Tag: memoir

I BELIEVED THAT HE LOVED ME

D.K. SanzLeave a comment

However, all the while, l clung to the belief that he loved me. He was a brave, modest man, generous with his assistance and advice—there as a rock, always. As a child, I worried obsessively about him when it was near time for him to come home from work—that something would happen to him, and he might not make it home to us. I guess you can say my love for him was as out of proportion as my fear of him.

Grateful to Be Alive: My Road to Recovery from Addiction by [D.K. Sanz]

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Feature image of father and child walking and image of father with baby by StockSnap from Pixabay 

WELCOME TO MY TOTALLY ABSURD DREAMS

D.K. SanzLeave a comment

It was a recurring dream for many years.

I’m in the bleak underground, waiting for a train. There’s just enough light from the incandescent lamps to cast a dingy yellow glow. Trains pass, but they look ancient. Still, they are un-defaced by familiar graffiti. Near the passenger doors, the stops each train would make are listed on a flipping board. I don’t recognize any of these places.

Rooted to the platform, I ask strangers for directions. None of them have ever heard of this place I want to go to—never heard of Woodside, Queens.  Lost and disoriented, I feel deep distress and despair.

In my mind, I recall Manhattan’s glittering skyscrapers seen at a distance, beyond the river and the bridge. I remember my train rumbling speedily toward the heart of Queens, passing through the tunnel into sunlight. Sometimes, I’d catch the sunsets when my train emerged from the tunnels, and I was in awe of the dark navy sky and its sweeping reign over the houses with their golden-lit windows. Or the trail of light orange and the vibrant, darker orange that faded into a pale gray sky.

The strangers around me finally mention places that sound somewhere near where I want to go—still far, but I have some hope I’ll get closer. I’ll get there eventually. And I’m willing to settle for that.

Oddly, we’re outside now, still on the platform, but it’s more colorful here. I see trees and recognize the stranger beside me, but he’s barely an acquaintance. The train chugs along, but it’s too crowded when it arrives. I can’t get in, but he does. There’s simply no room for me. I don’t fit.

Suddenly, another train barrels toward me, its rapid arrival quite unexpected. I hear the beeps and clangs, and I think, “That’s the one.”

Without hesitation, I scramble on board. I never check where it’s headed. We travel farther and farther away from all that’s familiar. Soon, I am far from the place I call home and everything and everyone I had ever known. We pass an endless green sea with a boat in the distance. We are somewhere remote. I don’t recognize this place.

My dreams are vivid, yes, and colorful, and my recollection of them is thorough.

In another persistent dream I’ve had since my recovery, and until recently, I ride a motorcycle that I’m so proud to be riding. (I’ve only ever ridden on the back of one.) As the dream progresses, the motorcycle becomes a bicycle, which I did ride as a kid, and, in the dream, I’m still thrilled because I’m cruising everywhere, including up and down the dark streets of Woodside, my old stomping ground.

I’m experiencing freedom in this dream, and I’m celebrating it, so I’m happy. Except that the bike gets smaller and smaller until I’m on a tricycle that I’ve obviously outgrown.

There’s also a recurrent nightmare where I have to get home from Roosevelt Avenue—that walk home at night from the park I’d dreaded as a kid, as well as the route home after work from the train station when I lived in Woodside. It’s light at first in the dream but gets darker and darker until it’s completely dark. I’m never a kid in the dream, but, still, the dilemma frustrates me and plays out as an obsession. Whatever way I choose to go, that long, seemingly deserted hill can’t be avoided, which in reality is true unless I take the route from the crowded, brightly lit storefront area on 61st Street. Even then, I’d have to go past the place on Woodside Avenue where it’s eerily quiet at night.

More recently, I dreamt that I was stranded somewhere and ran into my parents. I asked for a ride home, and they refused for some reason that made no sense. At first, I thought, well, it’s beginning to snow now and starting to get dark, but I’ll make it. As I walked, it continued to grow darker. The snowfall became heavier, so I tried running. Creepy people tried to lure me into alleys. Somehow, though, I got past those creatures and arrived home.

My son was asleep in his room. I must’ve gone to sleep, too. In that same dream, I awoke in the dark to find the door locks broken off the door. A sign was on the front door saying, I hate you. I will destroy you. It was written in blood. People with cold, angry eyes and a few angels floated around the room. They did nothing to physically harm me, but they were holding my son captive, so I charged in there like a martial arts movie hero, kicking them all. They had an invisible shield I couldn’t penetrate, so I went to the door, opened it, and began screaming and begging for help. No one answered.

Now, I can easily interpret what that awful nightmare meant, but David said, “You should never go to sleep. Your dreams are horrifying.”

That had me splitting my sides, and he was equally amused.

Transportation is a common theme in these dreams, and I am moving by bike, train, or on foot. I think, symbolically, it has to do with where I’m going—my path or journey, my goal, and whatever happens in getting there. There’s the persistent question of whether I’m heading in the right direction, and, according to a book I’d read a about dreams, train stations represent transformation. I don’t think any of these dreams suggest I am lost, but I am consistently unable to go home, and I don’t fit or belong there.

The destination is always Woodside, although I haven’t lived there in decades and will never have to make that walk again from any street. Woodside, with its good, its bad, its horror, and its beauty, will always be special to me, and I get those bittersweet pangs of nostalgia when anyone so much as mentions my hometown of Queens. However, my fear at the time I lived there was possibly intense enough to carve out a permanent space in my subconscious mind. Or, it merely represents a place of origin because I’ve wondered if, in order to persist with your ultimate goals, you can’t go back.

The “threats” in my dreams are all of the obstacles.

