Meet The Author

Meet The Author: Interview with Sheila L. Jackson


Contemporary Christian Romance and Suspense writer, Sheila L. Jackson grew up reading different genres and styles of writing. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine one day of becoming a writer herself. Years later, she decided it was time to take a leap of faith and put her pen into action.  Her passion is to write fictional stories that tackle real life issues.

When Sheila is not writing, you can find her at the movies. She is a huge fan of the Marvel/DC Cinematic Universe and action/thriller/suspense movies.

Sheila has penned many articles, such as: Only the Strong Survive, Count it all Joy, Suffering in Silence, and The World of Sports-When the Glitz and Glamour Ends, which all appeared in Dream Magazine. Sheila also wrote: Voting Booths -Speak now or forever hold your peace (during the 2008 presidential election) for the Shreveport Times

Mrs. Jackson has appeared on KTBS-TV, Comcast Cable Station, and KOKA with Barbara Norton (State Representative) & Curtis Wright, 1340 Super-Talk, KMJJ, and From Bondage to Freedom radio/studio broadcasts. Along with her media and radio appearances/interviews, she has also appeared in The Forum, SB Magazine, Dream Magazine, Urban Faith Magazine and The Shreveport Times.

Get To Know Author Sheila L. Jackson:

How does your faith fit into your books? 

There is no way that I could write Christian Fiction if my faith didn’t play a huge part in it. I have faced many obstacles in my life and it shows through my writing. The characters I created each have to face some type of difficulties in their lives, but it is their faith that brings them through.

What is your favorite positive saying or motivational phrase? 

 I coined this one myself years ago to help keep me inspired, “I want more out of life than just to exist.”

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

Yes. Never allow anyone to extinguish your dreams. God anointed you with the gift, not others.

How much of yourself is hidden in the characters in your book? 

 A lot, some are lovable, witty, corny, dramatic, and aggressive. I have all these characteristics rolled up in one body, each shows up in my life when needed.

What is the most pivotal point of a writer’s life?

For me, when readers express how my stories helped them through difficult situations in their lives.  It’s a sign of validation, knowing that the words God has inspired me to write is reaching and helping others.

What do you like the most about being an author?

Knowing that lives are changed and life lessons are learned through the stories that I tell, is a blessing as well as rewarding. Whenever I want to give up on writing, there is always a reader that will send me a letter about how my books have changed his or her life. It fuels my spirit to continue on this uncertain journey as a writer.

Why did you write, Chasing A Dream?

For others to know that there is no age limit when wanting to start on a new career path. When God gives you the vision, it’s for you. Stop looking for validation from those who cannot see it.

Where to Find The Author and The Book:

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A family…a career…a dream…can a woman really have it all?

Florence Kinkaid is content as a small town clothing designer and seamstress. Married to her high school sweetheart and the mother of two sets of twins, she’s certain her life is complete. But deep in her heart a forgotten dream waits. A dream she tries to ignore. When a noted fashion mogul undertakes a nationwide contest to discover America’s next fashion designer, Flo wonders…what if?

Flo secretly enters the contest and is thrilled when she is named one of the top five finalists. When she tells her husband William, she’s shocked to find opposition in her own home. William wants things to stay as they are and does his best to discourage her from leaving. He calls her opportunity a pipe dream. Hurt, but determined to get a second chance at her dream, Flo decides to prove her husband wrong and follow her heart. But in doing so, will it cost her more than she’s willing to pay?


“William, we need to get away, just the two of us,” she said, seductively, staring at him chomping down on his food. He never looked up at her, making her feel some type of way. “There is a life outside of Gomer, you know.”

Chewing in rapid motion, he commented, “People are going crazy with these mass shootings and driving trucks with bombs into crowds, baby. We need to wait until things get better, then we’ll see the world.”

She rolled her eyes, tired of hearing the same old yadda, yadda.

“And besides, we can’t afford it right now.” He pushed his plate forward, sucked his teeth, and said, “Are you going through…um, what they call it?”

