Showing posts with label teen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teen. Show all posts

Sunday, March 20, 2016

What Readers Are Saying About THE PACKING HOUSE

The reviews keep coming in and they are landing primarily in the 5/5 star and some 4/5 star range for my debut YA novel, THE PACKING HOUSE. If you haven't had a chance to read it yet, consider what readers are saying about THE PACKING HOUSE before deciding for yourself. Be warned, due to my publisher closing, availability will become extremely limited after 5/31/16. I hope you'll grab an exclusive, first edition copy for yourself before then. I welcome you to add your honest review, detailing what it was like for you to read THE PACKING HOUSE yourself.



What Readers Are Saying About THE PACKING HOUSE:
 
"This book is a game changer! Beautifully written and exacting with its topic. It braves a topic that's taboo and shouldn't be. It speaks up where others do not. Such an important book. I have so much love for it.
MY REVIEW:

This story is an exceptional internal dialogue with self. And yet, it does not waiver in the least from also letting the reader in on the external world of the protagonist, Joel Scrivener. What the reader can see here, more than anywhere else in literature that I know of, is the internal struggle the survivor of childhood sexual abuse faces on an ongoing relentless basis.

What Cribbs has done here is phenomenal. I knew as soon as I read the draft of this novel that it was special. It takes us down the deep dark rabbit hole of confusion faced by many sexual abuse victims. It shows how the mind plays tricks on the survivor in order to help them to move forward in the world without checking out of it. Joel Scrivener is painted as a boy in the midst of confusion. He knows that everything is not right...but the kernels of truth he needs to complete the puzzle and get to the bottom of the problem are just outside his reach.

Only a survivor of sexual abuse can know the frustration of having great swaths of their lives cordoned off from their accessible memory. Joel struggles through a failing year of high school, while dealing with his highly dysfunctional mother and the feeling that something horrible has happened to him.

As Joel ricochets through a series of blind and frustrating choices, from running away from home to breaking into a school for shelter to recalling a botched experimental sexual encounter with a male friend, he struggles to piece together the story of his life. With parts missing even from his own view, he has no idea how to do this. On his journey, he recounts tender moments with his first love, Amber, whom he has since moved away from. We see him struggling with the side effects of his dark secret in the way he falls asleep in class and the way he cannot concentrate enough to settle into his schoolwork. There are many telltale moments in his reasoning that suggests he is a fragile egg about to crack. The ache that builds throughout this story is real. The reader will feel frustrated and sympathetic while getting an inside look at Joel's roller-coaster of emotional turmoil. And they will wonder at his strength as he chooses to take the rabbit hole he sees before him and tries to reconstruct his shattered life.

Some captured moments in THE PACKING HOUSE:

At the onset of the story, Joel admits to his way of dealing with things when he says, 'Running is my go-to response'.

When Joel speaks of how deflated and defeated he is, he says, 'I might as well be a week-old balloon, trailing limply, trying to keep from touching the ground. The fight is gone out of me. I don't even want to try anymore.' The reader feels the power of his defeat so deeply.

Perhaps my favourite passage from The Packing House is the following one:

The stuck place I'm in is too familiar, like the final box unpacked after a move; sometimes it's not ready to be unpacked, or we're not ready to face everything that's inside, so it sits there until we have to face it, one way or another.


That, dear readers, is the perfect analogy for the victim of childhood sexual trauma. And one never knows when that box will unpack. It is the threat in the heart of the shattered life...the threat of the last box's unpacking. Cribbs has written of an incredible journey here. A journey that moved me to tears and wonder.

Though a fictional one, this is a true documentation of what happens to the victim of this horrific crime. One look into the snowballing careening fall of Joel Scrivener, and the reader will get an idea of what it is to struggle with this terrible secret...one they often don't even know they carry. Sometimes the brain knows that the only way to survive is to send the terrible secret into a deep dark cellar somewhere inside its buried chambers until it's ready to be accessed. Or until it just cannot be contained any longer. Cribbs has perfectly captured this journey in telling Joel's story. And he keeps the reader at Joel's side through every step of the journey, expertly revealing the kernels at just the right moments of Joel's struggle.

I suggest everyone read this story. It's one of the most important ones I have ever read, and moreover, it is beautifully told. Cribbs is an exceptional writer...I look forward to more from him and I'm excited to see where he goes from here. After telling the story he needed to tell, there's no limit to what he can do with the stories he wants to tell!