Interestingly, I was about to say I hadn’t had a “train” dream in a while, but one occurred the other night. In this one, all the subway stops had their names changed. Some were crazy names like Anywhere You Want to Go, while others simply said 50th Road or some other ordinary thing. Per the usual, I had no idea where any of those stops would leave me on the way to Woodside. The platform on this station was perilously narrow, so I had to be careful, even sidestepping rocks while navigating what little room I had.

On a lighter note, I once dreamt I was a cookie, and mobs of people chased me, wanting to eat me. Amused, I told David that I’d had that dream.

“Of course, you did,” he replied, and we shared a good laugh.

Excerpt on ‘Dreams’ from Grateful to be Alive – My Road to Recovery from Addiction by D.K. Sanz

Woman sleeping/night moon feature photo by IceRedfield from Pixabay 

Train image by annca from Pixabay 

Monster in window image by 1tamara2 from Pixabay 

Train station image by Igor Ovsyannykov from Pixabay 

Gingerbread man image by artistlike from Pixabay 

YOU BELIEVE WHAT YOU NEED TO

D.K. Sanz1 Comment

AVAILABLE ON KINDLE NOW:

Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.

D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the Eighties and Nineties. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family. 

From her earliest days, Sanz was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naive kid and aspiring writer.  Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.

Deep-dive into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.

Sanz has since published several books under the name Kyrian Lyndon, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.

Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to be Alive is a story of hope, defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person Sanz always wanted to be.

“Addiction, at its worst, is akin to having Stockholm Syndrome. You’re like a hostage who has developed an irrational affection for your captor. They can abuse you, torture you, even threaten to kill you, and you’ll remain inexplicably and disturbingly loyal.”  -Anne Clendening

Addiction is the only prison where the locks are on the inside. — Unknown

Feature image at the top by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay 

HE SHOT MY SWEET, LOVELY FRIEND

D.K. Sanz1 Comment

COMING SOON!

EXCERPT:

“Kristina went dancing at a club in the Bronx with a friend. Upon their return, they talked in the car for a while. Of course, it was pitch-dark by then and eerily quiet when, quite suddenly, a man crept out of the shadows, aiming a .44 revolver at point-blank range. He didn’t know them, but they were his target.
One of several shots he fired hit Kristina in the head. In an instant, she slumped over and collapsed onto the pavement. She had no time to scream, and I doubt she ever noticed him. But, just like that, she was dead.
 A friend called me at work to break the news. Before I could put the phone down, all eyes were on me—the eyes of shocked and curious coworkers gauging my reaction. Speculation ensued within earshot.
‘Maybe it was a mob hit. Her family’s Italian.’
‘What was she doing out at two o’clock in the morning?’
It infuriated me that Kristina’s integrity was in question because she was the victim. I was stunned into silence. I had chills. But despite the crushing pain, I didn’t cry until later, when the distress made me wonder again about the divine protection we so naïvely expected. Why Kristina? I had to ask. Why anyone? But why Kristina?”

Grateful to Be Alive

My Road to Recovery from Addiction

by D.K. Sanz

Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.

D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family. 

From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naïve kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.

Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.

D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.

Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.

“When you begin this book, you will not put it down. You will immediately be drawn into Sanz’s bold narrative of a woman, throughout her life, passing through “every forbidden door,” as she says of herself. It is a book of continual growth through experience, defeat, and triumph. The prose is swift, concise, full of irony, truth, and poise. You will not find a more startling, revealing memoir. Highly, highly recommended.” ~ Jason T. Masters

If you are interested in obtaining an ARC copy, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com.

Feature image by Mystic Art Design from Pixabay 

REVIEW: SPARE by PRINCE HARRY

D.K. Sanz2 Comments

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Warning: Spoiler Alert

Before reading Spare by Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, I was aware of people’s complaints about it. It sounds kind of silly, but one complaint was about his retelling of the story where he got frostbite during an expedition to the Arctic. (Actually, it was “frostnip,” which is slightly better than frostbite.) Those readers thought it was too much information since it affected his penis along with his ears and fingers.

Yes, he talked about it in detail. I was almost halfway through the book before I came upon that little anecdote, and I thought it was relevant given the accompanying circumstances.

But I thought, why focus on that? The book is pretty great. The New Yorker described it as compellingly artful, and I agree. Spare is also beautifully written, engaging, informative, and even fascinating at times.

So here I was, giving myself a pat on the back for being a good sport about the TMI instead of nitpicking, and then there was yet another story about that appendage. He calls it his “todger,” by the way. And this time, he described its condition (flaccid) during a harsh training exercise where the soldiers had to strip naked.

At that point, it was like, okay, Harry, enough about your todger. 

But I like Prince Harry a lot. I have a great deal of empathy for him and Meghan. I realize that many people will disagree with me, but he broke a toxic cycle and wrote this story bravely.

Sure, many people will say facetiously, “Oh, poor, Prince.” They’ll say he is spoiled. But if you read the book and believe what he says (which I do), you come away with a different perspective.

His story shows that wealth and titles mean nothing if you don’t believe you are loved, welcomed, accepted, valued, and respected in this world. It shows that you can be royalty and lack self-esteem. And that the world may have an image of you that is not who you are. It highlights how people can humiliate you and betray your trust over and over, and how there’s not enough money or esteem in the world to prevent that from happening.

So, I don’t care what the haters say. Prince Harry’s story is heartbreaking.

I fully empathize, regarding how the paparazzi and public badgered him and the women he cared most about in his life, to the point where those women ultimately had to abandon him. The world has failed Princess Di’s sweet boy, and I’m sorry for all the pain he endured. I’m sorry for the pain that Meghan endured.

