MSI Press Blog

  Excerpt from Tucker & Me (Harvey) - RIDING THE WILD MATTRESS               I was a planned Cesarean birth. The doctor gave my mother a choice of several dates for delivery, and she picked the seventeenth. This was because her birthday was on the seventeenth, albeit in a different month. This was part of an inordinate role the number seventeen played in our family.                      I was brought home as a baby to our residence in the Los Angeles suburb of Monterey Park. I only lived there until I was two years old, but it was always referred to as the Hermosa Vista House, in reference to the name of the street. The street number was 417, thus continuing an odd streak of the number seventeen in our family residences. After that house, we lived in the city of Alhambra, with a street address of 1717. The next home we moved to the address was simply 17. Ultimately, the family settled in another town, where the house numbers were 1728. That’s an awful lot of seventeens for one fam

  excerpt from It Only Hurts When I Can't Run by Gewanda Parker Introduction   I believe in a God who heals, delivers, and sets captives free. Because God in His mercy did this for me, I have to let the world know that if God can do it for me, surely God can do it for the next person. That is why I had to write this book—and I must admit that writing this narrative has been an unexpectedly tedious but healing journey.   I remember the day I began writing about the sexual abuse in my life. I started writing early in the day. I wrote for about four hours. I revisited every encounter I remembered from ages five to sixteen. When I finished, I erupted into tears. This flood of emotions lasted for nearly six hours. Anger, hurt, scarring, shame, betrayals, disbelief and even fear gripped me to the core of my being. When I had finally stopped, the time seemed to have slipped by because it was well past 11p.m.   On this occasion, God and my good friend were there. She sat there, praying si

With time to be filled while locked away in quarantine, self-isolation, or sheltering in place. memoirs can become delightful reading material -- escaping into other worlds, experiencing other lives. Here is one of our favorites: Tucker and Me by Andrew Harvey: INTRODUCTION   My first memory involves being slapped in the face. I think psychologists put some measure of meaning into your first conscious remembrance. When people who know me read about this first memory, they are probably going to say, “Okay, now that explains a lot.” Well, I can’t blame them for that because in many ways I feel the same. I had just finished my lunch and was watching Sheriff John, a local Los Angeles daytime TV show for kids. I’m guessing I was only a few years old at the time because I remember still sleeping in somewhat of a crib contraption. Sheriff John was not an actual law enforcement official, but he wore a uniform that looked real to me and worked in an office that seemed pretty legitimat

... toward the end of the year, we had games and festivities, one of which involved guessing the amount of candy in a very large jar. Whoever guessed the right amount of individual candies was the winner. I didn’t care about the candy, but I did care about winning, as I was wired to be extraordinarily competitive, something that was often discouraged by my teachers who would classify my displeasure at losing as being a “poor sport.” In essence, they were trying to filter out of me the exact quality that would help me be successful in life—thanks a lot.             In any event, I watched as other children tried futilely to maintain their count of the giant candy jar. I had other ideas. When there was no activity around the jar, I took a ruler and decided that I would focus my efforts on counting the candies in exactly one inch of the jar. This would not necessarily give me an accurate count, but I believed it would give me a better chance to focus with precision on a small are