I will be announcing the winners of my Free Book Giveaway (1 person) on Independence Day, the 4th of July – Happy Birthday, America!!!!! – See Recipe of the day, below – and (2 people) on Cheer Up the Lonely Day, the 11th of July. Flower of the Day: Sunflower.   So, send in those emails to

Never heard of Cheer Up the Lonely Day?  Cheer Up the Lonely Day is an opportunity to make a lonely person happy. Any time you can make someone happy, you’ve done a good thing, and should be proud of yourself.  They may be elderly.

The Origin of Cheer Up the Lonely Day:

According to L.J. Pesek, Cheer Up the Lonely Day was created by her father, Francis Pesek from Detriot, Michigan.  She told us that he “was a quiet, kind, wonderful man who had a heart of gold. He got the idea as a way of promoting kindness toward others who were lonely or forgotten as shut-ins or in nursing homes with no relatives or friends to look in on them.” Francis Pesek chose this day, because it was his birthday.



Firecracker Punch: 4th of July


4 cups cranberry juice

1 1/2 cup sugar

4 cups pineapple juice

1 Tablespoon almond extract

2 quarts ginger ale


Firecracker Punch Directions:  Combine cranberry juice, sugar and pineapple juice.  Stir until sugar is dissolved.  Add ginger ale just before serving. 






I am pleased to announce:

 To celebrate the launch of my new Paperback ‘To Dance With Ugly People’ I’m giving away FREE signed copies of my book!  Just click on the Lock Publishing link below and enter your name and email address.

 “Dig into mystery and mayhem of psychological, fanatical and narcissist hold, where living on the edge isn’t the only thing blooming in the heart of my African American Protagonist.” – Lorene Stunson Hill  

 ISBN 13: 978-1499749905  ISBN 10: 14997799


Money Returned

In 1858 during a poker game in a bar Robert Fallon was shot dead by a man who said Fallon was cheating. The amount Fallon had won was $700 which was a lot of money back then. Someone had to take Fallon’s place and none of the other players were willing to take the unlucky $700. A man who had just walked into the bar said he would play.

By the time the sheriff arrived to investigate the killing, the new player had turned the original $700 into $2,400 in winnings. The sheriff said the original $700 had to be given to Robert Fallon’s family.

When they asked the new player who he was , he turned out to be Fallon’s son, John Fallon who had not seen his father in seven years!! John Fallon hadn’t known that the man who had been shot earlier was his father.

The Cosmic Game

Tyller A. Myers was just that guy. He stole stop signs in his spare time, because he was a 19-year-old with a Ford F-150 — it was practically in his Dipshit Teenager contract. But Tyller’s theft went beyond that standard pubescent rebel flag: The stop sign hung defiantly on his bedroom wall. Myers was a serial thief: Turns out a lot of stop signs were going missing in Norwalk, Ohio, which can obviously cause some potentially deadly traffic problems.

Then one night, presumably while out Robin Hood-ing some stop signs — stealing from those who had too much traffic control to give to those poor saps with no road signs at all — Myers ran an inexplicably unstolen stop sign. When he drove onto the highway after blowing straight through the intersection, he was hit by a semi and later pronounced dead on the scene. We’re not ones to celebrate anybody’s death, and we’re not saying he deserved it — but the irony just lines up so perfectly. It’s like God was playing a cosmic game of irony pool, and Myers was the friggin’ 8 Ball.


Hot Topics are great!  Heard of any among the Rich and Famous?  In your neighborhood?  In your life?  SHARE


I think we all have a beast in us.  I raised my children, that when in bad situations Karma steps in sooner or later to “get” the antagonist.  I wanted their souls to ponder how they could set up circumstances in their life to teach the beast part of themselves not to behave in such a negative way.  You know, the bad behaviors that are designed to teach a young man his hard lessons.  I knew they would not escape future consequences or the lessons empowering them to transform their own cruel patterns, through GOD’s grace.  I just wanted to raise them able to transform their own beastly part into understanding that it is not appropriate to abuse others.  They were very young and, of course stared at me with blank faces.  My youngest son, aged 10 at the time, burst into the kitchen, one day after school.

“Mama, mama, I finally know what you mean!”

“About what?”


“What are you talking about?”

The children where in Gym Class.  My son sat next to his best friend on the floor, Indian Style, a young man, who stood 6” over them, with big brawny arms, and a menacing face, ran by and violently slapped my son’s best friend in the back of the head.  He was obviously a nasty character, and ran on past them rapidly, looking back at them over his shoulder, howling with laughter. Suddenly, he cranked his neck to face forward and ran into a wall breaking his nose!  Mama’s wisdom learned!






“Dig into mystery and mayhem of psychological, fanatical and narcissist hold, where living on the edge isn’t the only thing blooming in the heart of my African American Protagonist.” – Lorene Stunson Hill


“To Dance with Ugly People,” tells the harrowing story of Dani Ransom’s travels down several dark paths. She experiences the ravages of her husband’s drug abuse, suffers psychological cruelty, and fanatical abuse.


Witness the chaos of Dani Ransom’s mind. Troubled by man versus women, she makes many wrong decisions. Exhausted by the collapse of every aspect of her life, can she save herself and overcome the shadows of darkness that follows her? Divorced, she finally finds the love of her life, her greatest muse, an older man, but even when she strives to travel the right paths, fate steps in. Haunted by her own personal ghosts she can’t live life to its fullest. Is fate everywhere we are, involved in everything we do and not just the end result? What do you think?


