Thursday, February 28, 2013

Liberation by Wanda B Campbell


Tired of living a life of manipulation and abuse, Shannon Yates trades in her mini-skirts, colored contacts, and twelve-inch weave for a Bible. Although she accepts the liberation found within its pages, walking in her newfound freedom proves easier said than done. Just when the thing Shannon longs for the most is within reach, insecurities and old emotional wounds resurface, causing her to reject the blessing the Father has for her. Will love cast out all fear and liberate Shannon before it’s too late? Or will she settle for the familiar?
Wanda B. Campbell is an extraordinary and talented writer who brings creativity, a new sense of hope, and restoration through the healing power of God to the Kingdom, by way of Christian fiction. Wanda uses real life everyday issues to exhort, motivate, and give comfort to all.
A romantic at heart, Wanda uses relationships to demonstrate how the power of forgiveness and reconciliation can restore us back to God and one another. Wanda currently resides in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband of twenty-two years, and two sons. She holds the unique position of being the oldest of five siblings and the youngest of twelve. Her hobbies include writing and reading of course, traveling, and collecting magnets from around the world. Her favorite hobby is spoiling her grandson.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

CFBA: Shattered Silence

This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

Shattered Silence

Abingdon Press (September 2012)


Margaret Daley


Margaret Daley is an award winning, multi-published author in the romance genre. One of her romantic suspense books, Hearts on the Line, won the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Book of the Year Contest. Recently she has won the Golden Quill Contest, FHL’s Inspirational Readers’ Choice Contest, Winter Rose Contest, Holt Medallion and the Barclay Gold Contest. She wrote for various secular publishers before the Lord led her to the Christian romance market. She currently writes inspirational romance and romantic suspense books for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired lines, romantic suspense for Abingdon Press and historical romance for Summerside Press. She has sold eighty-three books to date.

Margaret is currently the President for American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), an organization of over 2300 members. She was one of the founding members of the first ACFW local chapter, WIN in Oklahoma. She has taught numerous classes for online groups, ACFW and RWA chapters. She enjoys mentoring other authors.

Until she retired a few years ago, she was a teacher of students with special needs for twenty-seven years and volunteered with Special Olympics as a coach. She currently is on the Outreach committee at her church, working on several projects in her community as well as serving on her church’s vestry.

On a more personal note, she has been married for over forty years to Mike and has one son and four granddaughters. She treasures her time with her family and friends.


A serial killer is targeting illegal aliens in southern Texas. Texas Ranger Cody Jackson is paired with a local police officer, Liliana Rodriguez, to investigate the murders.

While the case brings Cody and Liliana ever closer, the tension between Americans and Mexican Americans heightens. As Cody and Liliana race to discover who is behind the murders and bring peace to the area, what they uncover isn't what they expected. Will Cody and Liliana's faith and love be strong enough to survive the storm of violence?

If you would like to read the first chapter of Shattered Silence, go HERE.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Rescuing Theology from the Cowboys by Richard Twiss

Richard Twiss' new book, published by Wiconi International:

My new book, Rescuing Theology from the Cowboys, is based on my reflections, research and experiences over the past 24 years as a Lakota learning to walk on the Good Red Road as a follower of Jesus. It is also the story of many of us Native leaders who have been walking this Jesus Road together in community since the late 1980s. 
It is a close examination of the inter-connectedness between European colonialism and Christian missions among the tribal nations in North America. It is a redemptive look toward a preferred future, informed and inspired by the good, bad and ugly of the past.
While I have several publishers interested, I am choosing to self-publish for a season, currently in a spiral bound format. I will be regularly revising the book, but the basic content will remain the same. It is a 150 page, two-sided 8 1/2 by 11 format.
I believe you will find it educational, helpful, challenging and hopefully inspiring. I truly hope it empowers you to discover what it means to be more fully human as a lover of our Creator, our relatives in Creation, yourself and your neighbors in the spirit of Jesus as we all work and live for the well-being of Seven Generations!

