Authors: Sister Souljah
New York Times
“THE #1 AUTHOR OF THE HIP-HOP GENERATION.”
—Sean P. “Diddy” Combs
“THE ULTIMATE GHETTO GRIOT, ONLY TWO CLASSICS INTO THE GAME.”
Praise for Sister Souljah’s unforgettable novels
MIDNIGHT, A Gangster Love Story
“The story is sparkly and seductive from the jump. . . . Souljah is the Biggie of the block-hugging book world.”
“[Sister Souljah’s] fans will enjoy this edgy tale of love and survival led by the provocative lead character.”
“Shows the true grit of the New York boroughs, the strength and determination of an immigrant family and how, even in a concrete jungle, a rose can bloom. The book ends as if there will be a sequel. I hope there will be.”
“Souljah’s sensitive treatment of her protagonist is honest and affecting, with some realistic moments of crisis. . . . Souljah has obvious talent and sincere motives, making her a street-lit sophomore worth watching.”
“Hip-hop artist and master storyteller Souljah offers biting social critique on contemporary urban culture tucked inside a love story.”
THE COLDEST WINTER EVER
“A tour de force. . . . As finely tuned to its heroine’s voice as Alice Walker’s
The Color Purple
. . . . Riveting stuff, with language so frank it curls your hair.”
“Winter is nasty, spoiled, and almost unbelievably libidinous, and it’s ample evidence of the author’s talent that she is also deeply sympathetic.”
The New Yorker
“Intriguing. . . . Sister Souljah exhibits a raw and true voice in this cautionary tale. . . . A realistic coming-of-age story.”
“Real and raw. . . . If a rap song could be a novel, it might resemble Sister Souljah’s book. . . . The message is solid and one that we can never stop preaching to our youth—anything that comes too easy or too fast is also too risky.”
“Sometimes the stuggle has to be repackaged to get a point across. Sister Souljah, one of hip-hop’s perennial forces and a self-described ‘raptivist,’ does this with her first novel. . . .
The Coldest Winter Ever
is a platform for this resourceful young activist to spread messages that are clear, concise, and true to the game.”
“Souljah has an engaging style that makes the novel a fast, fun read.”
The Plain Dealer
“Hip-hop sage and activist Sister Souljah has taken her talents from the stage to the page.”
“This is a ghetto fairy tale with a surprise ending. . . . There’s a lesson to be learned from
The Coldest Winter Ever
“Compelling. . . . Tugs at the emotions.”
“Winter is . . . as tough as a hollow-point bullet. . . . Her voice is the book’s greatest strength.”
“This is a wild tale. . . . Sister Souljah has painted a vivid portrait of a girl you’d rather have as a friend than an enemy.”
“The power of Sister Souljah’s writing enthralled me from the first page. I hope she will continue making young men and women think, letting them know they have choices and that they can change their world.”
“Souljah, an Émile Zola of the hip-hop generation, has written a naturalist novel of a world without redemption. Her story, like the cultures it exposes, is an unflinching eye at the truth.”
New York Times
bestselling author Walter Mosley
Also by Sister Souljah
The Coldest Winter Ever
Pocket Star Books
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Souljah Story, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information
address Washington Square Press Subsidiary Rights Department,
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
First Pocket Star Books paperback edition September 2010
POCKET STAR and colophon are registered trademarks of
Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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Cover design by John Vairo Jr.
Photograph by Keith Major.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4165-5626-8 (ebook)
To powerful minds, deep voices, and long legs.
To committed hearts, fierce fighters, and passionate lovers.
To men who bow their heads, read their books, raise their fists,
handle their business, and never abandon their families.
To beautiful men who still have the glow of God in their eyes.
By Sister Souljah
A special thanks to every brother worldwide, who ever had a meaningful conversation with me.
A heartfelt thanks to every brother who ever taught me a lesson or shared a perspective that I did not already know or consider.
A warm thanks to all the brothers who show me both love and respect at the same time.
A resounding thanks to every brother who ever considered my words, thoughts, and feelings and used them to make a positive and powerful change in their own lives.
