Stacey Danson's Blog

January 1, 2013

Thank you, from the heart. Thank you to those folks who have taken moments of their precious time to comment and leave their messages of support on Amazon and other sites where my life has been exposed.

I had reasons for allowing my less than perfect childhood to be looked at, reasons that were more than the need to make more people aware of what can happen in our less than perfect world, to children born to families that do not earn the privilege of being called care givers. I wanted those precious ones that have endured abuse, that have questioned their own right to survival, that have ever asked the question, "Why", I wanted them to learn and understand that I have no pure, concrete, easily delivered answers. What I do have are memories of people, warm, loving, wonderful ,supportive people ... people that had no need to offer me assistance, people who could have looked the other way, people who could easily have turned away from the dirty, uneducated, afraid child that I was. People who saw  beyond the bravado, people who responded to the need in me to connect, people who allowed themselves the time to connect with the need I had to simply belong.

I have lost count now of the numbers, let me simply say that I have been overwhelmed by them. People, just like you, people who recognized that Sassy was a human being, a human being with a hunger to survive that drove her, a hunger to live a full and emotionally complete life that sustained her throughout those years of  sad desperation.. Thank you. I will continue to write, I will continue to educate, in my uneducated fashion, I will strive to help you understand that those people you see on the streets, those folks whose eyes you avoid, those pathetic, dirty, sad people, they too have had moments when their futures could have been altered. they too have had a time, a space, a place, when someone , somewhere, could have intervened. They have had pivotal moments when someone could have said, 'wait a moment; what the hell is happening here?"

For some strange, sad and lost reason, that didn't happen.

Nobody asked that question.

I ask of you to begin asking it now!

Please, folks ... look at them. Look at those people on the streets, and have the courage to ask...WHY?

Then, and only then, can we as connected human beings begin to make a difference.Follow on Buzz
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Published on January 01, 2013 21:57 • 106 views

October 29, 2012



My guest Melissa Eyler  won a contest I run On my Soooz Says Stuff blog.http://sooozsaysstuff.blogspot.com.au/ I invited her to write a guest post, and am so very moved by what she chose to write. I share it with you below. Melissa:
 A couple of years ago, I stumbled upon a writing site in the British Isles called Authonomy. Once registered, I started reading other people’s books and works in progress. During my time there, I read the works of a hundred or more different people from all over the world. That experience serves me to this day. Not only did I read selections that were awe inspiring, but I also read some that were horrible. I formed an opinion of how I did, and did not want to write. Every time I returned to my own story, I found new things to correct and rework that I had not previously noticed. One of the perks of Authonomy was the opportunity to meet people from across the world that I never would have met in any other circumstance.  One of those writers was a great person to whom I owe my gratitude…Stacey Danson. I read her book, Empty Chairs and it changed me forever. It is a grueling account of what should have been her childhood, but instead, was a gruesome life of abuse. At one point, she left one horrific situation for another where abused children banned together in order to survive. I know we all have our problems growing up, and we all live through our own horrors, but her little band of survivors ripped my heart in two. They were abused by adults who knew better, but chose to do worse. I knew they existed, because Stacey had the courage to tell the truth. In turn, I was encouraged to write the short story, An Angel in Attison. I count myself honored to stand with Stacy in friendship. It always amazes me how much she has done with her life after surviving a start that would kill most people. So it’s hats off to you, Stacey. Thank you for bringing the truth to light. We must all stand together to stamp out sexual abuse of children in every corner of the world. We must also make it understood that turning a blind eye toward a child that has obvious signs of abuse is a crime against the child, a crime against one’s self and  a crime against humanity. ******************************************************************************
When I wrote Empty Chairs and the sequel Faint Echoes Of Laughter I hoped desperately that it may make people aware of what can happen to a child ... any child ... in any house, in any street ... anywhere in the world. I wanted people to listen, to really listen to children. Not to ignore the signs of abuse, not to relegate a child's obvious signs of distress to the too hard basket! Not to put behaviour that is obviously unusual down to a Phase the child may be going through.

