Brandi L. Bates
Born in 1979, she was born and raised in Los Angeles, California and educated at Phillips Exeter Academy, University of Southern California, Spelman College, Meredith College, and The Master's College and Seminary.
This earthy Los Angeles native is a self proclaimed avid reader and cheerleader of the Talented Tenth and is also known for her fiery intellect and infectious sense of humor. Some of her stories treat reality with a magical realism, sometimes demonstrating an altered reality. Yet, they are always satisfying, stimulating, and thought provoking.
Bestselling Author of Amid the Cacophony of Cries, Ruminations, Lunar Eclipse, Mood Swings, and The Head Mistress, Brandi L. Bates is known for her sexy, fast-paced, edgy style of writing. She gracefully spices up the intimacy and mood with juicy blow by blow details, while weaving a thrilling whodunit filled with brevity, taut atmosphere, and strong psychological suspense. She has been described as a master of suspense, plotting, and vivid characterization by her contemporaries. Her stories have glowing reviews in most literary circles. Best known for her novels that could broadly be described as suspense thrillers, Bates also frequently incorporates poetic elements of erotica, horror, mystery, science fiction, and satire.
Many of Bates’ novels feature sympathetic portrayals of characters who suffer from some mental or emotional abnormality and a desperate struggle for survival that leads to a final confrontation where one never knows where they’ll be taken. Her stories are unpredictable and jarring. Nominated for the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award, Bates is considered one of the pre-eminent writers of twenty-first century African-American literature.
“On Slavery: The saddest slap in the face is we have NO monument, no real statues or memorials, no special day of Atonement or Remembrance (NOT ONE), no thanks for 400+ years of free labor, forced servitude across the Trans-Atlantic, ass beatings, buying ourselves and families out of slavery, rape and plunder...but everyone else has monuments, special museums, and even movies. This is what America thinks of black people, so-called black president and all, who has been largely silent on this subject...we'll even celebrate Leprechauns, Easter Bunnies, and Secretary's Day before we acknowledge our history.”
“Raw Living: Picking blackberries, beneath late afternoon sun; a sunset reminiscent of watermelon sangria, as the scent of honeysuckle accosts me and the ducks waddle into the lake. Thanking Mama Nature for her abundance. Loving this candied-sweet southern life.”
“Wrote my way out of the hood...thought my way out of poverty! Don't tell me that knowledge isn't power. Education changes everything.”
“Do little things every day that no one else seems to want to do, be patient, and success will find you.”
“The greatest minds are like film, they take the negatives and develop themselves in darkness...”
“But believe it or not, I really do like to read. I don't think anyone can ever pull the wool over your eyes if you stay prayed up and read. Frederick Douglass said that no man can be a slave if he has knowledge.”
“Although this man spoke pure fluent ghetto, she liked his spirit. She could tell he was attracted to her, and that he was being ever careful with his words.”
“Wind as old as Rome outside my window, inky fleece clouds against charcoal crushed velvet skies, fall feels soulful, like a LaBelle octave.”
“Unapologetically smitten with thunderstorms...the thought of rough sex beneath an acid washed moon and hydrated stars...”
“I will Basquiat the canvas of your body like a Broadway Junction wall…and Gordon Parks you for those dark midnights when your scent fades.”
“All those other girls are cake...I'm Crème brûlée...Tiramisu, if you will. Just a few notches above.”
“You and those shot-glass eyes, deep swirling pools of 80-proof firewater, with the depth and profundity of Saturn’s spinning pulsars…”
“Lowkey punchdrunk off this Sangria-sweet love and all it’s prodigious trappings…”
“He was miles past middle age with a gut that housed ample good meals. A patch of silver hair formed a trail from his forehead to the crown of his head where it dead ended with male pattern baldness. A sea of family photos took up residence on his desk. He sat back in a high-back leather swivel chair. Steepled hands. Robert Last Boots in Cognac Cordovan. Blue collar city worker with prestigious white collar dreams.”
“David’s mouth dripped open slowly. He stood with his heels dug into my carpet, a dashed hope, a broken dream. No amount of money could top the priceless look that gathered on his face like an unmade bed. His eyebrows crumpled and furrowed like disheveled sheets. His lips curled into an acidic smirk. Confusion and shock collided in the cornea of his dilated pupils. He was a B.B. King song, personified. His entire body sang the blues.”
“We've developed algorithms for orgasms, broken it down to a science, I spell out equations on the small of your back, your kisses, the most beautiful calculus I've ever studied. You do fractions and long handed division up my thighs, balance equations between my legs...even my sharp clefts and C-notes can't match our depths...”
“All things grow, flourish, die, and re-grow. Life and death are continuous and fluid. Like the Sun and the Moon which die and are reborn, so do the seasons and all living things. ”
“The sky is a tight gray sheet of Baroque prose pulled snug”
“All I could feel was love leaking in my soul and my heart seeping bits of heaven.”
“Successful people replace the words “wish”, “should” and “try” with “I will”.”