S.W. Frank
S. W. Frank resides in New York. Art, poetry, music and writing were always quiet joys. A former NYC emergency medical worker and contributing writer for her law school journal, the author decided to pursue the obsession of storytelling full-time. Since then she dusted off manuscripts and decided to share stories with the public.
The Guardian, 2013 article, 'The Gems of Indie Publishing' readers' have stated, "[S.W. Frank] is bold and unapologetic in her delivery."
The author states, "I write stories with multicultural characters that are desirable, smart and intriguing. They're stories of interesting people that I wanted to read and my small contribution to literary world to include diversity."
“He sighed, Selange was perplexing, and an adulterous prude seemed a contradictory term. She had a fierce spirit one minute and the next she cried like a baby. Damn, he missed her silly ass. [Right now, he could see so damn clear--he wanted the crybaby-fierce adulterous prude in his arms--He loved this goddamn woman. Period. End of story!]”
S.W. Frank
“Ah, you dumb sonovabitch, why’d you let your warrior go?”
S.W. Frank
“Love is always a battle.”
S.W. Frank
“Haste represented youth's infirmity.”
S.W. Frank
“Touch me." He instructed as he lifted her hands and placed them on his chest, "See, I am just Alfonzo. I'm human, not the boogey-man," then he smiled reassuringly...”
S.W. Frank
“You're not driving home if it's late, though. I am accustomed to dropping my women off at their door," he snickered because he knew she'd blush and he wanted her to, "and sometimes I put them to bed.”
S.W. Frank