So, I can forget the parts that made me cringe and attribute that to Prince Harry wanting to be a little self-deprecating. Maybe he doesn’t see any other way to come across as honest and humble, knowing that people will judge him harshly, so he allows himself to be vulnerable. I get it, and it doesn’t lessen his message to us.

What Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex, has to say is important. That other stuff is trivial by comparison.

I fully support him in exposing unjust systems and institutions.

I applaud him for calling out racism and its tragic impact. 

Sharing our stories is vital these days. There’s already too much digging our heads in the sand.

And, so, yes, in terms of a star rating, that’s a five from me.

Feature image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

WRITING AND LOVING AN INSPIRING MEMOIR

D.K. Sanz1 Comment

I do love an inspiring memoir, even one that is tragic and sad, as long as there is a flicker of hope! You have to have a curiosity or fascination about people, in general, to want to know about their struggles and achievements. For me, it doesn’t matter if I’m reading it or streaming it; I go all in. Like when I read Carly Simon’s Boys in the Trees, I watched YouTube videos of her and her ex, James Taylor, performing live. About half of one morning, I walked around the house singing their song Mockingbird because it was stuck in my head after replaying the video several times.

What I never expected, however, was to write a memoir of my own. Until recently, it never occurred to me. My goal was to write fiction, and I expressed my views through poetry. Eventually, I realized I had an important story to share, one that could benefit others. Some stories, I believe, can be your gift to leave behind because it’s bigger than you and has the potential to be a lifeline for someone else.

Every single one of us has something to give in that way. I learn from everyone, so I don’t go around with false modesty, thinking no one can learn from me. At the very least, I’ve written something of a cautionary tale.

Just the other day, I noted in a Facebook post that putting ourselves out there, especially in this way, exposes us to criticism no matter what. I wrote, “I’ve read reviews of several memoirs where readers say the author tells the entire story honestly and without complaining, and then other reviewers will say (about the same book) it was nothing but whine, whine, whine. So, I’ve gone through my completed recovery memoir a few times to make sure I don’t sound like a whiny bitch, but I do realize how much perception varies.” 😂

The responses were interesting and encouraging.

A friend said, “I think one of the reasons people read memoirs is to interact with the challenges and important things the author has experienced, things that have caused growth in the author. I think if a reader finds that honesty whiny, then they’re not paying attention, and refusing to get involved, as they read.”

We all, indeed, open these books with a different perspective.

While reading other memoirs, I learned that you have to know your goal in telling the story. To me, it’s obvious when revenge is one of those goals or an urgent need to present one’s side of the story. Some things are written in anger or pain, and I feel fortunate that I’m not in any of those places. I decided that my memoir was about recovery, change, and progression. If I was going to write it, it had to come from a place of love; it had to come from my heart and soul.

I can’t deny that it isn’t a pretty story. It’s tragic and bound to be unsettling, but it’s up to me to find all the beauty in that story because it’s there. It’s not black and white but often overshadowed with grey and interrupted by numerous bursts of color—awe-inspiring, vivid, joyful, and brimming with hope. 

No doubt, I will be judged harshly for what I’ve gotten myself into, but that’s okay. 🙂

Image by Pexels from Pixabay 

Further details about my forthcoming book are provided below.

Book description: 

Grateful to Be Alive

My Road to Recovery from Addiction

by D.K. Sanz

Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.

D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family. 

From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naïve kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.

Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.

D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.

Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.

ARC Copies

For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.

Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to read or review the book, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.

ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.

Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.

ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.

To apply for an ARC, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:

1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)

2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?

3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.

4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?

5) Do you have an Amazon account?

6) Do you have a Goodreads account?

Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.

Oh, and just for fun, I’ve already created a music playlist for my memoir. You can see it on YouTube for the complete list of 57 songs.

Feature photo at the top (woman sitting on books) by Christine Engelhardt from Pixabay 

GRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE: MY WELCOME

D.K. Sanz6 Comments

For those interested, I thought I’d share the “introduction” to my forthcoming memoir. All thoughts are welcome!

INTRODUCTION

I never wanted to tell this story—at least not this way. Sure, I was forthcoming in sharing bits and pieces of it with certain groups and individuals, but, for the most part, I aimed to spare my loved ones. Now that I have been given the green light by those who mean the most to me, and after what I’ve witnessed over the past few years, I’m going ahead with my uncensored confessions. Down the rabbit hole we go to unearth the dark tales about lies that save and destroy you, paying the piper when the master is ego, and the challenges accepted at the end of the forbidden road.

It amazes me, still, the shocking things we can survive, especially when we never lose hope or give up on laughter and love. The weight, venom, mire, and bondage of our obsessions create roadblocks and wreak havoc until we take that yellow brick road back to sanity. If you’ve seen the movie, Wizard of Oz, you know what I’m talking about. The wizard at the end of the road is a fraud, but you always had the shoes, right?

Anyway, what matters is what’s real.

My story is about addiction and recovery (from many things). I am one of the fortunate ones who lived to tell how it went for me during my fight for sanity and peace from the late 80s to the mid-2000s. However, even after twenty-seven years of sobriety, when people tell me they have no regrets about their life decisions, I’m sure I misunderstand what they mean by that. Perhaps I’m taking it too literally, but I can’t imagine not having at least some regrets. Most of us have caused pain for others (and ourselves), even if we never meant to, and the one thing I regret more than anything is the people I’ve hurt in my oblivion and ignorance.

