate, can you find someone to head out to the new site in Omaha? Meeting at 10:30 on Monday morning.

Nate stared at the screen. This was the nonsense. No one would be available. This trip to Philly was because no one else was available. He should’ve been on a weeklong vacation, but he’d cut things short for this current location. Here it was once again. His fun was going to be cut short in lieu of company business in Omaha, Nebraska. Nate wasn’t ready to respond. He turned off the phone and sat upright. His mind raced over anything and everything, even the very idea that he would always be the fallback guy. He wondered if… If he had a family, one with a wife and children, would this work-dedicated life still appeal to him?

He half laughed at the ideal of having a family. Sure it was something he’d craved, though he couldn’t be entirely sure he was deserving of one. Opportunities had presented themselves, but Nate was more interested in the next big thing or in what appealed to his urges at any given time.

As the flight crew prepared for takeoff, Nate gazed out of the window and mulled over his most recent discussion on his life. His method of coping, or really trying to make sense of things, came by way of therapy. He smiled, grinned in fact; his mother would pitch a bitch if she ever found out that her perfect son was seeking guidance from a professional.

Dr. Meg Brennan was insightful and über patient. In fact, she was sharp with her tongue and a master at keeping Nate on his toes…


“Well Nate, in order to determine what you believe is missing, let’s take a look at your expectations. Perhaps, even beyond your expectations, what are the basis for them?” She crossed one leg over the other, relaxing back in the chair.

Outside of her intellectual abilities, Nate enjoyed the fact that she was striking. After visiting with three other potential therapists, he’d settled for the one that could give him a rise.

“Well Nate?”

He had been seated upright and his eyes were defiantly fixed on her. Nate couldn’t quite understand the practice of revisiting the past. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy was not something he subscribed to, especially with the idea that the past should never be revisited or dredged up.

“Aren’t we going backwards, Dr. Brennan? You’d think we would try to focus on the present situation.” He paused, as usual, in anticipation of her coming undone.

Instead of playing into his ploy, the therapist shrugged and said, “Humor me.” Her thin, candy apple red lips formed a line. She didn’t flinch otherwise.

Badass, Nate thought to himself. He didn’t attempt to protest any longer, but instead inhaled and exhaled.

“It’s not for you to seek justification or even an explanation. Let’s try a slightly different approach…” Dr. Brennan lowered her spectacles and placed them at the tips of her fingers. She then leaned forward in the chair and asked, “Do you remember your first heartbreak?”

Nate’s lips expanded. He’d pocketed this bit of information in the darkest area of his mind a long time ago.

“Have I struck a nerve?” the doctor asked.

Nate passed his right palm over his head and face before giving what she wanted. “Lola Gordon was her name. I was nine, she was eleven. My family lived uptown, her family lived somewhere downtown.” Nate mulled over the memory. Lola was almost as dark as him. She’d had a chocolate complexion that always made him think of candy.

“Did you meet Lola is school?”

“No, our next door neighbor had invited her to a birthday party. Her father worked for my neighbor’s father.”

“What made you fall for Lola?” Dr. Brennan replaced the glasses on her face and leaned back in her seat. She tipped them down to the end of her nose and crossed one leg over the other. She wore a pair of red Mary Janes, the exact same color of her lips. He contemplated how very tender her mouth would feel against him, even if her lips appeared to be unnaturally enhanced.

Nate didn’t care to think about Lola, not with the doctor only a couple inches away. He examined the slight rise of her off-white, cotton button down. Just enough buttons were left unhooked to display the upper portion of the doctor’s bosoms. Nate was pretty certain that she realized he was not only watching but staring; greedily willing a flap to somehow drift further over and reveal her mounds. Her breathing sped up, reflecting in her blouse.

Nate could almost imagine his fingers creeping past the tiny buttons of her blouse. His tongue tingled; he passed it out between his lips and moaned. He couldn’t deny the sound and instead coolly raised his gaze to meet her eyes.

