The NonFiction of an American Horror Story

If you have never watched the movie The Purge, or any of its sequels for that matter, you should. Not because the movie is great (its not), but it poses a big “whatif” dichotomy that takes place in your head. Its a notion that causes you to ponder ‘what if our American government did allow a legal day of mass killing for us to kill the people we hate?’ Then it hit me- our government already does allow that- everyday.

Sorry, Mr. Trump. In this American Horror Story, America will never be great again!

It never was. When hateful Whites kill(ed) Blacks it was because they hated the color of their skin. When Black people kill(ed) each other its because- well- we hate the color of our own skin too. We can attribute it to gang violence, drugs, or whatever social ill you can name. Nonetheless, the same pretense of hate we kill ourselves under is the same hate that influenced White cops to kill Black innocent males. Hell, we’ve been purging for centuries as far as I see it. Some cultures have just been a little more unfortunate than others when it comes to seeing it more regularly.

So what’s the answer to this senseless measure of hate? Some of us have heard this before, but its going to take accountability on both sides. Yes, we need Whites who are willing and not filled with hate to step up and speak out on these issues. It was necessary to end slavery on December 6th, 1865 and it is necessary now to end injustice in 2017. However, I can’t ask for accountability for Whites to join us in this fight until I put the onus on gang members, drug dealers, and those of us who are killing each other within the Black community  to do it first. Otherwise, the immoral killings of innocent Blacks are justified. At least that’s what hateful White Americans will believe.

We are far from an American Dream as a country, but with accountability from both sides we can put an end to the nightmare many of us have been living. Just as the famous novel from Madelein L’Engle, A Wrinkle In Time, reminds us- Love Trumps Hate every time. (Pun intended).

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Majesties of Canaan: Speed Trap (Superhero Excerpt)

Read the first chapter of Denin Harvick’s story before he became the superhero speedster known as Slaycick with the Majesties of Canaan, then download the full eBook right here!

 

CHAPTER 1

A Speedster’s Remorse

 

 

“Runner’s to your mark!”

The temperature over the Olympic stadium in Los Angeles was one hundred and ten degrees. It was a scorcher. Denin Harvick jumped up and down a few times in an effort to keep his legs loose before he loaded himself into the starting blocks. He was in lane five and was staring down the track at the finish line; envisioning himself winning the race.  The London born sprinter who was half British- half Jamaican, was in his semi-final round and led the entire world with the fastest time in the one-hundred-meter dash with a time of 9.66.

Denin kneeled down and backed himself into the starting blocks slowly as if he was a coiled spring being pushed back. He made sure he had just the right amount of tension on his front leg, so he could get a very explosive start when he launched out of the blocks. He fixed his gaze on the starting line as both of his arms were locked and extended on the ground with his hands just behind the starting line.

“Get set!”

Representing the UK in the Olympics was always a dream of his as a child. Though he had dual citizenship, the UK was his home. His father, who was Jamaican, only saw Denin sparingly throughout his life. Nonetheless, he had achieved one of his many goals which was to make it to the Olympics. It made his mother proud and making his mother proud was always the sweetest sensation to him. He was now only one race away from making the Olympic finals. He had worked so hard for it after barely missing the 2024 Olympics and now four years later, he was favored to win the gold by a long shot.

He rose up slowly, lifting his backside in the air and keeping the same amount of tension on his front leg. Only his arms supported the weight of his upper body as he leaned forward just a bit. The gun starter held the sprinters in that position for a few seconds, which to the sprinters, seemed like an eternity.

BANG!!!

The gun went off and the sprinters were out of the blocks and driving down the track. Denin was always known for his quick start. After his first three steps the crowd could see he was already in front of half of the pack. Two other sprinters were neck and neck with him as they neared thirty meters. Denin and the two other sprinters put a small gap of separation between them and the rest of the pack. One sprinter from Canada and the other from America were side by side with him until about fifty meters in to the race where Denin began to pull away with fluidity. His form was graceful; poetic to say the least and his stride was long and quick. His muscular frame with bulging arms and tree trunk legs flexed as he pumped showing the definition and intricate details of his muscle tone. The moment of it would only be caught in slow motion or through the lens of many photographers for their respective magazines, newspapers, social media or blog sites. Because in real time, the only thing the crowd in the stadium saw along with the two billion viewers at home was nine seconds of blistering speed barreling down the track.

