The Critique Castle

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Comment by Kim Wilson on August 27, 2012 at 11:47am

I can email you a couple three chaps and you do your critiqueing. Here's a nibble.

The Spices In Life by Kimberly Wilson

We add flavor our foods, our homes, our wardrobes and most of us add a little flavor to our lives. Meet Christine Veronica Webbster whose life is flavored with emotional, financial and social spices that fires flavor into her every waking moment.

From the day of her platinum-spoon birth into the household of the super-wealthy Webbsters, her emotional stability went on a downward spiral in to never, never land. Along the way she knowingly makes a life-long nemesis of Angelia McCarthy, acquires two Master Degrees and two multimillion dollar businesses, all the way to giving away her fortune and meeting the Grim Reaper face to face; delicious.

The Spices In Life has all the flavors in the mix.

My first novel can be ordered: http://www.amazon.com/dp/ B007F22K6I and it’s .99.

Thank you for your literary support. Please Facebook this to your family friends and every social circle you have; again, I’d greatly appreciate it.

 

BOLD STATEMENTS

Why are so many people needing to be un-acceptable. Why do they reach out to me in such a forceful manner. Do I appear to relinquish my RIGHTS as an achiever in any given effort. Read me my MEMORIES and the answer will reach out and touch someone; any one. The remedies that reside within my mind are consequences that may render one USELESS in their efforts. Recycle mandatory affections and reside amongst the COMPETITION that may master anger’s rejects. What we fail to sometimes realize is that we make MISTAKES but we are not to be held accountable for the such. RECAPTURE every demeanor that may fight to survive and within that circle, may become beknownst to you. When a TIGER cries and that they do, we can’t hear it as well as when a TREE falls and yes, it does make a SOUND. Feel me when you can’t and even when you won’t because everything I ATTEMPT to become only remembers that which may bring about my DEEPEST fear. ROARING is a call of the wild. Screaming comes from inside the closet and the mercy never rest. FAILURE can never be accounted for if the attempts are MEASURED. Record the evidence and scream it from within. Never allow FORCES to be with you; there is a heaven and the only way to know that, is to FORGIVE. Forgive when you can’t or simply when you don’t want to. Escape and FREE your…..

Knowing their mind allows the PLEASURE to revolve around what I resolute; and the REWARD will be all mine, no yours too.

Support that which is MANDATORY. I don’t think so far that which we accept is only as far as the eye can see and to only see can bring about UNBELIEF. Boldness is a fortified ELEMENT that will extinguish an enormous, burning DESIRE; there is another understanding which must be LEANED on.

Kim Wilson

OOWEE

onmyownkikl@yahoo.com

http://www.kimkologne@synthasite.com

Comment by Felicia Baker on June 11, 2011 at 9:41pm

 

"Katrina Love Storm"

Dream & Written By:

Felicia Baker aka Ladyfefe

 

Rising, from a dream

House in the ocean

Come see, come see

Living in the water, so deep, so far down

does anyone know we live around

Up from the depth I pretend to sweat

Looking for success will I ever expect

moving towards what I never suspect

that's he, that's she, that's he, that's me,

Clouds are blue, rain is true, pain is red,

like the dawning of the morning,

Rising, from a dream

House in the ocean, come see, come see,

Who lives in the bottom of the ocean?

Who can survive in the bottom of the ocean?

Unless I try in the bottom of the ocean,

that's he, that's she, that's he, that's me,

Moving upward, water level going down,

slowly but surely, water level going down, down, slowly, going down,

Rising, from a dream

House in the ocean, come see,

As I stand about the water, tempest waves high, winds blowing harder,

Rising to the top to face a brand new dawning,

No Regret, Just Respect,

As I stand above the water, tempest waves high,

winds blowing hard, come see, come see,

Look as I rise, the water level going down,

trouble down, slowly, regret down, slowly, fear down, slowly,

Wide eyes, searching around, wide eyes around and around,

Looking down around and around, I raise my hands up high,

this is the realist shit, I wrote, I spoke, I smoke,

Rising, from a dream

House in the ocean

come see, come see, come see...

 

Written by: Ladyfefe

Comment by Allen W. Evans on March 23, 2011 at 10:59am

I've done several critiques and I need to know how to post a first chapter.

