The Book Gazette is hosting an excerpt from non-ficiton “Triumph! A Battle Plan for Joy”. Enjoy reading!
The front door slammed! My heart jumped, recognizing impending rage. Chester’s unmistakable footsteps pounded the graveled pathway, growing louder and louder. Soon he would be in the backyard where I was playing. “What have we done now?” I hastily picked up the ball and jacks, eased inside the house and closed the door without making a sound, hoping he would not find me. As he neared, a crack in the door gave me a clear view of him holding that dreaded razor strap in his right hand, and tapping it on his left. That meant a beating for one of us.
I decided to put more distance between Chester and me by tiptoeing toward the room where my brothers and I slept, but my legs became heavy and stationary, and my feet would not move. Then I heard him yell: “W. C., where are you?” I knew then on whom trouble had fallen, my little brother; but why? W. C. made a slow appearance from the other side of the house. I tried to stop looking, but like my feet, my eyes ignored me, fixing themselves on the unfolding scene.
Chester flopped his lanky body down on the nearby bench, which we called “the whipping bench.” “Come here, boy! Now drop your britches and your draws! You can give your heart to God, ‘cause your butt is mine.”
My eyes refocused on the thick razor strap. It was long enough to wrap around the hand for a good grip, with enough left for a good beating. It had big jagged holes in it that served a definite purpose. Chester used a pound-and-pull technique that caused the holes to suck in the tender flesh of our small bodies, intensifying the pain, and guaranteeing lacerations, bruises and blisters.
Standing at the whipping bench, W. C. pulled down his pants and shorts. Then he leaned his small body across Chester’s lap, so his head could be placed between Chester’s legs. Chester rolled up W. C.’s shirttail to expose his back. Then the beating began. The razor strap landed repeated blows with painful speed, without regard to precision. Sometimes it struck his back instead of his buttocks. Again I tried not to look, but couldn’t turn away. I closed my eyes and prayed without words, hoping God understood the language of pain.
About the Book
Author: Gladys Simmons Carson
Genre: Inspirational Memoir
When medical malpractice takes the life of her mother and the offense is dismissed as an unfortunate mistake, it rips a hole in seven-year-old Gladys’ heart and ignites fire in her anger. This act of gross negligence strips her of the joyful delight that has characterized her existence. Before she can grasp the full meaning of her loss, fate takes her on a journey through a series of harsh realities, including devastating child abuse, demeaning segregation and destructive thinking. These unsavory enemies assault her on all fronts, physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally. But the child warrior uses youthful wisdom to triumph over the effects of them all. Her prize is a resurgence of bountiful joy. You may laugh or cry, but you will definitely cheer for the child warrior in TRIUMPH! A BATTLE PLAN FOR JOY.
Gladys Simmons Carson is an inspirational speaker and author of the much-talked-about memoir, “Triumph! A Battle Plan for Joy. For more than 45 years she has challenged and encouraged audiences with her message of assurance. Now in her debut book she gives insight into how we too can choose joy despite our circumstances.
Her passion for writing stems from an early introduction to the written word. By age three she was reading her older siblings’ school books. By age four she was introduced to her first novel, Betty Smith’s “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” This early exposure gave birth to a love affair with books and a fascination for writing. By the time she reached adult status, she had evolved into a natural encourager with a wealth of information to share, and a zeal for sharing.
Online Press Kit: www.gladyscarson.com/press
Book Trailer: www.gladyscarson.tv
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