She cut her eyes over at him, annoyed, knowing what he was about to say.

“A mid-life crisis.”

“Are you serious, Will? It’s been years since the two of us have gone anywhere alone. And no, I’m not going through a mid-life crisis. I’m tired of coming in last place in this house.”

She stood from her seat, hands on hip, continuing her complaint.

“It’s bad enough that I’ve had to put my dreams on hold. And so have you.” She didn’t mean for that to slip out, but his cheapskate ways made her lash out and say what she’d been holding in.

“Look, I have to go.” He pushed from the table, wiping his mouth.  He tried leaning in to kiss her goodbye.

She winced, turning her face away from him.

He tried once more to touch her but she remained stiff as a board. “Flo, we’re not kids anymore and we’re certainly not getting any younger. It’s time we let go of these pipe dreams.”

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Book Features

Sneak Peek of The Other Thief by Frank McKinney


Chapter 13 – The Other Thief

Sleep eluded me, in spite of having gotten plenty of exercise in the blazing Arizona sun with the kids, riding ride after ride and slide after slide at the water park. They’d been so happy all day, yet seeing their joy at spending time together as a family only served to drive a dagger of shame through my heart. Mary had looked so happy, too. It was hard enough to watch her play with the kids with such love in her eyes and in her soul. But each time she turned those love-eyes on me, I had to force my return gaze or look away. It was becoming more and more painful to receive her loving attention. Thank God for dark sunglasses.

Tired of staring through the black of our bedroom toward the ceiling, I got up around 4:30 a.m. again and retreated to my home studio. It felt good to put some physical distance between me and the angelic presence sleeping so soundly beside me. I didn’t deserve to share her bed. I needed to get alone with my thoughts, alone with God, and plan my course of action—my confession. I wanted to rehearse the words so thoroughly that I couldn’t second-guess myself. Even though I continued to pray for strength and courage, each time I tried to gather my thoughts, I was consumed with the memory of how horrifically my first confession had gone.

I could still back out—at least partially. I could still just tell her about Paulina. That would probably be easier. After all, according to Dr. Shapiro, she seemed about to regain her memory anyway. Or I could just tell her about Cindy, which seemed the worse of the two options. Either of those options would be easier than making a double confession! But as I thought about what Pastor John had taught me, I realized that in order to cut both ungodly soul ties, I would need to confess to both sins. Yes, it would have to be done that way, I resolved. I would do it as soon as Mary woke up.
I went into the kitchen and brewed her a strong cup of coffee, hoping the aroma would wake her. Killing time by opening messages in my office, I read another reminder from Stephanie to meet her in the studio to sign off on Forgiven. I started rationalizing my plan to talk with Mary first thing when she woke up. Surely, I couldn’t drop a bomb like that and then leave her alone while I was at the studio all day. I decided I’d better meet with Stephanie first, so that the rest of my day would be clear for consoling Mary. I took care of mundane office tasks until after sunrise, left Mary’s coffee in the microwave with a note on the kitchen counter, let Stephanie know I could meet her, and headed out for the studio.
I got to the studio before Stephanie. It was just after sunrise and the early rays of sunshine splashed across the lobby walls, highlighting Justus’ framed photos, awards, and our platinum record for Sanctified. The rays reflected off that album back into my eyes, making me wonder how I had strayed so far from the path that had gotten me here. It was as if God was sending me a message. His light was what had gotten me this far, and I longed for it again. In my mind, I begged God to allow Philippians 3:13 to bear fruit: “I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead.” I so desperately wanted to leave this unfamiliar Francis in my past.

When Stephanie arrived, I was grateful to find her in all-business mode, anxious to get the final listen-through taken care of. As she fired up the equipment, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I glanced just long enough to see that it was a call coming in from Cindy. Really! This early? Anger surged through me as I sent the call to voicemail and turned off my phone. The last thing I needed was for Stephanie to see Cindy calling me, giving her an opportunity to reopen that line of interrogation with me.
“I’m so excited!” Stephanie said. It felt great to see her smiling in my direction again. That hadn’t happened much lately. “The press conference for Forgiven is all set up for next week, followed by a spectacular release party at the Beverly Hills Hotel! And the week after that, you’re off to Haiti to collect your medal of honor. God is so good!”

