A Deeper Love Inside: The Porsche Santiaga Story by Sister Souljah

A Deeper Love Inside: The Porsche Santiaga Story by Sister Souljah

Book Description

Release date: January 29, 2013
THE SEQUEL MILLIONS OF READERS HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR . . .At last, mega-bestselling author Sister Souljah delivers the stunning sequel to The Coldest Winter Ever. Fierce, raw, and filled with adventure and emotional intensity, A Deeper Love Inside is an unforgettable coming-of-age story in the words of Porsche Santiaga, Winter’s younger sister.Sharp-tongued, quick-witted Porsche worships her sister Winter. Cut from the same cloth as her father, Ricky Santiaga, Porsche is also a natural-born hustler. Passionate and loyal to the extreme, she refuses to accept her new life in group homes, foster care, and juvenile detention after her family is torn apart. Porsche—unique, young, and beautiful—cries as much as she fights and uses whatever she has to reclaim her status. Unselfish, she pushes to get back everything that ever belonged to her wealthy, loving family.In A Deeper Love Inside, readers will encounter their favorite characters from The Coldest Winter Ever, including Winter and Midnight. Sister Souljah’s soulful writing will again move your heart and open your eyes to a shocking reality.Excerpt

© Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

Not every bitch is a queen. Most chicks are just regular. Most of them know it and accept it, as long as nobody points it out. A queen is authentic, not because she says so, just because she is. A queen doesn’t have to say nothing. Everybody can see it, and feel it, too.

A bunch of bootleg girls been try’na come up. That’s what they supposed to try and do. But their borrowed, stolen style sucks cause it’s borrowed and stolen. A queen knows who she is, inside and out. She wouldn’t imitate anybody else. In fact, she creates original styles, waits for the bootleg bitches to catch on and copy, then switches, making their heads spin, eyes roll, and their short money pile disappear.

I’ma tell you what I hate first. Then Im’ma tell you what I love. Every word that I say is straight, cause I don’t have no time to play with you. The majority of my time is spent stacking my status and plotting to get back my stuff.

I hate conceited girls. They’re played out. You may think that I’m one of them, but there’s a difference between conceit and quality, or should I say conceit and truth. Matter of fact, some of the ugliest females I know are conceited. We living at a point where this shit is all mixed up on purpose. The ugly ones pretend they look good, when everything they got is cheap and fake, including their personalities. The pretty ones play themselves down, cause jealousy is more realer than the air we suck in and blow back out. I, Porsche L. Santiaga, am a real, real pretty bitch. I try my best to stay in my lane and mind my own business, to keep all the envious ones from talking shit, mobbing up and jumping me.

It isn’t easy being the sister of a queen. Naturally, I look up to her. But still, I gotta be me. Imitation gets no respect. I would never live my life trying to look like or be someone else. Regarding my sister, Winter Santiaga, every day for eight years I had my big brown eyes trained on her. She’s a queen, not because she’s beautiful, which is automatic, not because she’s a badass, with endless styles and personality, not because she’s my older sister, my mother’s best friend, and my father’s most loved jewel. None of those are the reasons.

Ricky Santiaga has four daughters. His firstborn, Winter, seemed to have occupied his whole heart. My handsome father was not to blame. Everyone loved her. When she was in a crowded room, everyone was looking her way or trying to stand or sit right beside her. Even in our home she soaked up all the love, as though she were the only child. But she wasn’t the only child.

Me, I’m the “middle daughter.” Maybe you know a little something about how that goes. Everyone’s eyes were either on the oldest daughter, because her young figure was ripe and ready, her eyes so mischievous, and her face so feminine and perfect that they were all scared she might get pregnant. Or, their eyes would be on the youngest, because they are the babies and they might get hurt.

The middle girl is too young to be fucking and too old to be falling down. So everyone forgets where she is and what she’s doing. I got mixed feelings about being invisible. There are benefits. I can’t lie. But sometimes, quietly, I was yearning for Poppa and Momma to pay more attention to me simply because their love for me was as true and as strong as my love for each of them. I didn’t want to have to beg them for love. I didn’t like the idea of having to be annoying to get attention or having to make a dramatic or phony scene. I hate pretense.

Winter was a queen in my younger eyes because she didn’t have to ask for love, but she was always receiving it. When she did receive it, no one cared if she returned it. They loved her whether she loved them or not. She didn’t seek attention. She commanded it. Winter had the best of everything without working or obeying. Her friends, who were coming and calling constantly, surrounded my sister. Even my young friends wanted to grow up to be Winter. My old aunties wish they could be young again only to try to look and live like Winter.

More than that, in my younger eyes, Winter was above pain and punishment and mostly no one else in the world can claim that. In the chaos of any crisis she walked in looking good, stylish, clean, and untouched. She’d shift her pretty eyes right and then to the left and come up with the swiftest plan, which only she knew the details of.

I was home when they arrested my father. Winter wasn’t. I was left at home when they arrested my mother. Winter wasn’t. I was home when the kidnappers, “social services,” snatched up me, Lexy, and Mercedes. Winter wasn’t. We three sisters were separated and trapped in the system. Winter wasn’t.