In retrospect, it’s hard for me to believe some of the things that happened—that I wasn’t dreaming. A serial killer murdered one of my dear friends. One day, the FBI came to my house looking for a bank robber I knew rather intimately. Except I wasn’t aware that he’d robbed banks; I was only a teenager.

My experiences seem absurd to the kind of people I’ve befriended well after that. They’ve led far more sheltered lives, where their parents took them to museums and ballet performances, and it surprised them that I hung out on street corners with friends and in parks. To quote my now-grown son, “I guess it was a sign of the times. Kids just go wandering around meeting people.”

I couldn’t help laughing when he said it, and I laughed whenever I remembered it throughout the day. Yeah, we weren’t Opie living in Mayberry or Beaver living in Mayfield, but, sadly, there’s danger in doing the most natural thing.

Nevertheless, in telling this story, I will include the humor and joy along with all of the tragic madness.

Yeah, some people will say, “Certain things must be kept private.” Perhaps, but we live in an age of transparency and accessibility. As an introvert, I never liked that, but I get over it when writing. Understanding is critical in the world we live in today.

Some people actually think there’s too much empathy in the world and that we as a species may have to be a little more vicious and cruel to survive, like in the olden days. Maybe even with a bit of medieval torture thrown in for good measure. Those people are wrong, and I’m pleased as punch that both time and history have taught us more about humanity. It’s part of our evolution as a species.

My theory is that malignant narcissism is at the heart of the world’s dysfunction. I’m convinced that we’re dealing with the chaos of the world’s trauma, shame, and pain. It’s the gift that keeps on giving—with the worst possible repercussions, and it spreads through the universe like a poison. I believe this suffering, which leads to more suffering, is a cycle we can break with recognition, empathy, and a genuine desire to change.

While I’m certainly not a professional, I’ve dealt with my share of narcissism throughout my life. Unfortunately, many people have endured far worse than what I’ve experienced, and some have been damaged beyond repair. Whatever we can do to help others toward the light in the darkness can mean the difference between their giving up and holding on.

Most of us already have an underlying fear that people won’t love us for who we are, which, through suffering from narcissistic abuse, gets distorted into the notion that no one will ever love us—period. Underneath it is a chronic sadness that never really subsides, and shame overwhelms us.

Not being loved for who we are is one of the things people fear most in life, a fate worse even than death, and many young people out there are killing themselves for that. They fight to cope with one trauma after another until they reach a breaking point and can’t cope anymore, and then they shut down. The message is I’ve had enough; I can’t do this anymore. I’m out.

Often, when people feel that desperation, getting beyond thoughts of suicide is only the first hurdle. From there, it’s a long haul to reclaim themselves and their capacity to love.

The aim of sharing my story is not to gain sympathy but to shed some light on how certain things develop and how we overcome those challenges even when the odds are against us.

One thing I’ve heard and can relate to as a poet and writer is, “Don’t waste your pain.” Life is beautiful and tragic, happy, sad, and everything in between, and, as a poet, I’m here for all of it. The pain is often long gone by the time we relay things in poetry and books, but we can still empathize with people struggling to navigate whatever we’ve already sorted out.

Speaking of that, I learn from everyone. As I’ve said in another book of mine, a heart that has ached mercilessly can spin a lifetime of agony into a garden of wisdom and solace, offering others comfort and peace. It’s the same heart that knows the ecstasy of being alive and cherishing every moment.

Recovery, for me, has been an ongoing journey toward authenticity, removing the veils layer by layer and discarding the masks. I was told in recovery that we are only as sick as our secrets. Of course, we are allowed to have secrets. But suppose our hidden truth has us living a double life or creating a barrier between us and the world? We tend to compartmentalize aspects of our lives as part of the deception. In that case, it either limits or restricts our healing and impedes our goal of authenticity.

We evolve as we become aware of our patterns and vulnerabilities—and we seek answers. Raw honesty combined with accountability helps everyone, especially those of us who’ve gotten caught in a cycle of self-loathing and self-sabotage. We need truth, spiritual courage, and to remain teachable.

These days, a sacred innocence in me has returned. The ever-present inner child in me is at peace and full of joy. I can see the world’s beauty with the eyes of that child. Even when things get crazy, I sit with this peace. If this peace slips away from me even for a moment, I’ll grasp it again and keep it clutched in my fist.

That’s because our job is to keep resolving things internally so we continue evolving as humans, deepening our understanding, empathy, and compassion. Suffering can be beautiful when we constantly grow, but not if we’re emotionally stuck in the same place without learning from what we’ve endured.

Think of this for a moment: When depicted as fire-breathing monsters, mythical dragons are harmful and dangerous—perhaps diabolical. And, like dragons, some people constantly and painfully attempt to incinerate others with their scathing flames. Even those of us who aren’t so malevolent can wear a dragon’s facade to guard and protect ourselves in the darkest of times, but must relinquish it before it destroys us.

The continuous goal is healing—not simply individual healing but collective healing. We each have our gifts and tools for contributing to the greater good, and it turns out that it’s one massive, collaborative effort, during which time we remain connected as part of a larger entity.

So, I write this book from the heart.

And, by the way, I lived happily ever after. I kicked the ass I had to kick to do it—especially my own.

Well, here we go with the story now. Sit tight. Grab some coffee, tea, or what have you, and all that I ask is, when things get a little too dark and ugly, please try to hang in there with me.

Thanks for reading!

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Grateful to Be Alive

My Road to Recovery from Addiction

Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.

D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family. 

From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naive kid and aspiring writer.  Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.

Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.

D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.

Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, of defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.

ARC Copies

To apply for an ARC, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:

1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)

2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?

3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.

4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?

5) Do you have an Amazon account?

6) Do you have a Goodreads account?

