I use my own experiences and people I’ve known for inspiration for stories I write. An author must draw from something, after all. My long career in journalism and the adventures of being single have provided lots of material, even though I certainly haven’t used it all! It’s been a treasure trove for writing this blog.

One of my favorite stories, told to me by a good friend who lived through it, is Angels in Uniform. Since my characters are real, I don’t use their actual names, despite the fact that the famous film producer in this story is deceased and the story happened some years ago. I believe in and love angel stories; life is full of mysteries that can’t be proved or explained. The heroine in the story, who is still my friend, had an adventurous life in the movie industry before she had enough, got married and moved to the Northwest.

Angels in Uniform tells Samantha’s story of Divine intervention. Samantha wasn’t satisfied with the Midwest and came to California to work with the rich and famous in Hollywood. She attracted a powerful film producer, but just when her life seemed to be working, she got cancer. She fled Los Angeles, ready to end her life, but her persistent lover and an angel in a cop’s uniform had other ideas.

The E-book is available on Amazon:

She’d been living with Peter in the large mansion that movies had built for nearly a year now, and because of his position in the entertainment industry had met and grown to know many of his high-powered producer and actor friends.  Listening to Walter Matthau tell jokes at a poker party was an indication that she’d arrived in another world. But now this world was going to disappear just when she was beginning to feel that she belonged; she just knew it. Where would she be then? Who would want her?  What would she do? Could she survive?

These nagging questions plagued her as she drove aimlessly, not paying particular attention to anything but her gloomy thoughts. She glanced at the speedometer by chance—she was creeping up on ninety-miles-an-hour. A tear slid down her cheek, as she pushed the accelerator harder. The tiny car vibrated with the speed, but the element of danger only made her more determined. She didn’t care if someone stopped her; she didn’t care what happened next. San Bernardino’s outskirts were past her and the long, empty highway stretched in front of her. The day was sunny and clear, but it was too early for the desert heat. The little car could never have gone this fast with the air-conditioner on. The fresh, early morning air blowing through the vents and the crack in the driver’s side window revived her feelings a bit. Perhaps there were some answers. She let up on the accelerator; there was no need to be so hasty, putting herself in peril until she had thought things through.

She’d come to Los Angeles to fulfill a dream, drawn to the flame of the movie industry like so many others. In St. Louis she’d already proved to herself she had talent in several different areas. She had outgrown its possibilities; the next step in her mind had been to try her luck in Hollywood.

Named Samantha by her mother and shortened to Sam by all her friends and eventually family, she liked the name’s mixture of masculine and feminine. It gave her an edge that helped her make her way in a white world; it gave her a certain measure of strength as a black woman.


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