By the time they got to seventy meters, Denin had opened up his lead and was watching himself on the big screen located behind the seats at the north end of the stadium where the finish line was located. He felt himself pulling away from the competition, even the other two sprinters who tried to push him during the first part of the race. By the time they got to eighty-five meters, Denin had increased his lead by three steps in front of the second place finisher from America. He began to decrease his speed; shutting it down early as he coasted across the finish line seamlessly while smiling and waving to the crowd. The time on the clock read 9.62 as the crowd erupted. It was a fast time that was ran with so much ease that the broadcasters and journalist across the globe were predicting a world-record performance in the finals.

“Denin, get over here,” said Ryan Feathers, the trackside correspondent for NBC. “That race looked easy for you. How do you feel about the finals tomorrow night?”

The cameraman zoomed in on Denin who had a cheesy grin on his face. Denin grabbed at the rubber bands that held his hair together and pulled them off. His skinny dreadlocks fell to his shoulders as he began to address the question, still somewhat breathing heavily from the race he won just seconds ago.

“I feel confident, Ryan,” responded Denin. “This has been a great year for me. I’ve worked hard and treated my body well throughout the course of this year. I haven’t lost any races this year and I only have one more to go for an undefeated season and ultimately Olympic gold.”

“Take us through your race,” said Ryan. “You seemed to really get out of the blocks well and then you just ran away from the pack.”

“Yeah, that was my goal. Getting out the blocks and taking an early lead can play a psychological game with the opponents. I know if I get out on everyone quick, there is no one who can catch me. This is my year.”

“Can we expect a new world record from you tomorrow in the finals?”

“I’ll say this. Usain Bolt set the record high many years ago, but if the conditions are right tomorrow like it is today, you will see a world record,” said Denin as he looked into the camera, addressing the home audiences. I know I’m more than capable of breaking it and tomorrow I will be running through the tape full speed. No early shut downs for me tomorrow.”

“There you have it from the horse’s mouth,” said Ryan. “Back to you Shirley and Chuck.

Denin walked off the track and signed a few autographs for some fans sitting in the front row. He proceeded to the tunnel. He grabbed his back pack, quickly put on his warm-up, and changed his shoes. Denin headed back to his hotel room after talking to a few more reporters. Once he got to his hotel, he sprawled across the bread and turned on the television. He enjoyed hearing the sports analysts talking about him. ESPN and a few other renowned sports channels were showing footage of Denin’s race. He was simultaneously excited and nervous about the next day’s race.

He knew he was a bright spotlight in a world that was falling apart. The Olympics were one of the only few events that brought the world together and even the light was starting to dim in that arena. Nonetheless, Denin Harvick, like many other young sports stars and entertainers was too caught up in himself to care about the social, political, and spiritual ills the world was enduring. His endorsements, sponsorships and commercials paid him handsomely along with a modeling gig that he fell into for being good-looking and built. He drifted to sleep with his mind wrapped around the finals until a phone call interrupted his slumber.

“Hello,” said Denin in a groggy voice.

“Denin, get your butt up!” said the voice on the end.

It was his agent, Patrick Bethard, a fast talking Irish man who took his clients and their livelihood very seriously.

“What’s up?” asked Denin

“You failed your urine test! That’s what’s up. They’re getting ready to break the story. What the hell, Denin? Are you using?”

“I haven’t done anything, Pat! Slow down.”

“Denin, I want you to listen to me,” said Patrick. “This kind of stuff is serious. If you lie to me, I can’t help you. The media is about to be all over this thing and you need to have a reason as to why the Olympic committee is saying that you failed your drug test. They’re calling it a diluted substance, implying that you may have used a masking agent. Now, before you tell me you didn’t do anything, I want you to remember that the truth always comes out, Denin. You were young when the Balco scandal took place, but many popular athletes lost their reputation after denying vehemently that they weren’t using. So, I’m going to ask you again. What’s up?”

There was a long silence. Denin’s heart was racing as he searched for an explanation or a lie that would make sense. He couldn’t find one. With a sigh of defeat, Denin unleashed the truth.

“I took something, Pat. I’ve used before, but I never got caught because the masking agent I was using was potent and I was told it would dissolve in my system quicker. It worked all this time until now.”

“Oh my God, Denin! What were you thinking? When I took you on as a client, we made a pact to do things the right way. What would drive you to do something like this?”

