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Disordered Eating

Book 1

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What a wonderful, meaningful story about people and the demons they fight. I loved the parallels of good  & evil throughout the book.
             Holly Burgess

Book 2

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This is a great read. I was hooked with the introduction and was drawn in further with each page. You can genuinely feel each character's struggle with issues that are very current today.

                       Sharon H.


Rooted in place and afraid to move, the weeping girl crouches, placing her hands over her ears to block out the menace.


His roar ceases. She plays possum for a while, until her back aches and her legs begin to tremble from holding the position. She lowers her hands and stands slowly- inch by inch, her head cocked to one side, straining to hear.

The room is silent. With eyes closed and pulse pounding, the brave girl takes a deep breath and lunges for the door. She doesn’t make it.

When the screeching at last ends, she is sprawled on the cold tile, whimpering softly. Her hands are aching, glad to be released from their grip on the commode. Her stomach hasn’t quite settled; an occasional rumble has her fearful of a second round. He speaks again, softly this time. Though he feigns concern, the girl can’t misread the scornful mocking in his voice.


Doesn’t that feel better?




Mandy sat on the edge of the tub, gazing at the two blue lines recorded in the pregnancy test. Positive. What she’d wanted for years was finally happening.

Her maternity track record was somber. There were numerous false alarms- gestations born purely of an eager heart. When the little girl who briefly set up home in Mandy’s womb returned to her heavenly Father on the dawn of her ninth week, the departure affected Mandy’s body and mind. Her eventual physical recovery did not heal the self-blame and drifting from God.

“We need Him more than ever, babe,” Steve whispered, while assuring her that the miscarriage wasn’t punishment for years of disordered eating. She struggled to believe him. As she considered the current glad tidings, a whispered melancholy enveloped the mother-to-be.

Your baby will die.


Book 3

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A powerful book exploring the depths of the human soul. This is a tale with many twists and turns leading to an emotional avalanche to the end............or is it the end?

               Susan Heely


A loud noise snatched him from slumber. He sprang up with a start, heart pounding, eyes scanning the dark bedroom. The eight year old craned his head sideways- listening, expecting.   He sat upright a few seconds more, until the quietness convinced him it had only been a dream.


 Exhaling a sigh of relief, he turned to adjust his pillow for the journey back to sleep when a primal scream pierced the darkness. It was his mother’s voice- anguished and pleading.  Next came his father’s slurred threat, followed by another sound he recognized: flesh striking flesh.

Like lightning, the boy charged into the living room. He found his parents, both with red faces- hers from tears and bearing the wrath of her husband’s hand, his from alcohol, privilege and generations of misogyny. Both turned when he entered.

Book 4

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The author did an excellent job in character development and relatability. Every chapter gives you something to think about. There are twist and turns! This is a great read!!

          Michelle Grant



On the Elmore playground, two Southern Magnolias formed a canopy over a picnic table, where white mothers would chat while watching their littles. A Juniper tree, which the neighbors decorated at Christmas, graced the Spring Haven play area, alongside two Weeping Willows.

There was a lone tree at the Coopersville playlot: a withered Sycamore with peeling bark and sharp limbs jutting in all directions. On the bright morning of June 18th, as eight-year-old Connie stood trembling next to her howling sister, their father’s body hung from that tree.

The year was 1961, but in their Alabama community, the social environs more closely resembled the century prior. The murder of Ambrose Brown had been the town’s open secret. Inflamed by racial loathing and stirred by voter registration efforts, Jimmy Lee Dixon and two of his cousins kicked in the family’s door, grabbed the patriarch and disappeared into the night. The dawning of the next morning- the first day of summer, Ambrose adorned the tree like a bloody, disfigured ornament.


His killers were never charged.

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