For the Love of Money : A Novel
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Tracy Ellison, the sizzling heroine of the bestselling Flyy Girl, returns in this razor-sharp sequel from acclaimed author Omar Tyree.
From hard-knocks Philly to glamorous Hollywood, Tracy Ellison has truly walked the walk. Now twenty-eight years old and a major movie star, the original Flyy Girl is returning to her East Coast roots. As Tracy reconnects with friends, she seems on the brink of a happily-ever-after existence. But as she begins to address the uncertainties of her youth, Tracy stirs up a string of difficult questions about past loves, ambivalent family ties, and her artistic ambitions. Can attaining success and happiness really be as simple as Tracy makes it look?
Crackling with honesty and passion, For the Love of Money is a triumphant continuation of the adventures of one of contemporary fiction's most outrageous young heroines.
been offered a sequel idea. But if you want to act like an asshole about it, we’ll just move on to someone else.” I walked out of his trailer still uncertain about him. Some damn peacemaker I was. It sounded more like I was rubbing the whole deal in his face more than settling him down. However, my talk seemed to work. Paully became more relaxed over the next couple of days about his methods and overall vision. That only made me work harder for him, because I wanted to get along and make another
sold to go to film school at USC.” They laughed a little louder at that, but I had nothing to laugh about. I was paying strict attention. “Okay,” he said, holding up the finished screenplays in his hand, “these are a couple of the screenplays that we’re going to look at as we get started here. I have Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat, Steven Haft’s Dead Poets Society, John Singleton’s Poetic Justice, and Richard Zanuck’s Jaws. “By chance, have you guys seen any of these films?” our instructor joked
again. I even smiled at that. However, I did wonder how many writers in that room saw Poetic Justice. I thought that John Singleton could have used a woman’s touch on writing it myself. He should have given me a call. I smiled and held my thoughts to myself. “Okay, as you guys should already know, all successful story writing should have a beginning, an ending, a drive, a few conflicts, and a definitive resolution. “You want to make sure that you define who your audience is. “You want to make
didn’t identify with being black?” I asked her. We stopped at my car. “Yes. I was like, where are the real black people out here?” I laughed and said, “Well, girl, you just found one.” I went further with it and opened the trunk of my car. “Matter of fact,” I said, grabbing one of my hardback books from the box, “I’ll even let you read about it.” She looked at the illustration on the front cover and read the summary inside. She asked, “You have a book written about you?” She seemed really
turning twenty-five years old in September, and I had just wrapped up my second year of instructing English at East Germantown Middle School. I had no idea what I was waiting for in my life, or why I thought that I could appease myself as a Philadelphia schoolteacher. Nevertheless, that was the career that I had settled on. It was the last week of the 1995–96 school year, and grades were already in, so we were basically babysitting the students for those last few days before sending them off for