Please welcome Jesse Ren'e Gibbs author of Girl Hidden
Jesse Ren'e Gibbs will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Girl Hidden
by Jesse Ren'e Gibbs
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GENRE: Memoir
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INTERVIEW:
What or who inspired you to start writing?
Most of my inspiration came from my best friend, June. She knew I had a story that needed to be told and she hounded me for twenty-five years to write the darn thing. She went through piles of boxes full of paperwork to help get me organized and walked with me through all the joy and tears of writing a memoir. We had to do a ton of research to make this book happen; my mother’s version of events shaped my thought processes and were almost one hundred percent false.
What elements are necessary components for this genre?
The book is full of letters from my mother – both before and after I was born, excerpts from my grandmother’s journal, pieces from my own experiences and court documents. It was important that I had backing for the story that I wrote, it was important that it was true, that it was real.
How did you come up with your idea for your novel?
I was kidnapped…. twice before I was eight years old and I was in hiding for several years while the police, CPS and the FBI searched for me. When you say that, people stop. “Wait, WHAT?” Yeah so, and now you have to tell the story. And enough people said, “wow, you should write a book” that eventually I did. It also helped me sort out facts from fiction in my own life. But during the course of writing, it became clear that the story started to become a guidebook for surviving both abuse. Eventually that became the more important component; I wanted others to know that that kind of horrific abuse was survivable.
What expertise did you bring to your writing?
Literally nothing other than my ability to tell a good story. I’ve always just been a writer. Between my mother being a charismatic narcissist who could make a tall tale from nothing and my grandfather being a great fisherman, I came by storytelling naturally. The challenge was how to make the story REAL while also being interesting and engaging. I wrote the book in third person because that’s how I love to read books, which adds another layer of challenge when writing a memoir.
What would you want your readers to know about you that might not be in your bio?
A lot of people ask how I met June, my bestie. She’s in the book a lot and she is my rock. She makes me believe in love at first sight.
June was seventeen when she came to visit her big brother at the inner-city commune where I lived at the time. Her dad was getting remarried and was just done being a parent, so he gave her a one-way ticket to Chicago and basically kicked her out. June’s big brother was friends with my now ex-husband, so I did him a favor and picked her up from the airport the day she arrived. By the time we got to baggage claim we were best friends. We found out several years later that our grandparents had been friends for thirty years, but we had never met. We were just meant to find each other.
As far as your writing goes, what are your future plans?
At this point, I don’t have any plans to continue writing – this book twenty-five years to write. That being said, I would love to tell June’s story eventually. But we shall see.
If you could be one of the characters from this book, who would it be and why?
*laughs…I AM one of the characters in my book. Which is a challenge to write; I get a lot of questions like “are you being too full of yourself?” or “you’re so egocentric.” But the truth is a lot deeper than that: dandelions are a tiny plant that has a lot to offer, if you take the time to notice. They feed the bees, make delicious tea, and have healing properties. My story is important too, and it deserves to be told.
Can you give us a sneak peek into this book?
The town of Rockwell was a small, southern town. As an electrician at the local cinder block mill, Robert could walk to and from work every day, which saved him money on gas and kept him in good shape. He would walk to Food Lion, the local grocery store. He would walk to the Post Office with the pretty golden doors that you opened with a magic key to get your mail. And finally, past the tiny Rockwell firehouse with its one fire engine.
After one such walk, Robert sauntered into the kitchen, absolutely beaming. He had acquired a lovely, lanky, full-grown female Dalmatian from the local firehouse. Lady, as she was unfittingly named, was too flighty for the local firehouse, so she was put up for grabs. To Robert she was a dream come true; he had wanted a Dalmatian of his own ever since he was a boy. And the boy in him could clearly be seen as he looked out of the kitchen window at his new puppy, which he had left in the car for safekeeping. Dolores joined her husband at the window and shrugged her shoulders in resignation, not realizing at the time that she was effectively signing the dog's death warrant.
Lady’s black and white coat gleamed, her deep brown eyes glittered, and she was wildly energetic. Left to her own devices she would have run from the car, and then run everywhere at once, with no intention of coming back until she had satisfied all her curiosity about every corner of the world. Robert dragged the excited dog out of the car, played with her for ten minutes, and then locked her in the shed, promising Dolores that he would build her a pen soon. The shed was filled with woodworking tools, random junk from around the property, and no windows. There was no light. Only one door in or out.
One of Jesse’s responsibilities at the Taylor home was to care for the animals, and Lady was another living, breathing creature added to her care tasks. Gummich the evil orange and white striped cat got dry cat food in his food dish, and water in his water dish in the kitchen. Gummich also got his cat box cleaned out every day. Leah, the bouncy black lab, got dry food every day and water from the hose into her buckets in her eight-foot-by-ten-foot outdoor pen. Leah would jump as high as she could over and over again when Jesse left the house and headed her way with the dog food.