Children deserve more than that, people. Children are our responsibility, regardless of who they are and where they come from. They are the innocence that this sad old world needs so badly. They are the future. We must become active in caring for them. The simplest way to do this is not by throwing money at the homeless. Or saying it's a damned shame, just LOOK. Really LOOK at what is around you. Look at that child in the playground who seems so isolated. Look at the bruises no matter how distasteful that may be for you ... and ask questions! Is he really clumsy? Possibly ... of course he could be. Did he always look that dirty? Was he always so thin? Was he always absent from school so often? Open your eyes ... and really look at the folks on the street. They are there for a reason, folks. Step up ... and ASK the questions...please.
Melissa has said that Empty Chairs changed her life. I am forever grateful to the people out there just like Mel who have shared with me the affect the book had on them. It makes the reliving of it worthwhile.Follow on Buzz
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Published on October 29, 2012 14:44 • 71 views

October 1, 2012

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Published on October 01, 2012 16:25 • 75 views

February 19, 2012

To all the marvelous folks that asked for more information about how my life progressed after "Empty Chairs" ended. The sequel is now out..."Faint Echoes Of Laughter" is available on the link below...
Buy The Book here:Follow on Buzz
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Published on February 19, 2012 14:46 • 96 views

May 31, 2011

You can win a FREE kindle edition of Empty Chairs on Freado...June 6th 2011 I am giving away TEN copies on Freado...simply click on the badge below to find out how you can enter!

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Published on May 31, 2011 17:24 • 90 views

March 28, 2011

The awareness and prevention of child abuse is up to each of us. Many of you will already be aware that April is Child Abuse Awareness and Prevention month.
I have decided to contribute all profits from the sale of my biography "{Empty Chairs} during the month of April to ISPCAN the International Society for the Prevention of Child Abuse and Neglect. http://www.ispcan.org/?page=About_Us

They are a world wide non denominational and non profit organization that train counselors and field officers working amongst the survivors of abuse. 
Their main aim is to prevent it from occurring in the first instance. 
If you are thinking of purchasing my book please hold off until April.
I am also available should anyone care to have me do a guest blog on awareness and who to turn to in the event you have a problem that needs discussion.
It is undeniably a very difficult topic to approach. Please be aware; I will NOT take part in any witch hunts. This is not what I am about. 
However I will gladly offer my time to anyone anywhere that wants to help raise awareness of this world wide tragedy and how to deal with it if ever confronted.



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Published on March 28, 2011 19:16 • 59 views

January 25, 2011

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Published on January 25, 2011 08:01 • 133 views

January 15, 2011


Living Under A Neon Rainbow~~ Street life.


A friend once asked me, "Did you ever think of giving up, Soooz? Did you ever consider suicide?"


My response was, "Of course I did."


That thought had entered my mind. More than once. It came, and it almost won. Almost.


I was so weary of fighting back when that thought surfaced. Just so very tired of surviving my damned life and not truly living it. Many people have asked me how could it be that at the age of eleven you were alone and on the streets.


We all had reasons.

Reasons—not excuses. There is a huge difference in my opinion.


Sure--some of the people out there on the street had less reason than others, but, my friends, the streets were not softer to sleep on or easier to deal with if you had more or less reason to find yourself there.


The streets are an egalitarian place. Everyone on them for whatever reason has the same hard choices to make.


The predators were no less vicious if your reasons were stronger.


We humans can be such a cruel, judgmental species.


The pecking order on the streets—any streets--in any damned country--is simple—only the most vicious in the food chain survive at a visible level.


Only those clever enough to manipulate, and use a weaker beings fears against themselves remain untouched.


Only those that have lost all traces of the humane aspect of being human; those for whom, caring, kindness, pity and love have become unknown words attached to long dead feelings. Only they become safely visible.


Even those living on the scraps of human remains—the pimps and the pushers, even they have a higher power further advanced by deed in the food chain.


Living on the streets—sure—you may survive it. To do it alone, with no back up, and sustain your humanity—not a snowballs chance in hell.


Being alone sets you apart—instantly. Make no mistake—the predators single you out, and wait.


They wait--certain of the fact that, fear, hunger, or one of a countless number of possible addictions—will drive you as part of an unwilling herd to the differing degrees of slaughter of the soul.

Some street dwellers fall into the visibly crazy category.


