Click on the image to visit Jean's Meet & Greet at VBT Cafe
Jean Mckie-Sutton
After graduating from Franklin and
Marshall College with a dual degree in Spanish and Government, Jean rose
through the ranks of the insurance industry for twenty years before heeding her
own heart and pursuing her passion for writing.
She grew up listening to the
stories that elders recounted about the women in her family, and it is from
these dominant, yet richly flawed matriarchs that she draws inspiration for her
writing. In addition to The Fruits Of Our Sins, Jean has
published two short stories, Stella’s
Silent World, and When The Bough
Breaks. She is also a featured
author in Sister To Sister, Black Women
Speak To Young Black Girls.
She plans to release a collection
of short stories later this year, and is currently working on a sequel to The Fruits Of Our Sins.
Jean lives in a suburb of
Philadelphia with her husband and three children.
Louise: Jean,
welcome to my blog! I’m so excited you could join me for a chat. When did you
first decide to submit your work to be published? Tell us what or who
encouraged you to take this big step.
Jean: After
months of revising, self-editing, and submission to a professional editor, I
eventually got to the point where there were no more changes to make. The
manuscript was complete. It was then that I decided to move forward with the
publication process. After much research into the matter I made the decision to
self-publish. I formed my own publishing company, Red Lotus Press, in order to
publish my own work.
Louise: Please
tell us a little about your new release The Fruits Of Our Sins.
Jean: This novel tells the story of two young women, Madeline and Sybil, who experience abandonment and betrayal within their own families at a very young age. Their lives soon become intertwined in heated confrontation by the birth of a child - a child that each claims to have a right to. For one woman, possession of the child represents redemption; for the other, the repetition of generational sin.
The Fruits Of Our Sins chronicles the deeply flawed relationships these women have with their parents, the impact of those relationships on the direction of their lives and ultimately the lives of their children as they attempt to flee from, yet reconcile, the abandonment and betrayals of their youth.
Louise: Do you
plan all your characters out before you start a story or do they develop as you
write?
Jean: I plan the
main characters before I start the story. The supporting characters I develop
along the way, depending on how I might need them to assist in developing the
plot and the personalities of the main characters. So I guess you can say
there’s a little bit of both.
Louise: What is
your writing process? Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants (Pantser)
or a combination of both?
Jean: I fall
somewhere in the middle. I know right away what the beginning and ending will
be. For the rest, I allow my imagination to be my guide.
Louise: Do you
write full time? What did you do before you became a writer or still do?
Jean: Right now
I’m writing full-time. Prior to that, I was an assistant vice president for an auto insurance company.
Louise: Do you
have a ritual when it comes to writing? Example….get coffee, blanket, paper,
pen, laptop and a comfy place.
Jean:I don’t
have any rituals but I do have a few quirks when it comes to writing. First,
the house must be completely quiet while I’m working. This is quite a feat with
three kids, a husband, and a dog and cat in our tiny house. I have a colorful
collection of ear plugs I use to block out all the noisy chaos; otherwise I
wait until the evenings and write while everyone is asleep.
Second, I often wake up in the middle of the night for no reason at all. It is during those moments that I experience my most creative insights. I keep a pen and paper bedside so I can capture the rush of ideas that seems to come for nowhere.
Louise: Describe
a typical writing day for you.
Jean: A Typical day? What’s that? I’m still in the midst of raising kids so every day is different and full! In between carting my kids to baseball camp, swim lessons, basketball summer league and pre-season soccer; we manage to get some down time at the neighborhood pool. There, I sneak in a few hours of writing time, otherwise life doesn’t slow down until the evenings after everyone is settling down for bed or early mornings before the house awakens. At dawn I head out to the gym for a quick workout then rush home to check email, and update Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin and my website.
Louise: Please
give us a sneak peek at your future books. What’s on the horizon?
Jean: I’m currently working on
a collection of short stories focusing on family relationships - mostly
mother/daughter relationships - that involve transformation after overcoming
steep obstacles. I hope to finish the collection later this year.
The second project I’m working on is a sequel to The Fruits Of Our Sins. I hadn’t initially planned on writing a sequel, but so many people have asked me to consider it that I’ve decided to take a stab at it. I’m in the process of writing the opening chapter now.