A revolutionary thanks to every brother who ever stood by my side, back and front in difficult times. The ones who did not run and hide when my voice hit the target, or my words seared the soul, or my truth made things too damn clear.
Warm appreciation to the more than one million females who have read, digested, understood, and reflected on my words. Thank you for buying all my books, passing them around, and using them to become better than what we are expected to be!
Cornell, Ozman, Saadi, Esau, Kerry, Mahmoud, Glenn, Guiffrey, Tim, Devashis, Shameen, Bilal, Eric, Steve, David, Haqq, Dru, Jeffrey, Malechi, Maurice, Tony, Jeff, Sam, Byrd, Mr. Miles, John DeSane, and Charlie Mack.
Special thanks to Bill Stephney, Linsay Williams, Vernon Rudd, Kenny Gamble, Ras Baraka, Mandla Kayise, Doug
E. Fresh, Chuck D, Will Smith, Craig Hodges, Chris Webber, Bill Perkins, Esq., C. Vernon Mason, Esq., Alton Maddox, Esq., Michael Warren, Esq., Lennox Hinds, Esq., Dr. Leonard Jeffries, Reverend Dr. Calvin Butts, Reverend Dr. Ben Chavis, Reverend Dr. William Howard, Minister Louis Farrakhan, Bob Law, Gil Noble, Reverend Jesse Louis Jackson, Governor David Patterson, Tupac Shakur, KRS 1, LL Cool J, Ice Cube, Wise Intelligent, Tragedy, Kane.
To the one of a kind: Sean Puffy Puff Daddy Diddy P. Diddy Combs.
A professional thanks to Emily Bestler who welcomed me in, treated me properly and worked through the awesome process. Also to the publishing boss, Judith Curr.
A very special thanks to: Yuki Morita, Sensei Mariko, and Moo.
Thanks to Steve Wasserman and Bob Scheer.
Big up to Brooklyn.
Thank you to Mitsuwa, Edgewater, New Jersey, and Pimaan Thai, Emerson, New Jersey.
Sisterly thanks to: Dr. Monica Martin, Gervonne Rice, Lisa Sweet, Waafa Abdalla, and Kenya Woods.
A loving thank-you to my husband and son as always and forever.
All praise is due to God.
I thank God for my life
and breath, my purpose and
for inspiration, imagination,
protection, and prosperity.
I am not who you think I am. If you love me, you love me for the wrong reasons.
Females tell me they love me because I’m tall. They love when I stand over them and look down. They love when I lay them down and my height and body weight dominates them.
Females tell me they love me because I’m pure black. They say they never seen a black man so masculine, so pretty, so beautiful before.
Females say they love my eyes. They’re jet black too. Women claim they find a passion in them so forceful that they’ll do anything I say.
Females tell me they love my body. They beg me for a hug even when there’s nothing between me and them. They want to be captured in my embrace, and press their breasts against my chest.
Some females ask if they can just touch me. Some tremble when my hands touch them. They say they love the muscles in my arms. They surrender when I lift them up. They whine and moan in rapture. Some cry their pleasure. Some shake. Some pee.
Some of ’em even say they love the way my teeth look in my mouth and how my feet look in my kicks.
Females tell me they love the way I walk, like I’m soon to own the world.
Most females say they love that I’m quiet. Then shiver when I finally talk.
All of the women show me that they love my guns, the fact that I walk with two of them at times. Even the ones who get scared fall in love with their fear of me. Then they come at me even harder.
Some females say I’m too serious, then shield their eyes to hide their feelings from the shine when I finally smile.
I can’t lie, I enjoy the good times that some of these women offer me. But I don’t take them to heart. I know that they don’t really even know me. All the shit that they are in love with is just my style and my looks, all window dressing.
I know that a man is his own beliefs, his own ideas and actions. If you knew me, you would know what I believe. If you knew what I believe, then you would understand how I think. You would understand my ideas and actions. Only then should you decide. Either you believe what I believe, or you admire what I believe and want to get with those beliefs. If not, in the long run, we got nothing in common. I can’t take you seriously. I gotta go. You got nothing that makes me want to stay.