And yet, her tales which seem to pre-sage current tabloid headlines are spelled out in ways that suit delicate moral tastes. While Ms. Thomas is a dynamic story-teller with three romantic and dramatic novels to her credit, she distinguishes herself by refusing to lace her work with profanity and sexually-explicit themes.
Her third installment in the ‘Jazzmyne’ series— “Strings of Color” is quickly filling up book club calendars and she is a prominent personality on nationwide motivational speaking circuits. Published in paperback by L.B. Publishing, “Strings of Color” will be sold at Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Books-a-Million.com and will be available for the Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble Nook, electronic books. Avid readers can order this dramatic novel at bookstores, nationwide or through their local library.
Get to Know Marian:
1.) How long have you been a writer? Marian: I wrote my first book manuscript in high school. I also did some writing in the sports and news fields during college, but didn’t really put “writer” on my resume. Then, 2009 hit and Color Me Jazzmyne was released. Things began to change. A thought I once had in high school became a dream. The dream became a reality and that reality turned me into a writer.
2.) Did you always know you wanted to write? Marian: The concept of writing was always in the back of my head — lingering there patiently. The words “just get it done” were a phrase my old boss use to say to me whenever we discussed my finishing my book manuscript. It felt great to finally say, “It’s done.”
3.) What inspired you to write this specific storyline with Strings of Color? Marian: Readers, and the fact that I didn’t feel as if the main character had come full circle with her own inner feelings. Sometimes, when a relationship ends, people need and want a sense of “closure.” I suspect book characters are no different.
4.) I’ve always wanted to write my own Novel. For myself, and others with this dream, what is some advice you could give? Marian: Publish yourself first! Build a solid platform. Get your name out there via social networks, blogs and published articles. Then write your book.
5.) Are the character names in your books important to you? Without giving too much away, is there a reason you made the characters’ names so closely related? Marian: They are extremely important and I love that question. When I read a character’s name, I like to think that the name given simply couldn’t be anything else.
That it fits the character’s personality so well, that to change it—would be changing the character. My character names display the depth of the connection within the family. When it comes to family, I think we sometimes forget how connected we really are to each other.
6.) Tell us about your writing environment. Do you need it to be really quiet, or do you have to have background noise? Are there any specific foods or drinks you need available? Marian: No background noise. At least that’s what I keep reminding my hubby when I’m writing. It’s hard for me to stay focused, and any little thing tends to throw me off my writing game. Did I mention that I like popcorn?
7.) When you’re not writing, what are some other hobbies, or things you like to do? Marian: I love to draw and paint. One day, I would like to open a gallery that combines art by me and books by me. Is that too much…me? Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
Author Site: http://www.
Purchase Link: Amazon .com :http://tinyurl.com/
Book Trailer: Link: http://youtu.be/8ZuWqlo3bac
Life can grab a hold of you like captivating strings of color. It is a lesson that four women will learn as they each travel down a journey filled with lies, betrayal, and shocking secrets.
Simone. Is immensely talented, yet everything she has ever known will be ripped apart. Her love will be tested. Her heart will call out for a strength that could only exist in moments like this, and her tears will carry her through the storm. Will she be able to give her heart to the love of her life while fighting to open her heart to a mother she has never known?
Naya. While facing her greatest loss, will she be able to find the key to strength, the will to continue on, and th e endurance to make it through one of the darkest moments in her life?
Monà. Within her heart is a secret so deep that it could shake the very foundations of two lives. Will she be able to finally look into the eyes of a daughter she has only known from a distance?
Misty. Two paths are set before her; one could lead her back to the life of fame and prominence, which she so desperately wants; and the other could give her the love she so desperately needs. Will she choose the path that is best for her future, or for her heart?
“Dear life, he knew that I wouldn’t have thirty more years of him. But tonight even as I lay here with tears soaking the floor, I would give thirty seconds just to feel his touch again.”
Tonight I almost died…Naya thought to herself.
As she walked into her foyer, she dropped her purse, removed her shoes, and slowly allowed her eyes to follow the curve of the stairway until they met up with the oil painting which hung in the center.