Louise: What is
your favorite genre to read and who is your favorite author?
Jean: My favorite
genre is literary fiction. While I have several favorite authors, my number
one, all-time favorite author is Toni Morrison. It was Morrison who inspired me
to put pen to paper, and it was Morrison’s books that I read over and over yet
never grow weary of her written word.
Louise: Is there
anything else you would like to tell the readers we have not touched on?
Jean: I’d like to
leave readers with my favorite quote. It has inspired me to follow my dreams
and will hopefully inspire someone else to do the same:
“When you follow your bliss, the universe
will open doors where there were walls.” Joseph Campbell
Louise: Jean,
thank you again for visiting with me today. Where can the readers learn more
about you and find your books on the web?
Jean: You’re
welcome, Louise. My links are as follows and I'll giveaway a copy of The Fruits Of Our Sins to one lucky reader. Leave a comment with your email address and we'll draw the winner on Wednesday, Aug 8. Good luck!
"MCKIE-SUTTON SHOWCASES HER TALENT, CREATIVITY AND BRILLIANCE IN THIS NOVEL. I LOOK FORWARD TO HER NEXT MASTERPIECE."
-Lynia White, founder of The Quality Corner Bookstore
Prologue
1995
Madeline Stovall
raised her fists high in the air then plunged them downward forcibly onto
Sybil’s face. Sybil staggered sideways, dazed and unsteady, yet Madeline
continued striking her harder and harder. Sybil cowered at the rage darkening
Madeline’s eyes, and it was in that moment that she became fully aware of the
depth of her fury. Sybil threw a series
of futile punches, a few contacting Madeline’s chin, most simply sailing
through the air, inciting Madeline’s onslaught to intensify.
She won’t keep fighting someone who won’t
fight back, Sybil silently reasoned, and she stopped all efforts to defend
herself. Trembling and spent, she bent forward with her arms shielding her
face, and crouched immobile. Madeline continued her frenzied flailing, and her
knuckles, bruised and bleeding, pounded with increasing vigor. Sybil suppressed
the urge to cry out for fear of angering her opponent even more. She locked her
jaws shut, endured the weighty punches and said nothing at all. She stood erect
to lessen the battering to her head and face. Nevertheless, Madeline’s blows
increased in speed and intensity and the strikes, now aimed at her breasts and
stomach, nearly brought Sybil kneeling to the ground. She heard the sickening snap of her own ribs
cracking, and grimaced just before the pain punctured her insides. She remained still and rigid
hoping that her refusal to fight back might end the battle, but respite did not
arrive.
“Stop it! Stop it!
Stop it!” she screamed over and over in a rhythmic chant. Her voice was the
shrill timbre of a stranger’s, yet she could not stop her senseless, cadence of shrieking. Her cries invigorated her opponent. Madeline lunged toward her, fists poised for
more. Sybil took several quick steps backwards, colliding with a brick support
pillar. There was nowhere to run. She clenched her jaws shut tight, swallowing
her shrieking voice into the pit of her stomach. Her teeth sank into her tongue
but she dared not cry out again. The metallic taste of her own blood filled her
mouth as her body jerked with spasms. She coughed to keep from choking. Blood
seeped through her lips, down her chin and onto the concrete below, forming
tiny dark circles at her feet. Sybil feared for her life. Weeping openly, she
fell to the ground, drew her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth,
still shielding her face and head.
In rapid succession, two kicks to her left hip
knocked her onto her side, yet she continued her rocking motion until she again
assumed an upright position. A damp heat
rose from her neck to her forehead and droplets of sweat rolled onto her chest
and thighs. Sybil’s surroundings grew dim as her senses dulled. But just before
she succumbed to the solace of unconsciousness, the assault came to an abrupt
halt. For a moment, all was still.
Sybil inhaled and
exhaled deeply until she regained lucidness. The warmth of the mid-afternoon
sun bathed her neck and shoulders, while the cool rigidness of the concrete
cooled her from below. She inhaled the Poeme Perfume she so lavishly splashed
on her body before leaving home that morning. A mild scent of lavender with a
hint of fresh roses ‒ it was the
fragrance all the young women were wearing. It reminded her of springtime and
morning rain. But on this day, her favored Poeme pitched waves of nausea
spiraling through her stomach. She willed herself not to vomit.
