#SnippetSunday: Power Play



“Art is something you feel. It makes you feel alive. When you see a picture, the beauty of it should stun you. When you hear a song on the radio, it should become your instant favorite. When you see a movie, you wonder of the brilliance of the director and actors. Even when you eat food, your mouth should crave it from the first bite and make it a memorable experience. You may not remember the exact dish, but you’ll remember that place and think it was the best damn food you’ve ever had.” Ian’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I’m looking for! That’s the brilliance!”

“You’re looking for your Thriller,” Dominique stated, referring to the iconic Michael Jackson album.

“I’m looking for my Thriller,” Ian agreed. “Hell, I’m looking for my Off the Wall at this point.”

“Well, there’s someone I follow but I don’t know if she’s Thriller or Off the Wall-worthy. She might be a little Control.” Dominique referenced Janet Jackson’s album before she opened her phone and handed it to Ian. “Take a looksee.”

Ian shrugged and breathed another sigh. It didn’t hurt to look at just one more artist before he retired for the day. He glanced down at Dominique’s phone and his eyes widened. Rich and bold colors like yellow, purple, and burgundy stared back at him. A powerful image of a semi-nude black woman with curled fists and a large poufy Afro was at the forefront.

The caption read – Do Not Touch My Hair.

Ian gasped and felt his breath taken away yet again. This time he felt the emotions he wanted to feel – shock, awe, helplessness, intrigue, and a bit of anger.

“My God!” Ian’s eyes widened. “Who is this?”

“Sydney Walker,” Dominique added. “She’s the fiancée of Dean Winchester.”

“Who’s that?” Ian shook his head.

“The next Wayne Gretzky,” Dominique stood behind Ian as he perused more of Sydney’s artwork.

“And who’s that?”

“Nevermind,” Dominique bit her tongue. Ian was never into any sport that wasn’t rugby, sailing, and whatever wealthy people invented to kill the time. “Anyway, long story short, she has a show coming up in a few days. Maybe you can attend and look at some of her drawings in person. I’m sure she’ll be there.”

“I’m there,” Ian wrote down Sydney’s contact information. “Thank you, Domi. That’ll be it for now.”

“You’re welcome.” Dominique took her phone back and began to leave. “Maybe you can find yourself a nice, good woman while you’re there.”

“The only woman I want is walking out of my office,” Ian replied as he watched Dominique’s rear jiggle from side to side.

Once Ian was alone again, he opened his computer and researched Sydney. She hailed from San Francisco and counted alternative and R&B music as her creative favorites. She loved reality TV, thrift store shopping, and nursed a Crown Royal habit. When he pulled up a picture of her, her beauty stunned him. Her long, black hair was straightened to a shiny perfection. Her café au lait skin complemented her perfectly white teeth. Her tone body suggested a strong dedication to fitness.

She was stunning. Beauty behind the art, Ian smiled.

He viewed a few more photos and saw a side by side mashup with her and what he assumed was Dean. Ian shrugged at Dean’s photo. Long, blond hair with a matching scruffy beard. He was a nice-looking fella but he also had the feeling Sydney could do better. Someone a bit more sophisticated and could understand her passion for art more. It was wrong to judge but Ian’d sensed there wasn’t much gluing the pair together. It seemed so…odd.

He found where her art show was going to be and made sure he was available that night. He closed his laptop again and leaned back into his chair with a proud smile.

Forget Thriller, Ian just found his Purple Rain.


Power Play will be out next month.

It’s no secret Prince had a lot of influence on my creativity. This was written before his sudden death and honestly, it wasn’t a scene I wanted to reveal in a snippet. But as the saying goes…sometimes it snows in April.

The cover will finally be revealed this week.

There’s an additional snippet on the front page located here.

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