Author Denise Turney is the writer of the urban novels Love Pour Over Me, Portia, Love Has Many Faces, Spiral, Gada's Glory, Gregory The Lionhearted and Long Walk Up. Urban books author, Denise Turney, has more than 40 years of writing experience. She is a full-time writer whose works have appeared in popular African American magazines, diverse newspapers and women's periodicals such as: Essence, Ebony, The Network Journal, Madame Noire, America Online, Bahiyah Woman, Today's Black Woman, Parade, Sisters In Style, Your Church Magazine, Modern Dad Magazine, KaNupepa, The Trenton Times, Family Times, The Preacher's Magazine, Black Living, Princeton, New Jersey's Business and Entertainment Weekly - US 1, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, Pif, Q, The Trenton State College Literary Review, North Carolina University's Literary Journal and Obsidian II.
Denise host the international radio program Off The Shelf Books Talk Radio which airs on Blog Talk Radio live from 11AM-12PM on Saturday and 24/7 throughout the rest of the week. She has interviewed New York Times bestselling authors like Zane, Francis Ray, Roland Martin, Patricia Haley-Glass, Paulette Harper, Valerie Coleman, Tyora Moody, Omar Tyree and Tracey Price Thompson and Grammy Award nominee, Awiatka.
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Denise is a mother and a co-founder of Bucks County Pennsylvania's first African American owned and operated drug and alcohol intervention program - No Longer Bound. She has volunteered with numerous charity and community organizations, including Big Brothers/Big Sisters, Saturday Scholars and Girls, Inc. Denise Turney is an entrepreneur, freelance writer, and a businesswoman and a civic and community volunteer. Her current and former memberships include: The National Women's Executive Association, Black Women Entrepreneurs, You Are Not Alone (YANA), The Philadelphia Writer's Organization, The International Black Writer's Organization, and The International Women's Writing Guild.
Denise is listed in Who's Who, 100 Most Admired African American Women, and various novelists directories. She is the author of the new and emotionally gripping story - Love Pour Over Me, author of the motivational book Long Walk Up,author of the the historic mystery, Spiral, author of the children's book, Rosetta's Great Adventure, author of the multicultural celebrity mystery, Love Has Many Faces and the author of the story of a successful African American defense attorney dealing with breast cancer - Portia. She is currently working on her seventh and eighth novels.
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EARLY YEARS: African American books and urban novels author, Denise Turney, attended South-Young High School in Knoxville, Tennessee. Faculty voted her to be one of four students to attend Girls' State in Nashville. A nature and sports lover, Denise was one of Tennessee's top high school middle distance track and field runners and one of Knoxville's leading cross-country runners. After high school, Denise attended The University of Tennessee. She served on active duty in the United States Navy from 1984 - 1988. While serving in the Navy, she earned two Navy Achievement Medals within four years. She is a member of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Incorporated.
BACKGROUND: Denise Turney is the third cousin of Norris Turney, a jazz musician who played lead saxophone in Duke Ellington's Orchestra. She is the great-granddaughter of Rueben Skinner, one of Ohio and Kentucky's early and top African American show horse trainers. Denise is the sister of Eric Turney, an actor and professional singer who makes his home Orlando, Florida. She is the sister Reverend Richard Turney, pastor of Rest Haven Baptist Church, and Reverend Dr. Clark Turney, youth pastor and family counselor. Her sister and super good friend, Adrianne, is a retired police officer and school teacher. Denise is the daughter of Richard Turney, a pioneer and reportedly the first African American to successfully own and operate a business in South Knoxville. It was through her father that Denise first learned to dream. As a young girl, Denise loved going to NHRA drag races with her father and siblings and watching her father win races while driving his white Austin Healy. Her mother, Doris, transitioned when Denise was a young girl. Her father transitioned in 2011. Her precious son, Gregory, transitioned in 2017. Today they are among Denise's angels, the people Denise thinks about whenever she sees a butterfly or large birds.
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Denise encourages you to treat yourself with as much respect, love and tenderness that you would give to your very best friend. Her favorite scriptures are: "He persevered because he saw him who is invisible." -- Hebrews 11:27b (NIV) , "You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised." -- Hebrews 10:36 (NIV) and Psalm 23.