“Everybody’s using, Pat. How do you think I even found out about it this stuff? There are others using the same stuff I’m using.”

“So what are we doing? Playing follow the leader?” shouted Patrick. “Let them get caught! Not you! You’re not one of them! It’s your job to stay clean, Denin!”

Denin sat in silence with the reality of what was about to happen to his career. He had no words to rebuttal with. Patrick gathered himself to give Denin the best advice he could before the curtains were pulled on his career.

“Ok,” said Patrick taking a deep breath of frustration. “The best way to handle these things is to get out in front of it. I’m going to organize a press conference and prepare a statement. You’re going to read that statement in front of the press tomorrow. Your corporate sponsors are going to pull out, but I’m going to help you weather the storm. This is your first offense, so maybe the ban won’t be too harsh.”

“The ban?” asked Denin

“Yes, Denin. They’re going to ban you. Our hope is that it will be a short ban. Get your rest. I’ll be at your hotel in the morning at seven a.m. Be up and ready to go. We have a lot to go over.”

Denin could not sleep anymore. He stayed awake with the few hours he had left. The world’s fastest man that everyone grew to love would now be the most hated, labeled a cheat, and stripped of the accolades that he had earned. It worried him, but he knew he would have to face the music and the tunes would not sound good.

 

***

 

“What I did was wrong and there are no excuses for it,” said Denin Harvick as he stood at a podium in front of many reporters and with camera lights flashing in his face. “I’m ashamed of what I’ve done and I’m even more sorry for hurting my fans, the Olympic committee, the Track & Field Federation, and my family. I accept the punishment and any repercussions that the committee hands down. Once again, I’m sorry.”

Denin left the podium with tears running down his face as reporters tried to shout over each other to asks questions for their feature stories. Denin ignored them and walked past a crowd of people who continued to snap photos for their own amusement at his downfall. Much of the sports world was in shock. The breaking news was on every major network across the globe. It became the big story of the Olympic games for the rest of the week. As his agent had predicted, all of Denin’s sponsors had dropped him. In addition, the Olympic committee had immediately released him from the games and the governing board of Track and Field had issued a four-year ban against Denin stating he could not compete in the sport until 2032.

Denin left Los Angeles inconspicuously, hoping to avoid media. He quickly returned to London and took himself off the radar of society. He was already the joke of many memes on social media. The shame and ridicule he endured over the next year of his life would force him into hiding. He began to live a very secluded life as he distanced himself from friends and family. He left his soul open to depression and his mind open to negative thoughts which both fed off of each other. What was once a fully loaded ego had now become a scrawny shell of low self-esteem.

Too ashamed to take a regular nine to five job in fear that people would recognize him, Denin tried to live off the money he had earned during his few years on top as the world’s fastest man. That money quickly dwindled over the next three years. With no money coming in, Denin found himself on the end of a foreclosure settlement that obligated him to leave a beautiful mansion and downsize to an apartment that he was only able to make payments on for another year before all of his financial resources were depleted. After being evicted from his apartment, Denin turned to a life on the streets. He began selling drugs as well as using them. Too prideful to ask anyone for help despite the sinking ship he was on, Denin decided he would rather drown in private rather than expose the man he was now. Hardly recognizable, Denin Harvick had hit rock bottom.

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Hey, friends and fam! If you enjoyed the first chapter of “Speed Trap” make sure you download the whole book for your eReader device or phone. Read up on the full journey Denin Harvick’s life before he became the dazzling speedster/superhero known as Slaycick. Also make sure you get the first two installments of the Majesties of Canaan Saga; The Goliath Project (book 1) and Secret of the Oramite (book 2). Get them now and enjoy an adventurous read!

 

Superhero BooksSuperhero Books

 

 

 

Superhero Novel

Book one of the dynamic, new superhero series

Superhero Novel

Book 2 of the epic exciting, Majesties of Canaan series.

Majesties of Canaan: Angel of Angola (Superhero Excerpt)

Take a glimpse into the first origin story of the Majesties of Canaan superhero saga. With the first two books already in circulation, author and creator, Chayil Champion takes us deeper into the lives of each superhero before they attained their abilities.

 

Chapter 1

Reasons for War

 

 

“Baby, why must you leave here to fight another country’s war? Angola needs you here,” said Milija Chuweh as she wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist.

