Broken People, by Scott Hildreth is working…..

Broken People, the novel by Scott Hildreth is working…..

A lady in Alabama emailed me (I placed my email address in the introduction page of my book). She said on Fourth of July, her friend committed suicide. She read the book in one day, the 7th.
Her review is below. Wow.
“I will admit the book starts a tadbit slow. But, once the characters are developed and the dots start connecting, it is a page turner. I was eager to see where each character was going to go with the theme of the book. I can definately tell the writer put his heart and soul into this book, and that is refreshing. To not just put something out for a paycheck, but put something out that they are passionate about. It is rare to see that in a book. I am typically a romance novel reader, so I am used to a bit more description about the characters in the books, but that I feel does not detract from the meaning in the book and it’s purpose. I recently dealt with the suicide of a friend so this book resonated with me deeply. This is a very clean written book that would be a wonderful book to introduce into school curriculums at the pubescent age, it may save lives. That is if schools would stop making suicide a taboo thing and introduce it as a chapter in the development of children. Move with the times people. This book is a MUST read, not for its for art thou shakespearian intellect, but for it’s raw emotions and real people. Thanks Scott, STAY HUMAN. ”  – interestingrl review on
Also, someone sent me the following picture, from “Whisper”. I guess it’s a Tumblr like site.
Lastly, a cut and paste from the book. An Egyptian girl has just received a brand new BMW for her birthday. She depressed, suicidal, and disgusted with her parents.
Placing my phone back into my purse, I turned, looking at my parents. My father reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys, dangling them from his fingers, as if he were going to drop them in the driveway.
“Do you like?” he asked. He began, with my mother and sister, to walk in my direction.
“Here, take the keys. It is yours Britney,” he continued.
“It’s white. And it’s a BMW. I wanted a Mercedes, father.” I explained as I walked toward them.
“You do not appreciate the gift?” he asked.
“Father, I appreciate the gift, yes. Thank you.” I wiped my eyes and tried to smile.
As he handed me the keys, he held his arms out, opening them wide to give me a hug. Reluctantly, I gave him a hug. As I did, I began to softly cry. My father was so inconsiderate, and probably made me cry more than anyone else I know. Probably more than everyone else combined. He just didn’t understand. Being sixteen and being a girl was so impossible. Getting someone to love you is so impossible. Being happy is so impossible. Hugging him made me want to just die.
Stepping back, I took the keys from his hand, and dropped them into my purse. “Can we go now?” I pleaded.
“Do you wish to drive?” my father asked.
The night before, I had been up until 4:00 am, updating my Twitter, Facebook, posting photos on Instagram, Snap Chat, and Tumblr, and updating videos on Vine and YouTube. “No, father, I am tired, and just care to ride.” I stated, attempting to wipe my eyes free of any tears.
“Are you pleased?” he asked, smiling. He continued to squint through his retarded glasses.
Frustrated, ready to leave, and tired, I lied. “Yes, father, I am pleased.”
Overall, I was pleased about the gift. I stood and stared at it, disappointed at what it was. My sister, mother, and father started walking to the garage, all talking, looking at the car. I stood and stared at it, thinking to myself. How could they actually expect me to make any form of progress in finding someone to love me, if I were to be seen driving this car every day. It was almost as if it were some form of punishment. Like a scar on my face that would prevent someone from actually seeing me for who I am. They would see the car and just say “no” before they got a chance to actually see who I was. People could be so shallow. So inconsiderate. So fake. Fake people were so prevalent in my school. All I want out of life is for someone to love me truly for who I am. How could they expect that to ever happen if I was forced to drive the white BMW?
Some of the girls in school did drive cars that were similar to the white BMW, but they are prettier than I am. They are always pretty. They wear makeup. They don’t have as nice of a collection of clothes as I do, and they don’t have my sense of fashion, but they are pretty. I am pretty, but it takes time. I have to wear makeup, which my father prohibits, have my hair fixed, and be dressed properly. If I have enough time, I can be almost as pretty as the prettiest girls in my school, but not quite. I needed this car to be the thing that put me over the top of the other girls. Something that put me in a category all by myself. Something that defined who I was.
READ THIS BOOK. you will see what the few that have read it are talking about.

Scott Hildreth, author, Broken People