“She arrives in all her splendor…” There are those that would say I am a whore. Many say I am a bitch. Some would call me a home wrecker, mechanic, nut, hip-pie, artist, gold digger, and thankfully, a biker. I think I simply agree with Tennyson that the happiness of man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions. I also agree with Mae West, a hard man is good to find. I am larger than life. I am a rock star. I have never aspired to second place. I am a boy. I am a temptress. I am meaner than nine rat-tlesnakes and a sawed off shot gun. I can fly thru air weightless and free, from a dirty little kid with scabby knees screaming down the twisty steep hills in front of my dad’s shop on a three speed bicycle to a leather clad goddess raping thousands of miles of highways with the thunder of two wheeled dragons. I generally offer my opinions for anyone who will listen, usually adorned with more four letter words than any seasoned sailor could conquer.. I believe in God and weep at the wonder of him as I cross the Great Divide, gaze across the hills of Kentucky, smell a puppy‘s breath or watch a newborn baby open its eyes… I am the wicked witch on her broomstick when I take my Harley on a midnight, moonlight ride. I am Scarlett O’Hara stomping over men like Sherman through Atlanta, claiming as my God given southern right to fiddle dee dee wherever I please. I am a honky tonk angel and a southern Baptist deacon’s daughter. I can tell you down to the most precise second how to make blackberry plum jelly, turnip greens and fatback, or smooth corn moonshine, and can rattle off the timing on a Chevy 350 or the paint code for Plum Crazy on a 1974 Charger. I devour novels of every form and fashion, and men as well. I ride Harley Davidson, and only, Harley Davidson motorcycles. I am ninety percent deaf. I drip diamonds like Eva Gabor in cut off overalls and dirty bare feet, picking black eyed peas or painting a hot rod. I swig 100 proof Kentucky bourbon straight out of the bottle and smoke 2 packs of camels a day. I am dying rather swiftly at age 35 of autoimmune diseases. A select few think I am heaven sent.. I reckon the sources of my inspiration and adventures are aroused by someplace a good bit warmer than that...

Amy White at Red Room This is a link to a synopsis, introduction, and excerpt from Wicked Bitch at Red Room, a website that features authors. http://www.redroom.com/publishedwork/wicked-bitch