In fact, Winter and Momma came to check me one time at a “state-supervised visit,” where I was being held and watched over by the kidnappers. When they walked in, my beautiful momma’s head was shaved bald. Shocked for some seconds, I still wanted to hug her and have her hug me back tight enough to signal to me silently that she knew that this shit was all wrong. That she would take me back home with her.

Momma’s eyes were filled with rage and sorrow. Winter looked rich. She was sparkling and free, like she had a thousand little light-bulbs outlining her entire body. Her caramel-colored skin was glowing. Her hair was fresh, soft, long, and second only to her pretty face. She looked unbreakable, untouched, and unaffected. Then it was confirmed in my eyes on that exact day, that Winter was straight royalty, above everyone else who suffered on a regular, including now my momma and me. That so-called visit was the first time I saw my mother and sister after being tooken, and the last time I saw both of them together ever again.

I miss Momma so much I ache, like when you have vomited to the end and there’s nothing else to throw up. Only a thick yellow fluid comes out, that one nurse said is called bile. Have you ever been in the emergency room strapped to a bed, screaming out “Momma” 156 times, “Poppa” seventy-seven times, and “I want to go home” thirty-three times?

As for Poppa, six one, light-skinned, strong, and suave with not even a teaspoon of bitch in him, no man on earth is better than him. Momma is like a cup of hot chocolate on a freezing morning. Poppa is like a cup of black tea with a whole lot of heavy cream mixed in. Dark and light, they complemented one another.

Winter was the best parts of both of them, all in one. I love her, and fuck anybody else who doesn’t, no matter his or her reason.

Listen when I tell you, I am 100 percent loyalty. If you can count, you’d know that there’s nothing left over from that.

Unique, I know I’m different from her, but we sisters. We’re full blood related. So I’m royal. I inherited these looks. Like Winter and Momma, my beauty is undeniable, captivating, and offensive to many. No, I’m not light-skinned. Stop that silly shit, as if there is only one shade to be deeply admired. I’m honey-brown like an expensive Godiva that can only be purchased in a specialty shop. My brown-gold eyes are outlined with a thin black line that circles around the pupil, like an exotic bird. When people first notice them, they pause and look again.

Every day I fight. Not because of anything I did, just because of who I am naturally. I fight young angry bitches cause they wish they had these same eyes and can’t get comfortable until they poke mines out. My skin is flawless like satin, or an unaffordable diamond. I’m a dancer, not a stuck-up ballerina or a fucking stripper. Back on our Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, block I had an all-girls dance crew. We used to rock. We even won first place at our block party over some girls that was older than us. People were amazed at how our young bodies could bend and move, flow, bounce, and shake like we knew shit we couldn’t possibly have known, and experienced shit that none of us had experienced yet. We tore it up, moving to a Rob Base throwback titled “It Takes Two.” That night, Momma placed her hands on my hips and said I would grow up to be her “moneymaker.” I liked the feeling that I was doing something that made Momma look my way for more than a few moments, and believe in me.

My hair is black. It grew from my own scalp and lays on my back. Momma says it’s long because I’m loved. She says, “Other bitches don’t know or don’t want to keep their daughter’s hair clean, oiled, combed, conditioned, and clipped.” Back then Momma would say, “If you see a bald bitch she’s unloved. Or, she cut her hair off because she don’t want to be loved. Or, she cut it off because she ran up on some rotten love.”

Me, I know mine is real nice, but I don’t worship my hair. I keep it neat and never throw it in nobody’s face. Apparently that ain’t enough. In a two-year stretch, I had seventeen fights. Nine of them were brawls over hair, with half-bald bitches with homemade weapons. I fought a conceited ugly girl named Cha-Cha four out of the nine hair fights. In arts ’n crafts class, I grabbed the one pair of scissors shared by twenty girls and chained to the desktop, and cut off my hair and gave it to her, so she could stop fucking sweating me. She wore my hair braided into single box braids on her head the next day.

I didn’t say anything to her. I had gotten comfortable with my short cut overnight. Then she got mad cause I wasn’t mad. So she fought me again. The authorities, that’s what we call them, they locked me up in isolation for fighting. Every time they act like they don’t know what the fight is all about. Every time they act like we fifty/fifty involved in the fight when they kno…

My Review

Whenever I am asked what my favorite fiction book is, I always answer ‘The Coldest Winter Ever’ by Sister Souljah so to say I was excited to read ‘A Deeper Love Inside: The Porsche Santiaga Story’ would be an understatement.  Porsche is Winter’s younger sister and this is her story told from her point of view. A Deeper Love Inside seems to pick up right where The Coldest Winter left off and Porsche is a young teen in a world of trouble.

Sister Souljah takes us into this young girl’s journey throughout the juvenile detention system, through group homes, through being on the run, and ultimately to finding her place in the world. Porsche is her father Rickey’s daughter as she is a hustler just like him.  She also worships her sister Winter so it is in her blood to do whatever is necessary to survive.