She reflected a sharp stare. Her eyes were tighter than before, though they shifted around. And her cheeks, her tan cheeks showcased a deep red shade. For a moment, Nate thought she would scold him as her lips parted and closed a few times. She even reached up and patted her chest, only to clear her throat and sit completely still. Nate’s manhood expanded. He straightened the leg that had been bent and placed it flat on the ground only to lift the other and cross it as the one before. Nate wanted a medal for having broken Dr. Meg Brennan.

Rather than celebrate, he cleared his throat and revealed, “Lola felt I was too goody-goody for her. She was a bad girl for our age bracket and didn’t think I was capable of the things her downtown guys could do.”

Neither spoke for close to an entire minute. Nate wanted his therapist to ask exactly what he was capable of. She needed to pry further; he wouldn’t so easily volunteer.

“At nine and eleven?”

Nate chuckled from way down inside. “No. It took years to prove myself.”



“When was the last time you saw Lola?”

“In my early twenties.”

“But when did she break your heart?” She began strumming her fingers against the handle of the chair.

“When I was nine-“

“But I don’t quite understand.”

“As a nine year old boy looking to fit in, the worst thing possible is to break his spirit. I was hopeless for the longest. Lola eventually became my friend, but it wasn’t until we were older that she considered anything more. At nine I wanted an innocent girlfriend-boyfriend thing, but at nineteen I understood better.”

“Oh…” It was now time for Dr. Brennan to shift her legs. “You held onto that for years.”

“Not held onto. I’m just a patient man that goes after what he wants.” Nate looked down to his watch and gently tapped the screen before he stood to his feet. Their back and forth had lasted nearly forty minutes. He was okay with ending the session five minutes early.


Nate now dozed off looking outside of the airplane window. For the time being his mind was at ease as he planned for the weekend rendezvous.

© Janice G. Ross


Stay tuned for release information…


Silent Fury

Silent Fury

(Coming in mid-2016)


Silent Fury

In front a neatly positioned pile of rags,

she sat in silent fury.

Green, red, white – yellow, pink, blue

attend to her silent fury.

Silver shears elegantly trace

each fabric in silent fury.

Adorned garments and stylish shoes,

lay in shambles in silent fury.

Furry cinnamon, dark coiled locks

chopped down in silent fury.

Her disappointment, her hurt, her pain revealed,

in mounting silent fury.

Illogical utterances, abuse of the mind,

caused her silent fury.

Unable to scream or rebel aloud,

released in silent fury.

Disastrous arguments a vain solution,

recourse in silent fury.

Yard brooms take a toll on battered skin,

low sobs in silent fury.

A fist, a belt, a size ten shoe,

accepted in silent fury.

“Blasted woman!  Crosses in life!”

condemnation in silent fury.

Unwanted kisses, unsolicited sex,

received in silent fury.

A jook inside her tender pink flesh,

pulsating in silent fury.

Threats to decapitate and stab her meat,

her flight in silent fury.

Rape, molestation and abuse,

she responds in silent fury.

(©2010 Janice Ross)


“Silent Fury” represents the experiences of many females. Most importantly, this is my personal story, and it incorporates the lives of others. I’m sure you see that the poem has a copyright date of 2010; however, this goes further back by more than a decade.

My journey from girlhood to womanhood is one that I’ve come to embrace over the years. Everything I’ve experienced, whether good or bad, has created a somewhat stubborn, deeply emotional, blindly loyal individual. I’ve always prayed to be forgiving and far from bitter, yet I can’t allow dishonesty. I give numerous chances, but have come to know when enough is enough. My story from girlhood to womanhood has taken me high and low. The most significant of this journey has taken place many years ago. Silent Fury chronicles this time in my life.

This Creative Nonfiction piece will be available in mid-2016. Be sure to follow for updates.