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

The Unlikely Remnant by Tracey Michae'l Lewis

Faye is a mother in the AME church. She has spent 40 years of her life working for the Lord. Chad is a white, conservative Christian radio talk show host. He enjoys riling up the masses about issues related to race, gender, class, and politics. Jeremiah is a popular, Christian tele-evangelist. The charismatic, African American pastor of a popular mega-church, he is celebrated for his knowledge of scripture. Rosa is a Hispanic, single mom. An English teacher in the Catholic school she grew up in, she is a survivor of domestic abuse. So what happens when these four very different people find themselves trapped in a historical church in North Philadelphia AFTER THE RAPTURE? More than left behind, the characters in THE UNLIKELY REMNANT are left to deal with the personal truths and tragic secrets that led to them missing God; all while wrestling with the prejudices that inevitably surface in their relationships with each other. Who will press in an d who will give up their soul forever?
Tracey Michae'l Lewis-Giggetts is a writer, editor, and educator. The author of six books including The Integrated Church: Authentic Multicultural Ministry and Interruption: The Gospel According to Crystal Justine, Lewis-Giggetts explores in her work both the personal and collective impact of the intersection of identity and faith.

This is the second week of The Unlikely Remnant Virtual Book Tour with Tracey Michae'l Lewis.  View the blog tour and radio interview schedule at

Did you miss these interviews with Tracey? Here are quick LISTEN links.
Spiritual Food for Thought Global Radio Show


he Unlikely Remnant Virtual Book Tour
Join Tracey Michae'l Lewis on her virtual book tour this week. View the blog tour and radio interview schedule at
Faye is a mother in the AME church. She has spent 40 years of her life working for the Lord. Chad is a white, conservative Christian radio talk show host. He enjoys riling up the masses about issues related to race, gender, class, and politics. Jeremiah is a popular, Christian tele-evangelist. The charismatic, African American pastor of a popular mega-church, he is celebrated for his knowledge of scripture. Rosa is a Hispanic, single mom. An English teacher in the Catholic school she grew up in, she is a survivor of domestic abuse. So what happens when these four very different people find themselves trapped in a historical church in North Philadelphia AFTER THE RAPTURE? More than left behind, the characters in THE UNLIKELY REMNANT are left to deal with the personal truths and tragic secrets that led to them missing God; all while wrestling with the prejudices that inevitably surface in their relationships with each other. Who will press in an d who will give up their soul forever?


We are excited this week about the introducing you to a Sneak Peek from Tracey Michae'l Lewis' latest novel, The Unlikely Remnant
The Unlikely Remnant: A Novel
Tracey Michae’l  Lewis


If Jesus said that even the rocks would cry out in the absence of man’s worship to Him, what makes you think I wouldn’t have anything to say about all that has happened recently?  They named me “historical.” I suppose that is accurate. My foundation was laid in 1782 and I was one of the first churches to be built in this neighborhood back when Philadelphia was still the capital of just a notion of a country called America. And I have seen it all. So many transformations – if you can call them that – have occurred right here between my very walls. So much so, I wasn’t sure if these people would ever get it right. 
The first change of note was in congregation size. I’ve seen anywhere between ten and one thousand people worship in these halls. Then, as the neighborhood shifted, so did the ethnicities of those who came here. As soon as Hispanics and Blacks and, most recently, Asians started coming to the services, the White people, and even some of the well-to-do Black people, left. They headed further north to Germantown and Chestnut Hill.
One of the most telling fluctuations I observed over the years is in leadership. We’ve had everything from your fire-and-brimstone, I’m-not-sure-if-anyone-can-be-saved preachers to your  anything-goes-so-let’s-not-rock-any-boats pastors. I’ve never been a fan of extremes myself. Balance is necessary whether you are fortunate enough to have the breath of life or, like me, are simply bricks and mortar. Without it, you are destined to crumble.
After seeing so many people come and go, you’d think I’d be used to the whole temporal nature of things. And I am, in a way. But I don’t think I can ever get used to seeing the Spirit of the Lord come and go the way He has over the years. And I don’t mean spiritually, either. His presence, I’ve always known. But His physical manifestation? That vibration that happens when true healing is apparent? That shifting I feel when a humble prayer strikes the atmosphere and is answered immediately in the spirit? Well, that all depended on the decade. Sure, I might be nothing but stone and wood, but I most certainly grieved whenever He left. I wailed when those other spirits came in and tried to take over.
Alas, there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t have the power; the people did. Unfortunately, the people were sometimes the very ones that brought in all that ugliness. Sanctioned by the leadership, in particular.
Everything was incredibly topsy-turvy in this last century. Twenty-five years good. Ten years bad. Thirty years good. Twenty bad. We were in the middle of a pretty good year when The Rapture happened. Those angels were truly something to behold. An unspeakable beauty I will 
never forget. Oh and the sound? The glorious sounds of heaven! I swoon just thinking of it – if there’s such a thing as a swooning stack of stones. Every one of our members made it in except one. Mother Duncan.
Am I shocked? Perhaps I should be, but I’m not. You know the saying: If walls could talk. The Apostle Paul said it a little differently: ‘Anything that’s hidden will be brought to light.’  No matter how you spin it, it’s true. My walls have seen it all; things done in the dark and in the  light. The indiscretions in the janitor’s office when she was thirty; the slipping of five hundred  dollars in building fund monies into a black, leather purse at forty-two; and of course, sixty-year old eyes that stayed more focused on the aesthetic yet inconsequential violations of the new, female members of the church, even while her mouth moved in rote prayers and practiced tongues. So no, it doesn’t shock me that she’s still here, although I’m quite sure she’s a little blindsided by it all. Especially since she walked around here like she was one of God’s personal bodyguards.
The biggest mistake made by most people who’d entered my doors was attributing more  power to me than I actually had. They called me ‘the Church,’ but that’s really a misnomer. I am a building, plain and simple. A place for the Church to gather. A meeting place for God’s people, if you will. But the way they decorated me, showed out in me, spent more time inside of me than out there with the ones that the Father had given them to minister to, you’d have thought I was more. Clearly, I didn’t deserve the credit that I received over the years. I’m still here, aren’t I?
In the beginning, I was hopeful. The people who built me were both honest and humble in their intentions. They wanted a place in their neighborhood where they could worship God without provocation and so they built me by hand. Brick by brick. Stone by stone. They laid a foundation that would withstand both the changing weather and the changing times. Despite three hundred years of tornadoes and storms, riots and crime, not too much has changed about my fa├žade. But that’s just the outside. The inside, well, that’s an entirely different story.

