“Elise is a born writer." --Alan J. Kaufman, Esq. Publishing Attorney
“This is Elise Crawford’s first book; however, she writes with the skill of a seasoned author. Her powerful description and willingness to show her own mistakes, weaknesses and fears make this a wonderfully inspiring read. Impossible to put down or forget, I highly recommend this book.” – Excerpt from review by William R. Potter for Reader’s Choice Reviews
“Elise Crawford's story personalizes one crime against society as well as any book or journalistic piece I have ever read. Crawford does not lay out the facts of her story in a foreboding manner, or with any hint of self-pity, but with tenderness and brevity. I commend Elise Crawford for writing her story. There can be nothing left for this humble reviewer but to recommend this book to all adult readers; not just to those who may have had, or are currently going through a similar tragedy, but to all people. This inspirational story will help some of us to uncover in our hearts what we know is already there - true compassion for our fellow man.” - Excerpt from review by Jeffrey B. Allen, Gone Away into the Land
“With just a few well-chosen words, Elise can draw out the readers’ emotions, making them laugh, cry with her in her pain, and suffer the hurt that comes with a test of faith. As a writer, I was amazed when I found tears running down my cheeks, wetting my shirt and laughing so hard my sides hurt with just a few words. This is a must read for anyone! – Donald Drake, The Chronicles of the Kings of Randor
“I’m hungry Lissie” five-year-old Janey whimpered. “Me too” I said just fourteen months older than she. I don’t remember when Mommy left or when she was coming back. I went to the pantry just off of the little kitchen and found some Puffs of Rice. I looked in the refrigerator for milk, but there wasn’t any. I poured what was left of the cereal into two bowls and stood on a kitchen chair and proceeded to add water from the faucet when I saw something move. Blocking my sister’s view, I picked out as many of the little creatures as I could, focusing mostly on the ones that moved.
Darkness filled the house as the evening set in; still no Mommy. The lights didn’t work. Janey and I hid in the bathroom just in case one of Mommy’s friends made a visit. Crouched with our backs against the cold porcelain bathtub, we held onto each other securely. Too afraid to move in case one of her friends happened by, a stream of warm liquid gradually seeped from beneath us merging together to form of a large puddle in the middle of the floor.
Morning found us still painfully crouched against the tub. We were startled awake by the sound of the school bell ringing in the distance. Not knowing if it was the bell for breakfast or for class—no longer afraid of a visitor—I hurriedly went in search of some clothes for us. I brushed both of our hair and we ran out the door. Thankfully the school was practically in our back yard, separated by a somewhat busy street that divided the projects into north and south sections. We barely made it in time for the free hot breakfast that awaited us. Janey cried when we made it to the table.
When school was over we arrived home not to find Mommy, but a large white sedan with two strangers who beckoned for us—in phony voices like one would call to a stray cat—to come with them. Fearing their intentions, I grabbed Janey’s hand and bolted for the house. I cried out for Mommy. But she didn’t answer. The strangers followed us into the house. They cornered my sister and me. With barbaric swiftness they lunged for us. Captured like wild animals we were carried kicking and screaming, and only released once inside the security cage of the backseat of their car.
Elise Crawford's completed autobiography promises to be the most empowering true story you'll ever read.