Comment by Alexander Devereux on July 7, 2010 at 2:23pm

Gar Fish & Long Gravy
Memoirs of Southern Sensibility
by Alexander Devereux


Format: 6 x 9 paperback cream
ISBN: 978-1-59800-675-9
Cover Price: $12.95
Trade Discount: 40%
Pages: 96
Category: BODY, MIND & SPIRIT / New Thought
Available at: http://outskirtspress.com/alexanderdevereux
Distributed via: Ingram, Baker & Taylor
Published by: Outskirts Press, Inc.
Full trade discount at: http://outskirtspress.com/buybooks
Publication Date: Jun 30, 2010



Growing up poor in the small town of Vicksburg, Miss., Alexander Devereaux didn’t have much. But there was no lack of remarkable personalities, each of whom left an indelible imprint on his life. Gar Fish & Long Gravy collects the stories, insight, tragedies, and uproarious wit of an unforgettable cast of characters. Meet Granmama Lia’, whose hard-won wisdom on life, love—and mistresses—is dispensed to in her kitchen to her beloved grandson, sometimes over Johnny Walker Black. There’s Ms. Peaches, who raises chickens in her ramshackle hut yet might be one of the richest people in town. Big Daddy is an imposing hulk, but his massive frame hides a vulnerable past and humiliating secret. Ms. Annie Laurie is a fabulously wealthy white woman who never had children of her own. But her love rains down on young Alexander. And that’s just for starters.

Based on real-life experiences, Gar Fish & Long Gravy is about the mistakes we make, the loves we share, and the stories we tell each other that make us who we are. And it is the touching story of a boy who ultimately breaks free of the poverty and abuse of his extended family, yet never forgets the important lessons he learned along the way. As Grandmama said, “If sense were common, everybody would have it.”





About the Author, Alexander Devereux
Alexander Devereux overcame epilepsy at birth, dyslexia, and poverty to graduate from college and become a highly successful professional. An ordained minister, he works in the administrative field of higher education. Devereux is at work on his second book, a follow-up to Gar Fish and Long Gravy. He lives in Atlanta.



For more information, visit http://outskirtspress.com/alexanderdevereux





Outskirts Press, Inc., 10940 S. Parker Rd - 515, Parker CO 80134 Phone: 888-672-6657 Fax: 888-208-8601

Comment by Hardest Working Woman in Credit on November 4, 2009 at 11:49am

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Comment by Anarda Nashai on August 14, 2009 at 1:21pm

Check out my blog at www.anardanashai.com!