My hopes with THE PACKING HOUSE? That it begins (or continues) the much needed conversation that some are unwilling to partake in. Childhood Sexual Abuse is an epidemic. 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys prior to the age of 18 will experience an unwanted sexual act, either including touch or not. That's unacceptable. Dialogue helps prevent future occurrences. G. Donald Cribbs's THE PACKING HOUSE is a perfect jumping off point. READ IT NOW! Don't be afraid to take this sometimes hard, but always beautiful, journey."


"This was a powerful and important story needing to be told, both for survivors and those of us who love a survivor. The main character, Joel, is well developed and relatable. His journey of healing is both inspiring and informative. Joel's story could be so many people's story and the author, Don Cribbs, does a remarkable job of imparting information about abuse while still developing the plot. As a parent and an educator, this story has motivated me to consider the ways I myself might be more effective in both preventing and addressing child abuse. This book would be a valuable resource to help dispel the silence and shame that so often surrounds this difficult topic."

"There is so much heart in this book. With bravery, Cribbs brings his own experiences with molestation and recovery to the YA world, giving his readers permission to acknowledge, heal and grow beyond the things in life that feel as if they've taken away choices. Bravo to Cribbs for stepping up and speaking out."

"I am not an avid reader. In fact, had I not heard of The Packing House apart through friends’ social media, I never would have cracked the book open.

  Nonetheless, I accessed the first few chapters online and was immediately ‘hooked’ on the story as well as Cribbs’ style of telling the story. A week or so later the book and, unable to put the book down, I read the rest of the book that same day.


  This important book, in an informative and compelling way, introduces childhood sexual abuse (CSA) to those who have been spared the grief and trauma. The Packing House has increased my awareness and sensitivity to victims of CSA, as well as a desire to support them in their recovery.
It was a good investment of my time and money!"


"Mr Cribbs is a very gifted writer. I started reading it and couldn't put it down until I finished it in a weekend. To the author I say congratulations for a job well done.

As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I could identify with many of the main character's (Joel) thoughts and feelings. I closed the book with a positive sense of (and admiration for) Joel's strength in his recovery and that he was going to be OK, despite having been failed by all of the people that were supposed to protect him in his childhood."


"I found myself unable to put the book down. I was captivated, drawn in as I felt my own thoughts and feelings from my childhood being validated as I read. As I cried (sobbed) my way through the final chapters of the book, I was grateful for the transformative truth incorporated in the end.

Powerful story, one I will most definitely read again. A story that will aid in your recovery journey if you allow it."


The Packing House brings the reader through the darkness of abuse into the light of resilience. I found myself emotionally engaged with the main character; weeping when he wept, fearful when he was scared, and hopeful as he walked toward wholeness.”

“As a counselor, I believe male survivors of sexual abuse (teens and adults) can find hope and healing through the expressed vulnerability and life-giving messages embedded within the pages.”

“Raw and open, The Packing House doesn't hold back any punches. True to its cover, it will pull you into the mind of a teen suffering from abuse, and desperate to find a way out.”

“The main character, Joel, has thoughts that are broken, jumping around between memories and the present, and almost is able to remove himself from them like a survivor coming to terms with his traumatic ordeal and trying to keep himself disconnected.”

“I'll warn you, it's a heartbreaking read. A great debut novel.”

The Packing House was written with great expertise.”

“I’m not an avid reader, but I could not put this book down!”

“Cribbs masterfully captures the voice of a teenage boy.”

The Packing House is as an enthralling and important piece of fiction that tastefully and honestly addresses the topic of sexual abuse of minors.”

“In his debut novel, G. Donald Cribbs has written an emotional wallop about the courage and bravery of a young survivor. The Packing House is a tapestry of nightmares—the images that haunt Joel in his dreams and memories woven together with the painful experiences of a frayed and fractured family life, the take-no-prisoner bullying of adolescence, and the agony of loving and not knowing if it will ever be returned. And yet, Joel's story is one of strength and resilience as he hunts down the source of all this pain—a story Cribbs captures with sharp-eyed and utterly clear veracity. Three cheers to G. Donald Cribbs for endeavoring to tell this tough story and doing it so well.”

“Definitely a must read!!”

“If you are a survivor of abuse, or the family/friend/significant other of a survivor, you need this book. I immediately identified with the MC, Joel. It’s a tough story told well through Joel’s POV. The imagery is vivid, the writing is solid and I would recommend this book to everyone.”

“It was a good investment of my time and money!”

The Packing House by G. Donald Cribbs is an incredible, powerful book. It is an absolute must-read for anyone with a son or for any boy/man who has survived child sexual abuse.”

