Séduire is One Year Old!

And it is finally on Amazon!

One year passed by so quickly. On October 30, 2024, I launched Séduire, and I allowed my first collection of fiction to flourish as an e-book while I tweaked the paperback version and released it a few days later. Both lived on Lulu for what seemed like forever. The paperback version just cleared the global distribution queue, and is finally…. F I N A L L Y, on Amazon to purchase. I have no idea what took so long, and at whose mercy I had been, but the High Priests of one of the most highly trafficked online purchasing stores considered my work of fiction ready to grace its digital domain.

A small nugget about Séduire:

Séduire is a collection of serial fiction tales and flash fiction standalone stories written over a period of three years. Dive into the world of a little girl whose family uproots and moves to “The Deep South” because of a new opportunity presented to her father. Transport yourself to the life of a little girl who becomes a mother and a sister to her child at the hands of her sadistic and evil father. Walk with a grieving sister and her mother as they remember a woman who was brutally murdered by her partner. Her young boys live out her legacy as they mourn her.

Experience parenthood as you enter the world of soon-to-be young parents and their ups and downs in life change them significantly while they journey along their new path. Make a brief cameo into the hearts of a dedicated aunt and a rebellious teenage niece whose father has lost his grip on his child.

There are so many more characters with which to connect. As you thumb through each page, the author wants you to feel something; with these stories, you will.

What a few readers have said about Séduire:

Of course, like all great storytellers, Tremaine lifts the veil on the community, the neighborhoods, and the villages we call home. Her characters are the people we encounter daily and may even know personally. And within the pages of Séduire, I found two characters who immediately set my world ablaze.

When I met Phara for the first time, which was the morning after I got the book, her story impacted the next few days of my world. Without going into details, there is enough in the opening lines of her story to fill the reader with rage, hate, and pain. Phara’s is a story that hobbles the heart. Within the first few paragraphs, Tremaine Loadholt, in her masterful style of weaving a narrative, brings home the sad, horrendous reality of what happens behind closed doors in many homes. It is a five-star read, cushioned just at the end of the first section of the book.Nigel Byng

Stories such as “We Don’t Talk About Daniela,” “Phara,” “Reflections of a Lost Love that Will Never Be Found,” and “Mr. Bradford and His Ox Collection” are deeply affecting, leaving a lasting impact on the reader. The serial story “Clover,” narrated by a child, captures a family’s aspirations as they climb the social ladder, despite racial prejudice they have to contend with. Yet, the collection balances darkness with warmth, including tales of lovers’ reconciliation, a rebellious teen transformed under the guidance of a caring aunt, first-time parents, and more, inviting readers to witness characters navigating life’s trials.Khaya Ronkainen

In Séduire, Tre Loadholt gives us the full range of her storytelling magic. Beyond the humorous dialogue, the raw earthiness of relationships, and the intense despair of grief and loss … eternal hope is the emotion that always shines through her stories.This iconic collection of short fiction belongs on your must-read list. –Kay Bolden, Writer & Editor

Whether I’m reading her poetry, serial fiction, or autobiographical prose; whether the characters are rooted in reality or possessing of supernatural abilities beyond my own imagination, I am always blown away by Tre’s ability to portray the way we all relate to each other in such a completely relatable way. Her characters breathe, think, and feel just like I do. Just like you do. I do not need to have experienced exactly what the character is experiencing; Tre understands that if readers can feel what the character feels and connect that way, they can step into the page and fall into the story. She really gets us. All of us. And it’s an amazing feeling, being understood. –Elizabeth Bentley, Writer & Health Program Analyst


The holidays are just around the corner. Looking for stocking stuffers for the family reader? Séduire is it! Have you fallen short of what to buy the person who has everything? Throw Séduire their way. Do you need a new-to-you book that titillates, motivates, and inspires? Allow Séduire to be that new book for you.

To this date, Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction has sold 54 copies. My heart is full from the weight of this number. I don’t have to sell another copy, and I will be the happiest writer on this great earth. My maternal grandmother died from lung cancer in October of 2003, at the age of 54. There is significance in this number. It is a number of reflection, and a number of peace and prosperity for me. I believe my grandmother is proud. I hope she is.


Please join me in celebrating Séduire‘s first anniversary!