Comment by PC Marks on July 22, 2008 at 8:01pm

Broken Family Ties
By PC Marks
www.pcpcmarks.com

Chapter 9

Grandparent’s Rules

Alicia was awakened in the wee hours of the morning to the phone ringing. Initially, she thought she had dreamed of the ringing. When she reached for the phone all she heard was a dial tone.
Unable to fall asleep, she turned on the television. Henry’s snoring agitating her, she got out of bed. Downstairs next to her daughter’s favorite chair resting on the solid oak table beside it in the living room was her salvation.
She picked up the bible, closed her eyes and opened it. The passage revealed was the 23rd Psalms. Verse four slapped her hard. Ye, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For You are with me: Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood. There were goose bumps forming down her arms. She began to scratch. Alicia closed her eyes. A startling vision dropped her to her knees. Tears rolled down her face. The phone rang. Hesitantly on the third ring she grabbed the receiver.
“I know. What happened?” Grandma Alicia listened carefully to the details being given on the other end. “What!” She interrupted. “I’m sorry, continue,” she said.
Grandma Alicia returned the phone receiver to its cradle. She went into the kitchen. Looking around, she started rearranging. Talking to herself she said, “The spices belong over the stove, not in some rotating shelf beside the sink. I think the lids should be in this area and the pots and pans over there.”
Henry was awakened by the racket. He descends the stairs taking in the view of his daughter’s beautiful home. He marvels at the plush light beige carpet his feet sink into as he winds down the stairs. The living room is elegant with its dark tan and mahogany wood Queen Anne furnishings. The formal dining room is decorated with a solid oak eight seat table. There’s a matching China cabinet and hutch. He enters the kitchen to find Alicia rearranging what used to be an immaculate kitchen.
Before speaking he takes in the sight. An island sits in the middle of the floor. The cabinets are oak with stenciled glass displaying expensive dinnerware. The design on the glass is identical to the China cabinet doors in the dining room. The breakfast nook overlooks the professionally manicured backyard.
“Ya momma didn’t teach you to say good morning?” Alicia says, interrupting Henry’s admiration of his daughter’s home.
“Good morning,” Why are you rearranging this child’s things? I think you enjoy antagonizing Ann. Alicia you can’t do this.” Henry tried reasoning with his wife.
“Put her things back where she had them,” he said.
“She won’t need them,” Alicia continued setting up her daughter’s kitchen. She offered Henry a cup of coffee, finished setting up the kitchen and began preparing a hardy breakfast.
The sun was shining brightly through the beautiful bay windows. Breakfast had the entire house smelling beautifully. A quiet peaceful day was dawning. Grandpa was determined to not let Alicia ruin his.
Carl was awakened to Charles’ screaming. He rushed to his crib. He changed his diaper, gave him his bottle and held him in his arms. He wouldn’t stop wailing.
Caroline heard the noise. Upon entering her old room she said, “The walls were pink not blue, the crib white, not this ugly brown. Strawberry Shortcake decorated the wall border not the stupid baseball, basket ball, football and hockey stick border with that stupid mobile hanging from the crib to match.” She turned to leave the room.
“Help,” Carl said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Go get Grandpa or something,” he demanded.
Caroline grinned. She leisurely strolled down steps she normally took two at a time. Casually entering the kitchen, she told the Grandparents, “That baby is acting up again, think you can do something.”
Alicia continued preparing breakfast ignoring her grandchild. Henry shakes his head side to side as he makes his way up the stairs.
“Okay, Okay. It’s alright. I’m here now.” Charles continued wailing. Grandpa Henry asked, “Has he been changed? Maybe he’s hungry?” The three, Charles being carried by Grandpa, Carl holding his free hand headed down stairs.
Carl sensed something was wrong. The gnawing feeling in his gut made him uneasy. He held on tight to his Grandpa.
Grandma Alicia stared at the howling baby. She approached Grandpa Henry. “Give him to me.” He bent over to place Charles in her arms. Grandma Alicia and her grandson’s eyes locked. He quieted.
She asked Carl to wipe down Charles’ high chair as she set the dining room table. Carl told her, “We eat breakfast in here,” he said pointing to the built in breakfast nook. She ignored him continuing to place breakfast in the center of the dining room table.
As she finished setting the table, she called for the grandchildren and Henry. Grandma Alicia explained the rules. “When you are called for breakfast, lunch or dinner, it will be in here. You are to thank God for receiving the blessing of food. You are not to eat or drink before grace is completed. You are not to leave the table without asking to be excused.”
Caroline and Carl’s eyes met. Carl couldn’t shake the eerie feeling. Caroline was unusually quiet. Her lips thinned, an evil glare watched her Grandmother.
Grandma Alicia continued on with the rules. She lowered her head, raised her joined hands inches from her face and closed her eyes. Lord we come to thank you for this nourishment. We ask that it does what you intend. That it keeps us healthy provides us with strength. Thank you for blessing us with these children. Help us guide them in the path of righteousness. As we embark on this journey of raising them, we ask for strength and courage to go forward.
She became quiet. Carl, Caroline and Grandpa Henry all opened there eyes. Grandma Alicia continued.
Help these babies deal with the loss of there parents, Jesus’ name, amen.
The days that followed seemed to take place in slow motion. Swarms of church goers were in attendance. The food seemed to never stop coming. Neighbors stopped by to pay there respect. Everyone hugged, kissed and assured the children they would be okay.
Charles wailed through the whole service. Carl was inconsolable, his wailing at times drowning the sound of his brother. Caroline stared. A far away glazed expression, she never shed a tear.
Grandpa prayed for the peaceful rest of the living children’s soul, the deliverance of the souls of Ann and Kevin, the softening of his cold heartless wife.
Kevin and Ann Grover were buried side by side in the Grover family plot next to Kevin’s parents. The going home celebration took place on the very day they were due to return home.

Part II Severed Family Ties soon to be released

Comment by Jill on June 14, 2008 at 4:34pm

Comment by Viola P. Blue on June 2, 2008 at 4:38pm

The beginning of my inner book.
I am still fleshing out the characters and deciding how to end it.