“I read this book in one sitting. It is so compelling, it is well written and has a great voice. The subject of sexual abuse of children, the PTSD and the recovery of memories from long ago is brutal and horrifying, but Donald’s honesty and how he presents this story is amazing. I give it 5 stars, his is a voice for those who have not been able to process their pain yet.”

“Real, raw, and very representative. It will fit in very well with other Young Adult titles; I’m hoping that public libraries will consider purchasing it for their inventories.”

“Outstanding debut novel!”

“Cribbs’ outstanding book sheds light that may result in healing, as well as in greater knowledge. Aside from the therapeutic potential, this is a gripping novel which is a great read. Well-written, engrossing and timely, this book deserves a place of honor as one of the best books on the subject which I have read!”

“The story takes the reader through a cacophony of directions, each one unraveling and further exposing the dissonance of raw truths, as they lie—at the feet of the damaged, helpless victim, and in the face of a society all too willing to turn away and pretend blindness.”

“I felt his story in my bones.”

“This significant book illuminates the world of child abuse and neglect from a young man’s perspective. While it’s a tough book to read, it is a necessary piece of work to move the world from a poorly and rarely acknowledged issue to one of understanding and compassion.”

“His vivid description of the ins and outs of dysfunction are haunting and authentic. In this wonderful book the author starts us in a realm of nightmare and confusion, moves us to a place of trauma and pain, and ultimately guides us into the light of redemption and healing. This is a book that demanded to be written and I am so glad that the author had the strength and insight to see it through.”

“The author does an excellent job of making a book dealing with a difficult subject enjoyable to read. He is a master at relating the emotional upheaval and turmoil that results from the abuse portrayed within these pages. The roller coaster ride the reader experiences will leave an indelible impression of what it is really like to experience such horrific exploitation.”

“What Cribbs has done here is phenomenal. The ache that builds throughout this story is real. The reader will feel frustrated and sympathetic while getting an inside look at Joel’s roller-coaster of emotional turmoil. And they will wonder at his strength as he chooses to take the rabbit hole he sees before him and tries to reconstruct his shattered life.”
“I suggest everyone read this story. It’s one of the most important ones I have ever read, and moreover, it is beautifully told. Cribbs is an exceptional writer...I look forward to more from him and I’m excited to see where he goes from here. After telling the story he needed to tell, there’s no limit to what he can do with the stories he wants to tell!”

If you haven't had a chance to read the synopsis, check it out here:

http://amzn.com/1513705598
 
________________________________________
Synopsis
_________________________________________
When sixteen-year-old Joel Scrivener has a raging nightmare in study hall and someone records it on their phone, he awakens to a living nightmare where everyone knows the secret he's avoided for ten years. Reeling from a series of bullying incidents posted on YouTube and an ill-timed mid-year move, Joel takes to the woods, leaving the bullies and his broken home behind. However, life as a runaway isn’t easy. Joel finds it difficult to navigate break-ins, wrestle hallucinations, and elude capture. He races to figure out who his dream-world attacker could be, piecing clues together with flashes of remembered images that play endlessly inside his head. Besides thes e images, the one constant thought occupying Joel’s mind is Amber Walker, the girl he’s been in love with for years. Amber sees little beyond the broken boy Joel has become, despite the letters they’ve written back and forth to each other. But Joel is stronger and more resilient than he looks, and it’s time he convinces Amber of this fact, before he runs out of chances with her for good.

________________________________________
 
Ready to grab your own copy? You can buy THE PACKING HOUSE here:
 
 

Sunday, October 25, 2015

THE PACKING HOUSE Excerpt

Logline: The Packing House is about a teen who must choose between protecting his dignity and exposing the person responsible for his debilitating nightmares.




At the bell, I head to study hall, my last class. There's a substitute today. Cell phones come out. Someone has their iPod up way too high. In a way, I feel sorry for the sub; as a job, it has to be right up there with garbage collector. I prop a book between me and my backpack then close my eyes, which have been slamming shut all day.

The next thing I know, the substitute is standing over me, his hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. Someone sniggers nearby.

“Wake up, young man. There's no sleeping in study hall.”

Pushing my glasses back into place, I look up and try to get my eyes to adjust and stay open; I blink a few times and look around wildly. What an idiot. I even forgot where I was for a moment. A flush of warmth starts at my ears and neck before sliding across my cheeks.

“All right, I'm up.”

Whispers erupt in various places around me as I sit up and rub my eyes. Someone laughs. My desk is askew. Something smells bad. Sulfur. Odd… the realization hits me hard.

A female voice remarks, “If I were him, I'd be totally embarrassed!”

