{"product_id":"honor-thyself-isbn-9780440243281","title":"Honor Thyself","description":"Carole Barber has come to Paris to work on her novel and to find herself. A legend  of film and stage, Carole has set a standard of grace, devoting herself to her family  and causes around the world. But one fiery instant of terror shatters hundreds of  lives—and leaves Carole alone, unconscious and unidentified.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e In the days that follow,  as the truth emerges, the paparazzi swarm. A mysterious stranger quietly visits the  hospital to see the woman he once loved and never forgot. Carole’s grown children  rush to her bedside, waiting and praying—until the miraculous begins to happen. But  as a woman whom the whole world knows slowly awakens, she knows nothing of herself.  Every detail must be pieced back together—from a childhood in rural Mississippi to  the early days of her career, from the unintentional hurt inflicted on her daughter  to a fifteen-year-old secret love affair that went tragically wrong. Carole has been  given a second chance to count her blessings, heal wounded hearts, recapture lost  love...and to live a life that will truly honor others—beginning with herself.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e A  tale of survival and dignity, of small miracles and big surprises, \u003cb\u003eHonor Thyself\u003c\/b\u003e creates an unforgettable portrait of a public figure whose hopes, fears, and heartbreaks  are as real as our own. Her courageous journey inspires us all.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Danielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel is one of the best!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Few modern writers convey the pathos of family and material life with such heartfelt empathy.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Philadelphia Inquirer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel pulls out all the emotional stops. . . . She delivers!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eDanielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e has been hailed as one of the world’s most popular authors, with over 650 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include \u003ci\u003eCountry, Prodigal Son, Pegasus,\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eA Perfect Life, Power Play, Winners, First Sight, Until the End of Time, The Sins of the Mother, \u003c\/i\u003eand other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of \u003ci\u003eHis Bright Light,\u003c\/i\u003e the story of her son Nick Traina’s life and death; \u003ci\u003eA Gift of Hope, \u003c\/i\u003ea memoir of her work with the homeless; \u003ci\u003ePure Joy, \u003c\/i\u003eabout the dogs she and her family have loved; and the children’s book \u003ci\u003ePretty Minnie in Paris.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  It was a quiet, sunny November morning, as Carole Barber looked up  from her computer and stared out into the garden of her Bel-Air home. It was a big,  rambling stone mansion that she had lived in for fifteen years. The sunny greenhouse  room she used as an office looked out over the rosebushes she had planted, the fountain,  and the small pond that reflected the sky. The view was peaceful, and the house silent.  Her hands had barely moved over the keyboard for the past hour. It was beyond frustrating.  Despite a long and successful career in films, she was trying to write her first  novel. Although she had written short stories for years, she had never published  any. She had even tried her hand at a screenplay once. During their entire marriage,  she and her late husband, Sean, had talked about making a movie together, and never  got around to it. They were too busy doing other things, in their primary fields.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sean was a producer-director, and she was an actress. Not just an actress, Carole  Barber was a major star, and had been since she was eighteen. She had just turned  fifty, two months before. By her own choice, she hadn't had a part in a movie for  three years. At her age, even with her still remarkable beauty, good parts were rare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Carole stopped working when Sean got sick. And in the two years since he'd died,  she had traveled, visiting her children in London and New York. She was involved  in a variety of causes, mostly relating to the rights of women and children, which  had taken her to Europe several times, China, and underdeveloped countries around  the world. She cared deeply about injustice, poverty, political persecution, and  crimes against the innocent and defenseless. She had diligently kept journals of  all her trips, and a poignant one of the months before Sean died. She and Sean had  talked about her writing a book, in the last days of his life. He thought it was  a wonderful idea, and encouraged her to start the project. She had waited until two  years after his death to do it. She had been wrestling with writing it for the past  year. The book would give her an opportunity to speak out about the things that mattered  to her, and delve deep into herself in a way that acting never had. She wanted desperately  to complete the book, but she couldn't seem to get it off the ground. Something kept  stopping her, and she had no idea what it was. It was a classic case of writer's  block, but like a dog with a bone, she refused to give up and let it go. She wanted  to go back to acting eventually, but not until she wrote the book. She felt as though  she owed that to Sean and herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In August, she had turned down what seemed like  a good part in an important movie. The director was excellent, the screenwriter had  won several Academy Awards for his earlier work. Her costars would have been interesting  to work with. But when she read the script, it did absolutely nothing for her. She  felt no pull to it at all. She didn't want to act anymore unless she loved the part.  