For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.

Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to read or review the book, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.

ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.

Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.

ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.

Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.

Red shoes image by Victoria_Watercolor from Pixabay 

SHE JUST WANTED TO FEEL SAFE

D.K. Sanz5 Comments

Another excerpt from my upcoming memoir:

Eventually, I let out a deep sigh and said, “I just want to stay home.”
He grinned. “Not home, Diane, in a cage—maybe one with wires and bars where only you control who enters and who speaks to you or touches you. You want to be protected. Even at home, you want that, and this is not a criticism. It is an observation.”
In retrospect, I’m not sure he understood why I’d developed such an intense obsession with feeling safe. But he did seem to grasp how powerful that need was, while I remained oblivious. I had yet to acknowledge that I consistently rejected reality—preferring fantasy, delusion, and a false sense of calm or any manufactured euphoria which, ironically, wasn’t safe. I also hid from others, not because I didn’t care. I just cared too much, and it hurt.

D.K. Sanz

BOOK DETAILS

Grateful to Be Alive:

My Road to Recovery from Addiction

By D.K. Sanz

Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.

D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family. 

From her earliest days, Sanz was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naive kid and aspiring writer.  Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.

Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.

D.K. Sanz has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.

Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, of defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person Sanz always wanted to be.

First ARC copy review:

“When you begin this book, you will not put it down. You will immediately be drawn into Sanz’s bold narrative of a woman, throughout her life, passing through “every forbidden door,” as she says of herself. It is a book of continual growth through experience, defeat, and triumph. The prose is swift, concise, full of irony, truth, and poise. You will not find a more startling, revealing memoir. Highly, highly recommended.” ~ J.T. Masters

ARC COPY INFORMATION

This memoir about recovery from addiction and illness is complete and in the final editing stage.

Before its release in February, I will provide readers with a certain number of ARCs.

For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to do either, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.

ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.

Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.

Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Sure, in-depth reviews are preferable, but I will greatly appreciate any effort made. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.

ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.

To apply, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:

1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)

2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?

3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you

4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?

5) Do you have an Amazon account?

6) Do you have a Goodreads account?

Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.

Feature image at the top by kalhh from Pixabay 

Second image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay 

GRATEFUL TO CELEBRATE 27 YEARS OF SOBRIETY

D.K. Sanz7 Comments

You don’t have to be a lampshade-wearing drunk or fighting barroom drunk for drinking to be a potential problem. However, there was a time when I figured just backing off street drugs was the end of that forbidden road. I continued to drink alcohol—mainly a glass of champagne on birthdays or holidays.

Yes, well—abstaining from one drug and not another may work for some people, but I realized 27 years ago that it wouldn’t work for me. That’s when I decided I might as well stop drinking, too, and adhere to the twelve-step program.

It was only the beginning of my surrender.

In my first decade of sobriety, I didn’t fully understand why people said it’s “one day at a time” to infinity and beyond. If you’re not abusing alcohol or any other substance and haven’t even come close to relapsing in all these years, you’re good, right? You’ve got this. But that’s not how it works. Addiction, I learned, is a disease of the body, mind, and spirit, and emotional sobriety while abstaining is also ongoing one day at a time. 

On the emotional end, it’s been referred to as the “disease of the attitudes.” Still, I have to say most of us who’ve resorted to substance abuse come into recovery with fleas from narcissistic abuse, usually from people who were also living the aftermath of narcissistic abuse. On top of all that, many of us are trauma survivors who’ve dealt with physical, emotional, or sexual abuse—quite often all of those things.

Under these circumstances, we’ve co-opted the shame-based coping and survival skills of our abusers. They are skills that have kept us alive and emotionally intact while also putting us at significant risk over and over again. So, we’ve been wandering around doing things we weren’t aware of to block out the pain or create a pacifying illusion of safety. On some level of our consciousness, our needs seemed urgent, making us unusually vulnerable. We craved attention, validation, and praise, and that was another drug, a temporary fix whenever someone complied. It doesn’t work for long because, as with any other drug, the euphoria fades, and you remember the pain and torture of what you genuinely fear—that you’re not special or that no one loves or cares about you. Hence, we crave one fix after another.

We convince ourselves that certain relationships are about selflessness and love when they are more often tainted by our dysfunction. We may love people the best way we can, but it’s only as genuine as we are.

Whatever the deal is, addiction is an obsession. In its active state, it impairs our judgment and clouds our perception. It robs us of clarity which only returns and continues to improve with consistent physical and emotional sobriety. Meanwhile, the pressing urges of codependency will consistently override any willingness to be authentic. 

Addicts, for the most part, in our lifelong frenzy, attempting to survive the madness, may become con artists. Often, too, we lack empathy. We are self-obsessed and often unable to put ourselves in someone else’s place. We’ve lost the connection where we assimilate what others are experiencing. 

Without realizing it, we may become bullies with an eye out for any perceived threat, frequently compelled to do damage control. We’re fiercely determined to preserve our delusions and denials and protect our “secrets.” We attempt to control everything, including how others perceive us. So, drama is very much a part of our lives—waiting for the other shoe to drop, dreading it when the phone rings, an automatic response of, what now? And we don’t hold ourselves accountable for our actions. Instead of learning from our mistakes, we make excuses.

Despite having developed a shaky trust in others, we still trust the wrong people at times because those types are familiar to us. We form toxic relationships that can put us or keep us in dangerous situations with severe consequences. People inclined to use our fragility against us instinctively take advantage, and we will unintentionally draw them to us. Sometimes, they suffer from the same affliction, and their desperation is so great that they can’t discern beyond it. Neither can we.