“Wow, that’s fantastic!” I said. “We sure have come a long way, haven’t we Steph?”

“I was just thinking about that,” said Stephanie, wistfully. “Do you remember when we recorded our first song, ‘Justus,’ about the 14th disciple? We didn’t even have a record contract yet. We begged our way into that tiny, makeshift studio in the back of the Sam Goody Music store at 2:00 a.m. when no one was around.”

“I remember,” I said. “Our only plan then was to sell the song after each mass at church and at church festivals, to anyone who would buy it! And even though we barely made any money, we had all agreed from the start to split the proceeds with the church’s soup kitchen that fed Keeler’s homeless. We went all over town stapling flyers onto telephone poles!” My heart melted a bit, thinking about our humble origins and how simple things were back then.

“Do you remember how we celebrated the wrap-up of that first recording?” she asked, the twinkle in her eyes telling me she remembered it well.

“I do!” I said. “We scraped together just enough money to take the band, families, and Pastor John out to a celebratory dinner at Applebee’s!” I beamed at Stephanie, noticing her moist eyes and realizing how much our work together had meant to her all these years.

“I’ll always remember that dinner,” she said.

“No matter how over-the-top amazing this Beverly Hills Hotel party turns out to be—and believe me, it will be amazing!—nothing will ever beat the excitement and innocence of that first celebration. I hope you don’t mind that I told the catering staff at the hotel to have the same Buffalo wings and nachos that we had that night.”

“Not at all! Great idea! Can you imagine if we’d had a crystal ball at that first celebration, and could see what we were destined for?” Right after the words left my mouth, their full implications hit me. All the fame, all the money, all the good I’d been able to do in the world—that’s what I was initially thinking about when I imagined my younger self looking into that crystal ball. But what if the crystal ball had also revealed the shitpile I’d made of my personal life? It would have shattered young Francis’ heart.
We put on our headsets to begin the final listen. The rest of the band had already signed off, and it was always me and Steph who had the final say. The tracks sounded fantastic—even better than I’d remembered them. I turned up the volume to really feel their impact. At the end of each song, Stephanie and I gave one another nods and high-fives to indicate our approval.

But when the very last song came on—the title song—my insides began to churn. It was the most powerful song Justus had ever recorded, and the most impactful lyrics the Holy Spirit had ever moved me to write. But something just didn’t feel right. Somehow the song just didn’t feel like it had felt when I’d written it. It felt sharp. Painful, even. I listened to myself sing, “All I need is you to love. For you to set me free. All I need is your breath inside of me. To give me life. Bring me back to my knees.” Unable to bear it any longer, I pulled the headset off.
Seeing that Stephanie had noticed my discomfort and wanting to avoid a conversation with her, I quickly said, “Yep! That’s a wrap. Everything sounds great. Thanks for meeting me here today and getting this over to the label.” I grabbed my keys and tried to make a beeline for the door.

“I understand why that song upset you, Francis.”

Stopped by her words, I quickly turned around to face her. “I’m fine. All’s good. This album is going to sell millions. Let’s get it to the record label right away.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

I got the sense Stephanie wanted to question me. She wanted a status update on Cindy. I could feel it in her. But she must have also been able to feel me. My emotional exhaustion. My soul’s ache. My remorse and my shame. She walked over to me and put her hands on my shoulders.
Softly, she said, “You are stronger than you feel. You’re a better man than it seems right now. And you will come through this season of your life.”

She hugged me for a long time, allowing her friendship and her belief in me to sink deep into my soul. Unable to articulate my immense gratitude, I gave her a quick, “thank you” squeeze and left the studio. Blinking into the bright midday sun, I pulled out my phone to text Mary. I steeled myself, gathered my nerve, and typed, “Hi, sweetheart. Meet me at the Sanctuary for lunch?”