Paperback: LuLu|E-book: Lulu|Paperback only: Amazon

Sunday Cries of Opposition on a Monday Morning

A Cento

AI-Generated Image: The photo shows People of Color standing defiantly outside, in the open, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps, change?

I AM tired of work; I am tired of building up
somebody else’s civilization. 
The beer company
did not hire Blacks or Puerto Ricans,
so my father joined the picket line 
Steadfast and awful, my tall father
Hit hard as a hailstorm. He’d leave marks. 

You ain’t gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you. 
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back! 

The mob arrives with stones and sticks
to maim and lame and do me in. 
It has been a
hard trudge, with fainting, bandaging and death. 
come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. 

she say, she don’t know how
she’d get along without Beulah 
show me someone not full of herself   
and i’ll show you a hungry person 
let snow soothe you
make your healing water
clear sweet.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity. 
I bit sweet power to the core.
How can I say what it was like? 
Remember what
the world is like
for white people. 


This is my first Cento. I knew the topic I wanted to write about–knew the theme instantly (mental exhaustion from oppressive regimes and how the system is still designed to benefit the majority over minorities). I reflected upon the indomitable Writers of Color to be able to express the point I intended to get across. I researched writers, poems, and pieces of prose before compiling lines to build stanzas that, in my humble opinion, flowed seamlessly. I hope I created that.

Inspirational Works:
Tired by Fenton Johson, All Poetry
The Sign in my Father’s Hands by Martin Espada, Poetry Foundation
Duplex by Jericho Brown, Poetry Foundation
The Ballad of the Landlord by Langston Hughes, All Poetry
If We Must Die by Claude McKay, Poetry Foundation
Loose Woman by Sandra Cisneros, Genius
To Black Women by Gwendolyn Brooks, Illinois Poet’s Forum
won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Cliftion, Poetry Foundation
Stagerlee wonders by James Baldwin, Poetry Foundation
Poem for a Lady Whose Voice I Like by Nikki Giovanni, Poetry Foundation
Appalachian Elegy (1-6) by bell hooks, Poetry Foundation
Keeping Quiet by Pablo Neruda, Quantum
Eve Remembering by Toni Morrison, Poets.org
If You Are Over Staying Woke by Morgan Parker, Poetry Foundation


Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

A Grave Mistake

5 Words

quotesbychristie via Instagram by way of a Google search.

She thought
I’d
N e v e r
Change


Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Poem for an Image

#9: Care Package

A friend of mine popped up to my job on Thursday to lay a care package at my feet. In it, a lovely card, fuzzy socks (my favorite item of comfort clothing!), a most suitable coffee mug, chocolate (made with oat milk), the indomitable writer and spoken word phenomenon, Lisa Marie Lovett’s (SeasonedDialogue on all platforms) book, a pleasantly fragranced candle, and a beautiful plant. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Care Package by Tremaine L. Loadholt

I hadn’t realized how poignant Jernee’s
death was until the people I love
started gifting me things that
make my heart smile.

Out of the blue, pieces of this
world made their acquaintance with me.
A book, a candle, a mug, some fuzzy socks,
decorative window ornaments, and so
much more.

How did that little four-legged creature
jump into the hearts of others
just as she sashayed effortlessly into mine?

To have someone pop up at the gig
casually ask for you, and then
unload a hug so deep it
touches your soul while handing
you a wicker basket full of what
now connects you even more to them
is love personified.

I didn’t have the words. I almost
didn’t have the legs to stand on
because the gesture had been a
sweet blow to my heart.

I wrapped her in my arms, thanked her
profusely, and assured her that
these gifts will never go unnoticed.
They are the divine circling us back
into each other’s line of sight.

Talking points of a loss heavier than
any I have ever experienced; a feature
film open for all to see.
There are only a few seats left
at the table of love… come one, come all
while there’s still time.


This friend is a former co-worker of mine. While I simply shifted back to a department where I previously worked, we are still employed by the same organization. I am now back to being patient-facing, and I no longer work from home. She still does. We correspond with each other regularly via Teams and text message; however, to see her smiling face this past Thursday, and to know just how special I have to be to her for her to tap into all the things that bring me peace and joy, lets me know that our friendship is forever.

Below is a YouTube Short of one of my favorite Spoken Word Poets, Lisa Marie Lovette, aka Seasoned Dialogue. The fact that she copped her book for me left/leaves me speechless.


Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Creative Things

A free verse audio poem

My laptop, the book I’m currently reading (Watering Words by Bridgette Kay), and the remotes to my living room TV. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Creative Things by Tremaine L. Loadholt

It’s hard to explain, I create when
I need to–when the weight of life
sneaks up on me and wrecks my brain.
There’s nothing like moving words
from one section of your heart to another…
nothing like massaging your scalp to
push out stories that have been trapped
inside for weeks; a literary birthing of art.

Background noise, not a deterrent…
I block whatever doesn’t fill me.
I ignore the unimportant.

A writer’s words will see the light
even if darkness has a grip on
their sleeve–they’ll find a way.

My neighbor is taken with me — smitten.
It’s cute.
I’m sure it could have been even cuter
if I hadn’t warped her brain by revealing
my age. I know what it feels like to
crush on someone out of your league…
out of your rank.
20 years my junior, I’ll pass. I can’t
see myself tuning into someone I
could have given birth to.

I never thought I’d see the day
when I’d say, “I am sure I’m way
older than you. How old do you think
I am? My guess, you’re in your 20s,
right?” And right, I was. The look
of shock that swept across her face
was madness to my spirit.

Should I grow more gray hair?
Am I aging backward?

The creator in me wants to poem
the night away, but the thinker
in me allows the words to marinate–to gel.
I have to find a way to build blocks
with the stories I wish to tell… to
wrap them around the stairway to
heaven.

I think there’s a race passing me by,
watching me side-step and
break my ankles just to be
rid of people who are distractions.
I want more creative things, like
the stickers on my laptop, the titillating
words of a fellow author, and the
sacred sunset that’s never on time.

More creative things…
I crave them, and until I am fed,
hunger will ravage me.


Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry

An audio lamentation for Jernee and this battered world of ours

Jernee Timid’s paw prints, courtesy of our vet’s office. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry by Tremaine L. Loadholt

my baby’s prints came today…
her paws…
I’d been waiting for them
since the 12th of September.
a lovely sympathy card
accompanied the red pieces
of art, neatly tucked behind them.
every member of our vet’s office
signed it.
their words and names crowding
the corners.
I smile. I cry. I remember the
best part of my life
no longer exists.

I stand at the edge of
my kitchen, shifting on
the balls of my feet. I am
shaking. I tilt my head to
look at each print, and the
smell of Jernee wafts across
the room and lingers in the
hallway. she’s still alive
in me; she hasn’t let go.
or, maybe I’m still holding on?

Zumi pats at the glass of its
terrarium, bargaining for my
attention, and I rush over to
see what the fuss is about.
food? check. water? check.
I think it just wants to hear my
voice, so I call its name in
a sing-songy way to appease it.
Zu-mi, Zu-mi, Zuuuumiiii.
what a silly tortoise you are.
it looks up at me and then
walks with urgency to its
hidey-hole.
we all need comfort.
tortoises are not exempt.

our home is quieter than it’s
ever been. the tapping of
paws are no longer morning
gifts or late-night signals of
an impatient senior dog who
“had me at, hello.”
I don’t know what I’m doing
with this life of mine now,
I’m just mulling on—making do.

I say that all I need is work—to
keep busy, but I think I am
telling myself this because I
am afraid of what will happen
to me if I sit down and focus
on every passing thought of
a love that was the greatest
love I’ve ever known.
where will I land if I
give my heart permission to
break and stay broken?

is there a name for people
who are no longer whole
without the pets they spent
nearly two decades becoming
one with? I don’t like having to
answer the same questions
every other day: “How are you?”
How are you holding up?”
“What are you doing with
yourself now?”

I wish there was a perfect way to
say, “I am cracking and folding
into myself because somehow
I no longer feel safe alone
with my brain, heavy heart,
and dying soul. somehow, I
no longer feel safe in this
body. something is not right.
something is not right.

it’s more than losing Jernee,
it’s all the ick of the world
that is seeping into our
skin, making our veins its home.
we’re trapped.
so, sometimes, I just need poetry
when everything is wrong
around me, and there’s no
guarantee it’ll change.

I need poetry to help me
remember who… and why
I am.


Originally published in Poking the Bear’s Belly on Substack.