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Torn From the Inside Out
471 pages, Paperback
Published November 18, 2023
About the author
Sara Niles
53 books57 followersSara Niles is a Memoirist, Essayist, and Nonfiction Author on a lifelong mission.
Driven by Inner Passions, Victor vows to kill the monster:
“I have but one resource; and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.”
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
Passion fueled by pain propels the greatest artists of our times, as it has done for thousands of years. Humans are emotionally driven more than any other beings. We built pyramids, statues, create art on cathedral ceilings, sing songs that stir the soul, and we write, casting words onto stone walls, papyrus, and leather tomes, which has evolved in today’s vast digital cyber-market, forcing would be authors to vie for space and chance to be seen in a competitive cyberspace filled with millions of productions of electronic books, and guarded by stingy and suppressive algorithms. In short, it is difficult for any author, good, great, or bad, to be discovered. Today it is easier to publish books, if you are driven to do so, but it is nearly impossible to be discovered; so why even bother to write at all?
Necessity Compels Me
Over six decades of life history steadily recedes in the rearview mirror of my life, as time relentlessly moves on, steady and unstoppable. Each day that passes is another lost chance of being recognized, discovered, appreciated, and read. A book unread is like a tree in the forest that is cut down-who hears it fall, does it make a sound at all? If I wrote solely for the financial reward, I would have starved to death years ago, and if I wrote for recognition, I would have given up, but neither of those two reasons are the primary motivators for me. I write from a place so deep in my soul that I could not stop if I wanted to, because writing has become a life-saving mission for me. It is an inextinguishable fire that grows as time passes. I must get these words out ‘there’ into the world, as my legacy, the most valuable thing I can give to the world. Maya Angelou, the world’s sage, once said ‘if you want to know me, you have to know where I have been;’ and yes, I have read all her writings, among thousands of other richly endowed literary giants, past and present. The point is you must know the backstory to know me.
Backstory
My mother did me one great favor when I was born, she kept me alive long enough to give me away to elderly relatives who had been childless in their young lives, so they blessed me as a God-given gift like that given to Sarah and Abraham of old. I was their treasure, and as such the entire clan of relatives rushed to my rescue, lavishing me with sage wisdom, although I did not value it as such then. The Legend of Bob White raised me himself, a man who ran away at sixteen after his father died, because his mother shamed him at the church Christmas party. Bob, who was otherwise known as Robert then, tore the eight-foot-tall tree down, sent gifts flying as women shrieked, and ran away. Thirty years passed as successes, disasters and tragedies followed, compelling Robert Howard to return to the land that had been his boyhood home, where he created a paradise, a farm rich with fruit trees, flowers, and farm animals.
It was to this ‘Flowerbed of Eden’ when I was three- and one-half years old that I was hoisted upon the shoulders of an old man whom I would later know to be a ‘giant’ among men. The day my ancient savior took me home was the most unforgettable day of my life, a transformative day that changed who I would later become. My great uncle was born in the late 1800’s, having his own backstories embedded in a cruel past in which his blood relatives were both White and Black, as he was the son of a father who had endured slavery by his own kin, his own White father, and slave mother. My great-uncle was a wonderful storyteller who performed as an orator of family history, one story involved the value of the land held in trust by families of the post slavery times. The land was the only surety in the fa
Driven by Inner Passions, Victor vows to kill the monster:
“I have but one resource; and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.”
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
Passion fueled by pain propels the greatest artists of our times, as it has done for thousands of years. Humans are emotionally driven more than any other beings. We built pyramids, statues, create art on cathedral ceilings, sing songs that stir the soul, and we write, casting words onto stone walls, papyrus, and leather tomes, which has evolved in today’s vast digital cyber-market, forcing would be authors to vie for space and chance to be seen in a competitive cyberspace filled with millions of productions of electronic books, and guarded by stingy and suppressive algorithms. In short, it is difficult for any author, good, great, or bad, to be discovered. Today it is easier to publish books, if you are driven to do so, but it is nearly impossible to be discovered; so why even bother to write at all?
Necessity Compels Me
Over six decades of life history steadily recedes in the rearview mirror of my life, as time relentlessly moves on, steady and unstoppable. Each day that passes is another lost chance of being recognized, discovered, appreciated, and read. A book unread is like a tree in the forest that is cut down-who hears it fall, does it make a sound at all? If I wrote solely for the financial reward, I would have starved to death years ago, and if I wrote for recognition, I would have given up, but neither of those two reasons are the primary motivators for me. I write from a place so deep in my soul that I could not stop if I wanted to, because writing has become a life-saving mission for me. It is an inextinguishable fire that grows as time passes. I must get these words out ‘there’ into the world, as my legacy, the most valuable thing I can give to the world. Maya Angelou, the world’s sage, once said ‘if you want to know me, you have to know where I have been;’ and yes, I have read all her writings, among thousands of other richly endowed literary giants, past and present. The point is you must know the backstory to know me.
Backstory
My mother did me one great favor when I was born, she kept me alive long enough to give me away to elderly relatives who had been childless in their young lives, so they blessed me as a God-given gift like that given to Sarah and Abraham of old. I was their treasure, and as such the entire clan of relatives rushed to my rescue, lavishing me with sage wisdom, although I did not value it as such then. The Legend of Bob White raised me himself, a man who ran away at sixteen after his father died, because his mother shamed him at the church Christmas party. Bob, who was otherwise known as Robert then, tore the eight-foot-tall tree down, sent gifts flying as women shrieked, and ran away. Thirty years passed as successes, disasters and tragedies followed, compelling Robert Howard to return to the land that had been his boyhood home, where he created a paradise, a farm rich with fruit trees, flowers, and farm animals.
It was to this ‘Flowerbed of Eden’ when I was three- and one-half years old that I was hoisted upon the shoulders of an old man whom I would later know to be a ‘giant’ among men. The day my ancient savior took me home was the most unforgettable day of my life, a transformative day that changed who I would later become. My great uncle was born in the late 1800’s, having his own backstories embedded in a cruel past in which his blood relatives were both White and Black, as he was the son of a father who had endured slavery by his own kin, his own White father, and slave mother. My great-uncle was a wonderful storyteller who performed as an orator of family history, one story involved the value of the land held in trust by families of the post slavery times. The land was the only surety in the fa
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