The following is a letter written by C-Note in the 2000s, to an editor interested in assisting him and other prisoners interested in book writing.
The name of the book is A Woman Like Her. The theme of the book best fits Spike Lee’s movie She’s Gotta Have It. The HBO cable series Sex in the City also comes to mind; however, like She’s Gotta Have It, the storyline is focused on a single woman, rather than women in a group dynamic. I also want it to be sexually explicit so that it can fall into an erotica genre. The genre would be romance. The central conflict is character versus character and character versus society.
World building
As noted previously, She’s Gotta Have It. and Sex in the City resembles my story. These are stories that are all things contemporary in the city of New York. Similarly, the setting to A Woman Like Her is all things contemporary in the city of New York.
Important characters
There’s only one character, the protagonist, Nikki. Because she will be involved in multiple relationships, I have no idea how the ebb and flow and crescendo of these relationships will play themselves out. Nor how many pages will be devoted to any single of a number of protagonist lovers. However, here are vignettes of thoughts I have written prior to joining the book club.
A Woman Like Her (excerpts)
No one knew Nikki, like Nikki knew Nikki. Her Bohemian Spirit was untenable for any man. Oh, many have tried, but all have failed. From the old heads who thought they had something young, hot and fresh, to the young heads, who used to brag to their homies that they had an older woman who had that Babyface Whip Appeal going on. Even the man who thought he had the tightest relationship with her, because they were the same age, and went to school together; No, none of them knew her, none had her heart, so none had her love. Some would call her an airhead, because she just seemed to wander. No, she wasn’t a wanderer, but she enjoyed life; she loved the sensual aspects of it. The way the ocean smells, the flowers, and his warm naked body next to hers.
There’s nothing finer than this African queen. But she wasn’t having any of that nonsense. She was no queen, although she was worshiped. She represented the cute girl, not the sadiddy Mariah Carey, cater to a bitch type. She was plain. But what is plain, when you have an Ebony hue of chocolate. She was thin with braids, and grooves to the beat of an iTunes song with white earbuds in her ear. The way her head would bounce, and braids would sway, all the dudes were mesmerized. The whites and Latinos were astonished, the Blacks too, but they had more scowls on their faces. Hateful, that these non Blacks were lusting for what should be theirs. She’s Black, right? But Nikki was all in her head bouncing to the music. It wasn’t as if she was unaware of what she was doing to these dudes, she just had them thinking she was unawares. All the time she was in full control. Ah, now that’s Nikki.
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Sometimes he could smell Nikki, even though she was nowhere to be found on the island. He was possessed with this little, thin, chocolate tart. They said she was no woman at all, but was a demon. Ya hear mon. He was determined to discover her mystery.
Frank Robinson, the former NFL player turned Wall Street broker, he too had plans for this Nikki. She was an enigma, wrapped in a jigsaw puzzle. Now Frank was used to getting what he wanted, especially when it comes to the ladies. He had been a star athlete all his life, and women would jump off the Brooklyn bridge; all he had to do is say, “Jump.” But not this Nikki. She showed him no love at all, and this only made this Black, buff, stud, go crazy. Chase is what she wants. Then chase, is what she’ll get. Shit, I ain’t had to chase after no woman in years.
Omar was in his loft cooking a special candlelit dinner for him and Nikki. However, she wasn’t invited. It was a surprise. Omar was a middle easterner. He had cooked up a dish with all the special spices of home. Since he’s been in America, Nikki was the coolest girl he had met, not like the stuck up girls from his country.
Hoodstar, pull down the black ski mask over his face, pistol in hand, as he caught them in the parking lot.
“Ah!” She screamed.
“Shut up Bitch! Or I’ll blow noodles through his roof,” demanded Hood Star.
“Calm down Babe. We don’t want no trouble Man,” stated the woman’s male companion. “We’ll give you what you want.”
“The diamonds Chump,” hoodstar yelled.
“Baby, open the car and grab the suitcase,” the man stated calmly.
“No!” She yelled.
Hood Star quickly cocked the hammer back, and looked into her eyes. She tried to scan his face through the ski mask to see what he was all about, but all she could see was this burning lust, and it scared the Holy Crap out of her. Was he lusting for her? He was obviously black. Was he ravishing her with his look? The Savage black male, taking his white female, and having her ravenously? No, it wasn’t that; as she snapped back to it. It was the diamonds she thought to herself, but somehow her feminine intuition told her, No, it’s something else. He quickly snatched his suitcase from her hand and ran back to the alley. Secure in his wealth, he was going to show this Nikki he was a Baller, and worthy of her love.
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Sunday was the last time they would see each other, so they thought. But they both were mistaken. Cause little did they know, it would be 30 years later.
“What a crock,” as she threw the book to the bedroom floor. The Lovers Bliss, she thought.
“What bliss? I ain’t waiting around till I’m old and gray and pussy is rotten. I’m going to get me some seed.” Nikki’s cousin was a monster, because every man she sees, is every man she wants. “Come on Nikki, let’s go,” Sabrina said, while grabbing Nikki by the wrist, and pulling her off the bed.