Kirjahaku

"There's only one man I've ever loved. We met when I was fourteen, and we were married for sixty-seven years. What the hell was his name?"-Nora JoLife goes from Michigan to Mars when Lisa and her family move in her grandmother, Nora Jo, upon diagnosis of dementia. Now, the family must strategize using-laugther, tears, beers, nightlights, and signs, signs, signs-to get through the shock of living with Alzheimer's.Winner of five international awards and in series development, Lisa cracks the truth about caregiving-both the joys and challenges-wide open in this frank, funny, and heartbreaking memoir that is as much a day-to-day account of caregiving as it is a tribute to a woman who was not just a grandmother but a lifelong mentor and confidant.

2019 Independent Publishers Book Awards Winner for Juvenile Fiction-Bronze Medal.Anna is a happy kid leading a regular, Midwestern, American-girl existence. She loves drawing, sports, walking her two dogs (Big Guy and Little Guy), and chasing rainbows with her bestie, Sierra. Then her parents split up and life as she knows it vanishes. Suddenly, she has two houses, one of which is a real cracker box. She loses her shoes, books, mittens, and can no longer keep track of the days of the week. She misses her old life and worst of all: she can't take any more sad smiles from the kids and teachers at school. Her life sucks. Bigtime. But she can watch TV with the volume over 30, eat gummies for breakfast, and talk Mom into skipping school. There are some perks to her situation....EXCERPT: So, Halloween happened, by the way. I bet you were wondering about that. I didn't mess up this story, I just, well, I wasn't in the mood to bring it up, or even talk about it: Halloween. I was so mad about my new terrible life. We went to my cousin's like usual because they have a kid-friendly neighborhood, which was code for lots of candy. It doesn't even matter what I went as 'cause my life was so bad that dumb things like stupid Halloween no longer mattered.But I was a ninja. And it was awesome. You could not even tell if I was a boy or a girl unless I turned around 'cause my hair was falling out of the back of the ninja hood. I guess you could tell, now that I think about it 'cause I spun and kicked in the air all afternoon, showing off my stunts. Mom sewed a Chinese "Warrior" symbol on my costume. That's what made it so special. When my aunt saw me, she asked, "Are you a good ninja?" I couldn't believe it. I looked so scary. Then she said my shirt had the Chinese symbol for "Love" on it."This means Warrior," I explained, but she said it didn't, and I couldn't even fight back 'cause she's older. In my head I fought back, though. I told her she ought to find some Chinese lessons somewhere if she doesn't know the difference between Love and Warrior. What kind of ninja would wear Love on their chest? That would be so stupid. Pardon my Italian. I shouldn't be making fun of holidays or my relatives, and I really shouldn't be calling everything stupid. I was in a real mood on Halloween. Mom would be so mad at me if she knew about this. I was an awesome ninja. Even though my life had fallen apart, no one could tell because I was hiding under the best costume ever. And that was the best part of all.

ForeWord Magazine's Book of the Year Award Winner: Best Romance"Not quite sure how Cerasoli jumped inside my brain, but you must experience this refreshing for-once-in-my-life-someone-understands-me moment for yourself. Brink is one of the best damn books I've ever read "-Tish Ciravolo, Founder and President, Daisy Rock Girl GuitarsDon't judge a book by its cover-at least until you meet the younger brother.... At Chez Sol, where Annie is the sous-chef, her boss grabs her ass for the tenth time-but this time really holds on-leading her to discover a new use for a vat of pat , jettisoning him into oblivion and her out of a job....En route to needing "cold arms over no arms," she races home to her live-in beau, arguably the most charming prick on the planet, to find him with another woman. At this point, Annie discovers what it feels like to wade below the surface of rock bottom; it's like suffocating without the involuntary struggle for air. And then she meets Billy, a soulful petty thief who rolls with the punches, literally. And this gets her thinking about the art of letting go and taking chances.Add barbed witticisms from Annie's cousin, Foster, an angry acupuncturist, and cute quips from her two sadomasochistic best buddies, and watch as reckless desperation turns to blind fearlessness in this modern-day tale where love is lost found, whined & dined, but mostly redefined.MORE REVIEWS-"Sex, music, tequila, religion, crime, mary jane.... Finally, far-fetched fiction meets in-your-face reality in this sardonic, wry, laugh-till-you-cry comedy."-Cory Schuelke, CFO, Windswept Music"Masterfully told through a flawed protagonist and irreverent cast of characters, this exhilarating ride makes you wince and laugh simultaneously at the brutal honesty of love and adulthood-and how not to handle them."-Bill Hinkle, Producer, Secret Lives of Women, WE NetworkLike J.D. Salinger for his generation and Bret Easton Ellis for the 80s, Lisa Cerasoli writes with a wit and frank honesty that cuts you to the core. -Sean Madden, Producer, Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment

If there's a story distracting you during the day and keeping you awake at night, ask yourself: Is this a great story? If your answer is yes, then this is the book for you.Writing a book or a screenplay that causes that effect is the bar, the end-all, dope, the cat's ass. Storytelling is the mind and heart's counterpart to sex--an essential act of communication by which life itself is perpetuated. After you read a good book or see a great movie, what do you do? You share it with a friend.Part I of Tell Your Story to the World & Sell It for Millions is a step-by-step guide for writing your own top-notch page-turner. Part II teaches you the cutthroat publishing and Hollywood ropes so you, too, can achieve commercial success and join the ranks of writers making seven, eight, and nine figures annually.In our encounters with other publishers, managers, producers, studio execs, attorneys, coaches, and agents, we found ourselves agreeing with them about one thing: it's never a great scenario to submit a terrific concept that is unprofessionally executed. Our mission is to shave years off your learning curve and make your storytelling dreams come true.

"When I landed in California in 1989, I followed the rest of the passengers to baggage claim. There, one woman caught my attention. I knew she was my mother, even though I hadn't seen her since I was three. When our eyes met, she knew who I was, too. The closer I got, the colder and more distant the space between us became. This was my first memory in my new world, my first jolt of freedom." The pain and shame and worthlessness that I experienced when I escaped the Children of God cult at fourteen became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was derivative of the abuse and severe neglect I had suffered since birth. And so was my brother, Michael. We were born second-generation Children of God cult members and had known no other life. Our father was devoted to the organization and was abusive both physically and emotionally, and our mother had parted ways with him when we were just two and three. Adults had started experimenting sexually with us by the time we were ten and eleven. We had been brainwashed to believe our leader, "Moses David," was to be followed without question. We read the Bible daily; we read "Mo Letters" about rape and hell and the fate of "backsliders"-people who went against the cult. We were told that horrible things would happen to us if we left. Our subconscious minds ruled our behaviors once we entered the real world, the "Whore," as the C.O.G. called America. Deluded as we were, we backslid into our own demise. I started experimenting with drugs, alcohol, and sex. I attempted suicide. Yet, I still managed to graduate from high school with the help of my aunt and uncle. By that point, however, my mother and stepfather said I was an adult, and so I was left to figure out how to exist on my own. I had no understanding of the big world. I had no useful social skills or any skills. I didn't even know how to drive. I lived with one boyfriend until he realized I was an empty soulless human shell, and then I'd move onto the next. After spending several years on the streets in Hollywood, I ended up wandering Venice Beach for a few months. I would stare at the ocean longingly, begging for it to take me home. It was so beautiful, and I was nothing. Then one day, a couple police officers found me standing on the median of a Freeway down in Santa Monica. They took me in and I spent a year in a mental institution recovering. And then I was released. I was up north again, wandering around San Francisco. This was in 1998. I was at a gas station. My brother walked up. I hadn't seen him in years. His smile was as magnetic as ever. He saw the tracks in my arms and asked me to please stop hurting myself. He bought me a burrito, said I was too thin. I wanted to be better for Michael and myself, so, I went to the Children of God cult in San Francisco-to recover in the safety of the only arms I'd known as a child. But my story doesn't stop there.... To imagine a happy ending with a life like mine seems impossible. They wanted to take away my body, my soul, my choices, and my voice. But, the one thing they did not anticipate was that I would find within myself the strength of will to do more than just survive. And the gift of will would become mine.