Are you an avid reader?

persian kitten book-2

This post might be considered a bit of a rant, but I’ve given much thought to this topic. You know, there comes a time when you’re on social media and you’re so concerned with maintaining the “proper” image that you stifle those words. You know what I’m talking about…

I’m a writer that loves to read. Let me clarify, I’m a writer that has always loved to read. I grew up reading the classics, the girly stuff, the smutty ones, as well as the urban reads. What’s interesting about that, I’ve never gotten set in my ways. My TBR List contains an array of treasures that I some day hope to complete. But make no mistake, I do not discount anyone’s work or efforts.

For me, reading is an opportunity to explore someone else’s world. I don’t necessarily need to have been a part of the experience to want to explore, yet I’m curious that way. I might see a title or book cover that speaks to me. I’ve even been intrigued by an author’s name. I particularly love historical and literary fiction but recognize that there’s more out there for me to potentially get lost in. And when I explore, I adjust my mindset, free up my thinking.

I believe I’m an avid reader. As I’ve mentioned above, I look at covers and titles. Here’s the difference… If those attributes were clever enough to catch my attention, then I do try to give those books a shot. And when I do dive in, I clear my mind of any preconceived notions of what a perfect storyline should be.

Here’s where I get to the touchy part. Might I also add, if you have an idea of where I’m going with this and you already don’t agree, please *STOP HERE*.

I have an English degree and have studied the different types of critical theories. I’ve written about them and compared texts for classes. This type of in-depth analysis fascinates me; however, as an avid reader, I just want to read. I refuse to spend the time comparing someone’s work to another author’s, even trying to bash anyone’s attempts. One thing I’ve come to learn: you can be an exceptional writer, but that doesn’t necessarily translate to an exceptional storyteller. Nevertheless, this might all be subjective. Even still, I’ve enjoyed stories that are far from literary. There’s more to life, you know. A particular story might speak to me in a way that might not connect with the next person. Might I also add, some stories are simply that – just a story. Period!

I can recall browsing the reviews of a well-known author some time ago and reading a particular review that pretty much thrashed the story as not being a “literary work”. Mind you, I don’t believe it was meant to be. The story was thought-provoking; in fact, I have read the title several times over. I was hurt by the reviewer’s comments because I love the author’s work. Obviously, this person went into reading with this idea that this particular storyline should be literary though it’s listed as metaphysical (I believe).

Oh okay…

Doesn’t quite make sense to me, but who am I to say. I’m just a girl that fell in love with words thirty plus years ago. A bit of background on me…

My library has included:

The Brontë Sisters

TS Eliot (poet, amongst other things)

Anne Sexton (poet)


Ernest Hemingway

F Scott Fitgerald

William Faulkner

Judy Blume

Virginia Woolf

Zora Neale Hurston

Eric Jerome Dickey

Teri Woods

Terry McMillian

Maya Angelou

Elizabeth Bowen

VC Andrews

Frances Pascal

Maeve Binchy

Richelle Mead

Laurell K. Hamilton

Paulo Coelho

And many more…

As of present, I’ve been introduced to a new set of authors. This next list is made up of authors that I believe should be sampled because they are unique and have great stories to tell. They produce books from a variety of genres but are still fascinating to explore. Some write literary, others write nonfiction. Some write horror, while others write romance or a mixture. Some also write kick-butt urban and suspense. Please keep in mind, these are just some of the ones that I’ve come to enjoy.

Christoph Fischer (Historical/Literary Fiction & Thrillers)

Dormaine G (Horror, Paranormal, Science Fiction & YA)

Taylor Fulks (Nonfiction)

Margo Bond Collins (Paranormal & Romance w/ awesome heroines)

Nicole Dunlap (Women’s Fiction & Thrillers)

Perri Forrest (Women’s Fiction & Romance)

JP Lane (International Thriller)

Angelia Vernon Menchan (Women’s Fiction/Fictionalized Truth)

Ben Woodard (YA & Children’s Lit)

Zoe Saadia (Historical Fiction)

Cole Hart (Urban Fiction/Street Lit)

Sabrina Eubanks (Urban Fiction, AA Romance)

PS Rowland (Poetry)

Mary Elizabeth Coen (Women’s Fiction)


Go ahead, test out a new author and keep an open mind. Try not to be stuffy. Just focus on getting lost in the storyteller’s world.