Mukimbu Chuweh, a 6’8” brown-skinned, Angolan soldier draped in green military fatigues and a tight-fit, green Under Armour shirt to match, stared down into his wife’s eyes beholding her beauty while taking in her reasonable plea for him to remain home. The two stood, embraced to one another in their kitchen after a delightful breakfast.

“Sweetheart, this war is bigger than me. The world is changing for the worse and the entire continent of Africa is vulnerable right now. Greed and corruption have consumed many. There are over 30 Middle East terrorist groups who are playing a cruel game of divide and conquer; rioting parts of Northern Africa while in their pursuit of the “black diamond.”

“Baby, I know, but what does that have to do with you going over 2,000 miles north to fight in Niger. It makes no sense!”

“Niger is under attack and their generals have made a call for any able and willing soldiers to come to their aide. Sadly enough, we don’t have enough men answering the call and other countries around the world don’t give a rat’s butt what happens in Africa. If we stand by and let the northern countries fall, they’ll begin to make their way down to the southern countries as well. Our country has been protected by God’s hand, which is more reason why I cannot sit idly by and watch this happen. Plus, my brother is there.”

“What about your son and daughter?” asked Milija, releasing her hands from around her husband and stepping back to look at him in disdain. “Abilio needs you! Elsabe needs you! I need you!”

“Baby, I’ll only be gone for a week. Then, I’m coming back. Angola will be fine. There’s no sign of a threat headed this way, so you and the children will be fine. I’ve asked Welabe to check on you daily while I’m gone.”

“Really, Mukimbu? An old man. What’s he going to do if something should go wrong?”

“Baby, you worry too much. Angola boasts one of the strongest militaries in all of Africa. Our homeland security is top of the line and only a few of us our going on the call to help Niger.”

“I understand, but it is unnecessary for you to go. You have served your country well and you are still serving your country by rendering your services here. Why do you feel obligated to be everywhere?” said Milija as her tone proved agitated.

“Because I serve a purpose bigger than a country, or even a continent for that matter. I see evil growing in a world that God intended for men to rule over in peace. I’m fighting a much bigger battle for a much bigger purpose than meets the eye.”

Milija put her face in her hands and rubbed it gently, inconspicuously gritting her teeth to conceal her frustration at her husband’s rationale. She calmed herself and brought her face up to look at him.”

“Baby, I know what you’re feeling; this sense of compulsion to do more drives you, but God doesn’t need us to fight in every war. The Old Testament spoke of battles where the Lord moved and the soldiers didn’t have to lift a finger.”

“We live in different times, Milija.”

“Yeah, but we serve the same God who has delivered men from evil from the beginning of time. You need to spend more time in prayer than on the battlefield.”

“Enough!” belted an agitated Mukimbu. “I’m going and that’s final, Milija.”

“Ok,” said Milija in a calm manner as she backed down submissively to her husband’s angry rebuttal. “Just do me a favor and talk to your children. They’re going to want to know why their daddy is leaving them again. I’m out of excuses.”

Milija turned around and left the room.

Feeling conviction for the way he spoke to his wife, Mukimbu sighed deeply and leaned over the kitchen sink. He watched his son and daughter playing cheerfully in the backyard. Their laughter and giggle brought joy to him on a daily basis. Seeing them play caused him to smirk, despite the slight altercation with him and his wife.

Mukimbu walked outside to the backyard. He kneeled down and picked up some soil where his wife had been planting a new garden. Aganathin let the soil run through his fingers back to the ground. A sensation he enjoyed ever since he was a child; a kid who enjoyed the elements and nature no matter what season they were in.

He stood up and called his children over to him.

“Abilio! Elsabe! Come!”

Aganathin’s children came running over to him. He kneeled down once more to catch them both with a large bear hug. His huge arms swallowed up both of his children as he hugged them and fell backwards, imitating as if he had just been tackled. The soldier rolled around the ground with both of them, making grizzly bear sounds as their giggles echoed in the outdoors. After a few moments of play, Mukimbu rested on one knee as his children stood in front of him.

“Listen. Daddy has to go away for a few days. You both know about the attacks going on around the world. Daddy has to go see to it that the bad men don’t hurt anymore people.”

