Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Tywebbin Blog Tours Present: Losing Hope by Leslie J. Sherrod

From the acclaimed author of Like Sheep Gone Astray and Secret Place comes a riveting new series with twists and turns to the end.
Social worker Sienna St. James is a woman with a complicated past and a confusing Tuesday morning.
In one single day, every advance Sienna has made in getting over her long lost globe-trotting husband unravels in unexplainable fashion. From a mysterious package that hails from another continent to a new teen client who claims to have a missing sister, Sienna finds herself in the middle of a city-wide scandal, all while sorting out the painful details of her personal life. At the center are two suspicious foster parents, a mega-church ministry leader, and Sienna’s own fragile emotions over a man who changed the direction of her life. It’s a race against time as Sienna seeks closure from a love she never understood and answers about whether a little girl named Hope ever existed. And if she did, where is she now?
In this first installment of the suspenseful Sienna St. James Series, finding hope in the midst of questions and chaos becomes essential when life takes an unexpected turn.

About The Author

Leslie J. Sherrod is a wife, mom, writer, and a therapist in Baltimore, Maryland, where she lives with her husband and three children. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Maryland at College Park with a B.S. in Family Studies. She also studied writing at Johns Hopkins University before completing her Masters in Clinical Social Work at the University of Maryland, Baltimore, where she specialized in Child, Adolescent, and Family Health.
Leslie is the author of three novels, Losing Hope (coming September 2012); Secret Place (Urban Christian, 2011); and Like Sheep Gone Astray (Grand Central Publishing, 2006), which earned a Starred Review from Booklist and was featured on AOL’s Black Voices. She is also a contributor to a couple of women’s devotionals in the bestselling A Cup of Comfort series (Adams Media). A short story, “The Jericho Band,” is available on Kindle.
Through suspenseful and thought-provoking stories, Leslie offers readers hope and encouragement to live out their God-given dreams and purposes. One of her favorite Bible verses is Ephesians 3:20, which states that “[God] is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.” It is this message she carries to book signings, bookstores, workshops, and church events both in her neighborhood and across the nation.

Purchase the Book Online at:
My Book Review:

What a page turning fast read! Once I started the words literally flew off the pages. There is a lot of mystery in this well written story. Sienna St. James is a Social Worker in Baltimore, MD. She lives with her son Ramon, and has not seen her husband in years, and actually does not know if he is even alive.
One mystery flies to another when she tries to help on of Clients, Dayonna. You begin to think the girl is one big Mental case, but in some ways Sienna believes her, and begins her task to find Hope. You will love the Bible verses just popping into her head at the right time.
You will wonder if she is going to end up with the Policeman Leon, the Church Music Director Tremont, or will her husband RiChard reappear? As the book goes along, you begin to wonder what is happening, and things are not always as they appear. If you like a good mystery, this is really a book for you! Also there is another book to come!!! Enjoy!

I received this book through Tywebbin Virtual Book Tours, and was not required to give a positive review.

For More Information Visit the author online at: View the blog tour schedule at: Losing Hope Blog Tour CHAPTER ONE (EXCERPT) His ashes came with the morning mail. I had just finished my second cup of mint green tea when the usual pile of bills and store circulars were dumped through the mail slot on my front door. I was not expecting the mail carrier to also knock. Thank goodness I had gone against my norm and dressed for work before eating breakfast. The sight of me in my neon orange head scarf and granny-length floral bathrobe would have been too much for anyone on a Tuesday morning. Guess that’s why I am still single. Did I say single? That’s not totally true. It’s complicated. I looked at the box in the mail carrier’s outstretched hands and sighed. Then again, I thought, guess the title of single is now official. “Ms. . . Sienna St. James?” I wanted to shake my head no, but I nodded, anyway. “Sign here.” The mail carrier pointed to a bright red X on the certified package, acting as if delivering boxes from the Crematório Rodrigues in Almada, Portugal, was part of his normal routine. “Thanks,” I mumbled, taking the large, plain cardboard box from him, then closing the door. It was heavier than I expected, as if a set of stoneware dishes from Walmart was waiting inside. RiChard. “Welcome home, baby.” I bit my lip, waiting to feel the torrent of emotions I had been expecting to feel since last Wednesday, when I got the call. Nothing. Numbness. With the box of ashes still in my hands, I looked around my cramped rancher, searching for a place to put it. To put him. God, help me. The coffee table in the living room was piled high with library books and home-decorating magazines. The side tables had more of the same. No space. And there was no way I was putting that box on my kitchen table. Roman and I had to eat there. Oh, and before anybody asks, my bedroom was way out of the question. Too many memories. No, actually just too creepy. I studied the box, running my fingers down the lines of heavy brown packaging tape, the box itself a weighty reminder that my life had not turned out the way I’d imagined it would when I was eighteen. And in love. Hard to believe that was almost two decades ago. A nearby silver teapot caught enough of my distorted reflection to remove any doubt. Though I still had my grandmother’s heart-shaped face, my father’s almond-shaped eyes, and my mother’s honey maple skin, a few strands of gray blended in with the copper highlights of my retro Halle Berry–styled hair. And a few extra pounds padded my once thin and trim frame. My mother used to tell me that I needed to add a doughnut to my daily routine to catch up to the hip, butt, and boob fullness of the women in my clan. She hasn’t told me that in years. One of my fingernails caught on an edge of the box, and I recoiled at the badly chipped raspberry polish. My fingernails looked like a preschooler’s beloved art project. Sheena Booth, the diva who was my office mate, would call in sick before showing up to work with her nails looking the way mine did at that moment. Work! The digital clock over the microwave read 7:42. The way I-83 got jammed in the morning rush hour, I should have left twelve minutes ago if I was to have any chance of getting to work on time. Although I was her favorite, Ava didn’t play. I looked again at the box in my hands and then up at the kitchen ledge where I kept all my bills and junk mail. I have no choice, I reassured myself as I dropped the unopened box on top of my water, cable, and phone bills. A colorful advertisement for somebody’s family-owned gutter-cleaning business lay to the side. I mean, what else was I supposed to do with it? Seemed appropriate in a way—my long-lost husband’s remains mixed in with my bills. How much had that man cost me? How much more did he owe me? Some losses and debts can’t be measured in dollars and cents. It wasn’t until I was halfway down I-83 that I realized what was wrong with RiChard’s temporary final resting place. Roman did not have basketball practice today. He might get home before me. My fourteen-year-old son knew very little about his father. His last memory of him should not be an unopened cardboard box from a crematorium in Portugal sitting next to the gas and electric bill. I had not told Roman anything about the call I’d gotten last week or the delivery I knew was coming. I hadn’t told Roman much of anything. Truth was, I didn’t think I knew much of anything when it came to RiChard Alain St. James. I had to get home before Roman did. I thought that getting home before four thirty would be my most difficult mission of the day, but I should have known better. Anytime anything RiChard St. James showed up, everything in my life collapsed in one way or another. I knew this. Lived it, breathed it. Survived it. And I still wasn’t prepared for what was coming next…. © 2012 by Leslie J. Sherrod All rights reserved. Copying without permission prohibited.

1 comment:

  1. This one does sound really good! I will have to add it to my list of reads!