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Sign of the Slayer by Sharina Harris: Book Review

Eighteen-year-old Raven is a high school student in the marching band, has a normal social life and lives with her Grandma Lou in their small Texas town. On her way home from performing at an away game, her bus is attacked by an unidentified being. When she gets a better look, she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. The monster that is killing her bandmates and friends is actually a vampire. The…

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#black women writers #poc protagonist #urban fantasy #vampire slayer #Vampires

From Monochrome to Vibrancy With Commentary Chapter 4: She's the One We're Looking For

From Monochrome to Vibrancy With Commentary Chapter 4: She’s the One We’re Looking For

Arcene sat in the back of the class with her notebook open. A week had passed since school had begun and since then one window or more have been broken five times. The first time was because a kid named Henry Prasanth lost control of an echo spell that caused all the windows to shatter. Luckily, the glass shattered outward so nobody was hurt by it, however, the sound did cause Elodie Weiss and…

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#fantasy #from monochrome to vibrancy #high school #poc #poc protagonist #prose #school #teen fiction #writing

Have a magical holiday season to all and here’s to a productive and fulfilling new year! ~Junah O.

Protagonist of my comic MagicalMashup!

Here’s to awesome folks doing awesome work, finding yourself and your style, being happy and feeling good, and loving yourself and those around you. -Lady T.

#magicalmashup!#junah o.#poc protagonist #afro #oc #art

Between Shades of Grey

There is a deep misunderstanding when it comes to women and being pretty. There is nothing good about being pretty. There is nothing worthwhile about being pretty because in the end that is all that you are: pretty. Being pretty comes with several implications and rules and regulations and holds. You cannot be mean spirited and you cannot exude erratic behavior. You cannot be too strong but being pliable and weak cannot be an option either. Being pretty means that you must have some modicum of intelligence but being the best is not a requirement but also not advised. There must be some fundamental understanding of trends whether they be fashion and make up or something else, but you were not required or advised to know the full extent of such subjects.

Being pretty meant that you had to settle for being in second place because, sure pretty is the label but beautiful was the goal. Pretty is not stunning. Pretty is not beautiful. And maybe that was where the misunderstanding arises because pretty and beautiful were labeled as synonyms in the thesaurus but they were not. Because Amaya was pretty. She was not gorgeous. She had to settle for pretty.

That was why she had to settle for this white guy sitting at the bar and not go for the man that she really wanted, the one that her friend Heather was pursuing, the tall handsome black man who teeth shone white under the ultraviolet lights. Amaya was merely “pretty for a black girl” which meant that this white man saw her as less threatening and easy enough. This knowledge coupled with the knowledge that her advances would be resoundly rebuffed in favor of Heather’s was what caused her to settle into her seat and smile at the man she did not want.

“Can I touch your hair?” he asked, his skin looked washed out and sickly in the flashing UV lights. His skin seemed translucent under the light revealing inches of pulsing arteries and capillaries. His ghost hand reached out without her permission already on the way to touching one of her carefully curated braids. Amaya jerked her head back, the comforting smile already on her face as she grabbed his larger hand in her own. The contrast caught her eye and she let herself watch their hands for a moment, her warm brown against his pale white before she returned her eyes to his.

“No,” she said, the smile tight on her face. “I spent a lot of time on my braids and I don’t want them to be ruined. It would take forever to fix. You understand right?” He said nothing just nodded his head and pulled his hand back. For a moment she missed the warmth, the comfort of holding another hand in her own before she turned back and she smiled at...what was his name again?

“I’m going to go get a refill,” she said, shaking the red solo cup. Amaya slipped away from him then in what she hoped was a tantalizing sashay of her hips and sway of her braids. What she had told him was no lie. She stood in line at the cooler waiting to refill her drink and drink close to overflowing, slipped outside to the front porch. Not many people were in the front, just some of the more drunk party goers of tonight.

The old wooden house was shaking with the booming bass of Earth, Wind and Fire’s September. At the song, she rolled her eyes, who played things like Let’s Groove and September at a party? Earth, Wind and Fire, were explicitly reserved for things like family reunions and cookouts. To play them now was an abuse of their music, Amaya thought to herself. She wobbled on her wedges, her hands gripped the battered railing as she lifted herself to sit on it.

Her phone was the first thing that she checked. Flicking through message after message and sending her parents a quick text that she had reached campus and was now spending time with her friends. She snorted as she heard from inside one of her friends singing horribly off key with to some Hailey Baldwin song about empowerment. She then went to Twitter flicking through tweets before posting the photos that she took before they went out for the night. No caption. She didn’t need a caption.

Amaya sighed. She did not want to be here. Well, she did. At the beginning of the night when Heather had said that this party was going to be the best party out of all the ones being thrown. Liar. The party was dead everybody either was drunk or getting nearer and closer to it. And none of the people here were pretty drunks too. On her way outside alone, Amaya had watched three girls dissolve into tears and two almost fights between juiced up frat brothers. The music was stupid and all her friends had abandoned her to pursue what they wanted and she was left with the dregs of the party who simply thought she was pretty for a black girl.

“Amaya!” Heather stumbled out from the front door, her cheeks bright pink. She stumbled over on unsteady feet acting as if the whole house was rocking back and forth like a ship. Amaya rose and grabbed onto her friend guiding her over to the railing. Heather’s face was greasy with sweat and oil. She had to admire Heather because Amaya watched her throwing her ass back hard to something completely off beat but with total confidence. That and Amaya was not sure whether to describe what Heather was doing was throwing ass or moving her legs in hopes that it would jiggle what little she had.