Love Pour Over Me (New Book), Long Walk Up, Love Has Many Faces, Portia and Spiral and Rosetta's Great Hope are the beginnings of great works created by this exciting professional writer. To our customers - Thank you for supporting Denise's books!
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LOVE POUR OVER ME'S PRELUDE:
It's the 1980s. Pork chops smothered in sweet onions are frying in the kitchen. PacMac is the rave. Outside sirens blare their way down the street. Not much has changed in Dayton, Ohio. Miles away, in Philadelphia, the University of Pemberton awaits the arrival of a high school track and field phenom, a local celebrity who is eager to escape home. But trouble has a way of following a man, especially one who's on the run.
Relax and stay awhile . . . Come closer . . . .
"What are you doing?" Bikila, dreams of his father fading, his brown eyes dreary, his body yelping for food that could not be found, called out to her. Moving beyond his four wives, he leaned forward and examined Mulukan. She upset his peace. Yesterday when her mother died he expected her to fall into another mother's arms and weep. She didn't. He watched her. She didn't cry once. This morning she smiled and played with the other children. It was as if she didn't know her father died nine months earlier, crumpling in a ball after he returned from hunting, his liver and kidneys surrendering to a heatstroke, or that her mother died just the previous afternoon.
Mulukan wasn't like her mother, a woman who had been inconsolable for several days after her husband's death. The day her husband died, Mulukan's mother refused comfort. Three weeks later two of Mulukan's brothers were mauled by hungry male lions. It was then Bikila instructed the people to gather their belongings and prepare to move. Grass was being eaten up by the sun. It hadn't rained in three weeks. Having seen this cycle of lack Bikila knew waiting to see what would come of the land would insure doom. The community covered ten miles before they located an area populated with lush trees. They remained a month, until swarms of mosquitoes chased them out. Before they left, Mulukan's mother, melancholy beginning to attach to her with each departing kin, buried her remaining sons and two eldest daughters, malaria snatching them from her, taking them, one by one, back to the earth. The women searched for roots in the underbrush, but nothing but death took the fever away from Mulukan's four siblings. Two weeks later, the community settled in the plain where yesterday Mulukan stood next to bare-breasted women, her head brushing their knees, while she watched her mother's body go back to the earth.
Bikila wondered what would come of Mulukan. He regarded her as if she were a book that, if he studied enough, would bring him wisdom. He made note of her conversation, ill-timed laughter and body language. He measured her responses to life events against those of the other children. The way she dealt with the loss of her family intrigued - frightened him. He began to think there was something sinister about her. It was as if she welcomed suffering, played and laughed with it, made it one of her invisible playmates.
"What are you doing over here by yourself?"
Just as Mulukan went to turn, Bikila was upon her. She felt the heat from his body hovering against her back.
"What are you doing over here?"
Mulukan knew she could be punished, sharp blows coming down upon her shoulders like heavy logs, if she didn't turn and face him. Yet she kept her back to him. "Watching the hill."
He followed her pointing finger then laughed. "Silly girl," he said then he turned and walked away from her.
She didn't move except to lower her arm.
"Come on," he demanded.
She stood with her back to him. He responded by rushing to her side and grabbing her arm. She grimaced while his long, dirty fingernails dug like thick, sharp pins into her skin. She didn't move.
"Mulukan's hunger for Africa's restoration worked like a magnet and pulled people like Kokumuo Kenyatta into her days."
He seemed born with the wisdom to know what it took to please a woman.
Portia looked at Dennis and wondered how he would react if it was his mother telling him she had breast cancer -- his mother instead of her. She knew how close he was to his mother, a fighter for unity amongst black families and single African Americans in Chicago, Illinois. Dennis telephoned his mother three to four times a week. He talked about her what seemed to Portia like every day.
