Hi everyone!! This year’s 30 Days 30 Authors has truly been wonderful so far! I’m happy that a lot of authors are being recognized for their talents in this widely diverse industry.
Another author that is surely making waves in the industry is Sabrina ELB Scales. Read about how she started in the industry as well as read a sample of Apt 17- Camille, from The Bricks series.
Now, here’s Sabrina! 🙂
Sabrina E L B Scales is a vibrant up and coming author of real, humorous, heart felt love stories. Born into what most would consider a less than desirable environment, this small town girl from southeast Texas was gifted with a unique outlook on love and life in general. It wasn’t always peaches and cream growing up between the BRICKS that she called home. Being the 7th of seven children, the closest in age almost ten years her senior, Sabrina was often left with lots of time to herself, improvising scripts for her Barbie Dolls to play out in the tiny theater that was her bedroom. With time, and the self prescribed treatment of a debilitating disease known as procrastination, the vivid imagination she used to escape boredom and the struggle, has finally transformed into actual characters in the pages of her books, who will blossom and grow right before your reading eyes!
You can find all my stories, blogs, and excerpts at sabrinaelbscales.com.
Follow me on FB https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSabrinaELBScales/
Become a member of The Bricks, where real meets love!
Let’s link up on Insta https://www.instagram.com/authorsabrinaelbscales/?hl=en
1. Besides writing, what else do you like to do?
I love to bake. More specifically, I love to bake teacakes! So much so that I’ve started a little side hustle by the name of “Purple Bag Teacakes”. Oddly enough, this was a surprise passion-if that makes sense-that took on a life its own!
2. What inspired you to become an author?
What inspired me to write was my upbringing. Though I didn’t come from the richest of neighborhoods, I was surrounded by people who were rich in ways that mattered. One of the most admirable women I know raised eight children by herself, working a minimum wage job while attending college, and many of my characters’ traits are pulled directly from people like her. People I know and love. It’s my way of thanking my Village for nurturing and contributing to this gift that God gave me.
3. What was your first reaction when your debut novel was published?
Honestly, I was terrified that no one outside of my friends and family would even read past the first page! Thank God I was wrong!
4. Where do you see yourself in the next 5 years?
I am boldly claiming, and diligently working towards authorial greatness because writing is what I was created to do. I’ll admit, it’s alot harder than I thought it would be taking on this literary world. It wouldn’t have made sense if someone told me this beforehand, but there’s alot more to being an author than telling stories. Luckily, I’ve met some amazing people along the way-readers and writers alike-who are so encouraging and resourceful. I’m so greatful for each and everyone of them, and it would be a shame to waste all the positive energy they’ve sent and continue to send my way. So I won’t. Quite honestly, I can’t.
5. Do you have any new projects that you are currently working on?
Always! My current WIP is book two of “The Bricks Series”. The series is reminiscent of “The Women of Brewster’s Place” and is loosely based on the apartment complex I grew up in, known by locals as The Bricks-hence the series title. Book Two is Tasia’s story, one that’s proving to be more of a challenge than book one because the subject matter is sooooo freaking emotionally taxing. You can get an idea why at the end of Camille’s story in book one (Free on Amazon September 16-17 only!!!). Hopefully, Tasia’s story will be ready by the end of September. Stay tuned!
6. What advice can you give to anyone who wants to become an author?
It’s so hard yet so simple. Write. The. Words! That’s half the battle. Probably the easiest half.
Behind these bricks, life comes at you fast. And whether you were there by choice or circumstance, there were lessons to be learned as well as taught. Nobody knew The Bricks better than the women who lived between them. These are their stories of lessons, blessings, love, and loss, brought to you brick by brick.
Ladies, and fellas too, you ever invested time in somebody that you knew was no good for you, holding on and waiting for them to change because you thought that you were special? Well I have, and I’m here to tell you that there’s a one percent chance of that change ever taking place, a two percent chance of them becoming a better person than they were before you found them, and a staggering ninety-seven percent chance of someone more deserving coming along if you’ll open your eyes, stop being stupid, and sit down with a common-sense calculator to tally up your worth. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s okay to waste a little time, because contrary to popular belief, there can be a happy ending on the other side of stupidity. And to prove it, I’m gonna take you for a walk through my own experience. I’m Camille, by the way, a resident here at The Rose Palms, aka The Bricks, apartment B17. Glad you stopped by.
Excerpt from Apt 17- Camille (The Bricks Series Book One):
“My Pots Ain’t Good Enough?”
Nothing looked sexier on a Friday afternoon, than him in my kitchen wearing a pair of white sweatpants and a crisp white t-shirt that I’d washed with this week’s load. I’d gladly pay my weight in gold to have this picture displayed before me more than once a week. But if a piece of Khembrell Watts was all that was available, it would have to suffice.
“What you starin at?” He slid those sexy honey drop eyes across the kitchen at me as I sat perched up on one of the leather barstools that came with the expensive ass dinette set he’d bought me to replace the one I’d been holding onto since before we met. It was the first piece of furniture I’d ever bought for myself, and I was proud of it—even if it did come from Goodwill. I can vividly remember Khem cursing that raggedy wooden thing out the first night he came over and decided it would be a nice place to eat my pussy. It was a miracle neither of us broke any bones when the poor table collapsed to the floor, only halting the sexual escapades that still took place that night.
