The Grunt 2 Is Now Available for Sale

The Grunt 2 Cover

 

“Marines don’t know how to spell the word defeat.” Gen. James “Mad Dog” Mattis

Staff Sergeant Brett Black is a decorated, Force Recon Marine dedicated to Country, Family and God. Married to the colonel’s daughter, Courtney Black, the father of two and prepping for a promotion, his world is finally on track after a long history of unfortunate events.

However, while on a special op in in Afghanistan, Brett is severely wounded. Immediately, he is shipped back to the U.S. with the expectation of being medically retired for injuries sustained in the line of duty. Only for a man who has only known one way of life his entire adulthood, the prospect of being kicked of out the Marine Corps creates an internal crisis and an external family conflict. Will he be able to fight back to the man he was in order to stay in his beloved Corps or will he have to take a new path?

Courtney Black is a new bride with an adorable stepson and a brand new baby girl; however, she doesn’t want to just be a military wife her entire life. So, when her husband is injured, she sees an opportunity for them to leave Camp Lejeune and start a new adventure, especially when Brett’s son’s biological father comes out of the shadows and threatens to take away the little boy that brought Brett and Courtney together. It’s her job to keep her family together despite everything that is tearing them apart. Will she be able to find the balance between personal aspirations and family obligation?

Read the love story about two young hearts as they discover that wars are not only fought on the battle field but also at home and marriage is nothing about convenience but everything about sacrifice and unity in The Grunt 2, the sixth installation of The Lonely Heart Series, by USA TODAY, Amazon and National Bestselling Author Latrivia S. Nelson.

Click here to purchase now.  Only $3.99 for full-length novel (535 pages in paperback form).

 

But Why Do You Do It? An insightful look at why I chose to write Interracial Romance

Latrivia Welch Interracial Romance Author

 

I was out the other night having drinks with friends and we started down the rabbit hole of what led us to our professions.  This of course created buzz around our table and other people quickly pulled from their own tables and joined us.  I was three glasses of wine into the conversation when someone asked me a very serious question.

“Why did you choose to write Interracial Romance, specifically bwwm?”

I’ve been asked this before, but the person who asked seemed to be the type that would not take a flippant or even cosmetic answer.  They wanted details; they wanted to decide what side of the proverbial black aisle I sat on.  Was I a blind assimilator or was I truly making conscious decisions?

Anyone in an interracial relationship, who has interracial children, has a friend from another race knows what I speak of.  And I won’t delve too far into that because it’s the subject of a book that I’m writing and I want your responses later.  And it would be awesome to also talk abut this great show, Black-ish, that also hits some damn good points about the contemporary African-American experience.

 

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So back to the question…

I cannot lie.  I drank the last of my wine before answering.  After all, I did not know this person and this could easily go out in left field and with it my growing buzz.

“I’m tired of stereotypes,” I said honestly, when I was done with my Chardonnay.

The raised brow of the individual let me know that they understood what I was saying even if I hadn’t elaborated.

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Black women aren’t all money-hungry, poor, uneducated, angry, vengeful, loud and obnoxious as many books would have us portrayed.  In fact, we’re quite brilliant.

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White men aren’t all rich, powerful, famous, gentle, courageous and classy (with a wink) as books would have them portrayed.

 

Each person is completely unique and there should be a story for each of us.  Now, that’s not going to happen, but it’s great to have a rainbow of stories about bwwm relationships that kill the stereotypes and create new discussion.  We deserve that.    We deserve to not fit into anyone’s box, not be forced to look a certain way, feel a certain way or be accepted only if we come from a certain background.  We need stories that tell a different story, that empower us and that flatter us and that just put us on an equal playing field.

Faces of a Couple

But I’m just one woman with one computer.  So tell me WORLD, what do you think?

Onward,

Latrivia Welch

http://www.latriviawelch.com

Latrivia Welch Remembers Julian Bond THE LEADER

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Because of the support and love of my mentors, I’ve met many great civil rights leaders in my time. I had the honor of having Dr. Benjamin Hooks as a personal mentor along with Mrs. Francis, who gave me invaluable advise as a young woman that I still hold dear today. Dr. Hooks used to love my granddaddy’s fried fish, and grandpa didn’t mind having me come to South Memphis to pick up some as soon as he fried it and deliver it to Dr. Hooks. I remember Dr. Vasco Smith with his jovial smile and Mrs. Maxine Smith always willing to give me a hug. I remember D’Army Bailey sitting across from me at Four Way Grill, and me praying in the middle of his very enlightening talk – that I didn’t drop fried tomatoes all over my Chanel white blouse and make a mockery of myself. I remember working for the National Civil Rights Museum and President Mandela coming up the stairs at the Peabody and me rushing out to see if he was on his way and running nearly head on into him. All I could say was, “your President Mandela.” And he said, “yes dear but who are you?” I couldn’t speak after that.

