This is a story of a tragic and terrifying childhood, as told by a little girl living in a dysfunctional family in the Midwest during the seventies and eighties. You will see it as she did, telling it day by day—as best she can. How could one possibly view the world with all the horror she...
Amara: I took a chance and found a site on the internet called HUBS. It was a place where anyone interested in writing could write an article and get paid when others read it. The writers used it a forum to discuss about everything. Some were professionals and most were like me; someone who wanted to write and maybe find a friendly face in the crowd. I wrote a short article and within the hour I had a comment from Reynold Jay.Reynold Jay wrote a comment:Hi Amara,I loved the HUB and see it is your first and it looks like you are working out the pain. Not an easy thing to do. Move on. That's my only thought. You expressed yourself very well. You can easily become a professional writer, which I can see too. I'm in the process of launching my writing career as a novelist and I can always help out in any endeavors you may have in that direction. I'm your Fan, voted up and awesome too.~* ~Perhaps the Lord had answered my prayer. I wrote a note to the man who offered encouragement.Hello, how are you? I am writing to see if you can advise me in my writing dilemma. I have been trying to write for many days but it is hard for me to come up with the subject. I know that I have a lot of knowledge in all areas of relationships, childhood abuse, and mental disorders. I even have a great story to tell. I am good at expressing myself but need help in getting started. If you have time will you please give me your advise? In advance, I appreciate your time.~*~Within hours he wrote me and suggested that I write that story that was bottled-up inside. He’d be happy to read anything I wrote and would offer encouragement. I checked around the HUBS and could see he was a professional writer with a half dozen books or so in print. That he would offer to do anything at all, was a blessing. Little did I know that I had found an angel perched on my shoulder. I sent a note to him….“I will start writing this evening. I have an unbelievable story to tell.” I worked feverishly. The words poured forth and I sent off the beginning of my story.Of course, writing my life story was a major undertaking. I had never done anything like this and was in unfamiliar territory here. Could I really do this? I had my doubts. Maybe I was not good enough and he would brush me aside. Maybe I didn’t have the fortitude to follow this though like I should. It would be a big commitment, but I had the motivation to do it. I wanted to reach out with my story to the world and touch all those battered women who needed inspiration.I wrote a short note and sent off seven hundred words to my new friend. I wondered how many words made up a book. Soon I received an email….
However, I imagine Mom must have called him on occasion as she said she had arranged for Miguel, Alex and me to attend a cookout in Aunt Agnes’s backyard that summer in Youngstown. She told us that Dad was living in an attic apartment on the second floor and she had drawn a map so we could find it. We took Highway 76 East for the forty-five minute drive that meandered through tiny towns and endless stretches of wheat fields. It was a warm clear afternoon, with a translucent blue sky and a slight breeze drifting in from the north. I was frightened by a rickety bridge that crossed over a beautiful blue-green lake surrounded by pines.
Aunt Agnes: Soon, we found ourselves in an older neighborhood with weeds spread across yellowing lawns and gravel drives. Aunt Agnes’s house seemed a little brighter than the others; however it was nevertheless fairly dark and creepy looking with a large crumbling porch with a trio of spindly posts holding up the roof.
Grandmother's house: Mom navigated her way through a maze of leafy avenues eventually settling on a modest brick house near a fairly busy street. Colorful flowers decorated the front porch while elms and oaks shaded the cut lawn and the flowering shrubs. At the rear of the home, a porch stretched gracefully across the full length of the home, shaded by ageless towering elms that threatened with huge leans. During thunderstorms, I was always frightened that they would topple and fall against the house. Grandmother told me that the devil was fighting with his wife and it would soon be over and that, “A little girl should not fret over such things.” She’d hold me close and I prayed for a day when I would be strong like her.
Rape and child abuse is the primariy theme. It is written with the least offensive language possible and sex scenes are not graphic nor titillating. It is intended for general audience adult readers. No offensive profanity appears other than what might appear on prime time network television.
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