The point is, we can abstain and still be a hot mess. When we come to our moment of surrender, we are broken and, yes, quite fragile in our vulnerability. Our self-esteem has been gutted. We feel unworthy of anything good. We lack the tools or coping skills for dealing with life on life’s terms. There continues to be unrelenting self-sabotage and self-loathing.

It’s a long road for us, and guilt continued to assuage me for many, many years. I cringed, embarrassed, remembering things I said or did, and it was hard for me to find any empathy for the person I was. My dearest friend, whom I’ve known for decades, reminded me not to be so hard on myself. “That girl was just trying to survive,” she said.

It’s hard to believe that merely trying to survive can be so catastrophic, but we’re not perfect. We struggle, and if we continue to put in the effort to become the best people we can be, we never stop getting better. The most important thing to me is continual recovery in every regard. As long as we’re still here, we have a chance to fight for our lives. I’ll never stop fighting, and I’m always grateful for another day to awaken and thrive.

This writing is an unedited excerpt from my new memoir, Grateful to Be Alive. For more details about the book, please read on.

Book description: 

Grateful to Be Alive

My Road to Recovery from Addiction

by D.K. Sanz

Do unsettling truths bring harsh judgment? They do, but the price of denial is steep.

D.K. Sanz’s story begins in the drug-infested New York City streets of Woodside, Queens, during the tumultuous HIV/AIDS pandemic of the 80s and 90s. It offers a glimpse into how a now often-overlooked pandemic impacted Sanz’s nuclear family. 

From her earliest days, D.K. was the easily forgotten stranger, always a little out of sync with the rest of the world—a tough but naïve kid and aspiring writer. Her triumph over illness and addiction includes amusing anecdotes and nostalgic, heartwarming memories.

Grateful to be Alive delves deep into Sanz’s confessional self-sabotage, self-destruction, and the harrowing downward spiral she almost didn’t survive. Her never-before-told story ranges from recklessness and impudence to empathy, forgiveness, and love.

D.K. has since published several books, primarily poetry but also a novel, and she continues to work on sequels and an all-new fantasy series. You’ll find some of her poetry at the end of this book.

Whether struggling or not, you will find Grateful to Be Alive is a story of hope, defying insurmountable odds, finding joy, and a gradual transition toward authenticity and becoming the person D.K. always wanted to be.

ARC Copies

For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Reviews can be anywhere from one sentence to three or four paragraphs. Ideally, they should appear on Amazon and Goodreads the day the book comes out, likely in February. (I will notify you of the release date.) If it’s posted after that date, the sooner, the better, of course, but days or months later is still good. In other words, there is no rush.

Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to read or review the book, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.

ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.

Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.

ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.

To apply for an ARC, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:

1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)

2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?

3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.

4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?

5) Do you have an Amazon account?

6) Do you have a Goodreads account?

Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.

EXCERPT FROM MY NEW BOOK! 🥰

D.K. Sanz1 Comment

My memoir about recovery from addiction and illness is complete and in the final editing stage. Here’s an unedited excerpt to give you an idea of what’s coming:

The Atlantic Ocean seemed as vast and deep as the aching within me and represented the same somber foreboding. It was the sea of the titan after all—more than 41 million square miles. In those moments, it looked as foreign to me as everything else that was once familiar. One might see it as a green leviathan monster or the depths of God’s love. I saw the monster, noting it could simply devour you, but so could the earth, and life itself.
I was on the sandy shores of Rockaway Beach, somewhere about 108th street, sitting cross-legged, on my beach blanket, playing with a stick in the sand. Aggressive seagulls descended effortlessly from the clear blue sky—ravenous, and predatory, like some humans I knew. The calls of piping plovers and other shorebirds were ominous, too.
The warmth of the sun felt good though as I took in the ocean’s briny aroma mingled with the fragrances of cocoa butter, coconut oil, and glorious traces of jasmine. The ocean breeze provided a hypnotic tranquility, so much so that as the salty waves thrashed against the shore, I’d managed to believe that somehow, someday, it would all be okay. The music on my radio soothed me then, pretty much the way it always did, and I listened to the laughter of yesterday.
I was sixteen now, and when men approached my blanket, I immediately told them, “I’m leaving in two minutes.”
By this time, I didn’t want to meet any more people.

D.K. Sanz ~ from my upcoming memoir

Please Note: Before its anticipated release in February of 2023, I will provide readers with a certain number of ARCs. (February is a tentative release goal.)

For those unfamiliar, an ARC is an advanced reader copy provided before publication. Each recipient of an ARC intends to read and review the book. Once given an ARC, you are under no obligation to do either, but, at the same time, you wouldn’t want to request an ARC copy if that’s not your initial intention. In other words, if reading the book causes you to change your mind for any reason, there are no consequences, legal or otherwise.

ARCs are free. Currently, I have them available in Word or PDF formats. Eventually, they will be available on Kindle.

Reviews by ARC readers are posted on Amazon and, hopefully, Goodreads if the recipient has a Goodreads account.

ARC readers, unlike beta readers, are not expected to provide feedback to the author besides the public review, but feedback is certainly welcome.

To apply, please e-mail me at dksanz@yahoo.com and answer the following questions:

1) Are you familiar with the author’s work? (Just curious, it’s okay if you’re not.)

2) Have you ever reviewed a book by this author?

3) Please briefly explain why this particular book would interest you.

4) Have you reviewed books or products before this request?

5) Do you have an Amazon account?

6) Do you have a Goodreads account?

Unfortunately, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but I thank you in advance for your interest.