Unlike his father, who hadn't telephoned, written or visited since he stomped out of the house when Dennis was only three years old, Dennis told her that his mother never hurt him, never let him down, not once betrayed his trust. She guessed his love for his mother was the reason he paid so much attention to her. He seemed born with the wisdom to know what it took to please a woman. He always gave her a back rub and ran her a tub of hot, bubble bath when she told him she was tired from spending ten grueling hours in court. When his friends rang his house and asked him to go to a game, a concert or to watch a big boxing match on TV with them, if Portia and he already had a scheduled date, he told his friends he'd catch them later. Although not an avid church-goer, he respected Portia's beliefs and spiritual principles. "I believe in God. Don't doubt that for a minute," He assured her. "Guess I'm going through a period where I don't agree with a lot that I see happening in churches. I know I have to deal with it, and I am. I'm dealing with it. I'm trusting God about this."
In the dead of winter, he shoveled Portia's BMW out of her side driveway and warmed the engine before she came outside to drive herself to church. When they socialized in large crowds and he sensed that she was feeling uncomfortable and shy, he moved close to her and told her jokes and funny stories until she laughed hard. He was warm and sincere. Clearly, she knew that he loved her even though he wasn't a man given to saying, "I love you" often.
In so many ways he was like her. He didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve. Until today, she regarded his cagd emotions as a show of strength. He was nothing like Darryl, a man she thought she would never miss . . . until today.
She was the woman who stood in front of her bedroom mirror before the start of her menstrual cycle and vowed, "I'm gonna change. This spring, I'm gonna grow up." She had much to learn about womens health. She was a growing child in one of Chicago, Illinois' strongest black families.
Denny was walking by. He was carrying his work boots from a corner of the living room to his bedroom closet. His pace slowed when he heard her talking to her reflection in the mirror. He smiled at her back while he entered her bedroom.
When he neared her side, he asked her, "Who are you talking to, Miss?" Then he told her, "You're a good girl. Don't be so serious. Have a little fun. It's okay to be mischievous every now and then. Your mama and I don't make a big deal out of the playful things you do." He grinned. "Although we would appreciate it if you would stop picking those apples off of mean ol' Miss Barnes' tree." Though he tried not to, when he imagined Miss Barnes banging on the front door to tell him, "Portia's done gone and done it again! In a week, she done went and picked my tree clean!" he laughed.
"Don't be in such a hurry to grow up."
He backed away from Portia. "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up," was the last thing he said to her before he crossed the hall and entered his own bedroom.
Portia was ten years old then. That spring, she did change.
She raced to the bathroom to pee one day after school. When she looked inside her panties, she saw sprinkles of blood. She stuck her head out the bathroom door and called for her mother. Two minutes later, her mother called Denny and sent him to the store. It wasn't long before Portia went into her dresser and pulled out a clean pair of cotton panties. She opened the bag Denny brought home from the store and slid a thick sanitary napkin onto the crotch of her underwear.
Four years later, when her hips started spreading and thickening and swinging, she chewed on her bottom lip and told her father, "Just because I'm getting fat doesn't mean I like boys. I never liked a boy, and I never will. I don't need anybody. I'm strong. I can take care of myself." Two years passed before she stopped telling her father that. It was the same day she kissed Jerome Poindexter after he drove her home. They'd gone to a movie. She was a sophomore in high school.
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Encouraging those who have faced challenges and -- like a champion -- have overcome
The summer of 1934 was an unusual summer in Louisville, Kentucky. It was the
summer children became scared to go outside and play. Although they never said
a word, not even amongst each other, the children knew through the many warnings
their parents gave them something more fierce, dreadful and evil than ghosts,
goblins and imaginary monsters was outside . . . maybe at the park, just around
the corner from their family home, perhaps at the edge of the school yard. . .
"Come 'ere, little girl," a wiry, middle-aged man said while he curled his finger. "Come on, now. I ain't gonna hurt you. I know you're going home from school. It's a long way. Come on with me. I'll give you a ride home so you don't have to walk all that long way."
The freckle-faced girl grinned shyly at the man who was leaning out of the side of a rusty, old pick-up truck smiling and winking at her. A moment later, the little girl sat on the passenger seat with the man. She giggled each time he reached over and tickled her. In between a burst of laughter, the girl looked up at the man and asked, "What's your name?"