So, my hubby and harshest writing critic, who mostly reads non-fiction, condescended to finally start reading my new novel, Afterlife in Harlem. He called me from work to say, “You left this morning before I could tell you that your prologue is really good, especially the dialogue. I’m surprised that it held my interest; a book should have a memorable beginning like that.” 

Because I was thinking I’d write this blog, I called him back to ask how he would rate my first book, Sugar Hill, which he also approached with great skepticism and has said little about in two years. He gave that a 4 out of 5. “And this one?” I asked. “So far this is a 5,” he said. “It made me think of the line, ‘Call me Ishmael…'”

Definitely a man of extremes, but high praise indeed for only seven pages. I can’t wait to hear what he says after he reads one of the sex scenes.