‘To Dance with Ugly People’ is Lorene’s first published novel and depicts the life of an African-American from infant to childhood, teenager to adult. The story lines, written as a series of letters, range from heartfelt tenderness to explosive reality. The good is sensitively written, the bad is portrayed as the reality of life and the ugly are the things in life we hope will never happen to us.


Lorene Stunson Hill eloquently guides you through this journey of life, hope and despair, and if you only read one book this year – MAKE SURE IT IS THIS ONE.


Many customers have already benefited from reading the works of this amazing Author.


“Very real and frightening,” said Critic, J. Rutherford.


“I have learned from experience that if J. Rutherford says it is good; it will be,” – R. Walker.


“Great read!  I enjoyed this story. The author Ms. Hill, has an excellent way of “drawing you in” to the story. Very well done!  I felt emotion as I read it and the “To Whom It May Concern” piece, really had me connecting with the primary character!” K. W. Cormack


For more information on the works of this amazing Author!


“To Dance with Ugly People,” Available at:   ISBN 13: 978-1499749905  ISBN 10: 14997799


For interviews or further information, please contact the author direct:


Enjoy a Work in Progress

To Those Who Are Concerned:

In my youth I was a trifle “spoiled.” The youngest and only daughter, I’d say I was in a good position. I was dreamy, indolent and rather romantic for a child. I’d always taken care to conceal any weaknesses, from all eyes. Adult life left me utterly bewildered and overcome with fatigue. The human ability to dance around the truth had become a monstrous conspiracy against my body and soul. But in turn, divorced, the need for companionship had become an imperious necessity. The need for it was a strange sensation that had slowly began to take possession of my body and I felt powerless.

My two girlfriends, convinced me to go to the Club. They giggled and joked gleefully as I joined in with an unjoyous laugh. On a dark night in midsummer our car pulled into the parking lot of the nightclub we were to visit that night. The club was called the Rainbow Club. I exited the car, staring at the ground as if waking from a dreamless sleep. I lifted my head from the dirt of the parking lot and stared a few moments into the darkness at this rather large building, offensive to view, looming, all lit up with multi-colors, in the dark, across the street. I was appalled. It was in very poor condition as a result of over use and neglect. It was a thing that was very ugly, leaning a little to the left, and seemed to disfigure the landscape. Even the cars in its parking lot were parked haphazardly in the dusty area that showed white in the gathering darkness of the night.

My girlfriends sashayed across the street, while I moved slowly behind them clutching a small red leather pocketbook. I dragged my feet, almost getting hit by a car, making the situation more horrible. I was excited to be in the town of Eatonville, Florida … the first incorporated all-black town in America … The place of Zora Neale Hurston’s roots. As I pressed forward I became curious and searched up and down the street to see all that could be observed. I thought it odd, with a little obligatory mind, that it did not arouse an enlightened curiosity in me to enter that club. I felt crossing that road was leading to something evil. The Rainbow Club was plagued by crime; drugs, robberies, prostitution, stabbings and murders. So, all of what we were doing was observed with the terror of the fulfillment of natural expectations. Perhaps, a fear of someone who had been murdered in the dark, and my not knowing who nor why. I entered the place with a sense of terror. So frightful, it led to something evil torturing my soul. But, the music was bumping and I wasn’t sitting at home feeling lonely.

My two girlfriends jumped to every dance invitation while I, hearing only fragmented utterances due to the loud music, turned down many. I didn’t think meeting a man who frequented clubs would lead to a long term committed relationship … and that is what I was looking for. Perhaps, I’d be proven wrong. I just sat watching the clubbing faithful on the dance floor until the early hours, once again. Why do I go to the pumping nightclubs? They say dancing is pseudo ƒucking. If you have no rhythm on the floor, then you have no rhythm in the sack. Silly. And, why do people go to the nightclub if they can’t dance, looking exceptionally stiff, showing evidence in their dance moves that looks like insensible pain? Their contortions seemed possessed. But, let’s face it, they say clubs are a great place to meet people. Driven by some imperious necessity to avoid being alone here we all sit and dance.

A desperate young man has been making passes at me all night. He comes out with his one final, killer, guaranteed-to-work, chat-up line.

“Can I come home with you? It won’t take very long.”

I tried to give him a reply, but I laughed too hard. Why I was laughing? I could not definitely figure that out in my mind. Perhaps, from a strange absurd reversion that left me feeling uncomfortable. The night was reaching the “Witching” hour – 3 AM. Ever wonder what is the “Witching” hour? “It may be used to refer to as any arbitrary time of bad luck or a time in which something bad has a greater likelihood to occur!” At that moment I was sprung on with appalling ferocity. I felt a huge clump of the back of my hair grasped tightly and my head yanked back violently. Startled, a face lunged against mine, massive lips spread across my mouth as a tongue plunged into my mouth and throat. Occasionally sucking my lips into a vacuum, having fulfilled its purpose in the monstrous culmination of my terror, I thought I might vomit. He had returned for one last attempt.

If I were a Bouncer it would be kicking out time at the nightclub! He released me uttering a hideous laugh! I jumped from my chair regarding him with the malevolence of a wild brute, shouting with the full strength of my lungs – obscenities, saliva dripping from my chin. He stared at me with neither love – nor pity – nor intelligence. The world grew grey – all of my finer emotions were swallowed up in fear. For a flash of a moment all was black … I thought I might faint. A sound as of the beating of distant drums … a murmur of swarming voices and then silence … had he shot me? Was I dead? I sprinting over to the stairs that led up to the roof.