She was haunted by her book, still in its fetal stages, and it was keeping her from  going back to work. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew she had to do the writing  first. This novel was the voice of her soul.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Carole finally started the book,  she insisted it wasn't about herself. It was only as she got deeper into it that  she realized that in fact it was. The central character had many facets of Carole  in her, and the more Carole got into it, the harder it was to write, as though she  couldn't bear facing herself. She had been blocked on it again now for weeks. It  was a story about a woman coming of age and examining her life. She realized now  that it had everything to do with her, the life she'd led, the men she'd loved, and  the decisions she had made in the course of her life. Every time she sat down at  her desk to write it, she found herself staring into space, dreaming about the past,  and nothing wound up on the screen of her computer. She was haunted by echoes of  her earlier life, and until she came to terms with them, she knew she couldn't delve  into her novel, nor solve its problems. She needed the key to unlock those doors  first, and hadn't found it. Every question and doubt she'd ever had about herself  had leaped back into her head with the writing. She was suddenly questioning every  move she'd ever made. Why? When? How? Had she been right or wrong? Were the people  in her life actually as she'd seen them at the time? Had she been unfair? She kept  asking herself the same questions, and wondered why it mattered now, but it did.  Immensely. She could go nowhere with the book, until she came up with the answers  about her own life. It was driving her insane. It was as though by deciding to write  this book, she was being forced to face herself in ways she never had before, ways  she had avoided for years. There was no hiding from it now. The people she had known  floated through her head at night, as she lay awake, and even in her dreams. And  she awoke exhausted in the morning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The face that came to mind most often was Sean's.  He was the only one she was sure about, who he had been, and what he meant to her.  Their relationship had been so straightforward and clean. The others weren't, not  to that degree. She had questions in her mind about all of them but Sean. And he  had been so anxious for her to write the book she had described to him, she felt  she owed it to him, as a kind of final gift. And she wanted to prove to herself that  she could do it. She was paralyzed by the fear that she couldn't, and didn't have  it in her. She had had with the dream for more than three years now, and needed to  know if she had a book in her or not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The word that came to mind when she thought  of Sean was peace. He was a kind, gentle, wise, loving man, who had been only wonderful  to her. He had brought order to her life in the beginning, and together they had  built a solid foundation for their life together. He had never tried to own or overwhelm  her. Their lives had never seemed intertwined or entangled, instead they had traveled  side by side, at a comfortable pace together, right until the end. Because of who  he was, even Sean's death from cancer had been a quiet disappearance, a kind of natural  evolution into a further dimension where she could no longer see him. But because  of his powerful influence on her life, she always felt him near her. He had accepted  death as one more step in the journey of his life, a transition he had to make at  some point, like a wondrous opportunity. He learned from everything he did, and whatever  he encountered on his path, he embraced with grace. In dying, he had taught her yet  another intensely valuable lesson about life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two years after he had gone, she still  missed him, his laughter, the sound of his voice, his brilliant mind, his company,  their long quiet walks together along the beach, but she always had the feeling that  he was somewhere nearby, doing his own thing, traveling on, and sharing some kind  of blessing with her, just as he had when he was alive. Knowing and loving him had  been one of her greatest gifts. He had reminded her before he died that she still  had much to do, and urged her to go back to work. He wanted her to make movies again,  and write the book. He had always loved her short stories and essays, and over the  years she had written dozens of poems to him, which he treasured. She had had all  of them bound in a leather folder several months before he died, and he had spent  hours reading them over and over again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She hadn't had time to start the book before  he died. She was too busy taking care of him. She had taken a year off to spend time  with him, and nurse him herself when he got really sick, particularly after chemo  and in the last few months of his illness. He had been valiant till the end. They  had gone for a walk together the day before he died. They hadn't been able to walk  far, and they had said very little to each other. They had walked side by side, holding  hands, sat down frequently when he got tired, and they had both cried as they sat  and watched the sunset. They both knew the end was near. He had died the following  night, peacefully, in her arms. He had taken one last long look at her, sighed with  a gentle smile, closed his eyes, and