“Daddy, where are you going?” asked Abilio. “I’m going to Niger, son. They are under serious attack and they need reinforcements. I’m only going to be gone for a week and I promise you two we’ll all go on a family vacation; ok?”

“Ok, Daddy,” said Abilio as he hugged his father.

“I love you, Daddy,” said Elsabe as she came in for a hug alongside her brother.

“I love you too, Princess! You both make sure you take care of your mother while I’m gone.”

“We will,” said Elsabe.

“Abilio, you make sure you watch over your sister and your mother. You’re the man of the house while I’m gone.”

“I will, Daddy.”

Mukimbu sent the children inside as he followed after them. He went into his den, which also served as his safe place for his weapons and machinery. He began to pack his army bag with his hand guns and grenades. He grabbed his machine gun, loaded it with a magazine full of bullets, and put the other magazines in his bag. He then made his way to a wall where two axes hung from a hook. He removed both of them, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the bedroom where his wife sat on the bed staring out the window with tears streaming down her face. It was a scene that made him feel all the more convicted about how he snapped at his wife earlier.

“Baby… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk to you the way I did. There’s no excuse.”

“Save your apologies, Mukimbu,” said Milija as she wiped the tears from her face with her hand. “When I married you, I knew what I was getting. Any man who turns down a chance to play pro basketball in America to fight in a war is truly a soldier at heart. Besides, you’re right. The world is drowning in more evil than ever and only few are answering the call. I guess I’m just selfishly upset that my husband is one of the few and I hate that I have to share you with the rest of the world.”

“I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” said Mukimbu hoping to smooth things over and win a satisfying approval from his wife.

“You don’t have to patronize me, Mukimbu. Go! The kids and I will be fine.”

Milija’s response, coupled with her dismissive tone, let Mukimbu know that she was not in a good mood. Mukimbu sighed in lackadaisical defeat, grabbed his bag, and exited his house. He threw his bag and axes into a faded beige Hummer, which was parked outside and drove a few miles up the road to the army base in Luanda, the country’s capital.

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Download the full copy of the first Majesties of Canaan origin story; Angel of Angola, for FREE by clicking here or on the image below! Its available in formats for ALL eReaders! Also, make sure you head over to Amazon and get your copies of Majesties of Canaan: The Goliath Project (book 1) and Majesties of Canaan: Secret of the Oramite (book 2).

New Era, New War, New Heroes!

Superhero Origin Stories

Origin story one of Aganathin during his climactic journey to attaining his super gifts amidst the beginning of a new world war.

Superhero Novel Series

Book one of the dynamic, new superhero series

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Superhero Novel Series

Book 2 of the epic exciting, Majesties of Canaan series.

Superhero Origin Story

Origin story one for Slaycick; the speedster whose story of redemption placed him among one of the most powerful super teams in the fight against evil

WRITING BLACK

 

 

Recently, I read an article in Forbes that listed the top 12 highest paid authors of 2016 and I must admit that I was highly motivated after reading it. Now, before I get to the meat of my point, I want to make the disclaimer that as an author, I write for the love of it. It has been a passion of mine since middle school. In college, I double-majored in English and Journalism. I began penning my first book in 2009 and since then I have seven publications listed on Amazon. Like I said, it’s a passion of mine.

However, when I read the Forbes piece I was moved by several ideas. One, I was reminded that the art of writing was not dead. I also learned the dividends could be lucrative if one persevered through the pains of slowly building a large reader base while attempting to convince millions why their book is the next best thing to read. James Patterson, J.K. Rowling, and Jeff Kinney rounded off the top 3 of that list with Patterson bringing in $95 million at the top position. Rowling and Kinney tied for 2nd at $19 million. Yes, seeing those dollar signs can motivate anyone and I’ll be the first to admit that I would love to reach that type of success one day soon as an author. However, there was another factor about that list that stood out to me. Not one person was of color.

I’ve always been one for a challenge. Call it the athlete and competitor inside of me that never dies. However, this particular challenge has been a long fight. Gaining recognition in the literary world as a black writer is not a milestone that comes easy. A few names come to mind of those who were able to crack that glass ceiling. The likes of Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, and of course Langston Hughes all became renowned, successful authors. They have also inspired me to become a voice for this generation. Though being a voice in this generation means being able to adapt with the ever-changing flow of current that moves with pop culture.