Feature photo at the top by Alisa Anton on Unsplash

Woman Reading Book photo by Yuri Efremov on Unsplash

Happy Holidays image by Biljana Jovanovic from Pixabay 

Happy New Year image by Alexandra_Koch from Pixabay Yellow Rose image by Ri Butov from Pixabay 

WONDERFUL! LET’S DO IT! WRITE A MEMOIR!

D.K. Sanz2 Comments
Image by Perfecto_Capucine on Pixabay

THE GENRE

I enjoy a good memoir as a brief respite from psychological thrillers and horror books and have always gone for the human-interest element. What can I say? People and things fascinate me. The idea of writing a memoir, however, hadn’t occurred to me until recently. It seems somehow relevant now in these days of the pandemic, a time when people are still fighting for their rights and their lives.

I’ve oven heard people say, “Certain things need to be kept private.”

Hey, we’re on Facebook and Twitter. The Internet spies. They know what kind of shoes I like. You get messages like, “Don’t you want to give this another look? Come on; we know you don’t have any willpower. Go on. Get it.”

Everything I research for my writing shows up in ads. My character gets injured, and they show me compression wraps.

So, we are living in an age of transparency and accessibility. As an introvert, I never liked that, but I get over it when I’m writing. 

Image by Peter Olexa on Pixabay

WHY I WANT TO DO IT

Understanding is critical in the world we live in today. Oh, I know, some people think there’s way too much empathy in the world and that we need to go back to being vicious and cruel. Maybe even with a bit of medieval torture thrown in for good measure. As for me, I like the fact that time has taught us more about humanity. It’s part of evolving as a species. 

The aim of sharing is not to gain sympathy but maybe help shed some light on how certain things develop and how we overcome those challenges even when the odds are against us.

One thing I’ve heard and can relate to as a poet and a writer is, “Don’t waste your pain.” Life is beautiful and tragic, happy, sad, and everything in between, and, as a poet, I’m here for all of it. The pain is often long gone by the time we relay things in poetry and books, but through the pain we once felt, there’s a collective empathy we feel for people trying to navigate whatever we’ve already sorted out.

Speaking of that, I learn from everyone. If someone doesn’t want to talk about a subject or hear about it, that’s okay. Others may be looking for answers to the questions we once had, wanting to survive and thrive as we managed to do and then become better and stronger.

Image by John Hain on Pixabay

WHAT I DON’T WANT TO DO

Some of the memoirs I’ve read have shown me what I don’t want to do. Here’s my shortlist.

  1. A personal grudge memoir – If the book is full of swipes at others for revenge, no thanks! As someone who has been on the receiving end of character assassination attempts, I don’t want to do that to anyone. I think it would hurt my soul more than it would hurt them. Write from your heart.
  2. Get into other people’s stories – Other people’s stories are theirs to tell, not mine. For the most part, I want to make every effort to respect their privacy. I won’t reveal real names (except for mine, but there are still those who would be easily identifiable, so unless I’ve found it necessary to get their permission for one thing or another, their secrets are safe with me.
  3. Name dropping – I’ve lived in New York all my life. When you live in New York, you see famous people. You meet famous people. None of them had anything to do with anything relevant in my life.
  4. List sexual conquests in graphic detail– Just no. Recently, I read a memoir where the author constantly got into what physical characteristics he liked and didn’t like in a woman. What body parts were his favorite, all the intimate details of his sexual prowess. It made me wonder, why am I reading this? What is the focus? Yeah, no. 

I’ll ask my alpha and beta readers to check me on all of that.

And, don’t get me wrong, there are people who read memoirs for all of the above, and they love it, so I’m not knocking it. If that’s your thing, go for it, no judgment here.

WHAT I DO WANT TO DO

Memoirs have a focus, yes, and it’s not just to present your life story like you would in an autobiography. Mine is a story about addiction and recovery (from many things). I am one of the fortunate ones who lived to tell how it went for me—going from victim to survivor and beyond to what we call “surthriver.” That fits because we’re learning to do so much more than merely survive. It would focus on an all-consuming fight for sanity, peace, and recovery. I want to make readers feel like they are right there with me for all of it. But, fair warning, being right there with me is bound to get pretty scary.

And let me tell you, when people say they have no regrets, I’m sure I misunderstand what they mean by that or, perhaps, take it too literally. I can’t imagine not having regrets. Most of us do cause pain, even if we don’t want to, and the one thing I regret more than anything is the people I’ve hurt in my oblivion and ignorance.

Recovery, for me, has also been an ongoing journey toward authenticity, removing the veils layer by layer, discarding the masks. I was told, in recovery, we are only as sick as our secrets. Of course, we are allowed to have secrets. But if your hidden truth has you living a double life or creates a barrier between you and the world, and you tend to compartmentalize aspects of your life as part of the deception, it can make you sick. It can limit your healing. It can impede your goal of authenticity.

Image by alexas_fotos-on Pixabay

Oh, I’ve revealed my secrets to certain people and groups of people, but some of the struggles weren’t public ones, so, in this case, I will tell the whole story of my recovery. Unfiltered, I hope to include the humor and joy among the tragic madness.

My favorite memoirs have been well-written and inspiring with a powerful message. They are my inspiration. It makes me happy, too, when an author is aware of their patterns and vulnerabilities and seeks answers. That’s how we evolve as humans. The constant transition brings wisdom and strength. Raw honesty combined with accountability helps everyone, especially those of us who have gotten caught in a cycle of self-loathing and self-sabotage at some point in life. There is a need for truth and spiritual courage, as well as a need to remain teachable.

And what is the truth? For me, the truth is what makes sense to you after all your exploration and quest for authenticity. I say it all the time, no group, no matter who, what, or where is perfect. Some have seen the light, and others have yet to see it. Let’s hope they keep looking.