Recently, I met the founder of Black Enterprise, Mr. Earl Graves. We walked and talked for a while. He was impressed by my little publishing house, and insisted that I had promise. I was in shock how much he reminded me of my grandpa and instantly felt a connection. Mary Robinson, the first female president of Ireland, was also very kind. She and I walked through Bountiful Blessings after she was caught up on a call with UN. She told me I simply had to visit Ireland. After meeting her, I knew that I had to as well.

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My list is long and distinguished. I’ve met so many, and I remember them all. I either met them because of LeMoyne-Owen College, Howard and Beverly Robertson or Deidre Malone. My mentors pushed me…always pushed me…still push me. Since I was a skinny 18-year old girl, they have opened doors for me that would have remained closed otherwise. They have introduced me to giants because they were giants themselves.

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I still remember meeting Mr. Julian Bond. The first time was at the National Civil Rights Museum when I was around 20. Then, I was heading up credentialing for the NAACP 2009 National Conference in Cincinnati and we were preparing for the Obama/McCain speeches and Mr. Bond came around the office. He wanted to see what we were up to. We had been working early mornings and late nights. Deidre thought it was good for both Tonya and I to do this on our own. She was training us. She was right. It was great work, hard work, great experience.
Tonya and I wanted pictures. Mr. Bond was busy, terribly busy. But he didn’t mind stopping long enough for us to talk. He wanted to know how we were enjoying ourselves and if we were working too hard. He had time enough to listen to me recount my experience with him in Memphis. He smiled and listened and three days later when he saw me again, he said, “hello Latrivia.” Thousands of people, thousands of stories and he never forgot my name.

When I came home from Cincinnati, my life was changed. Deidre just laughed. “It’s good for you,” she said. She still is always grooming me, even until this day.  She had met him many times before and knew how great he was, but I was on fire and brand new to such a movement.

For the very young people (and I have many who read my books and my blog and I know they are under 18 – naughty teens), I want you to know why this man was so important.
Julian Bond was no rapper, baller or actor. He was an activist, a game-changer. Horace Julian Bond was an American social activist and leader in the Civil Rights Movement, politician, professor, and writer.

Born in Nashville, TN on January 14, 1940 – only 200 miles from Memphis- Julian Bond became a civil rights activist while in college. In 1965, he was elected to Georgia’s state legislature, but his opposition to the war in Vietnam meant that it would take a U.S. Supreme Court ruling for him to be allowed to take his seat. Bond later served as the head of the Southern Poverty Law Center and of the NAACP.

“Julian helped inspire an entire generation of young people, students, black and white,” Rep. John Lewis, D-Ga., said Sunday. “He spent so much time speaking on college campuses, telling the story of the movement. He was so smart, so gifted, so articulate and he had a way of getting to people, to students, to young people and he succeeded.” http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2015/08/16/civil-rights-activist-julian-bond-dies/31809385/

Bond died on August 15, 2015 at the age of 75, but his legacy will live on.

New brand for Latrivia Welch introduces “style” component

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Latrivia Welch (formerly Latrivia Nelson) has been writing interracial romance since 2008.  One of the major earmarks of her work is her obsession with style.

“The women have to be elegant and the men have to be undeniable,” says Welch.

With her new brand, geared toward bw/wm readers who appreciate the “luxuries of life”, she is focused on speaking to the professional woman and the aspiring professional woman.

“So many of us are business owners, business professionals, students, moms with two jobs who aspire one day to be able to focus on ourselves; we’re hundrednaires, thousandnaires and millionaires. But the one thing that we have in common is that we love a great Happily Ever After story, and our commonality in that makes us all fans of romance.”

Nelson’s new campaign “bw/wm with style” will roll out officially August 15th on social media platforms featuring high-brow couture and iconic models as muses and will be part of a larger year-long campaign.

“Who didn’t love Dmitry in a suit?” Welch joked.

Latrivia Welch

Latrivia Welch is Here! And There Is A Website To Prove It!

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This last week has been absolutely amazing. I got married, moved into a new house, registered the kids and returned to work…didn’t even break a sweat (who am I kidding, I lost three pounds).
Now that I’m back, it’s time to get to the business of presenting you with a completely new brand. New books. New fun art work. Fun facts. Awesome Q&A and so much more.
The Latrivia Welch brand is an extension of the Latrivia Nelson brand, because it’s me. However, it’s my job to bring you in my world of awesome alpha males and strong powerful black women through innovative, creative and continuous impressions…or at least that’s what my team tells me.

