Stump Strong: Strength In Roots by Nicki Pascarella is a book worth reading #womensfiction #fiction #menopause #mustread
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  • N. N. Light
    • Mar 28
    • 3 min read

Stump Strong: Strength In Roots by Nicki Pascarella is a book worth reading #womensfiction #fiction #menopause #mustread



Title Stump Strong: Strength In Roots

 

Author Nicki Pascarella

 

Genre Women’s Fiction

 

Book Blurb

 

Patricia Moore is coming of age. The age is menopause. And she might not survive it.

 

Her growing pains include not only hot flashes but sharp pangs of loneliness. Her daughter is away at college. Her dear Sheltie, Zoomie, still loves her ex-husband, who’s got new muscles and a new girlfriend. And then there’s the sudden, teenage-hormone levels of lust she feels for her psychotherapist.

 

She’s wound up in therapy because of her abusive work situation: her boss is evil, and one of her alternative education students has attacked Patti in the classroom, leaving her almost voiceless.

 

As she faces these savage threats to her health, dignity, career, heart, and sanity, Patti discovers help from an unexpected source: the cassette tapes left behind by her grandfather, a one-armed veteran of WWII.

 

Pappap’s account of survival after being shot down behind enemy lines provides an example that may be just what she needs to dig herself from the depths of depression, revive her dormant inner power, and stand up for her principles while staying true to herself—and maybe she’ll even find her inner sexy.

 

Both funny and inspiring, perfect for fans of Bridget Jones’s Diary and Gilmore Girls, StumpStrong weaves modern and historical struggle and romance, its story unfolding through Patti’s diary, her Pappap’s tapes, text messages with her daughter, quotes from Rudyard Kipling, and much more.

 

Excerpt

 

Today, feeling annoyed, skeptical, and humiliated, I once again found myself lying on the ground. This time I was splayed out under a wooden signpost announcing the office of Dr. Jacob Greene, Psy.D. The gold-leafed nameplate hung between two brass hooks, and it swung back and forth in the breeze. It quivered and laughed, mocking my miserable existence.

 

I suppose I was both nervous and cursed because I tripped on the front stoop leading to my new psychotherapist’s office. It was an epic slapstick style fall that resulted in a cracked cell phone, a scraped knee, and a humiliating ass-in-the-air view for the construction workers across the street. A string of profanity ending with a resounding, “You have got to be shitting me!” spewed forth as I stood, pulled down my skirt, picked up and examined my cell phone, chased down my water bottle, and looked over my shoulder at the street work going on behind me. At first, I felt relief that none of the men were paying attention. Since they hadn’t seen my fall, they hadn’t seen my exposed granny-pantied ass. Disappointment followed. Feeling my age, I realized that not one single man had noticed me. At least my screen-cracked cell phone still worked.

 

“Damn. If I’m going to spend this much time on the ground, I need new underwear,” I told my non-existent audience.

 

Or, you could just wear pants, advised my shoulder angel.

 

From there, my day continued to deteriorate. Down. Down. Down, to the lowest layers of sediment in the sewage depository of my hometown of Maple Hall, it went.

 

“Patricia.” A large man waved his hand in front of my face. The tone coming from the youthful mountain that sat across from me oozed annoyance. It was the same way I addressed my students when they played on their cell phones instead of paying attention to my lessons.

 

“Patricia, I’ll ask you again, what brings you here?”

 

I sighed and tucked my dilapidated cell phone into my jacket pocket, rendering it inaccessible in the dark hideaway between my car keys and medicinal throat spray.

 

Since my guardian angel had been on a three-year vacation, it was entirely in line with my luck to get this way-too-young therapist. He didn’t look much older than my students. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but he was younger than my baby brother Jimmy Junior, so how could he possibly have enough knowledge or experience to help me? I was in a snit, and I didn’t like the doctor, or his age, one single bit!

 

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Author Biography

 

Nicki Pascarella writes Contemporary and Historical romances. She enjoys mixing genres—adding mysteries to steamy small-town romances, or a pinch of paranormal fantasy to her romantic comedies. It’s all about making her readers laugh and fall in love.  

 

Using her twenty-nine years of experience as a high school teacher and her background in creative writing and journalism, she coaches authors for The MediaCasters. Helping artists break through creative blocks is one of her passions.

 

When she isn't writing and editing, she reads, runs, and hangs with her husband, daughter, and Shetland sheepdogs. Nicki is also an award-winning belly dancer.

 

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