Read a Sneak Peek of Chapter 1 from Tracey Michae'l Lewis' latest novel, The Unlikely Remnant. Let us know if you like these sneak peeks.
The Unlikely Remnant: A Novel
Tracey Michae’l  Lewis

Part One: Why me?
Chapter One
Mother Faye DuncanA form of godliness
I was born in the church. Literally. Momma’s water broke right before the eleven o’clock morning service and one hour later my coffee-colored, wrinkle-covered bottom made its first appearance right there in the choir room. Surprise! Nowadays, young girls drop babies left and right and no one is even shocked or appalled. But not back then. Not in the Mount St. James Church of God Pentecostal Holiness Church. My mother was the sixteen-year-old daughter of the esteemed senior pastor. Needless to say, her unexpected labor just seconds before the doxology sent the church folks’ tongues a’waggin’ and everyone else into a frenzy. Especially the women with the white hats and coats and shoes who we always called nurses, even though none  of them had ever been to nursing school.
I guess with a name like Faye Josephine Baker, I was destined to always make an exciting entrance; sometimes wanted, many times not. My family’s name was actually Baker, but I think my mother, wanting to get back at her daddy for putting her out so soon after she gave birth, decided to name me after the woman he often called a “harlot” and a “disgrace to the race” in his sermons. Two days after I was born and with a resolute smirk on her otherwise cast-iron face, she anointed me “Josephine Faye Baker.” But the joke was on her. A few weeks later, the birth certificate came backFaye Josephine Baker, a mistake that illuminated her sixth-grade education. So, I’ve been Faye ever since. Mother Faye. Well, technically, I’m Mother Faye Josephine Baker Johnson Greenwell Duncan, but I’ll get on to that in a minute.
Birthed into certain uncertainty, my inaugural life lesson was this: bridges burned could either light my path or bury me in the ashes of my own choices. Unfortunately, my mother would only know the latter. And it looks like the apple really doesn’t fall that far from the tree, either.
I know it sounds impossible – and maybe it is – but I remember seeing Momma’s face once I made my entry into this world. Or, at least, I imagine it to be her face. Until the day she died, I’d never seen her look any other way. As I’ve always known it, her face was a weird concoction of vapid emotion. A merger of fear and pain and sorrow with a smidge of anger to top it all off. I don’t know if anyone was really happy to see me arrive the way I did, but the least happy of all seemed to be Momma. Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why I worked in the church so long. For retribution. To try to pay her back for the grief I caused her. It was my penance for being the manifestation of her rebellion and the reason why her father, my grandfather, never spoke to her again. Either way, you would have thought after all these years I would have earned some credit with God for that alone, much less the fifty-some odd years I’ve spent praying and fasting, speaking in tongues and laying on hands. I, for sure, was more of a servant than most and yet, here I am. Sitting in the frigid blackness of the sanctuary that once was my second home, while those who I know smoked more than me, danced more than me, sexed more than me and certainly prayed a whole lot less than me, are with the Lord now.
Why didn’t I go? Lord, why didn’t you take me up with the others?
Of course, there are no answers now. Just the stifling echo of my voice and the equally arresting truth I’ve refused to acknowledge hidden way down deep in my words.