Roger Daltrey: My Story – Thanks a lot Mr. Kibblewhite

D.K. Sanz2 Comments

I had Roger Daltrey’s poster on my wall as a kid. My father tore it down nonchalantly when he decided to panel the walls. He didn’t think my sister, who shared the room with me, or I would mind. But, we did. He left the beautiful poster crumpled up in a ball on the floor!🤣

I cried and did a little foot-stomping. The Who was one of our favorite bands. We loved the movie Tommy and the collection of songs from the rock opera that preceded it. I always thought it was the work of a genius, and that genius was Pete Townshend, the band’s legendary guitarist. His other works were phenomenal as well, and seeing Roger bring Tommy to life on screen was incredible. I’ll confess; I had a mad crush on him.

As you can imagine, by the time my sister and I got to see the band in concert, it was so powerful and emotional, I was in tears. My heart was just exploding with joy. 

Now, I happen to love a good juicy memoir. When I say juicy, I don’t mean in terms of sex but information. Curiosity, I guess, but I do enjoy learning about people and things.

I didn’t know much about the band members beyond Keith’s self-destructive path, resulting in his death and Pete’s arrest for downloading child porn. (Pete was found innocent and cleared of the charges.) Roger tells that story in his book. He is a fantastic storyteller, and his collaborator did an excellent job helping him put it all together. Reading about his experience, I learned a lot more about music and what bands go through. Being a lover of music who could only dream about singing on stage, I found it fascinating. Reading about the sixties and seventies has always been exciting to me, too. If I could transport back in time to get there, I’d take the chance in a heartbeat.

So, in my assessment, Thanks a lot Mr. Kibblewhite is a fast-paced read and thoroughly enjoyable. Fans of The Who will love it. I got so into it that I had to watch a bunch of their live shows on YouTube. I wanted to observe each of them individually and collectively. (Yeah, when I’m watching or reading something good, I am obsessed.) They blow me away now more than they ever had! All of them were beautiful and brilliant— topnotch musicians and showmen.

I will say I can’t entirely agree with everything Roger says in his book. For instance, he thinks fidelity should not end a marriage. That might have been debatable at the peak of his fame, but to say that after the 80s? He’s had children with women he played with on the road, so he wasn’t too concerned about protection. In terms of awareness advocacy, I’d be remiss not to say I’m glad he and his wife never had to suffer the consequences. 

Other than that, I admire Roger Daltrey and respect him. At 5’6, the man’s presence was (and likely still is) enormous. It seemed to me he was not only grounded and a tough guy, especially with his anti-drug stance but also vulnerable and emotional. What happened to Keith and John—and even the troubles Pete had— broke Roger’s heart. He seemed to have tremendous empathy for them, even though their antics had a detrimental effect on the band, in general, and individually.

 One thing struck me while reading about his depression after the series of tragedies. He wrote: 

 “We hadn’t been able to grieve after John’s death. We had just pushed on through that intense tour and then, only weeks after we’d got home, before we could process it all, Pete was arrested and all our lives got turned upside down. In the face of a sustained crisis your brain stops coping. It shuts down to protect your heart.”

 That was sort of an a-ha moment for me because this happened to several people I love and me, too. As simple as it may seem, it is deeply profound. In fact, after reading that, it helped me help someone else. 😉

Roger Daltrey shows, throughout this writing, that he’s capable of admitting his mistakes and learning from them. In my book, people like that are a treasure. Thank you, Roger, for sharing your fascinating story and thought-provoking words of wisdom. If I was a fan before, I’m more of a fan after finishing your book. ❤️

Roger Daltrey: Thanks a lot Mr Kibblewhite

My Review of “In Pieces” by Sally Field

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Sally Field is one of those people who notices her patterns and vulnerabilities and, as a result, digs deep for answers. Because of that, she continually evolved as an actress, as a woman, and as a human trying to survive all the madness. That type of constant transitioning brings wisdom and strength, but it also leads to unlimited capacity for empathy.

Sybil was the first movie of hers that I watched after having read the book. While reading In Pieces, I had to go back and watch Sybil again. The woman is brilliant, and I can tell you, after reading her memoir, she’s badass as well.

I never realized how many movies she’d been in—at least 38! It was fun to read about the filming of many of those because she shined in every single one that I saw—Norma Rae, Steel Magnolias, Mrs. Doubtfire, Forrest Gump. She even played Aunt Betsey Trotwood in David Copperfield—a made-for-TV movie adapted from one of my favorite novels.

If you are a fan of Sally’s movies, you will fall in love with Sally while reading In Pieces—the same way you fell in love with Sybil and Norma Rae when Sally became those characters on the screen.

Ms. Field wrote In Pieces herself and did a beautiful job of it.

At times, there were some unflattering things about others that I didn’t think were necessary. I wasn’t sure I’d be patient if that continued throughout the book. It didn’t. The more you read her words, the more you realize how fair she tries to be to everyone involved. Her kindness, her understanding, outweighs the need to point fingers and punish the people who inadvertently harmed her. It’s her raw honesty and accountability combined that leaves me in awe. She never tries to make herself look good or perfect or as if she is forever the victim but never the culprit. The rest is her truth, which she has every right to divulge. The “Me Too” revelations are merely a part of her incredible story because she triumphed over all of it.

In short, I liked this book from the beginning, and, by the end, I loved it.

Nobody would see the pain behind that beautiful Gidget smile of hers, but Sally Field has been so incredibly brave from childhood to this very day, and she has continued to grow more beautiful with time.