A Half A Century Later

“The only person holding me back was me.” - R. Raminyah Ingram

Books have been my refuge since I can remember. I wandered through Greek, Egyptian and Roman myths before the thrill of fantasy and the vast possibilities of science fiction captured me. As a teen, I devoured Harlequin Presents, losing myself in tales of passion and adventure.

In college, my African American Literature professor assigned a timeline of an author’s life and works. I chose an African American science fiction writer, though finding one proved challenging. My research led me to Samuel R. Delany. After grading my project, she met me in the hall of the Women’s Building at Tennessee State University and handed me three books by Octavia E. Butler. Kindred, Parable of the Sower and Wildseed shaped my vision of the world. I carried them on my pilgrimage to Gambia and Senegal. Queen Mother Butler’s vision of America, Africa and slavery, reimagined through myth and magic, set my heart alight and taught me how stories weave truth into the extraordinary.

After college, I lived in the boogie down Bronx with my aunt and uncle. Her shelves brimmed with vampire and werewolf sagas, each story sparking new wonder. Epic adventures of fantasy and lore held me spellbound.

Today I devoured every online wolf tale I could find, but each fell flat. Heroines waited to be rescued by commanding alphas, errors marred the text, and chapters vanished behind paywalls teasing a promise I longed to keep but never fulfilled. No world held me. No character stirred my soul. I longed for a story rich with history, alive with purpose, populated by characters who breathed beyond cliché.

One morning I set frustration aside and declared: I will write the wolf story that captures my heart. I would create a tale I would purchase and reread eagerly. That spark grew vast. By the fourth version, a single novel had blossomed into a trilogy. Characters claimed their arcs. Nations took shape. Mysteries whispered in every corner of the map.

At the heart of this universe lies the Africas, origin of my ancestors before the Triangle Trade tore their world apart. Across the ocean, the Americas emerged with twenty six states east of the Mississippi River. West of that current lie the Wastelands. For those who live there, the name carries honor. They thrive on land deemed uninhabitable. Communities grow from shared strength and ancient rituals. Their laws echo tribal heritage. Innovation and resilience flourish under open skies.

Their journey mirrors the courage and sacrifice of pioneers on the Oregon Trail. Many lives faded along dusty trails. Those who arrived found freedom in wide plains and purpose in ancestral rites. They carry traditions that bind spirit to soil. Their voices bear stories of survival and belonging. They face new challenges through ceremonies that heal old wounds and light new paths.

Shifting Ground Chronicles weaves real struggles into a tapestry of spirit and memory. You will explore questions of identity, power and healing. You will follow Guardians who uphold ancient pacts. You will encounter visions etched in moonlit earth. You will journey through landscapes carved by sacrifice and triumph.

Here on this blog, I will share glimpses of hidden histories, portray fierce souls and offer insights into traditions that shape choice. I will honor art that breathes life into distant realms. I will invite reflection on themes that guide our journeys.

Here you will discover worlds born from that spark: tales of vampires, medicine men and wombyn, and wolves that linger long after the final page. Tua-u (Thank you) for joining me on this journey. Peace and blessings until our next entry, when the Mother’s Womb reveals its promise to heal worlds shaped by history.

Peace and Blessings,

Let's Graduate...