Monday, February 11, 2013

UNCOVERED by Stephanie Hall

Enjoy a sneak peek at Chapter One below.
Stephanie Hall steered through the Memphis traffic with her left hand while her right hand was careful to stop the strawberry cheesecake from falling off the passenger seat. Markus wouldn’t be able to resist her advances for romance this time. The cheesecake was her insurance for a great evening; it was his favorite.  
She rehearsed her plans over and over in her mind as she sang along to her new Israel Houghton CD and her French manicured nails tapped anxiously against the steering wheel. This night seemed like a final attempt. She’d done everything she knew to get her husband to notice her. There wasn’t a piece of lingerie that she didn’t own, from fishnets to sheer bodysuits, and there wasn’t a weave or wig that she hadn’t worn to entice him. 
Markus was all stress and all headaches at the end of the night, and if this night turned out to be like so many others had been, Stephanie wasn’t so sure she’d run to her prayer journal this time. She’d already written in over 7 journals about the same issue: Markus Hall and his lack of desire toward her. 
It was a relief to finally pull into her driveway. The two story brick and burgundy house was only a few months old and built just for her family. The anticipation grew as she unlocked her front door and was welcomed by the scent of her star ruby sachets, which were tucked away in several corners of the house. Closing the door behind her and closing her eyes to inhale the sweetness, Stephanie prayed within. She knew that her husband worked around gorgeous women all day at the University of Memphis, and his new tutoring hobby only added to her worries. 
“I have to be confident in who I am and what I have,” she babbled to herself as she kicked her shoes across the hardwood floor. After lighting her lavender and tea tree candles, she put on her black satin kimono robe with matching fishnets. Underneath that robe was the $100 corset she purchased for the previous Valentines Day that went sour when Markus chose to play behind the pastor for a Christian Singles Conference. Stephanie thought she’d give the sexy outfit another try. 
Staring confidently in the living room mirror, she tried to admire her curves, but the rejection she felt from Markus and their five years of marriage had finally begun to take a toll on how she viewed her own body. She sucked in her size 8 tummy as if it weren’t small enough. Her wet and wavy hair weave draped across her firm, sculpted shoulders, and her cleavage was still quite impressive.  
Hearing Markus’ keys rattle through the door, Stephanie reached for the cheesecake and held it behind her back as she struck her best Tyra Banks Top Model pose.  Markus entered the room slowly without looking up; carrying out his normal routine of dropping his keys and emptying his wallet, he never raised his head. Stephanie’s anticipation stabbed at her faith. Would he ever look up and notice her? Couldn’t he see that the lights were off and the candles were lit? 
Seconds seemed like hours. “Eh-hem!” She finally cleared her throat and shifted her stance to the opposite leg. As Markus stopped in his tracks and scanned the seductive atmosphere through tired eyes, she unwrapped her robe, revealing her satin trimmed black and red Corset. 
“Wow.” Markus smiled sweetly, but Stephanie was after a different response. She looked for his eyes to widen or his mouth to drop. She wanted something in his posture to say that he was fascinated or turned on. 
“Interesting choice of music,” he commented as he walked toward her with open arms. His eyes never scanned her body, but he did look into her eyes. Stephanie had thrown in an Usher CD that she confiscated from one of the youth in her Wednesday night Bible study class; she’d compiled a nice selection of Hip Hop and R&B simply by taking iPods and cell phones during prayer.  
“Well, never mind the music...what do you think about my outfit?” She wanted to kick herself for asking, but why hadn’t he said anything first? 
Markus stopped in his advance toward her and glanced quickly at her clothes. “As always, you look sexy and beautiful.” She knew his answer was programmed. She searched in his eyes for something passionate or sincere, but his tired stride gave away that he wasn’t much interested. 
She remembered the slice of cheesecake behind her back. “I have a little dessert for you,” she whispered as she revealed the slice. 
“Oh, bless the Lord, oh my soul!” As he slid his finger across the strawberry topping and began to taste it, Stephanie was aroused just by watching him close his eyes in enjoyment.
 “The way you just tasted that makes me wanna be the topping!” She smiled, hoping within that he’d flirt back; however, he simply continued to taste his dessert. 
As she grabbed him by his tie and led him to the couch, her fishnets revealed her sexy, well-formed thighs and black lace panties, which matched the corset perfectly. Markus smiled generously, but she could feel the tension between them. Her desire to make love ached throughout her body, but his hands rubbed against her legs like a man petting his faithful dog. 