Mary’s reply came back immediately. “So Forgiven is a wrap? That does call for a celebration! I’ll be there as soon as I pick Heather up from swimming and drop her off with Eddie and Delia.”

Driving to the Sanctuary, I tried to rehearse my confession. But imagining Mary’s face upon hearing what I’d done was too painful. I decided the confession would have to just come out naturally in the moment. If I kept trying to plan it, I was afraid I’d back out. It was like making a plan to saw off your own leg. The more you thought about it in advance, the less likely you’d be to actually go through with it.

I asked the hostess for a quiet table in the corner and ordered a root beer.

“You’re in Justus, aren’t you?” asked the shy waitress as she set a basket of chips on my table.

“I am,” I said, extending my hand. “Francis Rose. Good to meet you.”

“I’m sure people ask you all the time—so you don’t have to say yes—but do you think we could take a picture together? My boyfriend will never believe this.”

“Of course,” I said, leaning into her photo.

“Would you like an autograph?”

“Thank you! Could I have two?”

I fulfilled the waitress’s requests, sending her happily off her shift. I nervously scanned the room. It was taking Mary much longer to arrive than I expected. My mind ambled down dark pathways of possibility. Mary had said she’d be going by the house first. What if Cindy had been there, waiting to talk to her? Or what if Cindy had called her? Maybe Cindy was angry with me for ignoring her call and took revenge by spilling our secret to Mary. God, I would be glad when all of this shit was over. Just a few more minutes and I wouldn’t have to be tortured by this anymore—at least not the secrets part.

Sensing commotion at the restaurant entrance, I looked up to see Mary barreling toward me with a terrified expression I’d never seen on her before. Eyes wide, hair frazzled, she accidentally knocked over a chair as she rushed across the crowded restaurant. Adrenaline shot through my bloodstream. Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. It had happened! She’d found out!

Two valets came running after her, calling “Ma’am! Ma’am!” One put his hand on her arm and she twirled to face him, looking disoriented, as though she couldn’t imagine why he’d stopped her.

“I need your car key, Ma’am,” he said—apologetically, because her distress was palpable. Mary gave him the keys in her hand, and angrily took the stub offered by the other valet.

My heart stiff with fear, unable to breathe, I stood up, utterly unready for whatever was about to take place.

Mary lurched to the table like a zombie and leaned against it, staring at me.

“Honey . . . honey, say something,” I said, bracing for the worst. When she didn’t respond, I started rambling. “Mary, it’s terrible, I know. God help me, I can explain. I talked to Pastor–”

Mary grabbed me around the neck and sobbed, “It’s the worst thing, Francis! Why? Why?”

Shaking, I rested my forehead on her shoulder. How could I answer that question? It was the same question I’d been asking myself, but I’d never gotten any kind of answer that made sense. Why? Why? Why had I done this to her? My mouth dry, I pulled her away from me to look into her eyes.

“Mary, please know how much I love you. I made a terrible, terrible mistake.”

“Why did it happen? Why did it happen, again?” she sobbed.

Her question stunned me. She was finally remembering my first confession after all this time, and now she was asking how it could happen again with Cindy!

I struggled to get my response right. I opened my mouth to speak, but there was no air to even push out of my lungs. Before I could formulate an answer, she sobbed, “I guess I should have known better than to drive that route, but I wasn’t even thinking about it. And then, just as I passed that spot on East Camelback where we crashed . . . Oh God, I saw her again!” Mary fell into my arms, dissolving into tears, unable to continue.

Slowly, it dawned on me. Mary didn’t know. She. Didn’t. Know. Mary still didn’t know my shameful secrets. She’d had one of her visions, and that was what all this was about. The rollercoaster ride of my emotions was making me too dizzy to support her so I led her to a chair at the table and scooted my chair right up next to hers.

“It was just a vision, sweetheart,” I said, my hands shaking.