Neither Leah nor Lady went for walks. They got yelled at if they barked too much. Leah had a tiny doghouse to keep her sheltered from the cold, and partial shade for part of the day in the summertime. Lady stayed in the shed. The simple joys of being given food and water brought them paroxysms of delight. Jesse was barely three feet tall and feeding and watering two dogs that were nearly as tall as her was quite a production. Jesse loved animals. She loved how they never sulked or got mad at you for something you said or did. They liked you just because.
Jesse would push the door of the rickety shed open and shove Lady out of the way, while keeping her mouth closed tightly so Lady could lick her face. She seemed to crave the outside, desperate for any attention, any light or fresh air. Lady required special care because of her sensitive disposition and high anxiety: soft dog food from a can and pills to help her calm down pressed into the food. Jesse liked the smell of dog food. It smelled of meat and vitamins and healthy dogs.
Autumn crept into winter. The leaves were less and less colorful and it rained more. Since it was North Carolina, the sun made valiant efforts to come out in the mornings but failed miserably every day.
Jesse would tend to her siblings, change diapers, wash the dishes and care for her mother, who was pregnant and starting to really show. She would feed the cats and make lunch for the kids. She went outside to play less and less as the weather got colder. Then she just stopped going outside altogether.
As winter moved in, the dogs got fed less and less regularly. She forgot. She didn’t mean to forget. But she still forgot. On the rare occasion that Jesse remembered to feed the dogs, it was a horrible job because they were so desperate for food, they would knock her over when she tried to give it to them.
Robert and Dolores never walked the dogs, never checked to make sure they were being cared for properly. Jesse was too small to walk them. They spent their days trapped in a small space, Lady in the shed, Leah in the elements, and neither of them were treated like part of the family; neither even treated with the respect and kindness due to dogs.
It was after dinner in the middle of November when Jesse noticed that something was wrong. She had gone out to feed the dogs. Leah was so frantic that Jesse was too scared to go into her pen. She dumped the food on the ground and just ran fresh water into her bowl without removing the chunk of ice that had formed in it.
She tentatively opened the door to the shed and flicked on the light. Lady was not waiting for her, or desperately trying to lick her face or shoving to get to her food. Her water bowl was on its side, empty. Her food bowl had been chewed repeatedly and was also empty. Jesse looked around, her terrified breathing showing itself in the cold in the form of short wisps. Lady lay on her side. Her breathing was shallow. In the light from the bare bulb, Jesse could see Lady’s ribs. They were jagged and sharp in the harsh light.
Jesse set the bowl of food next to Lady’s muzzle. She did not stir. Her eyes stuttered up to look at the little girl crouched next to her, then closed again. Her breathing did not change.
Jesse burst in the front door of the house, tears blurring her vision. Robert stood up as Jesse tried to explain that something was wrong with Lady. He had not gone out to the shed in weeks. He had not walked, fed, or watered his dog. He had no idea that she was not being cared for properly. Jesse’s little hands were red from the cold. Her nose was running. “Lady’s sick, Poppa…” she sobbed.
Jesse stayed in the house. She got the kids ready for bed and gave Ezra his bottle. She read them their favorite story about a bull named Ferdinand who just wanted to smell flowers. They were so cute in footsie jammies.
The house became quiet.
Robert and Dolores were still outside. Jesse, in her nightgown and bare feet, slipped into her coat. She opened the front door. Robert was sitting on the porch swing with Lady, who was wrapped in a blanket. Dolores sat beside him. He was trying to feed the dog warm milk from a bottle, but it was not working. Tears leaked from the sides of his eyes. The door squeaked as Jesse opened it and Dolores and Robert turned. Robert’s eyes seemed to burn with disappointment under the porch light. A moment passed. Then two, as Robert and Jesse stared at each other. Lady whined quietly, drawing Robert’s attention. Jesse closed the door and went to bed.
Jesse was too scared to cry. She lay under the covers. Her feet were cold, but what did that matter compared to what was to come? She was sad for Lady and convinced that she was responsible for killing a dog. What did that mean? Would she get a spanking? Perhaps she would have to live in the shed as punishment. Would she even get to go to heaven if she killed a dog? Would her stepfather ever love her again?
The next morning at breakfast Robert cleared his throat. “Kids? Lady died last night.” He looked around at all of the kids. He did not look at Jesse. “She went to be with Jesus.”
That was the last time anyone spoke about Lady.
Do you belong to a critique group? If so, how does this help or hinder your writing?
I do! Since I’m not currently writing in earnest, it’s more of an overview of other writer’s work. It’s challenging in the best way, and I learn a lot.
When did you first decide to submit your work? Please tell us what or who encouraged you to take this big step?
