By Susan Richards
“Richards displays on how wealthy lifestyles turns into whilst one travels her personal most sensible course. . . . Richards writes extra courageously than she possibly realizes, and every web page of this uplifting e-book will contact a chord in each person who loved her first book.”-- Booklist
“Charismatic. . . attractive writing by means of a good self-explorer.”-- Kirkus Reviews
Praise for Chosen through a Horse:
“An encouraged tale of what relations capacity, and what the lack of you'll do to us, and for us.”—The Boston Globe
“An enormously relocating tale, superbly written and insightful.”—The Roanoke Times
“Two kindred spirits locate one another during this superbly written memoir.”—Temple Grandin, writer of Animals in Translation
When Susan Richards followed an abused horse rescued via the neighborhood SPCA, she didn’t know the way Lay Me Down’s loving nature may contact her heart—and switch her lifestyles.
Susan, a writing instructor, had misplaced her mom on the age of 5 and been deserted by means of her father to uncaring family members; she had persevered an unsatisfied marriage finishing in divorce and had self-medicated for nervousness and repressed anger with alcohol. For greater than a decade, she aspired to be released, however it used to be simply with the memoir she wrote to honor Lay Me Down that she accomplished this objective.
The publication ended in a e-book travel, during which Susan reconnected with friends and family. yet much more joyously, on the moment analyzing on her travel she met the guy who had offered her his residence twenty-four years previous, a world-famous photographer, Dennis inventory. and so they fell in love.
Read or Download Chosen Forever: A Memoir PDF
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Additional resources for Chosen Forever: A Memoir
Chris was a twenty-five-year-old researcher who’d been brought in by Matt and Aimée to help reduce their workload. He was a selfconfessed “East Coast preppy frat boy” and, to my delight, a complete Anglophile. “Dress British, think Yiddish,” he replied when I complimented him on his outfit. He peppered me with questions about Manchester bands I’d never heard of and asked me what my favorite Bond film was. When I said From Russia With Love, we clicked immediately. ” he exclaimed. “My first masturbatory fantasy,” I sighed.
It was a fascinating glimpse into below-stairs life at Condé Nast, one I was never to have again. The degree of segregation between the classes at 350 was far greater than any I’d encountered on Fleet Street. Not only did they use different lifts, but once you were in the Messenger Center it was virtually impossible to get out of it other than by taking the service elevator back down to the lobby. When Condé Nast editorial assistants needed to dispatch a package they’d take one of the normal lifts to the ninth floor and literally pop the package through a hatch.
Supervisor? Good God, I thought. They do take their security seriously. I entered one of the lifts—a gleaming, stainless steel cubicle— and noticed that I was only given the option of going to two floors: three or eleven. Where was nine? I went back to the front desk and asked the security officer how to get to the ninth floor. “Take that elevator over there,” he said, pointing towards another lift tucked away behind a couple of pillars. I followed his instructions and found myself in a steel cage that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Soviet-built housing block circa 1925.