Sent: Sat, 15 Sep 2007 7:49 pm
Subject: Just one last story...
I am lying in bed, about to drift off to sleep, when I feel you snuggle up behind me. You engulf me in your arms. I love the feel of you. Your kisses on the back of my neck drive me to distraction. You soon discover, yet another of my "spots", and I melt into you. Your continued licking and nibbling of my "spot", causes my breath to come in quick shallow bursts. I open my mouth and only a gasp escapes. I try to free myself from you, but you hold me tighter. You capture my breast with one hand and my belly with the other. I feel the hardness of you against my bottom. As you press tighter to me I sink deeper into you. Reaching behind me I firmly grasp your warrior pole. With long firm strokes, my hand rubs the length of it. Each pass growing firmer and firmer. A gentle cupping of the "boys" brings forth a pleasurable moan from you. Your hand moves from my bell and finds my naked hairless flower. A steady pressure on my "button" coupled with your expert skills on my neck and my "spot", causes my honey juices to flow freely from me, and whetting my flower for your veracious appetite for more....of me.
You slide your fingers down the folds of my slippery flower and with one finger; begin to make a stirring motion just inside my flowers lips. The sensation is phenomenal. I press my pelvis hard against your hand and you follow me with yours. I roll forward onto my belly and offer you my last virginal orifice. "Are you sure, Vi?" you ask into my ear. "It's the last gift that I have, and I want it to be yours", I whisper. I feel your heart beating faster as you reach between my legs and spread my honey juices to my glory hole. This gift, from me is the ultimate. I feel you lovingly kissing and biting the firm mounds of my bottom. As your tongue flicks around the eye of your gift, I feel myself turning to mush. My moans are low and long as you compare my body to all things beautiful and sensual in this world. I feel the cool, cool, gliding ooze of liquid lube as it runs down the valley of my bottom. You grasp my hips and raise me onto my knees. With one steady, purposeful thrust, you are penetrating me. I try not to let fear take over, but I let out a scream. At first it is a high pitched, wounded type of sound, that soon turns to a throaty guttural grunt.
You are in me and the fullness of you crosses my eyes and I go limp.
I come around to the sensation of you tweaking of my nipples and your tiny bites along my spine. You begin ever so slowly to make love to my glory hole. Your thrusts are slow and shallow at first. Each thrust probing just a tad deeper than the one before it. I am sore and a little numb, but I feel so alive!! Knowing that I have given you my last virginal gift causes a rush of more honey juice to flow from me. My inner thighs are drenched with my rush of juice. My breathing is coming in short shallow pants. I want to faint but, I don’t want to miss a minute of you. The slow rocking of our bodies, and the overwhelming sensation of you, causes both of us to explode, again and again. As we lay there with you still throbbing in me, I grit my teeth and begin to squeeze my muscle. I am “Milking” you of every drop. I want all of it, no matter how much it stings to move my muscles. You are once more aroused and you lift me onto my knees again. I pull a pillow under me. You are not as slow to start this time. "No mercy" I say through gritted teeth. "No mercy?" you counter. "NO MERCY", we chant in unison. I have given you full freedom to enjoy your gift however you so wish. As you pound into me, I meet you in mid-stroke, time after time, after time. Screaming, yelling, and hollering with wild abandon. We climax with bucking and full body spasms that nearly knock us off the bed. You pull out of me and apply more lube. I offer your gift to you once again. You bite my ear and tell me to rest. As we lay in each others arms I stroke your face; wondering how a man like you ever came into my life. My heart is full. As I drift off to sleep, I hear birds chirping at the window.
I am awakened by a sliver of sunshine across my face, as it peeps between the curtains. I don't feel you near me, nor do I hear the shower. I do a lazy satiated stretch and climb out of bed. The house is quite. I move to the doorway of the bedroom. There is a note taped to the door jam.
With a heavy heart I read;
"Good-Bye"
“B”
==============================================
Viola P. Blue © 2007

Comment by Viola P. Blue on June 2, 2008 at 4:35pm

Tell me if it flows. I wrote this after a friends breakup with her "friend" and she was feeling very down about it.



The Yo-Yo Effect
A Poem by Viola P. Blue
What happens when one lover is ready and the other is afraid...and can't make up his mind

We must be discreet
but, when can we meet

We must keep this quite
so, meet me at the Hyatt

Telling you how to behave
while I act like a knave

Drawing you near
but pushing you
there

Loving the feel of your skin
condemning the passion we're in

Looking into your eyes
while feeling your
thighs
hearing your whispery sighs

Loving your grip on my cock
making it hard
like rock

Loving your noises on my cell
when you
cum
and you yell

Call me every day
just to say "Hey"

These things that we do
but don't tell my Boo
don't know what
to do...
turn it around
on you

I must save my butt
but, yours is
not important enough
like mine
in this affair
so clandestine

Don't call my cell
I'll catch hell
from the house where
I dwell

Won't answer your ring
say
"I'm doing my thing"
for two hours then
shower
it off.

Spewing this nut
that grew in my gut
the first time you sighed
"Dear"
moaned right
in my ear
stays in my head
following me into bed
where
I dread
exclaiming your name
as she came
in my arms
and quivered so gently
but eyed me
intently

We can chat on-line
it is there that I shine
late evenings
just when I've got time
is quite
fine for
me

The words I can say
so eloquent my play

I can't let you get away
playing with you
makes my day

The things I can do
I elaborate to you

After all you have given
including your heart
now
in ribbons.

© 2007 Viola P. Blue

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