Sunday, May 15, 2016
Letters to Daniel by Amy Leigh McCorkle
Through a series of open letters to her favorite actor, Daniel Craig, the author details her struggles with abuse, mental illness, and her ultimate triumph over both.
About the Author:
She has lived in New Mexico and Texas as well, but she currently makes her home in Shepherdsville, Kentucky.
An award-winning blogger, she is also a successful author in both the sci-fi erotic romance genre with No Ordinary Love and a dark romantic suspense tale, Another Way To Die. She’s also written the first two books of a Mad Max meets Gladiator series set to be a trilogy. She has placed second in the 2011 Preditors & Editors Readers Choice Poll for Best Short Romance Story and semi-finaled with Another Way to Die in the 2012 Moondance International Film Festival.
From Hydra Publications, she has released Set Fire to the Rain as well as her first print novel, Bounty Hunter. She is co-authoring the Gunpowder & Lead series with Melissa Goodman.
Her work is flavored by her childhood heroes, pop culture, music, and the cinema, as well as the writers she still enjoys reading today.
Letters to Daniel was an excellent book that I couldn’t finish reading. Let me explain. It’s a series of open letters to Daniel Craig. Yes, the actor—the one who played James Bond. These letters detail Ms. McCorkle’s struggles with child abuse, bi-polar disorder, and food addiction.
To quote Meatloaf, “Two out of three ain’t bad.” Well, actually, in this case they are. Okay, you can almost make that three out of three. While Ms. McCorkle suffered sexual abuse at the hands of her cop father, I suffered emotional abuse at the hands of my adoptive mother. A friend recently told me about something going around on Facebook, I think, that said something like, “The compulsion to apologize is a sign of emotional abuse, so don’t be a jerk when you encounter someone who does that.”
To which I replied, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
But I digress. I’m also bi-polar and a food addict. And I read Letters to Daniel the week I buried two human family members and one canine one. I wanted to eat everything in the kitchen, including the cabinets.
Did I mention I also spent a holiday weekend with my ex and his bride? He divorced me because of my mood swings. Don’t get me wrong, I really like his new wife. She’s a sweetie. But I felt overwhelmingly lonely the whole weekend. And guilty. There was my daughter’s father-in-law who’d just lost his wife of fifty-plus years, and there I was having a pity-party because my ex of thirty-plus years had remarried—again. Yeah, I know: feelings are neither right nor wrong; they just are.
So, I pick up Letters to Daniel, and except for the sexual abuse and the fact that Ms. McCorkle hasn’t yet married, I’m reading my life story. Oh, and Ms. McCorkle is much farther along in her career than I was at her age.
Then I started thinking about when my funk began, and I realized it was before the death-watch, before the funerals, before the ex and his bride came to town, before his mom took me aside and gave me the “Shelley Dear, I was so proud when you lost weight. What happened?” speech. (I’m still “Shelley” to a few family members.) That’s when I realized at least one of my meds has quit working. I’m seeing my psychiatrist tomorrow as I write this, and that’s at the top of my agenda.
I was seventy-two percent of the way through the book when I put it down and just cried. I guess I needed that. I’m told the end is very inspirational. Somehow, through the funk, and the self-pity, and the tears, I found the whole book inspirational. I highly recommend Letters to Daniel. I just don’t recommend reading it in the midst of a bi-polar/ food addict breakdown. Hopefully I’ll start new meds tomorrow and be able to finish it eventually.
Heat Rating: R
Length: 253 Pages