Category Archives: mental illness recovery

Cover reveal for “The Death of Me,” a memoir on Anorexia. Check it out!

Cover design by Ronnell D. Porter

Coming 10/24/14 to ibooks and Barnes & Noble books online!
Copywright 2014 by Shawnna Burt
Smashwords edition


New Release date for “The Death of Me” Get it at online retailers like Barnes & Noble books and ibooks on October 24, 2014.

Pretty soon I’ll be doing a press release, and a youtube video which will include where you can get a preorder so you can be the first get the book and you’ll also get it on sale. My book will will be in a format compatible will most computer and mobile devices.

“The Death of Me” quote. Coming to ibooks 9/12/14.

“I had to break free from my painful history in order to survive. I had to let it all go. Some people think too much, fight too much, and talk too much (or not at all). I was bullied all through school. I chose to go inward, to self-destruct. I chose an dark and elegant waltz with my own demise, a grand and epic symphony of masterful self loathing. I chose an eating disorder.”

– Shawnna R. Burt, author

Ever hear music in the wind?

Last night I heard music like nothing I’ve ever heard coming from my fan. I thought it actually was music coming from outside or from in the house so I turned off the fan. The music stopped. Turned the fan back on. It kind of sounded like metallica. Or from that genre. I’ve had things like this happen from time to time. I’ve also heard music coming off the highway.

My uncle Charlie, the misunderstood genius

by Shawnna Burt

My father’s older brother
Charlie, a secretive hunter
Wielded an axe,
Went after my mother.

Charlie went much farther
Where angels fear to tread
Like a rose in a graveyard
Where it’s terrible and wet.

Misheard and misread
Many years had passed
We thought he was dead.

A scarecrow we found,
Without bite or bark
He was hunkered and down,
And buried in dark

His frayed checkered blanket
Which had failed as a shirt
Its pattern is faded.

With smokes up his sleeve
Lone ranger boots
Were worn on his feet.
His hair had grown wild,
Whitewater rapids,
Cowl licks and spirals.

What little I knew,
This man I had feared,
Was not far apart,
From the place I was near.
A singer, an artist
With dreams locked within pages,
That kept him apart
From the truth said by sages.

Something awakened,
A phoenix from fire,
Free to be naked.
From the depths of desire,

As his breath became words,
His voice became wiser,
The best that I’ve heard,
This angel I admired.

By Shawnna Burt