In addition, the literary writing world has universally been an industry where not too many black men have ventured. Collectively, writing literature has not been the strongest point culturally for black men; neither has reading literature. You don’t have to look too far beyond the reading test scores in secondary schools across our country to figure that out. You also don’t have to look too far to see that there is a significant correlation between both reading and writing. This is why I am even more eager to create books that would attract minority teens and young adults to read more often; essentially sparking more minorities to write as well. My books are not limited to the black culture only, because I write material that crosses color lines, but I have put the responsibility upon myself to create reading material that would draw the interests of the African-American community as well as those in other cultures.

Times have changed. Many teachers are finding it difficult to engage students in reading altogether because the material is outdated and students find it hard to relate to. Is Shakespeare still relevant? As an author with an appreciation for literature, I would say yes, but only to a certain degree. A lot of the literature that we read when I was in high school and college was culturally biased. The only time I didn’t see it that way was when I finally took an African-American Literature class when I was a sophomore at the University of Miami. Like other artistic genres, literature is classified culturally to a degree and maybe those color lines aren’t mentioned out loud as often for the sake of being “politically correct” or “diplomatic,” but they still exist. This brings us to another hurdle.

Black writers don’t generate the support from their own people as do other writers because collectively, again I say collectively, black children and teens are not pushed to read in their home environment at a young age as much as their counterparts. Therefore reading is not perceived as a highly valued luxury as it should be. In turn, when it comes to writing books in general, unless we’ve had the blessing of establishing a large fan base of readers most of us authors are needles in a haystack screaming to be recognized for our works. Now, couple that with being black and the odds are even more against you. The Black community is extremely relevant when it comes to pop culture; particularly when it comes to fashion, music, and cinema. Those are areas where a lot of our youth are spending a lot of their money, or parents’ money for that matter. Henceforth, the companies that are leading in those particular industries benefit from the support of blacks worldwide. Look at the demographic in the lines outside the shoe stores when a new pair of Jordans drop. Point being, if literature generated the same popularity as some of these other industries, many more of us black authors would be seeing a lot more success when it comes to selling books.

Like music, literature appeals to different tastes. Black authors can and have created works that transcend the color barriers, but not on the same scale as black musicians. The number of African-Americans that have become successful in music far outnumber the number of successful African-American authors. Also, we have to call a spade a spade, according to the trends of pop culture, music has a far more attractive draw than literature. The average teen and young adult will spend more time streaming new music rather than searching for the latest read on Amazon or browsing books in the local Barnes & Noble. African-Americans have found much more success in music than in literature. When you consider how many black musicians have benefited from top record sales compared to those who have benefited from top book sales, the gap is largely disproportionate.

I believe much of that gap is attributed to cultural preferences. In a synonymous fashion, Literature is to arts & entertainment as golf is to the world of sports. You don’t see a lot African Americans in the game of golf. There are a few and only one name is relevant when it comes to African-Americans in golf and even he hardly embraced his black roots. In addition, because writing literature is not a genre that is embraced largely by African-Americans in this generation, particularly African-American males, it is important for those of us who are black writers to really embrace the craft. We have to take every opportunity to become better writers by honing our skill set, tightening up our grammar, making sure our editing process is meticulous, and learning how to market to our niche markets. As a Black male author, I’m figuring out that I have to work twice as hard in this industry to become relevant. It is possible, but it is a difficult mountain to climb.

Ultimately, when I see the success of other Black authors like Ta-Nehisi Coates and Roye Okupe who are climbing the ladder in the writing industry, it gives me hope that I can join their ranks and help literature become a revived trend in pop culture. However, it will take some innovation, reshaping, and great story telling to create that type of atmosphere in a genre that has been slowly declining in the black community. However, I have faith that is about to change real soon. My hopes are to write books that will simultaneously bring a larger appreciation of literature back to the African-American culture and draw the readership of other cultures as well. At the end of the day, if the product is good the majority of people will support it and appreciate it, regardless of creed or color. One Love.

#authorlife

 

About The Author:

Chayil Champion is a graduate of the University of Miami where he double-majored in English and Journalism while competing in football and track as a two-sport athlete. Champion is the author of multiple genres including, YA Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, Christian Fiction, and non-fiction. His works include Affiliated, Going Pro, newly released Majesties of Canaan: The Goliath Project, and But He Said He Was a Christian.  Download his books digitally on your tablet or buy the hard copies at Amazon today!