Sybil lowered her
arms and examined her surroundings. She was surprised to find that she was
kneeling on Madeline’s front porch, since the encounter began with the two
women having a simple conversation in the living room of the brick twin home. A
three foot high stone wall surrounded the rectangular porch, framed by pillars
that faced the tree-lined street. Less than six feet away, four concrete steps
descended to a path leading to the sidewalk. Adrenaline raced through her
limbs, lending her a quick burst of energy. Sybil considered making a run for the
steps, but a small group of neighbors clustered on the sidewalk blocked the
path that led to a quick escape. She observed the faces of the people in the
crowd as they peered back at her. All of them witnessed her brutal humiliation
yet did nothing more than watch her suffering. Sybil was alone amidst the dozen
onlookers and made a conscious effort to shrug off her self-pity.
I really shouldn’t be surprised, she
almost said aloud. They were all Madeline’s neighbors, and most of them ‒ men
and women alike ‒ feared Madeline’s wrath. Sybil heard a rumor that she once
tried to kill her own husband with a sword while he was asleep. The rumor had
never been confirmed, yet no one dared question Madeline about the tale’s
authenticity.
Sybil shifted her
gaze to examine her adversary. Madeline’s short, curly hair sat in uneven tufts
around the sides and top of her head. A scowl distorted her sharp aquiline
features, and one of her large breasts poked through an opening in her silk
blouse, twisted where the buttons were torn away. Sunlight glittered off the
perspiration on her bare shoulder. Madeline stood with her feet slightly apart
and her arms rigid at her sides. She breathed fast and heavy, almost panting,
reminding Sybil of a pit bull she once saw mangle a newborn rabbit. She
shivered in spite of the intense heat.
I figured talking about the baby would be
hard but I surely didn’t expect to have a full blown fist fight with this woman.
Just then, the
baby, lying in a bassinet in the living room, whimpered softly as a
kitten. Sybil’s chest tightened.
Madeline turned her head in the direction of the baby’s whimper and relaxed her
stance.
This is my chance, Sybil thought. I’ll take her off guard.
She sprang from
the ground with a frenzied torrent of punching and kicking. Madeline lost her
balance momentarily, yet quickly became oriented and battle ready. She pounded her fist down forcibly where
Sybil’s neck met her shoulder. Sybil folded, collapsing to the ground, and lay
motionless. Madeline stood over her, waiting and watching, until it was evident
she had fully succumbed. She backed away until she reached the door, and as she
stepped into her home, she turned to look at the beaten woman one last time.
Sybil lay flat on
her stomach. Splattered blood and tears peppered the ground around her.
Shuddering and grimacing with each inhalation, her eyes pled for mercy. Madeline bolted the door.
“Wait!” Sybil
screamed from the porch. “I can’t leave without my baby.” With one arm cradling her abdomen, she
crawled across the porch, her knees cutting open on the uneven concrete, and
banged on the door with her fist.
“Please! Give me
my baby.”
Facing the closed
door, still on her knees, she waited.
“Please!” she
sobbed, her voice now hoarse and raspy.
When Madeline’s footsteps retreated farther
into the home, she bowed her head and closed her eyes as if in prayer. After
several quiet moments, Sybil pulled herself from the ground and faced the crowd
of neighbors that was now beginning to disperse. Some whispered with their hands
cupped over their mouths, others patronized her with pitying stares, while
still others shook their heads disapprovingly.
As Sybil began to
depart, the infant’s whimper swelled to a persistent wail. She paused with her
face tilted toward the sky, but did not turn around, then she dropped her chin
to her chest and continued on her way. The wail ripened to a piercing scream,
Sybil’s sobs now in concert with those of the infant. As she placed one foot in
front of the other, knees trembling and unsteady, the
crescendo of the wailing symphony commingled in the air. The farther
away she crept, the more vehemently the infant screamed, as if bemoaning and mourning Sybil’s permanent departure.
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