“What's your name?” the substitute asks quietly.

“Joel Scrivener.”

The substitute leans down. “Joel? You might want to speak with a counselor about those dreams.”

“What do you mean?”

He leans closer, lowers his voice. “You kept saying, ‘get off me, stop touching me, get off me,' over and over.”

He gives me what he must think is a reassuring smile. Then he leaves.

The only thing worse than getting caught asleep in study hall: getting caught asleep and crying out from a bad dream in study hall.

There's more whispering, but this time it crackles nearby. A recording—presumably of me—replays the sound of me jerking around in my chair, desk legs scraping against the floor, then “Get OFF me!” and “Stop TOUCHING meeee!”

The bell rings.

Down the hallway, students gather in odd clumps, skittering away from me like I'm the monster. A cacophony of whispers follows a chorus of aborted cackles; I hear my voice playing over and over, like my life jammed on repeat. I'm too stunned to reply, even when Shampoo Girl, who rides my bus, tries to stop me. I'm not good with names. We move too much for them to matter. This girl is heavyset, plain, with nice hair. I like how it smells if I sit behind her on the bus. Shampoo Girl. She's one of the few I've caught glaring at my attackers when I'm dropped into the lunchroom trashcan or tripped with an armful of books between classes. She hasn't said anything to my attackers, like that punk from Algebra II, but her quiet defiance is at least reassuring. Not that I've thanked her or acknowledged her for that.

“Joel? Joel, are you okay?” I definitely don't deserve her sympathy; instead, I look back down the hall.

My own brother Jonathan is with his swim team posse and says, “I can't believe you dudes got this,” before he sees me.

“Izzat rilly yer bro, man?” asks a blond-haired skater-punk friend of Jonathan's, pointing at his cellphone. They must be watching the video of me from study hall just like everyone else. Man, that traveled fast. On the far end, cackling like a fiend, my brother Jonathan laughs at his best friend Elias’ reaction, who is doubled over and turning purple. Skaterdude is on this end, sputtering and waving his arms like he’s imitating me from the video. Between the other two is Elias. God, I hate him sometimes. Why does he stick his nose where it doesn't belong?

“You still owe me a fiver for the Terror Bet,” Jonathan says, slapping the back of his hand on Skaterdude's chest. He should've kept our energy drink bet private, between the two of us, but instead I imagine he thought he'd impress his posse and make a few bucks. So he bet off me, did he? Jonathan looks up and sees me staring right at him. He tosses up two fingers after bouncing them off his chest like a salute to his homies, although I'm clearly not one of them. I'm just his loser brother.

It doesn't matter.

He's right. Jonathan must think of me as another one of his casualties just like him. I'm a cast-off, like Terror Man, my mother's latest boyfriend. To Jonathan, Terror Man and I are just accessories on his social status climb. Even after our most recent beating for touching the shrine of Terrors, Jonathan dared me to try to steal one without getting caught. I thought he was just looking out for me since I haven’t been sleeping much, but I guess I was wrong. If I can't tell the difference between someone being nice or using me, I wonder how I will ever fix things with Amber Walker, the only girl I've ever wished was more than friends.

No turning back now. My social life is officially over. I wonder how long it will take until everyone hears, and probably sees, a cell phone clip of my nightmare.

Only I can't wake up from this one.

***

I don't plan to collapse on my frameless mattress late that night. By the time I'm fully out.., I'm already drifting down a vaguely familiar set of stone stairs, before I realize the déjà vu—at first a cold tingle then a white-hot shudder that seeps down my spine. As it dissipates, I continue down, despite the thrumming in my ears.

Firelight dapples across shadowed walls near the bottom. Cold air gusts past, chills me until my teeth rattle, and almost blows out the torches. The room opens to the right, but I can't see around the corner.

As I step into the guttering light, I'm knocked on my face so fast I barely get my hands out to break my fall. I gasp for breath beneath this tremendous weight. There's no getting away. Sharp pain bursts along my ribs.

From its grip, I get a twinge in my spine, sharp stings that shoot up my back and spread out across both shoulder blades. Whatever is behind me is huge. Its hulking mass presses me down into the ground. I sure as hell don't dare move.

“C'mere, Joel!” the deep voice snarls against my ear.

***

I wake up.

Sometimes I wake screaming. How does it know my name? My mother has found me a few times that way; about as comforting as getting caught jerking off under blankets.

When she finds me like that, I roll toward the wall and mumble about a bad dream. I'll be fine. Go back to bed. Please don't ask any more. I'll never live this down if my mother holds my hand and chases away some boogeyman. I've got to figure this out. Better to man-up than be labeled a loser. At least Jonathan's still asleep. I don't need him betraying me any further.

