Good morning! Please welcome author Hannah Renae to Full Moon Dreaming! She is here to tell us about her new release, Tiger Stripes. Hannah will be awarding a $100 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter via Rafflecopter during the tour. The more you comment, the better your chances of winning. To find the other stops on her tour, go here. Don't forget to look for the Rafflecopter at the end of this post!
Tiger Stripes
by Hannah Renae
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GENRE: Memoir
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Three rehabs
Two jail cells
And a suicide
attempt...
Hannah was told she
would not make it to 25 with the way she was living. She had struggled with
mental illness her entire life, but at 22 her demons came to a head at the
grips of severe substance abuse, life-changing trauma, and two major deaths in
her life.
Hannah's struggles
land her places no one ever hopes to grace; jail and psych wards lead her to
the brink of death. Running out of options she's left with two choices: live or
die. This heart-wrenching memoir combines recovery with bittersweet romance
told in a raw presentation that immerses the reader into the author's dark
state-of-mind in every page.
Tiger Stripes is
going to add a valuable voice to the conversation about women's mental health
issues.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT:
THE LETTER H
October 7, 2019
“HENRY! HENRY! HENNN-RYYYY!!!!”
I am screaming at the top of my lungs and can feel my throat
tearing, becoming raw. I don’t know how many times I have said his name now,
but it is all I know how to do because nothing is making any sense.
I am in a locked room and flashes of images are going
through my head, but there is only one thing, one thought that I can focus on,
that is pounding through my brain throughout this confusion and that is pouring
out of my lungs to the point that my chest feels like it is going to rip.
“HENRY!” I choke on his name and a sob.
He cannot hear me, and he is not coming. He doesn’t know
where I am and I don’t know where I am, but I know I am not supposed to be
here—and I have to get out.
I beat at the metal door that barricades me from something
unknown and choke on words that begin with H.
“HENRY!” “
“HELP!”
“HENRY!”
“HELP!”
I repeat these words for what feels like a lifetime, until I
forget how to speak and my begging turns to carnal screaming—shrieking.
No one comes. No one answers. I wait for footsteps, for the
sound of the door unlocking, but all I can hear is the sound of my frantic
breaths and the echoes of a lamentation that is anything but human.
I look down at my body. My feet are bare against the
concrete floor; I cannot feel them. The jean shorts I am wearing show off my
slender, scratched legs and remind me that I am small and feeble at this
moment, but in an act of desperation, I put all of my faith in the power of
momentum and I run. I fucking run as fast as I can from the three paces it
takes to get from the wall to the ominous looming, locked door and attack it
with my entire being, letting out my most vicious battle cry as I fumble
towards it.
The door wins.
I try again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
I am degraded to a crumbling, bruised ball of flesh.
I can barely speak, my throat reduced to sandpaper.
Everything hurts and I can taste the bitterness of blood in
my mouth. The floor is like ice against my bare legs. Through the tears in my
eyes I see the moon shining through a window at the top of the room. It is full
and brilliant and illuminates the white of the brick walls that surround me. I
realize that there is writing on them. People have been here before me. People
will be here after me. Why am I here though? I should not be.
I should be home, where I belong. In bed, with him. Safe. I
feel anything but that word in this moment, as terror sweeps through every
single one of my nerves.
I whisper in one last futile attempt:
“Henry?”
But there is silence. Horrible, deafening, fatal silence.
And it seems to last forever, until I hear it, or think I
do. A click, the door unlocking, and the small room is suddenly filled with
light. Fluorescence suffocates me.
When I dare to open my eyes, they do not find Henry. Instead
I find a police officer looking back at me. He wears broad, black framed
glasses that are too big for his face and he looks eerily familiar. A sudden
memory of lying in a hospital bed comes to me but does not fully resonate. His
face is forlorn and almost disappointed, as if he expected more out of me.
“I thought you were going to hurt yourself,” he tells me.
“Promise you’ll stay calm and you can come out for a bit. We’ve got to get you
fingerprinted.”
It’s then that I have the shattering realization that I am
drunk and in a holding cell at a police station. The reason why escapes me
though, as I try to grab onto flashes of sober memories but drown in my current
state-of-mind.
I try to breathe with intent as I remember every single
arrest-cliché in the book, and I cling to the fact that I am going to get my
phone call. They will probably let me go—they have to. If anything, they will
make me stay the night at the most.
I remember the silent promise I had once made myself—that
the moment I got a DUI that I would put down the bottle for good. Jail was the
worst it could get. It had been my crowning achievement at my last three rehabs
that I had never graced the inside of a jail cell and I never planned to.
“Continue down the path you have been,” one of the staff
members at my second treatment center had told me after sharing her own story
about prison, “and jail is a guarantee.”
And here I am. Her words have come to pass, as promised.
I then remember what else she told me as we talked over a
pack of Marlboro Reds on a warm Orange County night.
“Finish the 90 days,” she had said, “Or you will not make it
and there will come a day where you will no longer be able to cry out ‘I’m a
good person!’. You will lie. You will steal. You will become someone and
something else. You will hurt everyone you love. You will lose everything, and
just when you think you have lost it all, you will lose something else.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
If there is
anything Hannah believes in, it’s hope, but that wasn’t always the case. For a
long time, chaos was comfortable for Hannah, but at just 22 she would have to
make her hardest decision yet: was life really worth living? Since picking up a
pen Hannah has had a love for writing, and as an adult it would become her
greatest tool in healing from an almost decade-long battle with severe mental
illness and substance abuse. Her first book, Tiger Stripes, is a harrowing, raw
telling of her year in and out of hospitals, treatment centers, and jail that
finally led her on the road to recovery and freedom.
Hannah was
born in Orange County, CA but has lived in the Los Angeles area for several
years. She now lives in West L.A. with her boyfriend. When she is not writing
she can be found reading, running, cooking, or finding the best vegan eats in
L.A.!
Author Links:
Website -http://hannahrenaeauthor.com/
Twitter -
|https://twitter.com/byhannahrenae
Instagram -
https://www.instagram.com/hannahrenae/
Pinterest -
https://www.pinterest.com/hurnpublications/tiger-stripes/
Book Landing
Page - https://hurnpublications.com/tiger-stripes/
Buy Links:
Amazon -
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08WM2S9Y2/ref=as_li_tl
B&N -
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tiger-stripes-hannah-renae/1138814034?ean=9781736450901
Kobo -
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/tiger-stripes
Apple Books -
https://books.apple.com/us/book/tiger-stripes/id1553383519?at=11lvdC&uo=4&mt=11&ls=1
TBD -
https://www.bookdepository.com/Tiger-Stripes-Hannah-Renae/9781736450901
Indigo - https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/tiger-stripes-a-memoir/9781736450918-item.html?ref=isbn-search
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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