“But Francis, it wasn’t the same! It was awful! It was the clearest one I’ve ever had, and you were in it this time! You were lying on the side of the road. It was so terrible; it looked like you were dead! It was you and that same woman I’ve seen before. Oh, how I’ve come to hate her, Francis! That woman with the skin-tight black clothing and the red lipstick and that long, shiny, black hair. Only . . . only this time, the hair started to change, Francis! It seemed to be turning from black to blonde! It was like the woman herself was changing into a different woman, starting with the hair, but then it all disappeared before I could see any more. Why? Why does this keep happening to me? Make it stop!”

My thoughts formed a tornado in my mind as I took my sobbing, trembling wife into my arms. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. It’s over now,” I said.

Wiping her eyes and dabbing at her nose with a napkin, Mary asked, “Francis, why did you say you made a terrible mistake?”

I froze.

Mary continued, “It wasn’t your mistake, honey. I know you don’t like to drive. It was my mistake that we crashed that night.”

Awash with more emotions than I knew how to process, I needed to step away to get my bearings. I said, “Let me get you a drink, sweetheart,” and headed for the bar. What if this newest vision brought flashes of memory with it? What if she were about to remember the conversation in the car that preceded the crash? I had to tell her before she remembered it on her own! But how could I tell her when she was in such a disoriented frenzy?

“Hey, look who it is!” said the bartender. It was Dave, the one I’d met the night I’d been here with Cindy.

“Just a glass of Chardonnay,” I said, hoping to let him know, with my tone, that I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“That blonde you came in with the other night, Mr. Rose—wow, what a hottie! I bet women throw themselves at you like crazy! That Christian rock thing must really melt the chicks’ hearts—and panties!” He winked at me, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Can you just get me the wine?”

“Sure, sure, I’m getting it. I bet it’s for that other beauty you have lined up over there in the corner. I gotta hand it to you, man, it’s a great gig! What an act!”

I threw money on the bar and took Mary’s wine. “Cindy is a longtime family friend,” I said, “and that beauty over there is my wife.”
Dave smiled broadly. “Okay, Mr. Christian rock star! Your secret is safe with me! Rock on!”

Mary was still visibly shaken when I returned with her wine. Frustrated and at the end of my rope, I said, “Damn it, sweetheart, I’m so goddamn sorry this keeps happening. What can I do to help you?”

“Just please help me make it stop, Francis. With all of Eddie’s issues lately, and with you being gone so much working on Forgiven, I’ve really been struggling. I need you now more than ever.”

Mary brought my hand up and gently laid it to the side of her cheek, searching my face for reassurance that I would be her hero and protector, just as I’d always been. Over her shoulder, I saw Bartender Dave watching us. Catching my eye, he made the zipper-across-the-lips gesture, insinuating that his lips were sealed.

I slouched back in my chair, leaning my head on the headrest, dead and empty inside. All my hopefulness at being near the end of my self-inflicted torture, all my resolutions and pure intentions—I watched it all melt away like the ice in my root beer. The confession wasn’t going to happen—not now, and probably not ever. I would never be unburdened of my sin. I had done the deliverance with Pastor John and that would just have to be the extent of my repentance. Whatever weak, pathetic, sinful creature I’d become, it was time for me to accept the truth of it and move on.

About The Book

Francis Rose, lead singer for a meteorically popular Christian rock band, has it all―fame, fortune, family, and deep faith. With the support of his loving wife, young daughter, and Down-syndrome blessed son, he’s gone from performing to an audience of 20 at his tiny Lutheran church in Keeler, Indiana, to selling out 20,000-seat arenas. His impact is global, soulful, and seemingly unstoppable.

The seven deadly sins don’t stand a chance against a man of Francis’ character, morality, and faith. Or do they? Their alluring assault is relentless as Francis encounters each of them along his ascending path to superstardom. Will the full armor of God protect him, or will his vast talents and blessings be undone by the threats posed by a foreign and unlikely demon?

Is it too late? Can he be saved? Should he be saved?

