Hi, my name is D. V. Stone. I am a multi-genre author who also enjoys reading across genres. On this page you'll meet a great group of writers and get an insider's view into their lives and books. I hope you enjoy this special peek and find new and exciting reads.
Who – A native New Yorker now a relocated-to-the-Southwest romance-writing retired minister. I came across a saying which I’ve framed: do more of what makes you happy. That’s writing. I write in three romance subgenres: as Anna Taylor I write Christian inspirational, as Anna M. Taylor I write gothic and as Michal Scott I write erotic (mainly historical). I’ve had nine works published since I debuted with Through A Glass Darkly, my first Christian inspirational in 2008. Last year I dove into the self-publishing waters with my Haunted Harlem novella series. This year I’ve participated in Falling Hard, my second Passionate Ink anthology and Cowboys, my third Delilah Devlin Boy’s Behaving Badly anthology.
Interests – While I have many I must confess currently my number one can be summed up by this line from Shakespeare: “If music be the food of love play on.” I love music. Growing up in NYC, two of my favorite libraries were the Donnell Music library on 53rd Street and the Lincoln Center Library for the Performing Arts. Back then I could take out LPs and music scores to my adolescent’s heart’s delight: original Broadway cast albums, vintage recordings by conductors like Leopold Stokowski and Arturo Toscanni, performances of rarely heard works like Duke Ellington’s Black Brown and Beige. These days I use my Twitter and Facebook accounts more to share this interest than even to promote my writing.
Network – I’ve been writing romance seriously since I joined Romance Writers of America in 2003. Since then I’ve been a member on and off in eight of their chapters. The latest writing organization I’ve begun participating with is Romance Slam Jam. Started in 1995 in Dallas Texas “to demonstrate the power, passion and pain of black love.” It’s where I’ve been becoming acquainted with scores of African-American writers, podcasters, bloggers and readers.
Desk – Since moving to the Southwest I’ve replaced my lap on the way to work whether on the Long Island Railroad to Jamaica Queens or the Transport of New Jersey bus to Paterson NJ with a copper patio table in warm weather and my lap again in my bedroom with the heater on when it’s cold.
Outrageous: I have a VHS tape library of every episode of Sex in the City, quite a feat considering I only started watching it when it went into syndication. It’s neat comparing the edited versions aired on commercial broadcast TV with the unexpurgated versions I’m able to watch on Amazon Prime and in my iTunes library. I was a huge X-Files fan and have every episode of its nine seasons recorded in my VHS library as well. Writing X-Files fanfic is what revived my love of writing.
Window – My window on the world is my patio. Every morning and afternoon I can watch birds on the feeders. My backyard has also become a safe haven for recurring friends like Brownie the rabbit, Grayboy the squirrel (who feels comfortable enough to spread out on the patio after getting his fill of the Wildlife food I sprinkle on the ground), and an occasional road runner.
A Little In Love With Death (Haunted Harlem Book 2)
Anna M. Taylor
For the last hour Sankofa Lawford blinked through a haze of tears at her mother’s stricken face. She held the glassy-eyed woman’s hand and tried repeatedly to get her attention. No gesture stilled the older woman’s incessant rocking. No words penetrated her intonation of the same awful phrase.
“Them that tell don’t know and them that know don’t tell.
Them that tell don’t know and them that know don’t tell.”
Wanda Lawford suddenly stopped rocking and stared in Sankofa’s direction.
A bright glint of glee shone in Wanda’s gaze. Hope struggled for a foothold in Sankofa’s heart then slipped as a death head’s grin contorted her mother’s once beautiful features. With a grip made strong from madness, she pulled her daughter’s hand to her chest and leaned in so her lips pressed against Sankofa’s ears.
“A word to the wise is sufficient. Have you been wise?”
Her hissed warning parodied whispered confidences mother and daughter had shared in the past. Sankofa kissed away a tear from her mother’s cheek.
“Yes, Mama.” She swallowed the lie with a smile. “I’ve been wise.”
Wanda Lawford cupped her daughter’s face and smiled too.
“Good. He shouldn’t have gotten you then, but if you’re wise, he won’t get you now.”
Sankofa took a deep breath and controlled her sadness despite the wobble of her lips.
“Rest now, Mama. Rest. Okay?”
Wanda released Sankofa’s hand only to grip her own and begin rocking again, begin repeating again.
“Them that tell don’t know and them that know don’t tell.”
Them that tell don’t know and them that know don’t tell.”
Sankofa groped her way toward the door, willed her halting feet toward the sanity of the hospital corridor. She pressed a hand against her chest and leaned backed against a wall.
Sad-faced flower-carrying visitors brightened frowns into smiles before entering the rooms of their loved ones. Nurses’ aides delivered lunch on rattling carts. A call for Dr. Li to come to the nurses’ station sang through the air. The tang of Lysol assaulted her from the room across from her mother’s where orderlies cleaned up behind a happy return home or a sadder departure to the morgue. She lifted a silent prayer of thanks for these small handholds on normalcy.
“Jesus, have mercy. ”
Anna M. Taylor website: https://annamtaylor.webs.com
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