“Where’s Jordan?” 
His question was untimely, and she sighed from the distraction. “I let Torrey pick him up for the weekend because he kept asking for auntie, so she’s taking him to the circus.” Straddling her husband and kissing his neck, Stephanie proceeded to unbutton his shirt.
  “Man, work was tough today. Dr. Patel had a lot of projects for me to do. I had to prepare the computer labs for a few different meetings, and I had to make sure that they had all the software on each computer available. The good thing was that he’s offered me part-time work in his home, keeping up the computers there. It’s like 12 computers in their house.” 
Stephanie couldn’t believe he wanted to talk about work. Did he not see her beautiful body in front of him? Was the Usher song not doing it for him? How could Dr. Patel’s name come up at a moment like this? Stephanie was sure that Markus worshipped his boss.  
“Baby, please...kiss me. We can talk about Dr. Patel and the computer labs and work later.” She started for his belt buckle, but his hands met hers. “Come on, kiss me, baby!” Stephanie felt her anxiety rising, but she could see that he wasn’t aroused.  “Undo your belt,” she pleaded desperately. 
She remembered her vow to herself: this was her final attempt. If she was rejected again, she would neither run to the prayer journals nor to a pastor for prayer. She was tired of pleading with God about something that she felt she had the right to have. Shouldn’t every wife automatically have a husband to love her and admire her body? 
This was surely the final attempt. As she looked into the eyes of her husband, he looked distracted, as if his thoughts wanted to be anywhere else but with her. 
“Look, it’s just that...I’m tired. I did some tutoring tonight after work at the Patel’s, and his family is awesome, but I’m still so worn out. I hope you understand. The atmosphere is so cozy in here, but -”
“Cozy? You think I was going for cozy?” Stephanie jumped off his lap, searching for her robe. The embarrassment was humiliating, and she couldn’t bear to look at him. She marched back and forth across the new hardwood floors in her stilettos. “Do you even get what this is doing to me? Do you even care? Why won’t you touch me? We have sex, like, two times a month...maybe.” She turned off the stereo as she yelled. 
Markus was a statue. He squeezed his eyes shut as he massaged his temples. 
“Say something! Don’t you dare just sit there with that dumb look on your face, Markus William Hall! Say something!” She felt the fire burning in her eyes as she tried to resist crying, but her husband dropped his head and offered no words to console her or explain his distance. “Have you ever loved me, Markus? You don’t ever touch me! EVER! I’m tired of this, and I do not have to settle for this. I may not look like a beauty queen, but I’ve worked hard to keep myself attractive for you - and for what? You noticed this piece of cheesecake before you noticed me. You - no we - are hopeless.”
Stephanie marched to bathroom to jump in the shower. The shower head massage setting was beginning to become a regular late night rendezvous for her – and if it didn’t suffice, her battery operated back up plan was always in the drawer. She knew that this would once again bring her to repent in the morning, but she felt surely justified, and she was tired of seeking the Lord for answers. She wasn’t even sure God was concerned. The scent of her candles traveled up the stairs into her room, reminding her of her failed attempt yet again. 
With tears in her eyes, she began to relieve herself, and within minutes she was asleep.
Purchase a copy of Uncovered from (Paperback or Kindle). 

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Presumed Incompetent: The Intersections of Race and Class for Women in Academia

Presumed Incompetent: The Intersections of Race and Class for Women in Academia [Paperback]

Gabriella Gutierrez y Muhs (Editor), Yolanda Flores Niemann (Editor), Carmen G. Gonzalez (Editor), Angela P. Harris (Editor)

  • Reading level: Ages 18 and up
  • Paperback: 512 pages
  • Publisher: Utah State University Press; 1 edition (October 31, 2012)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0874219221
  • ISBN-13: 978-0874219227

  • October 31, 2012
    Presumed Incompetent is a pathbreaking account of the intersecting roles of race, gender, and class in the working lives of women faculty of color. Through personal narratives and qualitative empirical studies, more than 40 authors expose the daunting challenges faced by academic women of color as they navigate the often hostile terrain of higher education, including hiring, promotion, tenure, and relations with students, colleagues, and administrators. The narratives are filled with wit, wisdom, and concrete recommendations, and provide a window into the struggles of professional women in a racially stratified but increasingly multicultural America.

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