“Amaya! Why’re you not inside. The party is lit!” Heather said. Amaya had to close her eyes as she heard that word come out of her friend’s mouth. Heather said slang as often as father’s wore New Balances and Amaya had to guard herself against the overuse of the word. Amaya shrugged pulling the jacket that Heather tighter around her thin shoulders.

“I’m not feelin’ it tonight. Have fun, I’ma go home,” Amaya said. Her eyes strayed to the sidewalk and she imagined the route that she was going to take back to her dorm and to the comfort of her bed. She had gotten a single dorm this year and she could not wait to enjoy those benefits. Heather whined deep in her throat.

“No! You have to stay! Everything starts tomorrow! We only have tonight!” Heather gripped Amaya’s arm and shook it. It did nothing but make the fat on the back of her arm jiggle and Amaya snatched her arm away before Heather made it do waves.

“This frat throws parties every weekend,” Amaya said calling the uber. Three minutes away. “We can come out then.”

“You never want to come out!” Amaya’s eyes strayed inside, where she saw Heather’s conquest making moves on another blonde haired girl. She was pretty, Amaya thought without thinking. The man slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him and the girl was immediately hooked. Amaya turned her eyes back to Heather and her heart shaped face.

“You have Jared and Yelena,” Amaya defended. Heather sighed and pulled away from her, lips set in a tense pout.

“I want to hang out with you.”

“And you do.” Amaya saw the blue Corolla pull up to the frat house and Amaya was pulling away from Heather, the conversation falling away from her mind. Thank god she wouldn’t have to walk. Heather made her download the app when they had first met and it had proven to be useful at times like this. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Lunch?”

Heather didn’t reply and Amaya did not wait for one, getting into the car without a thought. The driver was around her age. She only took a curious glance at him. Amaya did not get a weird vibe from the driver and he didn’t seem like a serial killer so that already got him about three stars.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Houghton Hall,” she said.

The driver pulled away from the frat house with the crumbling roofs and chipping blue and white paint. The driver was smooth and silent with nothing but the strange music that was playing from the stereo. It took awhile for Amaya to notice it because it was so low, but listening closer it sounded like a mess.

The composition of the song was a mess. The was the snare of drums accompanied by a fiddle and electronic beeping. At random moments a trumpet would honk through the noise, loud and demanding to be heard. Amaya already had her review typed out in her head. Plays weird af music. Bring headphones.

“You don’t like my music do you?” the driver said and Amaya wanted to groan but kept it in. This guy had better not be a talker. She hated drivers that wanted to start conversation with you. “It’s okay, sometimes I don’t really like it either.”

“Oh...okay.” Do not engage. Do not engage. No need to make him drive her into the woods and leave her body behind. And there was a lot of woods here. She turned back to her phone and was already deciding what she was going to watch from her bed.

“You know I made this?”

God stop talking. “Really?”

“Yup,” he said popping the p. “I made it by playing around on my computer. I have this file of just random noises that I recorded and mixed that with the recorded content a lot of music programs already come with and I made this.” The snare was beating some beat but then there was the horn which was following another beat entirely. “This is some new experimental music I am working on. I usually just put them together and take things out that I think doesn’t sound good.”

“Hmm...okay then,” Amaya said with little inflection. Plays weird af music. Wants to talk about his weird af music. Bring headphones. Two stars. “And this is…”

“Oh? This? This is an unfinished project, something that I am just playing around with. What do you think?” he said as he made a turn.

Amaya gave a weak, very weak, smile. “It’s...umm, interesting.” The guy laughed, a deep full belly laugh and looked at her from the rear view mirror. What else did he want her to say? He was driving her home! And if she said she didn’t like it he might take the car over a ditch or something like that! Amaya gave a small giggle and fussing with her hands.

“You can say you don’t like it. I won’t be mad,” he said. And Amaya, just shrugged looking out the window as the landscape became more and more familiar. She was getting closer to her dorm! Thank the Lord! Then she could leave this man and his weird music behind.

“Well, it has potential.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like you could have something. Like a jazz beat with the snare and the trumpet, but you need to filter everything else out. The fiddle and that stuff. It just… doesn’t sound all that great.” The car began to slow down to a roll as the driver made the final turn to her dorm and Amaya started to write a text to her friend that she reached her dorm safely.

“You think so? I’ve never really listened to jazz before so I don’t really know how to make a jazz beat.”

The car finally stopped in front of the large white brick monstrosity that was Houghton Hall and she slid out of the car without a second thought. “Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington and Billie Holiday are good places to start,” she said off hand. Amaya was marching to her dorm with a single minded focus. All she wanted to do now was get into be and be done with the night. Her first class tomorrow was at ten thirty and she wanted to get a good seat.

“Thanks!” the man shouted out of the window but she wasn’t paying attention. Amaya had sent the text to her friend that she had reached home safe and sound and was finishing up the review for the driver.

Talks about his weird af music that he plays. Bring headphones. She rated the ride three stars to be nice and looked over his name. Caden. Pretty name. Too bad he made weird shit music.

#urban fantasy #fantasy #poc protagonist #short story #story #writing #creative writing #fiction

I want to share some of my work, but I am nervous about sharing it. Would anybody be interested in a paranormal/fantasy story with a black female protagonist?

#poc author #poc protagonist

I know what you might be saying: "Briana, why create a book trailer for a novel that's been out for more than a year?" Well, because I WANT TO! Also, because I've only just gotten the hang of using iMovie, and because I think Reflections deserves love more than anything else I've written... but you know. Same thing.

Anyway, I'm thrilled to share this brand-spanking-new book trailer with you. I've never made one before, and it was a lot of fun! Let me know what you think in the comments below. What book should I give this treatment to next?

#poc protagonist

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