Before you read the memoir, see what was cut from it. Chapter One of The Mansfield Pages, line by line, with my margin notes on every page — the paragraphs I removed, the lines I had to soften for an editor I no longer have, and the one sentence about the elders' interrogation that I still cannot publish anywhere. 

Seven letters I wrote and never sent. To my mother, who has not spoken to me since December. To Daniel, the husband who kept the small blue cycle-tracking notebook in his nightstand. To Brother Thompson, about the question I will not write in the book. To the daughter I may never have. To the woman I would have been if I had stayed. Thirty-six pages of direct address — every sentence aimed at one person. Read them the way you would read mail you were never meant to see.

Stand with the work. I priced The Mansfield Pages at $19.90 so anyone who needs it can find it. The full $49.90 — what the book costs after the first two hundred pre-orders close — exists for readers who want to do more. Pay it now and you fund the next year of my independent writing: three to four hours of new pages per patron, by my own math. In return: a private letter from me on what your support enables, and your name on Volume II's First Readers.