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Book Features

Sneak Peek of Books 1 & 2 of the Son of Ishmael Series by Unoma Nwankwor

Born in Akron, Ohio to Nigerian parents, Unoma Nwankwor is an award winning, international best-selling author of several fiction titles, and a champion of purpose. She is the recipient of the Nigerian Writers’ Award 2015 for Best Faith Based Fiction Writer. At the end of 2016, she was short listed for the Diaspora Writer of the Year. She was also recently named as one of the “100 Most Influential Nigerian Writers Under 40”
When she is not writing fiction, she empowers women of faith to remain rooted in hope by building confident expectations in the promises of God. She’s the host of the Anchor Talk Podcast, the COO of KevStel Group LLC and Founder of Living A Life of Expectancy.
Unoma resides in Atlanta with her husband and two children.


The oldest of the Danjuma brothers, Rasheed was a self-made man. He’d learned at an early age that love and commitment brought with it complications he didn’t want to deal with. His single-minded focus had paid off. He was able to step into the shoes of his absentee father by taking care of his mother and twin brothers. But just when he thought he could stop carrying the weight of his family on his shoulders, he gets a call that could change the trajectory of Rasheed’s life.

Ibiso Jaja, a professional caterer, had gambled on the love of a man and lost. Through the redeeming love of God, she had picked herself up and was now living her dream as the owner of Bisso Bites, a bistro in the heart of Abuja. However circumstances conspire to threaten the bistro and bring her face to face with the type of man she has vowed to avoid. The attraction is instant.

Once again, Rasheed is forced to do something he has done all his life – put the needs of his family ahead of his own. This time however, he crosses path with the sassy, independent, Jesus-loving caterer who is bent on making him see the power of forgiveness and God’s love. Just when Rasheed lets his guard down, a deadly sabotage causes old demons to rise. Will Rasheed continue to pursue power and success or surrender to the light of God’s love?

Read An Excerpt

Rasheed Danjuma sighed aloud at the sight of another unwanted email from the law
offices of Ezekiel and Stanley. These lawyers were beginning to work his last nerve. He placed his finger over the touchpad of his laptop, directed the cursor to the delete icon and pressed it.It had been six months since Zayd Danjuma, the man that contributed to his genetic makeup had passed away. And his lawyers were still hounding him. Rasheed had thought his non-attendance of the funeral service was a clear indication of his disinterest in anything they had to say about his so-called father.

Determined not to let the email ruin his day, he picked up the receiver and dialed his
assistant’s extension. She picked up at the first ring.

“Yes, Rasheed?”

“Have you heard anything back from those clients in the United States?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “But while you were on your conference call, your mother

Rasheed felt a strange rise in his stomach. His mother almost never called him on his office phone unless she wanted to reach him in a hurry.

“Did she leave a message?”

“No, she just said to let you know she called.”

“Okay, thank you.” He disconnected the call.

Rasheed walked over to his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Looking out of the large window of his Hyde Park office, his sense of unease grew. He checked, and there were three missed called from his mother. His voice mail was empty. What was going on? He dialed his mother. She answered on the third ring.

“Mama, you tried to reach me. Is everything okay?”

“Nna, I really don’t know how to answer that.”

His mother used her term of endearment, Nna, for her sons when she wanted to ask for something she knew they didn’t want to give.“What is it?”

“Those lawyers from your father’s estate came to see me today,” she said. “Rasheed, I don’t want those men in my shop or house. I’m asking you again to come home and see what they want.”

Rasheed’s jaw set. How dare those lawyers hound his mother? Why was it so important that he and his brothers attend the stupid will reading? Even though it had been twenty-five years since their father had walked out of their lives, the memory of that morning was still vivid. Their father didn’t care about them in life, so why was he so concerned about their well-being in death? Squaring up against those lawyers himself was one thing, but when they involved his mother, it was totally different. He wouldn’t have it.

“You mean they came to your shop?” Rasheed asked as though he didn’t hear her the first time. Anger shot through his feet as he began to pace the length of his office.

“Yes.” His mother’s voice sounded shaky. “It’s one thing for them to call but to show up,I don’t appreciate it. They almost scared my customers away.”

