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I'm Fine and Neit...
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by Camille Pagán (Goodreads Author)
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The Silent Patient
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by Alex Michaelides (Goodreads Author)
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Becoming
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by Michelle Obama (Goodreads Author)
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Walter Isaacson
“Steve, can I talk to you?” she said. His jaw dropped. “Do you have any idea what a privilege it has been even to know someone as fine as John Sculley?” she demanded. He averted his gaze. “Can’t you look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you?” she asked. But when Jobs did so—giving her his practiced, unblinking stare—she recoiled. “Never mind, don’t look at me,” she said. “When I look into most people’s eyes, I see a soul. When I look into your eyes, I see a bottomless pit, an empty hole, a dead zone.” Then she walked away.”
Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs

Melody Anne
“Rubbing her eyes, Lindsey Helm slowly stood up from her post at the nurses’ station in the hospital and walked down the quiet hallway to the back room to organize supplies. Most nights, she loved the quietness of the calm hospital. This wasn’t one of them.”
Melody Anne, Turbulent Desires

Kerry Rockwood White
“Also, thank you to my friends and family who supported me through this process. Most especially, I thank my wonderful husband, Danny.”
Kerry Rockwood White, The Creation of Evil

Dale Mayer
“Mugs, is that what you smelled out back? Was it the cat?” She walked to the back door again and opened it. “Hey, kitty, kitty. This is your home, kitty, but Mugs lives here now too.” Mugs growled. Then came a howl and a hiss, before a screaming cat ripped inside the house between Doreen and Mugs. Instantly the dog barked and gave chase. Standing with her back to the rear doorway,”
Dale Mayer, Arsenic in the Azaleas

Dale Mayer
“claustrophobic with all the large dark furniture crammed into the front two rooms. She walked through to the kitchen and stopped. It was cute, quaint and old. Still, if it functioned, it was more than she had otherwise. She opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch that ran along the back of the house. Outside she found the rear garden, rioting in color and completely overwhelmed with knee-high weeds and out-of-control bushes. As her gaze wandered the length of the gardens she gasped in delight. “Oh, boy, Mugs,” she said. “We have our work cut out for us here.” Yet the gardens thrilled her. Gardening was her thing. During her former”
Dale Mayer, Arsenic in the Azaleas

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