Any thoughts or comments?

“LUDWIKA: A Polish Woman’s Struggle To Survive In Nazi Germany” is available for pre-order

Another great read from an exceptional author!


Ludwika: A Polish Woman’s Struggle To Survive In Nazi Germany (my new historical novel) is now available for pre-order and will be released on Dec 14thludwika book concept (1)

In order to present the book in London at the Kensington Christmas Book Fair in London, December 12th this year I have released the paperback version already.
Available at the CreateSpace eStore:
The cover was once again designed by the talented Daz Smith.

I have ARC copies in pdf and mobi

Blurb: It’s World War II and Ludwika Gierz, a young Polish woman, is forced to leave her family and go to Nazi Germany to work for an SS officer. There, she must walk a tightrope, learning to live as a second-class citizen in a world where one wrong word could spell disaster and every day could be her last. Based on real events, this is a story of hope amid despair…

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An Affair With Journaling



~An Affair with Journaling~

I’ve always had a fascination with storytelling, words, and all. When I was about 7 or 8, I spent a great deal of time creating journals. I would take pages upon pages of paper, staple them together and create journals. I’d have one journal for reality and another for make believe. Needless to say, my stories were the kinds that were the cause of my troubles, especially when my mother would come across my fictional journals. I was forced to remind her to think back as to whether or not the events I wrote about could actually have happened. And as I got older, my fictional tales became oh so wilder. My journaling was a daily event for me. Late at night, when everyone else slept, I was cuddling my journals – crying, laughing, getting angry, and loving every moment of the experience.

I’ve never forgotten my early affair with journaling. Over the years, I’ve amassed tons of journals – spiritual thoughts, love, reflections on life, daily diaries, future aspirations, characters (by this I mean characters that I knew in real life) and many more. Perhaps you might believe I had too much time on my hands, but I don’t believe that was the case. Journaling helps to divvy up and organize the mountains of data that travel through my mind every day. I even go back over older journals, take specific thoughts and create new ideas based on them. So, my madness has not always been in vain. I’ve even read books that sparked different areas in my mind; in turn, causing me to start new journals.

Journaling has also helped in therapy. No one necessarily had to tell me this; I figured it out on my own. In dealing with stressful issues, anxiety or panic attacks, although the process was initially difficult, writing has helped. I believe it has to do with channeling your thoughts into one word at a time. Think about it… When we are overwhelmed, we’re caught up in so many different areas that we can’t seem to dig ourselves out. Writing the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper, forces you to have to organize your thoughts. Granted, they might still be rushing through your head – that’s okay. The important thing to realize is that they can only come out one at a time.

Side note…

I’m not sure if you can actually see that, I know that I can. I was told some time ago that it’s not possible to multi-task. That point is debatable because I’ve taken pride in doing an exceptional job of managing an array of duties. But as I think back now, no matter how many tasks I’ve lined up, set up or tried to organize, at some point, each assignment will always get even a moment of your exclusive attention. You end up forcing your mind to be focused, even for a brief second.

Now back to journaling…

I believe that journaling is a must, at least for the benefits. It’s a part of my regular conversations even. I am constantly encouraging others to take up journaling, even giving away journals. From the moment my kids were able to hold pencils and crayons, I made certain that they were journaling. I encouraged them to spell words as best as they could, and as they grew older, we’d review their younger journals and how they progressed over time. And one of the biggest benefits to the exercise was allowing them to refocus and direct their attention. For anyone that has not taken up journaling, you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Might I also add that you don’t have to be a fanatic about it, the way that I am. In fact, you might consider setting aside a weekly time to gather your thoughts and record. That weekly time could potentially become daily. Then you’d end up wondering how you ever survived without journaling. As for me, I will continue to have multiple journals to focus the craziness that’s creeping through my mind.

I hope that I am not the only person that has this fixation with putting down all of their thoughts in such a crazy way. Can anyone relate?