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Survivors Art Foundation

Fiction

Welcome to our Fiction gallery! Please choose one of our authors below to start browsing. Use the Quick Links box on the left to go directly to a specific section. Use the navigation bar at the bottom of the pages to browse the gallery.

Please note: The Survivors Art Foundation is not responsible for the content of an individual's work or related site, which may contain graphic or triggering material.

Submit YOUR work/bio to the Fiction Gallery!

Index of Authors


Peter Swet
Peter Swet is an award-winning television writer, journalist, and playwright. In his 40's, at the top of a successful career, he was struck by a severe stroke. The book "Cracking Up" is the story of his recovery and spiritual transformation.
PeSw1.jpg (68666 bytes) "We can all take heart from Swet's rousing account of a major setback and how to cope with it. Writing well is the best revenge. Swet has managed to turn a life-threatening experience into a life-enhancing read." -- Budd Schulberg

"'Cracking Up' is a remarkable journey--written with love, anger and pain. I found myself 'cracking up' with laughter and tears. Peter Swet has come through with a wonderful book--insightful, shining and positive." -- Eli Wallach

"Peter Swet's journey to recovery sideswipes doom. This brilliant story takes us places that doctors Bernie Siegel and Andrew Weil have not yet visited. A book about stroke that's a stroke of genius." -- Jerry Stiller and Ann Meara

The book can be bought from the publisher:
Hazelton Publishing Group
15251 Pleasant Valley Road, Center City, MN 55012-0176.
To order by telephone: 1-800-328-0094
To order by fax: 1-612-257-1331
Or visit their website at
http://www.hazelden.org




Neva LaRue Brown
nlb@tir.com
http://raptor.csc.flint.umich.edu/~brown
"Mother, grandmother, free and happy. Sexual abuse survivor and domestic violence survivor ... emphasis on survivor. I am so blessed." See also her Poetry.

Null
by Neva LaRue Brown

If a woman is lonely, alone, afraid
Without friends or lover or family
And only the angry, hate-filled spouse
Fills her life with fear and pain
Where does she turn for a touch each day
How does she nurture her soul or find
A way to smile and recover the lost laughter
If the pain buries her beneath the weight
Until each breath is a well of cold terror
Where does she look for the ray of light
How can she ever find anything more
Than the dark, dry existence she lives each moment
If her life has been over since the day it began
A pointless odyssey of colorless despair
Where will she find a safe haven
How can she even dare to dream of love
When full she knows she'll never live it
And why would she ever want to go on
Live out her years with no touch on her skin
Or in the depths of her aching soul
That does not come from the red heat of anger
What does she have that's worth savoring
Or dreaming for or reaching for in time passing
And why would it surprise anyone at all
If one day she should pour out a handful of pills
And swallow them in groups of three or five
And sit back in the chair by the window
And watch the gathering dusk of both the day
And her life as they come to an inky end.

© nlb August 6, 1997
Copyrighted material; do not reprint without permission.


Judy Malloy
jmalloy@artswire.org
Artist/writer/editor, Judy Malloy has been writing hypernarratives on the Internet since 1986. In 1994, her leg was shattered when she was hit by a car while riding a bicycle, and the resulting disability and PTSD permeate her works.

Ms. Malloy's works are located on two different web sites:

"The Roar of Destiny Emanated From the Refrigerator"
http://www.well.com/user/jmalloy/control.html
Which has an interface based on PTSD
"Name is Scibe"
http://www.artswire.org/Artswire/interactive/www/scibe/story.html
Which is a collaborative work created during her recovery from a traumatic, disabling accident.


Suzanne Stutman
http://www.idealist.com/feather/
Dr. Stutman is a Professor of English, American Studies and Women's Studies
at Penn State University. She is the author of four books and over two dozen
articles. She has participated in cooperative exhibitions with the UNICEF
Organization and other Non-Profits. She is a survivor of childhood sexual
abuse. "I believe so deeply that we, as artists who have been so wounded yet have
survived to sing, to tell, to create a world of beauty which enriches life,
have a special gift and purpose as healers."

SuSt1.jpg (27941 bytes) '"Suzanne Stutman's beautiful, poetic and moving book, "Broken Feather,' expresses the terrible, confusing, lonely emotional world of the abused and neglected child. It is also a heartening reminder that, alongside being scarred, it is possible to transcend childhood trauma and deprivation -- and, surprisingly enough, that such an assault on the soul of the child can, sometimes and somehow, lead to, as well as stifle, artistic creativity." -- Leonard Shengold, MD

"This thoughtful, honest and passionate collection of poems and pieces will immediately touch any survivor's soul. Beautifully written, it shares a personal and universal healing journey for survivors of incest and sexual abuse. It is truly a gift." -- Virginia Klein, PhD

This book can be bought from the publisher:
Manor House Publications
3501 Newberry Road, Philadelphia, PA 19154
To order by telephone: 1-800-343-8464


Taken from the book "Broken Feather:"

After the Breaking

After the breaking, after the shattering, I stood in pieces, staring at the pieces of myself sparkling in the darkness like the tips of stars emerging on a cloud-filled night. Delicately, so I would not bleed, and so the remaining shell would not chip away or fall to the ground leaving me only a part of the dark night sky with nothing to frame me, I searched with eyes shining for each fragile piece of myself so I could find the proper place and pain stakingly recreate my being.

And sometimes it seems to me as if I have also patterned within me the brightly colored fragments of other selves lost, scooped, sifted and tipped, sparkling, into the corners of my soul. So that, the fathered by the night, suckled by the pain, motherless and fatherless by day I lay me down darkly and wait until the pieces, caught by the passing light of soaring stars, are fired by bursts of color, and I see in my reflection, life, and I understand that the pain will seal my edges and I will emerge and, like the rainbow, arching the new sky with glory, somehow, survive.

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