 

 

Interracial Romance Author Latrivia Welch

Interracial Romance Author Latrivia Welch

 

 

Right now, I have one goal. I am going to finish The Grunt 2. I’ve been up in my new office in my new house writing up a storm and researching. And it’s my hope to bring you a story that you can love as much as you love The Grunt. I will say that this experience back into my old book has made me fall in love with Brett & Courtney all over again.
I’m also very proud to announce to launch of my new website. http://www.latriviawelch.com. By month’s end, the old site, http://www.latrivianelson.info will be no more. We’re moving on in life and moving on in our journey together to make magic in these pages. Please go to the site, sign up for the newsletter, vote for me for 2014 Interracial Romance Series (Vasily’s Revenge), http://www.poll-maker.com/poll376605xcFdf692b-14?s=res check out all the news and give me your feedback. I developed the site just for you to host all things around our favorite characters. So, I hope you like it.

Stay tuned, there is more to come!

Latrivia Welch

Anatoly Medlov: Complete Reign

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Chapter 1

Next Day

Prague, Czech Republic

 

The late morning sun’s fiery blaze awoke Anatoly from his peaceful sleep.  His blue prisms slowly opened to the clear skies shining brightly across the room.  He squinted a bit, wiped his tired eyes and yawned.  Why didn’t his folks have real curtains in their bedroom?  How did they wake up to this every single day? 

Sitting up in the bed, he looked over at the black woman lying in bed beside him.  Her dark skin gave dramatic contrast to the silver sheets that barely covered her long, slender body.  A small grin colored her full lips.  Long, dark, thick hair spilled over onto her pillow. She slept as if she did not have a care in the world.

Bending toward her, he looked at her chest slowly rise and fall.  Peaceful bliss for her but not for him.  Resting his head back on the headboard, he ran his hand through his blonde tendrils and gripped the back of his neck, massaging his aching bones.

Unfortunate for her, he had that familiar feeling again now that he had her – the urge to flee.   At the very moment that she committed, he disassociated.  It was cause and effect for him. He knew it as soon as he finished making love to her.

Sweaty and exhausted, he had collapsed beside her, feeling a million miles away from her body even though it was so close to his own.  She had looked into his eyes and confessed her love for the first time in their pseudo-relationship. And he had whispered in Russian, “Ya ne lyublyu tebya,” (I don’t love you), in response.

She had gone to sleep smiling and oblivious.  He had gone to sleep thinking about his dilemma – how to undo what he had done far too spontaneously.  The tightness in his chest had started immediately, as soon as she spooned against him and closed her big, brown eyes.  His father was right.  It simply would not work.

Now, curled up beside him, wrapped in the sheets, she never felt him when he stirred, when he pulled his body from the bed and quickly slipped on his jeans.

Once fully dressed, he stood by the bed for a while, staring at her and thinking of all that he had put her through and vice versa.

Finally when he had reasoned enough, he grabbed his wallet and keys and slipped out of the bedroom.

The family could take care of her arrangements to get back to Italy to the winery.  He knew that his father would at least – Royal may not.

All he did know was that he couldn’t stay in the condo with her a moment longer.  Now that he knew that she was okay, that she had not been harmed because of him, he could release her.

In fact, he had already released her, whether he liked it or not.  She wasn’t the one.  It was sort of refreshing when he thought of it.  To fall in love with Victoria would be too easy and far too dangerous.  She was like him.  Cunning.  Forward.  Greedy.  His decision would be best for the both of them or at least for him. And that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

It would have been cruel to leave her stranded at his parent’s condo alone, so he left the keys on the kitchen counter for the Bentley.   But he didn’t leave a note.  That was too much.

Words couldn’t express what he was feeling right at the moment anyway.  What was the use of trying?    He’d walk for a while and clear his head.  He just had to get out of the condo and away from her, had to get away from the commitment that was coming.  The looming inevitability of a bad relationship choked him out of the space – drove him to flee.

Opening the front door to the house, he looked back one last time up the stairs and then left.

The sun was just as bright outside as it was in his father’s bedroom.  It shone down on him and fed him the energy he needed to get on with things.  He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air, slipped on his Aviator shades and headed down the steps towards the walkway.

Looking around at all the well-manicured lawns, the expensive cars and the people walking up and down the sidewalk, he felt a calm that was not possible a minute ago.

This place was such a far cry from the life he had known when he was a boy.  Everyone here was privileged.  They had no clue what it was like to struggle, to fight for every crumb.  But then again, neither did he anymore.

Life was good, but his was pushing him to get back to Memphis.  His business could not run itself.  There were things to do, people to see, money to make, guns to sell.