Who would dare in all conscience put that label on anyone out there, without looking at their own shaky versions of sanity first?


Not I.


The sad folk who were labeled as such attracted attention. Their need was so obvious, it shone like a beacon to the few organizations charged with rescuing those who had slipped through the tears in the fabric of society. The obviously crazy people tended to survive far better than those of us that still walked the razors edge of what did and did not constitute visibly insane.


I lived on those streets. How the hell I survived those early months alone I do not even begin to know.


What I do know is this. I would not have made it to age twelve, without taking my own life. Or having a lifestyle forced upon me that would ensure I continued to breath whilst dead anyway.


I would not, could not have survived it alone.


I had reached the end of my endurance. I had witnessed too much of the darkness in the human soul. I wanted to just give up. Finish it. I wanted with everything that was in me to no longer be paralysed with fear. All I wanted was to feel safe…not rich, successful, beautiful or famous…just safe.


I would have taken my own life. Without further hesitation, or thought. Except for a bunch of kids just like me. A bunch of badly damaged, half-crazy--half-feral street kids. That's what they were, not saints or angels sent from heaven. They were just like me—only they had each other for support.

They saved me, from--me. I have tended to gloss over the negative and focus on the positive. I have always done that, and will no doubt continue to do so. Dwelling on the bad things is not good for my peace of mind.


However, please make no mistake, I was not a young female version of "Huck Finn" setting off on some wonderful adventure.


I was just a girl with a dreadful past. An eleven-year-old kid who wanted so very badly to have a less than dreadful future.


I was fallible, very human and terribly afraid. I was also wary, untrusting—and very very angry.


I had never known a childhood. It was ripped away. It was torn apart--together with every fragment of innocence a child has.

I was an old woman in a child's body--searching for the child I should have been, everyplace I went.


The fact that I survived all of it, reasonably sane—and still able to laugh—was not due only to my strength. I don't deny I am strong. I don't deny that I grow weary at times of needing to be that way.


No, my friends; I did not survive through my strength of will. I had no miracle to perform. I survived because I got lucky. Yes ... lucky. I was welcomed in a fashion, by a bunch of kids—strangers all, that clung together through all of it—and somehow formed a family of sorts.


I was taken in only because one of them had chosen to end her struggle with life. She died and left room for one more in their group. Only one.


Why did they choose me?

What complex issues did they discuss that caused me to be selected from the many, many, kids out there?


They chose me simply because they liked my street-name, 'Sassy' The leader of the group decided if I had managed to earn a name like that, then I might just be able to make it.


We had rules, standards of behavior that must be kept. Each one of us contributed to the wellbeing of all. Selfishness was punished by eviction from the family. There were no second chances.


This is written with love. They taught me how to feel it. I needed to honor them. I needed to acknowledge their existence in my strange life. Of the original fifteen of us, those that made it through to be celebrating the year 2010--number only four.


Only three of the eleven human beings that I owe my own life to, only three, died of natural causes. Eight people—eight wonderful valiant people, ended their own lives. Or got caught up in a style of life that caused it to be taken from them.


My memories are of them.


My heart aches for all the young ones that will spend another night on the streets of every city and every country.


I am asking each of you that may be reading this to please reach out if you can. Most churches have a donation of goods drive. Spend a moment with your own families, and think what it would be like for any one of them to be alone and afraid.

Spare a moment to think of all the lonely people who have no friends—no family, and no hope.


Try and allow the thoughts in, no matter how ugly they are. If you can. A smile from a total stranger can be all it takes to lighten the sadness and renew the hope.


I'm smiling, at the memories and the craziness of the time I spent with them.

Every day since those wonderful damaged young street kids entered my life is worthy of remembering. They allowed me to feel connected to something for the first time in my life.


They dealt with my anger, for it matched their own.


We fought each other fiercely…but mostly we allied against anyone or anything that threatened harm to the unified bunch that we eventually became.


No one is alone, while ever someone cares enough to think of them.


Reach out.


You can make a difference.

NB: When I wrote this a little over a year ago, there were four of us remaining.

Today there are only two.Follow on Buzz
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Published on January 15, 2011 02:23 • 62 views