Wrapped in a thick walnut wood frame, painted in the soft hues of crisp blues, creams, and specks of red, were herself and Chris.
His chest stuck proudly out. His smile was as wide as the sunshine. His blue eyes sparkled with the color of the ocean. Arms wrapped around her waist.
Chris. She could feel her fingers reaching out to toward him.
She remembered that day. How good it felt to be his wife.
The tears began to run down her cheeks as the weight of the day caused her legs to surrender to the pull of the rich mahogany wood floor.
Trembling. Heart pounding.
I’ve got to catch my breath, she whispered to herself.
Ten seconds later, she began to scream. The walls responded. The chandelier shook as the realization of what had happened began to sink deep into the pit of her stomach.
Less than two hours ago…I was sitting in a worn out chair watching a spider crawl up the wall. I had listened to the splatter of raindrops beat against the dirty windows.
I had been staring at the moon for hours. Staring at the walls and then counting the tiny cracks in the floor. There were three hundred and forty-two. Crying for what seemed like days.
My tired body was heavy, ragged and empty. The whiff of dirty mop water had consumed my lungs and I had often found myself dabbing frantically at the corners of my red and swollen eyes. The lights had been dimed and the curtains slightly drawn shut but I could still see him.
Every touch we shared had flashed in my mind, every smile and every kiss.
I could hear the machines.
As I sat there, I remember feeling like my heart had begun to mix with the slow and methodic beeping noises they made.
My mind had just about settled and my eyes had finally closed when I heard it.
The noise penetrated the entire room.
Louder and louder it got, like a banging in my head. I began to scream as I ran to him and wrapped my fingers around his bed rail.
“Chris!” I shouted.
My body was calling out for strength. Darn near begging for it.
For him, I would give everything, anything. I would reach down into bottomless wells just to find a speck of it.
“Find me strength; find the darkness that I am in,” I kept repeating over and over in my mind.
A teardrop fell upon his face.
The doors flew open. Three nurses came charging in.
One tried to pry my fingers from his bedside but I fought with all that I had to hold on.
I was like a mad woman. I kept thinking that if he could just feel my touch, it would give him the strength to fight.
“Please, ma’am,” she said to me. “You’ve got to let go so we can try to save him.”
I had watched her lips moving, but my mind had failed to register the reality of the situation I was in.
“Let go ma’am, we’re losing him!” The tone of her voice had finally broken through and I somehow began to find myself again.
I remember staring at her, and then back at him. I remember thinking to myself, “Did I hear her right?”
Dizziness hit me like the strike of a lightning bolt. My palms had begun to sweat.
“Ma’am,” she said again.
“Please save my husband,” I whispered.
“We’re trying ma’am, but you’ve got to let go.” The nurse had been forceful but kind.
My fingers let go but my heart was still with him as I was gently moved out of the way.
There was rapid movement, loud voices, and machines being brought in.
I stood against the wall clutching my shirt and watching his motionless body.
When the doors flew open again, the doctor rushed in.
I think she glanced my way for a moment. But now I can’t remember.
What I do remember is that there was no slow and methodic beeping noise from the machine penetrating deep into my ear lobes anymore. It had vanished as if it had somehow been carried off into the wind.
“Come back, come back.” I whispered.
I wanted to hear it again. I needed to hear it again.
His blanket was pulled back; a nurse was cutting open his gown. I watched as the scissors grazed his skin. A chill came over me.
Strong and forcefully tears began to streak down the sides of my face.
The doctor was yelling, or was that me? I think I remember the doctor’s voice.
“On my count of three, go!”
“He’s still not responding.”
“Get the machine ready again!”
“It’s ready Doctor.”
Still the machine was silent.
“Come back beeping noise. I won’t complain about you anymore. Please come back to me.”
I stared at the window as if it would open and the sound would return.
There was nothing. Not one single beep!
Fear and anticipation filled the air as more nurses and doctors came rushing in.
The last thirty years of my life was slipping out through the crevices of my fingers.