Catching a taxi a few miles outside of the upscale, gated community, he ordered the small Indian man to take him straight to the airport.  He would bypass heading back to the countryside to his father’s chateau.  Dmitry would understand.  His father was like that.  He was wise in his years because of the women that he had gone through before meeting his wife, Royal.  Only Victoria was not his Royal.    There was nothing anyone could do about that.

Within the hour, he was on the tarmac of a private airstrip with a cup of tea and a cigarette, preparing to board his private jet and head back to the states from Prague.

Still smelling like sex from the night before, he threw his cigarette down and headed up the stairs to his plane.  The metal clanged under the weight of his heavy boots as he quickly made his way up.  When he got to the top, he turned around and looked over the airstrip.

Finally, so far away from the condo, he could breathe again.  The tightness in his chest had subsided.  But he did wonder if she was awake yet, if she had found the keys, put the pieces together and figured out what he didn’t have the nerve to tell her.  Goodbye. Take care.  Don’t call.

“Welcome back, Mr. Medlov,” the flight attendant said, offering to take his nearly empty cup.

Turning away from Prague, he passed his Styrofoam container to her and took off his shades.

“Thanks, Karen,” he said, feeling a sense of relief.

“Let’s get out of here, da.”

 

B.B. King Has Passed. A Sad Day

You know, I always thought my grandfather looked so much like BB King. And when I was growing up, I was addicted to The Thrill is Gone. I would listen to that song all the time. And my grandparents didn’t stop me. Granddaddy never really mined me listening to old songs, it was just the BET “beep bop” that seemed to drive him mad. I was, after all, five decades younger than my grandparents. Fifty years behind them. But we did agree on one thing. B.B. King was the King of Blues. And even though granddaddy was a preacher, didn’t curse or drink. He did like a little blues. And so did I.

What shocked me even more was that my grandfather, the awesome man that he is, knew B.B. King. He had met Anna Mae (Tina Turner) and knew B.B. King! Well, they were not best buddies, but the fact that he knew him…that they knew each other, blew my mind. Granddaddy became even more of a rock star in my eyes, which was hard, because he was one miracle from walking on water in my eyes.

Today, we have lost a legend. In his life, he witnessed so much. Segregation. Desegregation. The assassination of Dr. King, Malcom X, and President Kennedy, but he also was alive to witness the first African-American (Multicultural) President of the United States.

He died today at 89 in Las Vegas. Riley B. King lived a long life. The Mississippi native’s reign as “king of the blues” lasted more than six decades and straddled two centuries, influencing a generation of rock and blues musicians, from Eric Clapton and Stevie Ray Vaughan, to Sheryl Crow and John Mayer.
B.B. King, though unknowingly appeared in Highness, my last book. Well, his songs received a cameo.

The CD player switched songs and another B.B. King ballad played. The Ghetto Woman turned on, making the already dismal scene more depressing.
Hearing the words and playing of Lucille in Hope’s ears made her stomach knot up into little balls, and the tears that she tried hard to stop poured out from her diaphragm.

 

I guess that you could say that even after growing up, my love for B.B. King still finds its way back into my life.

Mississippi lost a son, Memphis lost a icon, the world lost a legend.
So here is to B.B. King today. Let’s raise our coffee mugs and send him off with a prayer for his daughter and family and recognition that he lived.

 

Latrivia S. Nelson

 

Excerpt from Highness

In Michael’s very privileged life, he had had the opportunity to visit every continent in the world, travel every ocean; he had sat with royalty from over fifty countries and dined at their personal tables; he had stood on battle fields and observed destruction and victory; he had drunk champaign 8,850 meters above sea level atop Mount Everest; he had played volley ball with a sheik on sun bleached sand with sun bleached beauties and charted a $4.8 billion yacht with a Malaysian general, but never once had he had the pleasure of visiting a Super Wal-Mart.

This dynamic retailer was packed with everything from sugar cookies and radio tires to double-barrel shotguns – all in one very convenient location, all reasonable priced, all on sale twenty-four hours a day and all under devil-awful florescent lights.  This place was so liked by Americans until it only closed on Christmas Day.

And he could see why.

He loved this place too.

The only thing he didn’t love was having to wait in line like the rest of the working-class stiffs.  One almost needed to buy a book to bide the time away.  How could you have ten lines and only two workers?  The idea perplexed him.

As he passed by the many families scurrying about the large store in deep conversation or maneuvering with their cell phones stuck to their faces and hands, he found himself completely entertained by the varying wardrobes, the deep southern drawls and overall informality of the place.

To his amazement, he was knee deep in common life.  He saw sagging pants, too tight skirts, shorts that were more like briefs, women wearing way too much makeup, old women with bad wigs, and kids with offensively snotty noses.  So not only could one get everything that was on their shopping list, they could also get a communicable disease.

      Genius.