Sister Souljah has an amazing ability to make the reader feel as if they are Porsche and experiencing her trials and tribulations as if they are their own. ‘The Coldest Winter Ever’ and ‘A Deeper Love Inside’ are considered to be of the street lit genre, but both are unlike any street lit book I have ever read. Souljah uses her unique voice that makes you seem to forget that the main characters in her books: Winter, Rickey, Midnight, Porsche, and some new supporting characters are not the most upstanding citizens in society. You feel for them, you empathize with their situations, and even if you did not grow up and/or lived in their type of environments, you somehow seem to understand their thought process.

Yes, it has been several years since ‘The Coldest Winter Ever’ was released, but ‘A Deeper Love Inside: The Porsche Santiaga Story’ was well worth the wait. All street lit authors need to read Sister Souljah’s books and learn how to develop a story that goes beyond the typical brand name dropping genre stereotype. Oh, and let me end this by saying, Winter and Midnight make appearances in ‘A Deeper Love Inside’ so that is a definite bonus!

Disclaimer: This book was provided by the publisher for an honest review.

An Interview with Sister Souljah

Sister Souljah

Sister Souljah is a successful political activist and educator of underclass youth. Her national bestseller The Coldest Winter Ever, considered the definitive novel of the hip-hop generation, marked her fiction debut; she is also the author of a memoir entitled No Disrespect. She lives in New York City with her husband and son.

Q. What message do you hope to convey through A Deeper Love Inside?

Peace to you. When I write a book, there is never one single message.

My writing style is, “thick,” and multidimensional. This means that what-

ever age and whatever circumstances the reader is going through in

their lives at the time of the reading, there may a different message that

is conveyed to them, and a very personal connection that the reader


Q. Set the mood for us…when you’re writing, you have to…

I really don’t have a writing formula or ritual. Normally, I am in love with my

characters, male and female. They talk to me all the time in my head. So

even if I am driving, I may recite some sentences and ask whomever is in

the car with me to write them down. I can write in busy or quiet places. I

think to be able to write anywhere and under any circumstances, you have

to have a very powerful focus and concentration level. The only interruption to my imagination while writing, is filth. I like clean places

whether it is indoors or outdoors. But if I were in a filthy place, I could

still write. I would just feel a little uncomfortable. I am grateful for the gift

of writing. I believe each of us gets a gift from the MAKER. Some of us

recognize and use our gift/s. Others don’t because they are either doubtful

or ungrateful.

 Q.What is your main reason for writing: to educate, inspire, entertain, or all three?

I believe each of us has a soul. Therefore there is a MAKER of our souls.

I’d like to please the MOST HIGH, by being one soul who sets a good and

true example to another soul. I want to be good, live good, and work good, on purpose.

Q.What has been the most surprising and upsetting part about your literary journey?

On one hand I am grateful that a gifted writer can earn a good living in

publishing. On the other hand, I am disturbed that even when you are working extremely hard, and creating an excellent product, there are still

people presenting all kinds of intentional and unnecessary obstacles. I

try my best to move and work around them. They try their best to dull my

impact, unfortunately. They seem to think that they are clever and I am

unknowing. Truthfully, they are obvious and I am a believer, so I know

if God is willing, I/we the good doers will prevail.

Q.When you’re not writing, what authors do you enjoy reading? What are you currently reading?

I am currently writing MIDNIGHT III, hence I am always reading The Holy Qu’ran, as well as other Islamic text.

Q.If you had to write your life story, what would the title be? How does that title portray your story?

RESPECT– Because I want to be respected during the times that I did not

know better, as well as during the times that I learned better and corrected


Q. What is a normal day like for you?

A normal day for me is extremely exciting. As long as I am learning, and I am always learning, thankfully, I am grateful. I could be learning from a beautiful conversation or exchange with any person who teaches me a new lesson or language, or I may experience an emotion from a film or song. I am inspired while showering, cooking and of course always by reading.

Q.What are three things readers might be surprised to learn about you?

I’m quiet. I love to laugh and laugh often. I can feel other people’s feelings.

Q. How does it feel when you hear about politicians having a ‘Sister Souljah moment?’

No comment. Let’s stick to books!

Q.What can your fans look forward to next?

Extremely dedicated powerful life changing story telling! God Willing.

Thank you again for allowing me to interview you on Tiffany Talks Books!


  1. AWESOME review and interview! I am super excited to read A Deeper Love Inside and I think I am going to reread The Coldest Winter Ever just because 🙂 Wonderful job, Tiffany!!!

  2. sharon9560 says:

    A great review and interview!! I can’t wait to read it. Nice title for a life story, too.

  3. Nikki Dalhart says:

    Great interview Tiff and I can’t wait to read her new book!!!!

  4. Great interview!! It was nice getting to know a little about Sister Soulja. A deeper love is my next book I will be starting. Thank you!!

  5. Great interview Tiffany!! Thank you for sharing your excitement because I have caught it!! I have always heard about Sister Souljah’s writing, but never actually read it. With that chapter, I can’t wait to pick up the first book, just so I can get to Porsche’s story!! AWESOME!!

  6. I can’t wait to read the book and also looking forward to Midnight III. This review and interview has me super excited. Great job Tiff!

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