Once again, it was June. She basically sat on me and said “it’s done. Send it for review. Do it!” *laughs…It was really scary, but I sent it out for beta testing and got a lot of good feedback. The hardest was how many people came back and told me to expand on some of the abuse that I received from my stepfather. I hate remembering what he did, and writing it was both a form of torture and of healing. The book is self-published, which was its own giant challenge. I swear, I will write another whole book before I try to self-publish again.
What is the best and worst advice you ever received? (regarding writing or publishing)
I think the best advice I ever got was to just get it down on paper; organize it later, but for heaven’s sake, get it written. And honestly, the worst advice I was given was given in kindness; the lady said, “write it in first person, it doesn’t make sense in third person.” And I tried, I really did. I rewrote entire chapters in first person, but I didn’t like it. And at the end of the day, I needed to be happy with my book. So, it got switched back.
Do you outline your books or just start writing?
I just started writing. Had to get it down on paper first. I knew that there were certain stories that needed to be in the book, so whatever I was feeling on a given day was the story that got written. For example, if in the moment I don’t have the emotional space to talk about a particularly abusive story, fuzzy cows it is. And I would write the story of the cows jumping on the trampoline or the cat that ran the farm. June and I organized the whole thing when I was done, made sure I didn’t miss anything, filled in blanks, and smoothed it all out so it reads like a novel and not just a collection of stories.
How do you maintain your creativity?
The honest answer is that I don’t. There are literally entire years where I didn’t touch the book. Then a spark would hit, or a memory would resurface, and I just had to write. I’d be in therapy walking through some experience and I would have to get it into the book right this minute. It was very rare that I just powered through. There’s a lot of emotions behind these stories, and I hope that comes across in the book.
Who is your favorite character in the book? Can you tell us why?
Gummich the cat. The book is full of stories of this grouchy cat that adored my mother. Dolores, my mother, loved Gummich – LOVED him. Adored him. Gummich could do no wrong and was her favorite of every other heartbeat in the house. And Gummich reciprocated. But only to Dolores. He refused to sit on anyone else’s lap for any reason ever.
Due to Dolores’s conviction, she was required to host her probation officer at least once a month. One sweltering spring afternoon, dressed impeccably, the woman dropped in on Rockwell more than three hours earlier than their agreed appointment time. Dolores was in her sweatpants, the kids were running wild or frantically cleaning their rooms, the sink was still full of dishes, the baby was still in his diaper from the night before, and Dolores was mortified.
Dolores cleared the clean clothes off a section of the couch, making room for the probation officer, who delicately wiped the space with her hand before perching on the edge and pulling her notebook out of her oversized purse.
As she began asking questions of Dolores, Gummich strode into the living room with his tail in the air and his eyes half-closed mischievously. He strutted up to the couch, rubbed himself in what he probably considered was an alluring way against the probation officer’s legs, and then leaped ever so delicately into her lap.
Dolores’s jaw dropped. This cat treated everyone with disdain. What was going on?
Gummich then began to purr – or grunt, as it were – arching his back to be petted, tail in the air, delicately “making biscuits” on her lovely skirt.
Dolores’s P.O. tried to nudge the cat off her lap, and he dug his claws in more insistently, rubbing against her nice blouse and grunting at her like he was in love.
“Uh… nice kitty,” she said, patting him on the head and pushing him away.
Gummich turned away from her, and just as he was ready to leap from her lap, he sprayed urine all across the front of the nicely dressed probation officer. The woman screamed, leaping to her feet to escape the spray. Gummich hit the floor – tail in the air, and an evil grin on his face – and pranced out of the room, leaving a nearly apoplectic probation officer in his wake.
Dolores, attempting not to laugh, pulled towels out of the pile of clean clothes and followed the fleeing woman to the door. Her car sprayed gravel from the driveway as she peeled away from the Taylor house.
Dolores stood in the doorway after her P.O. left, doubled over with laughter as tears streamed down her face. Gummich watched her from his perch in the kitchen, a knowing, haughty look on his face. She finally pulled herself together and walked over to him. They gazed at each other for a moment and Dolores scratched him behind the ears.
“I love this cat,” she snickered to herself as she went to drop the urine-drenched towel into the washing machine.
Are your plotting bunnies, angels or demons?
Right now, I’m not plotting anything particular, but if I was it would be a little of all three. When you read Girl Hidden, you’ll find that there are wonderful, amazing, angelic humans within, along with people that have all the tendencies of demons and real, actual bunnies. Along with goats, cows, chickens, cats, dogs, and a black snake that lived in the attic.
Anything else you might want to add?
If you’re thinking of writing a book, or even just want some good therapy, write your story. Get it down on paper. It deserves to be told. And it’s so healing.