“You know what I’m starin at.” I bit down on my lip, eyes fixed on the bulge at the front of his sweats, heat pooling in my pelvis as he reached in his leather bag to pull out his grandmother’s cast iron skillet. “And why do you keep bringin that skillet over here?” I asked, that warm pooling now slightly cooled at the sight of that thing. “I just bought a new set of pots. I was hopin you could break em in.”
He looked at me and shook his head. “You know I can’t fry chicken in just any old pan.” He said, carefully placing the skillet on top of my stove. “I’m sure your pots are nice, baby, but they ain’t Sasha Fry.”
Yes, Sasha Fry. As if it wasn’t strange enough for a grown man to have a pet skillet, he actually had a name for the damn thing. Though he said the name was given by his grandmother, it still didn’t make it any less strange.
“Stop poutin and bring your fine ass over here.” He commanded, reigniting that heat in my pelvis as he filled the skillet halfway with vegetable oil. “There’s two things I need when I’m in this kitchen, and that’s this skillet and a hand fulla you.”
I tiptoed over to him, unable to deny any request coming from those succulent, butter pecan lips. It was a damn shame to be this weak behind a man.
And I knew it.
I just couldn’t help myself.
“You been eatin butterscotch?” He asked after slowly sliding his lips down the length of my tongue. His arm draped around my waist, palm gripping the roundness of my ass, pulling me so close to him I could feel the muscles in his abdomen clenching.
“No.” I purred against his juicy lips. “You know I just taste sweet naturally.” I ran my tongue across my teeth as he brought his mouth back to mine.
Khem pulled me in against him, chest to chest, as he moved us a few steps away from the stove where the flame under Sasha Fry was heating the oil just as quickly as Khem’s throbbing erection was heating me. I was soaking wet beneath my cotton shorts with no panties in the way as he pulled at them, tugging them against my clit and up between my ass cheeks. I draped my arms up over his shoulders, sucking down the stretch of his long caramel neck, grinding against his growing erection as the cooking oil bubbled behind us.
“Baby, the oil.” I whispered in his ear. He lifted me off the floor and wrapped my legs around his waist. Khem was so used to handling my tiny frame, I was like a feather in his embrace.
He pecked my lips then pulled away to watch me squirm, activating those deep dimples as he made his way to the bag of seasoned and floured chicken he’d already prepped.
“So, you gone fuck me while you fry this chicken?” I smiled, holding on tight to his shoulders as he meticulously dropped one drumstick at a time into the hot oil while still holding me up around his waist.
“You damn right I’ma fuck you while I’m fryin this chicken.” He dropped the last piece in and rushed us over to the sink to rinse the flour off his hand.
My body tingled as he brought that wet hand under my t-shirt, massaging my titties as he rested my bottom on the countertop. “You losin faith in my ability to multitask?” He mumbled against my neck, the rumbling in his voice sending chills down my spine.
“Never, baby.” I raised my hips against him, enjoying the coolness of the counter’s surface against the back of my thighs. “I missed you so fuckin much.”
“I missed you too, Mama.” He moaned, tugging at the waistband of my shorts, his flesh poking out against his sweats like a pole beneath a sheet. “I’m bout to tear this pussy up.”
“Daddy! Mama! What the?”
My nipples never went soft so fast in my damn life! Every aroused part of my body went straight to church.
“Khassidy, what you doin here?” Khem squeaked, quickly fixing his sweats while I fixed my shorts. “I thought you said she was out.” He helped me down from the counter, rubbing his hand down his face as our twelve-year-old daughter looked at us in disgust.
“I thought she was.” I bucked my eyes at Khassidy. “Khas, what happened? Wasn’t Veda supposed to be pickin you up to go to the movies with Shay?”
“She canceled.” She answered, her face still covered in ewww. “So, this is what y’all do when I’m gone?” She folded her arms, smiling and looking just like her daddy, dimples and all. “Daddy, I can still see you over there.” She teased as Khem forked chicken onto the paper towels he’d laid in a long pan at the center of the stovetop.
“Good.” He glanced up at his baby girl. “Now come set the table.”
Khassidy walked into the kitchen, keeping her arms folded tight, over exaggerating how grossed out she was by catching her parents in the act.
“I’m gonna go hop in the shower.” I announced, bumping Khassidy’s hip on my way out of the kitchen.
“Please do.” She snickered. “And you too, Daddy. But not at the same time.” She joked.
“Aye, watch it.” Khem turned to face her after dropping the last half of his famous fried chicken into the bubbling oil. “You might be growin, but you ain’t grown.” He pulled her in and kissed her forehead. “Sorry you saw that, though, baby girl.” I heard him whisper an apology. Khem was by no means a perfect man, but he never wanted to embarrass or disappoint Khassidy.
Win Sabrina’s book, Apt 17- Camille, along with books from each participating author in the 30 Days giveaway!
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