If I could, I'd squeeze my eyes shut and will myself back to sleep. What if that thing is there? The stone stairs. The horrible, personal things it says. The sweat-rot stench of sulfur. I'd rather stare at the blurry ceiling all night. Besides, questions begin to swirl, threatening to keep me awake indefinitely. There's at least three hours until it's time to get up for school. I might have a test. Better not think too much.

Next thing I know, it's light; the roof of my mouth is sandpapery, I've got rank morning breath, and, if I don't get to the bathroom right now, I'm going to have a waterbed for sure.

I have to limp my way there, momentarily forgetting about our lecture at the hands of Terror Man last night. I don’t like him. He’s always in our faces. Always trying to prove what a man he is when he slams us against the wall or some shit.

He’s nice enough when he’s not railing on Jonathan and me for drinking his Terrors.

As I find relief in the bathroom, I start to wonder about this latest nightmare. Then I grab a shower, wincing when the tender spots in my back come under the flow. Maybe I should've let Jonathan take the brunt of it all, since he made the bet, but I couldn't live with myself if I hadn't intervened. I thought he was gonna kill Jonathan this time. What a nightmare. Which reminds me: I've got too many memory gaps to make sense of it all. I need to figure out their source. The root cause.

It's not for lack of trying.

I've scoured every book on nightmares I can find. One said the mind is a strange muscle that remembers every ache. Nightmares are a way we revisit each painful experience, circling back to make sense of what happened. That still doesn't explain how the creature knows me well enough to snarl my name. Is it someone I know? I glance at the clock. No time to dwell; the bus'll be here any minute. Time to get dressed and head downstairs.

My mother is at work, and Jonathan went in on the early bus for swim team. I grab breakfast and ibuprofen and then head for the street corner. My hand lands on the last two cans in my backpack. I'd forgotten all about the Terrors. Jonathan. I'd toss them back in the fridge if I weren't already at the bus stop.

Might as well. Chugging the first one down, I collect weird looks as I let the burp rip. Jonathan still got pretty roughed up; after all, he dared swipe from the shrine of Terrors on the top shelf of the fridge. Terror Man left no visible marks on me, only bruises, but I doubt Jonathan made it out unscathed. I wonder what Coach said to him this morning.

Was Jonathan trying to set me up? Guarantee a win for his second round of Terror Bets, so he could up the ante? It's never enough with him. Jonathan can't seem to leave well enough alone. Like he has to poke the bear or something. Everyone knows you let a sleeping bear lie. Not him.

The last stragglers come out as the bus pulls up. I'm the new guy. Technically, it's Redhead-Dude-With-Braces-And-Acne's stop.

I must space out the whole ride to school because it feels like only moments later when the bus pulls into the drop-off circle by the Broad Run High School, Home of the Panthers sign. Cheerleaders brush past in uniform, and the football team is sporting jersey hard-ons, strutting as we all press toward the door.

School's a bust. I doze through most of my classes, but at least I overhear that the history test has been moved to next week. Now I just have to make it through English class (easy for me), study hall, and I'm out.

We're reading this book Fahrenheit 451, where Guy Montag is an anti-fireman who burns books for a living. If I could talk some sense into him, maybe he'd lay off the bonfires and help me sort through all the bizarre shit in my brain. Yeah, it's a crazy thought, just like the ones about Amber.

I get flustered when I think of her.

Maybe Montag and I aren't as different from each other as I first thought. We both have problems we're running from. Beatty hunts him down when they catch Montag hoarding books in his air vent. I knew he was a reader. His own wife turns him in. Betrayed by someone that close. Man.

That's what set him off running.

My English teacher makes us write on the salamander or fire lizard. Is it a tattoo or just a uniform logo? I consider writing a story or a poem. According to legend, they're not lizards, which are reptiles. Salamanders are amphibians and have an affinity for fire. They can also regenerate lost limbs and tails. Remind me of an Escher tessellation. Patterns that transform from one thing to another. I should go for extra credit.

Speaking of extra credit, my grades have been nothing but toilet water, they're so flushed. Up until now, I've held tight at honor roll. But, just like that time in the closet with Amber, it, too, was a test I knew I was doomed to fail. Now I can't shake these nightmares. Neither could Montag.

If I don't do something soon, I'll have to repeat my sophomore year. Then I'd be in the same grade as Jonathan. That's reason enough to invoke my previous plan.



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Read a prelude to THE PACKING HOUSE HERE.


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