In December of 1986, my son Dean came to South Carolina to pack me up and move me to Scottsdale, Arizona to be near him. He had always known of my passion for writing, but I had long given up on ever being able to realize my dream of being a journalist. No matter how much I planned to go, and longed to go, back to school, something always interfered. It seemed that it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

On our trip to Scottsdale, I said to Dean, “You know, Son, if I’d had an education, I could write a best seller.” He was kind enough not to laugh. Instead, he replied, “Yes, Mother, I know.” He grinned at me, but he was serious when he added, “All you’d need to do is write the story of our life.” And that seemed to end the subject.

One day about a year later, my daughter Deb walked into my house, carrying a computer. “Brother said to tell you to start writing,” she said as she dumped the thing on the table. I was dumbfounded. I’d never actually seen a computer up close before.

The next day I started hunting and pecking on the keyboard, just to see if I could actually make letters appear on the screen. I’d heard that writing was good therapy so I began, on that day, a ten years of self-induced psychotherapy. It took that long for the story to begin to unfold. There were many stops along the way to dry my eyes or simply to walk away and try to collect my thoughts. Everything came back to me so clearly, images I thought I’d buried away forever. Sounds, words, songs, screams, pleas and, along with that, the happy memories ... the good times. Life, even a rough one, can’t be all thorns, there are indeed some lovely roses along the way.

Writing my story became an obsession with me. I knew I needed to use my story to reach others, to assure those going through what I went through that they are not alone. I had to find a way to help break the chains of violence.

My dream now is to get this story in the hands of every girl from ages thirteen to ninety-nine. At least one copy must go to every domestic violence safe-house in America. I will keep saying it until I run out of breath: Abuse breeds abuse. And then I’ll add, “Keep the faith; in yourself, in good, and above all, in God.”

Evelyn Fort Stewart
412 Cooper Street
Mountain Home, Arkansas 72653

(870) 425-2271