After his mother had retired as a school administrator, she had decided she couldn’t sit idle. Her love of fashion led to the opening of a boutique in the heart of Abuja’s business district. Within months, the business had flourished. Rasheed had supported her because whatever made his mother happy made him happy, too. After many years of living in pain, she deserved to live her life in peace. They all did.

Rasheed’s mind went back to the email he’d received earlier in the day. Since these
lawyers were playing hardball, it was clear he had no choice but to travel to Nigeria. “If those lawyers call you again, tell them I’ll be there soon.”

His mother’s sigh expressed her relief. “God bless you, my son.”

“It’s okay, Mama. They better make it worth my while. If not, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”


When cardiac surgeon, Jabir Danjuma met Damisi Odinga at the University of Michigan seven years ago, it wasn’t necessarily love at first sight. With love comes commitment and he knows that’s not a promise he could keep, after all he is his father’s son. However, their attraction can’t be denied. Their ensuing one year romance is passionate and intense, and he begins to feel the forbidden emotion—love. Just as he starts to let his guard down, Damisi breaks up with him and moves half way around the world to Lagos, Nigeria. He knows immediately that the demise of their relationship has something to do with that church she joined. She becomes unrecognizable and wants to change him into something he is not. His studies are the most important thing to him, so he did what any sane man would do, let her go.

Popular television personality Damisi Odinga, needs to end the fourth season of her show Becoming Ruth, with a bang. The trending topic in the country is the fairy-tale wedding of the heir to the Danjuma empire. The family has been shrouded in secrecy ever since the unknown sons resurfaced in the country last year.

Coverage of the wedding weekend will give her show the boost it needs and seal its number one rating. No one can get an interview with the couple but she had a way in, her ex man, Jabir Danjuma. So what if he broke her heart and she hasn’t been able to get over him? This was kingdom business, right?

Years ago, Damisi left him without an explanation and now Jabir has her just where he wants her. Their encounter sets off a series of events that leave them both with fresh pain and hurt. Angry, they leave Abuja to their destinations. If they didn’t set eyes on each other again it would be too soon. But little did they know that fate has another thing planned. Will they stick it out long enough for the Potter to perfect their scars and pain for His purpose or will distance and time steal the day.

Read A Excerpt

Thirty minutes later, Jabir was in the KTN lobby waiting for Damisi. He got curious stares from the receptionist and guard. He didn’t know whether it was because he looked like Kamal—someone they’d recognize—or because Damisi never received male visitors. He hoped it was the latter.
The space was decorated in light colors, and the walls were decorated with paintings or pictures of guests of their shows. He walked to the one the one that had Damisi in it. She was on the set of her show and looked beautiful. She had a microphone in her hand and was smiling. From the picture, he could see she loved what she did. His eyes saddened at what the scandal would do to her career. If they acted fast, she might have a chance of salvaging it, but she was too stubborn, and his approach wasn’t helping either. He had to get her to see reason.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered behind him.

Jabir turned around and marveled at how gorgeous she looked. He smiled inwardly.

“I figured you could use breakfast.” He handed her the smoothie and the box of pastries.

She took it from him slowly, her eyes softening with gratitude. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t be here.”
Jabir frowned. “Why? Expecting someone?”

She grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him to the corner. He resisted at first, but caved when he saw the plea in her eyes. “I really appreciate the breakfast, but I thought you were supposed to be on your way to Badagry. I really don’t need any rumors started.”

He lifted his brow. “Rumors? I’m not doing anything but making sure you’re fed. The baby needs to eat.”

She looked around in shocked horror. “Shhhh. Do you want to say it a little louder?” She rolled her eyes at him and he chuckled. “Jabir, please you can’t be here. In case you forgot, you look like one of the most recognizable Nigerian soccer players. I can’t do the rumor mill now.”

He wanted to dismiss her argument, but he was running late, and she was right. But then he had another idea. “Okay, I’ll leave on one condition.”


“Really.” He smirked.

Some people walked past them and did a double take. Damisi panicked. “What is it?”