was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Because of the way he'd died, with  such elegant acceptance, afterward it had been impossible to be overwhelmed with  grief when she thought about him. As best one could be, she was ready. They both  were. What she felt in his absence was an emptiness she still felt now. And she wanted  to fill that void with a better understanding of herself. She knew the book would  help her do that, if she could ever get a handle on it. She wanted to at least try  to measure up to him, and the faith he'd had in her. He had been a constant source  of inspiration to her, in her life and her work. He had brought her calm and joy,  and a kind of serenity and balance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In many ways, it had been a relief for her not  to work in films for the past three years. She had worked so hard for so long that  even before Sean got sick she knew she needed a break. And she knew that time off  for introspection would eventually bring deeper meaning to her acting as well. She  had made some important movies over the years, and had been in some major commercial  hits. But she wanted more than that now, she wanted to bring something to her work  that she never had before. The kind of depth that only came with wisdom, seasoning,  and time. She wasn't old at fifty, but the years since Sean got sick and died had  deepened her in ways she knew she would never have experienced otherwise, and she  knew that inevitably that would show on the screen. And if she mastered it, surely  in her book as well. This book was a symbol of ultimate adulthood for her, and freedom  from the last ghosts of her past. She had spent so many years pretending to be other  people through her acting, and appearing to be who the world expected her to be.  Now was the time in her life when she wanted to be unfettered by other people's expectations,  and finally be herself. She belonged to no one now. She was free to be whoever she  wanted to be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her years of belonging to a man had been over long before she met  Sean. They had been two free souls, living side by side, enjoying each other with  love and mutual respect. Their lives had been parallel, and in perfect symmetry and  balance, but never enmeshed. It was the one thing she had feared when they got married,  that it would get complicated, or he would try to \"own\" her, that they might somehow  stifle or drown each other. That had never happened. He had assured her it wouldn't,  and had kept his promise. She knew that her eight years with Sean were something  that only occurred once in a lifetime. She didn't expect to find that with anyone  else. Sean had been unique.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She couldn't imagine herself falling in love, or wanting  to be married again. She had missed him for these past two years, but had not mourned  him. His love had sated her so totally that she was comfortable now even without  him. There had been no agony or pain in their love for each other, although like  all couples, they'd had resounding arguments now and then, and then laughed about  them afterward. Neither Sean nor Carole was the kind of person to hold a grudge,  and there wasn't a shred of malice in either of them, or even in their fights. In  addition to loving each other, they had been best friends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They met when Carole  was forty, and Sean was thirty-five. Although five years younger than she was, he  had set an example for her in many ways, mostly in his views about life. Her career  was still going strong, and she was making more movies than she wanted to at the  time. For so many years before that, she had been driven to follow the path of an  ever-more-demanding career. They met five years after she had moved back to Los Angeles  from France, and she'd been trying to spend more time with her children, always pulled  between her kids, and increasingly alluring movie roles. She had spent the years  after her return from France without a serious involvement with a man. She just didn't  have the time, or the desire. There had been men she'd gone out with, usually for  a brief time, some of them in her business, mostly directors or writers, others who  were in different creative fields, art, architecture, or music. They had been interesting  men, but she'd never fallen in love with any of them, and was convinced she never  would again. Until Sean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They had met at a conference they'd both gone to, to discuss  the rights of actors in Hollywood, and had been on a panel together about the changing  role of women in films. It had never bothered either of them that he was five years  younger than she was. It was completely irrelevant to both of them. They were kindred  spirits, regardless of age. A month after they met, they had gone to Mexico together  for a weekend. He had moved in three months later, and never left. Six months after  he moved in, despite Carole's reluctance and misgivings, they were married. Sean  had convinced her it was the right thing for both of them. He was absolutely correct,  although at first Carole had been adamant about not wanting to get married again.  She was convinced that their careers would somehow interfere and cause conflicts  between them, and impact their marriage. As Sean had promised, her fears had been  unfounded. Their union seemed blessed.","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304114376933,"sku":"NP9780440243281","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440243281.jpg?v=1767729195","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/honor-thyself-isbn-9780440243281","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}