BLURB:
Echoing among the Blue Ridge Mountains were the cries of newborn babies that disappeared into the night. The screams of children nearly drowned out by the sound of crickets. A girl, hidden and waiting to be found, terrified, and confused. The fireflies sparkling in the woods, bringing light to darkled places.
The bulk of Jesse’s memories were of growing up in the farm country of the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina. The farm folks stayed pretty much outside of town, except for visits to the feed store causing random tractors to travel down Main Street. There were beatings and abuses, manipulation and terror carried out in spaces breathtaking in their beauty. There were twenty-seven Baptist churches, three non-denominational churches, and one Catholic Church.
There were annual Ku Klux Klan rallies on the street where they would walk right by all the black families who came out to watch and the white folks who came out for moral support—whether of the blacks or the whites, no one knew for sure. Black people did not marry white people in a civilized society, and so were rarely seen socializing. There was a young woman who was pregnant with a black man’s baby, so her parents disowned her. Jesse’s family was accused of killing the child and burying it on their property.
There was the Berkley House Bed and Breakfast toward the end of town, with gold plated silverware and hardwood floors, rumored to be the local sex worker house. There was a mansion up on a hill that overlooked the other humble houses in the town. In the local cemetery, there was “Will B. Jolly” carved into the graves used by bootleggers back in the twenties. Everyone had some form of thick southern drawl, though the length of the “aw” would extend the further south you went. There was a tiny baseball field and a tinier fire department. There was an old lady in the foothills that let the family raid her garden during the summer. And in exchange, Jesse’s family helped her husband bring in the hay for their animals every year.
There was a black snake in the attic—the door opened inside the closet next to Jesse’s bed. She would find his shed skins left behind in the summer months measuring close to seven feet in length. There was a creek with crawdads and a moss-covered bridge. There were mulberry and pecan trees that filled her and her siblings’ aching bellies as the weather turned.
There were hot summer days and freezing cold winters. There were dogs that were best friends, cats that kept her warm at night, and a cow that committed suicide. There was red clay instead of dirt, hayfields instead of grass, and a favorite swimming hole: Lenny’s Mill, the local grain mill on a glacier-fed creek where you could take a dip if you were brave enough to challenge the frigid waters.
Girl Hidden is the story of an unwanted child, born nonetheless and forced into servitude, desperate to protect her siblings and find her way out from under the vicious, manipulative abuses heaped on her by the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally: her mother.
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EXCERPT:
He was standing with his hands over his face. His back was shaking. Jesse slowly walked in front of him and stood there, silently watching as the sobs wracked his body. She reached up and touched his arm, startling him for a moment. Tears filled her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She started weeping, her tears dripping onto his shirt. They held each other for a moment as the world seemed to stop turning around them.
Jesse pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. Robert looked down at her and stuttered a little as he tried to put words to his feelings.
She looked up into his eyes. “Poppa,” she said, stopping his attempts to speak. “I cannot be the grown-up for both of us. I’m not… I’m not strong enough!” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, washing away the last of the makeup that she had so meticulously applied earlier that day. “Please, Poppa.”
Jesse took a deep breath, pulled herself together, lifted her chin, and walked back into the room with the black-and-white tile floor. Robert stood in the hallway and watched her go. His stepdaughter would never depend on him again. His heart broke a little more, but he knew that there was nothing he could do about it. He forced himself to wipe his eyes again and walk back into the room.
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AUTHOR Bio and Links:
My name is Jesse René Gibbs and I am the author of Girl Hidden. I am an artist, designer, dancer and survivor. I am a stepmother to four, Amma to four more and blessed beyond measure with the family that I chose.
This book is based on the true story of my life, gleaned from years of my mother’s writings, my grandmother’s journals and my own experiences. I did my best to showcase the depth of damage that growing up with a narcissistic parent can have on a person, and how hard it is to come to terms with the amount of gaslighting that comes with that life. My siblings all have their own stories of being played against each other, bullied and even emotionally tortured by our parents. We were trained to not trust our own intuition, raised in a life of poverty, a lack of privacy and the endlessly traumatizing purity culture.
I was hunted in my own home by the man my mother married and escaped at nineteen only to land in an intentional community in Chicago that did nearly as much damage. My best friend in the book is also real, and she did more to walk me through my trauma, and she is the main reason that these stories were finally published.
My new life in Seattle didn’t start until well into my thirties, and I’m still working on deconstructing my life up to that point. I wrote this book to organize my life in my own mind and to undo years of lies. I also wrote it because others need to know that they are not alone.
Email: contact@girlhidden.com
Website:
https://www.girlhidden.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/girl_hidden_a_memoir/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/girlhidden
Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@girl_hidden
Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Girl-Hidden-Jesse-Ren%C3%A9-Gibbs/dp/0578988127/
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GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE:
Jesse Ren'e Gibbs will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f4562