“Have dinner with me when I get back.”
Damisi hesitated, then someone she knew walked over to say hello to them. By now, he could see the fury in her eyes. The daggers in them were aimed at him. He raised his eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you. Okay. Go,” she said hurriedly and turned away. He watched her go, but smiled when she walked back his way. “Thank you, and please drive safe.”

Yep. This new approach just might work. There was hope.

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Sneak Peek of His Last Resort by M. A. Malcom


Driven and focused, business owner and future pastor Robert Marsden knows exactly what he wants… and what he doesn’t. The Do Not Disturb sign he’s placed on his heart is his way of discouraging the ‘wanna-be first ladies’ who’ve set their sights on him… ladies like Claire Foxwood. The way he sees it, Claire and others like her are clearly more focused on impressing others than on their eternal souls.

Claire can’t help her attraction to Robert, but his decision to make a public spectacle of her hurts to the core. Part of her wants to give him a piece of her mind, but the rest of her remains infatuated with the man who’s too attractive for his – and her – own good. If only she didn’t feel like he has a role to play in her destiny!

Can Ruby “Aunt Ruby” Crawford’s words of godly wisdom peppered with a hint of humor help the misguided pair look deep within themselves and discover God’s plan for their lives?


 “Do you go out of your way to be offensive to everyone? Or am I special?” She folded her arms and looked crossly at Robert. Chaz stood alert, as if he was aware of his owner’s mood.

“Excuse me?” He wondered if he’d heard her right.

“I’ve wracked my brain, Mr. Marsden. I’ve gone over every minute of every conversation we’ve ever had, and the only time I remember being even a little bit rude to you was that day at your church. Clearly, my defensiveness that day made more of an impact than I thought, so please let me apologize. I’m sorry for my behavior that afternoon. I was annoyed that you had so easily forgotten me, although I obviously remembered meeting you. It was childish, and if I was rude or out of line, I’m really sorry. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go.”

She stepped away from him, but Robert moved in front of her and stood with his legs wide apart and his hands on his hips, effectively blocking her path. It was amazing how attractive she was with her face free of makeup and covered in perspiration. If circumstances were different, he might be tempted to lean forward and kiss the bead of sweat from just above her top lip and then maybe he’d—

He caught himself mid-thought and tried to remember what she had just said.

As if she were aware of the direction his thoughts had taken, she retrieved a small towel that had been tucked into the waistband of her pants and mopped her face.

“Thank you for the apology, as unnecessary as it was. Exactly how have I ever been offensive to you?”

She gave a wry laugh. “I guess the word is not so much offensive as it is judgmental.” She moved towards the nearby park bench, but remained standing.

“Me? Judgmental?” He was quite confused. Was he hearing right?

“You. Judgmental….”

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About The Author:

M. A. Malcolm, a native of Jamaica, is a wife, mother, stepmother, daughter, sister and aunt. She is a freelance copy editor, administrative service provider and self-publishing consultant who also works part-time as an educator. With a passion for enhancing the work of Christian writers, she is certified in copyediting and is the founder of Nitpicking with a Purpose ( Over the years, she has worked with a host of local and international authors and authors-to-be.

When she published her first book, “His Last Hope: A Contemporary Christian Romance” in July, 2015, she fully expected it to be ‘one and done.’ She had no intention of writing another book of any kind; however, readers have demanded more, and the Lord has made it possible for her to comply. Not only has He allowed her more time to write; He has also given her more messages to share.

 With the anticipated publication of “His Last Resort,” the first part of her relatively recent vision of turning “His Last Hope” into a series has come true. She is currently working on two more manuscripts in the series, and has plans for a third.

In 2016, she also became a children’s author with the publication of her first children’s book, “So very… Max!”—a modern-day response to Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Ugly Duckling.”

Mrs. Malcolm has been a part of Faith in Christ Ministries in Westmoreland, Jamaica, for more than ten years. She divides her time among her family; work and writing projects; dogs; to-be-read list, and catching up on much-needed sleep.

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