about The DiamonD Chronicles

Recently I noticed that I haven`t posted anything on The DiamonD Chronicles just a lead header at HUSH`s sister site, The DiamonD Saga.  So to spare suspicion on what the Chronicles are about the conclusion is pretty much self-explanatory – you don`t have to be a goddamn genius to figure that out! – but I understand it`s good to gain some insight about it.e DiamonD Chronicles II

The DiamonD Chronicles is a Miniseries of Novellas composed of rivalry-ism, hidden agendas, family secrets; greed, betrayal, revenge; power, money, sex; issues that will threaten the operation of The DiamonD and its Empire on a day-to-day basis; issues that will often end with a damaging result or a surprising twist; endings that will not disappoint but rather leave the reader wanting more.

I can`t say for sure how many Novellas will originate from the Chronicles as I haven`t thought that far as of yet.  What I am thinking of however, is branching into another Series in the next couple of years.  I do have some idea but it`s still a little hazy.

if you ask me, Mother Goose was just another scapegoat

(Such a poem riffed in simplicity

but why does it bring so much contradictories?)


a red Rose is the least of a Child`s interest

only that it`s the main color

in a box of crayons next to black; and

the color of their favorite toy car; and

the color of a little girl`s dress

that isn`t quite a Sunday best

if it has laces and bows

and shows above the knees;


Violet is a flower

and has no memory of being blue

if it`s blue it`s due

to the children stepping and

stomping on their whimsical petals

as children can be so quite cruel;

no unusual punishment there …


children don’t know

that they are succulent sweet

they only know how to eat the Sugar

then they think you`re a perv

for using such a dirty word

to describe them;


to an Adult there is nothing

rosey about red that

it only brings dread on Valentine`s Day

if she doesn`t receive her dozen Roses

all vibrant, long stemmed, un`thorny

if you`re expected to be loved by her at all; 


lovers do not think of Violets of blue

they are not botanists just civilians

trying to survive the headaches of

fashioning a garden to entertain the sane;

bring color to life in an obvious ashen world;


and what of the Sugar

as we are all obviously not as sweet

like the treats found in a drug store;

we are sour and sore and we want more

than what our cavities can endure …



poetic observation taken from “Roses Are Red“, a 1784 Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme; not exactly a fave of mine ~ published 6`18 Devlin De La Chapa ~ quite fitting for The DiamonD


The DiamonD: Chapter Three ~ sampler available on Amazon

Still not sure about buying The DiamonD:  Chapter Three in it`s entirety then try the “Sampler“.  Sure it sounds like an appetizer you`d order at your favorite Bar `n Grill but think of how much grief you`ll spare yourself devouring a read you won`t gain any weight from.

And don`t forget to indulge your eye`buds with these two scrumptious “Samplers“ also included on DiamonD`s menu (nothing “organic“ here just raw, uncharred, pulse-pounding flesh).  Enjoy!

DiamonD Chapter One bc   DiamonDs Chapter Two

DiamonD Chapter Three Excerpt

     I took a seat at the edge of the unmade bed and caught a glimpse of someone resembling me through the mirror suspended over a three tier dresser sitting directly to my left, at the same time, noticing her tired reflection; nowhere near the vicinity of nineteen but more along the lines of an aging angst teen:  drugged out, partied out, and fucked out of her mind.  It was an unnerving sight the more and more I slipped into her reflection and shattered the windows to her soul with my fists further destroying whatever underlying beauty remained.

     Just then Carlos stepped into the mirror thus choking my reflection with his in which I took as a sign of intimidation; intimidation to forcing me back on the level of our organization’s thinking.

     “You do remember what we’re after here right, esa?” I lowered my gaze from the mirror and merely nodded; not in regards to Carlos’s intimidation but to the fact that this was about Bree; about my father; about controlling Hollywood and perhaps all of L.A.  “Good,” Carlos applauded verbally, stepping back from me.  “So. . .Tammy,” he then probed casually, yet curiously.  “Did you make her understand?”

     “Somewhat. . .but I’m not sure I did,” I retorted honestly, yet there was doubt clinging to my response.

     “You can’t be second guessing yourself in this business, esa.  Either you’re right or you’re right; there’s no in between or reasons for conscience.  As a Jefe, it’s up to you to set rules, to discipline, to have total control of every aspect of their life.  If they have habits, you support them, and only by giving them enough that way their forced to stay loyal.  If they need food, clothes, a place to live, then it’s you who provides.  Pimping rucas is like a game of chess, esa, it’s all strategic.  The only thing you have to worry about is either losing your rucas to drugas, the law or another pimp.  Now Tammy,” Carlos said abruptly switching the conversation back to her.  “She’s gotta be dealt with, and severely.”

     “C’mon, Carlos,” I began to argue.

     “Nah-ah, esa!” Carlos interjected brusquely, shaking his head unsympathetically.  “It’s one thing to get high to motivate you; it’s another when you become addicted.  Then stealing to support that habit. . .that shit can get bitches killed.  Knowing that, you can’t have a conscience.  You wanted this remember. . .back at the chante, in your room?  You said you wanted to take care of it.  So now, take care of it,” Carlos said comically, calling my bluff.

     Suddenly the room started to spin with my emotions being swept up in its current thus fucking with my insides, my gut, my fear.  I mean, I genuinely did not have the heart to discipline any of these Hollywood hos but I did realize that I had the drive which was pretty fucked-up to admit.  It was like having the Devil occupying one shoulder with the Angel occupying the other; both whispering to my conscience; both weighing my options when all along I felt like Lady Liberty bounded in her blind scales of justice:  I had to make a choice to choosing the most logical form of discipline.

     And what went through my head was not a pretty sight considering there was theft and a habit to break.

     I got up from the edge of the bed and crossed to the dresser and studied my reflection in the mirror with my eyes slowly trailing that valley crafted from my throat down to my cleavage then down toward the center of my jeans where the bulge of my gun protruded like the erection of a man aching to escape and conquer the whole-fucking-world with a simple blow of his cock.  It was quite exhilarating and disturbing to think of my gun in that explicit and vile sense.  But I guess one just had to be there to understand such power.

     “Listo?” Carlos said pulling me from my thoughts.  I nodded with Carlos opening the bedroom door and me walking on ahead of him.




and here I thought [my] self`edited books were “The-fucking-Bomb“


. . .Pft!  Was I way-the fuck-off!

And this is why I`m re`editing pretty much all my books excluding HUSH.

Cartoon pic 2

“It`s funny because you think you`ve written a flawless manuscript only to come to find that when you go back and read it`s all over the fucking place!“

~ comment Quote courtesy of ME in response to a recent comment on a post


(post`script:  I hope I`m not the only dumb`ass who feels this way.  If so . . . Eh!)