Lift

( 60 )

Overview

No matter when and why this comes to your hands, I want to put down on paper how things started with us.

Written as a letter to her children, Kelly Corrigan's Lift is a tender, intimate, and robust portrait of risk and love; a touchstone for anyone who wants to live more fully. In Lift, Corrigan weaves together three true and unforgettable stories of adults willing to experience emotional hazards in exchange for the gratifications of raising ...

See more details below
Hardcover
$12.74
BN.com price
(Save 25%)$16.99 List Price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Hardcover)
  • All (173) from $1.99   
  • New (19) from $1.99   
  • Used (154) from $1.99   
Lift

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK
  • NOOK HD/HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook)
$9.99
BN.com price

Overview

No matter when and why this comes to your hands, I want to put down on paper how things started with us.

Written as a letter to her children, Kelly Corrigan's Lift is a tender, intimate, and robust portrait of risk and love; a touchstone for anyone who wants to live more fully. In Lift, Corrigan weaves together three true and unforgettable stories of adults willing to experience emotional hazards in exchange for the gratifications of raising children.

Lift takes its name from hang gliding, a pursuit that requires flying directly into rough air, because turbulence saves a glider from "sinking out." For Corrigan, this wisdom—that to fly requires chaotic, sometimes even violent passages—becomes a metaphor for all of life's most meaningful endeavors, particularly the great flight that is parenting.

Corrigan serves it up straight—how mundanely and fiercely her children have been loved, how close most lives occasionally come to disaster, and how often we fall short as mothers and fathers. Lift is for everyone who has been caught off guard by the pace and vulnerability of raising children, to remind us that our work is important and our time limited.

Like Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea, Lift is a meditation on the complexities of a woman's life, and like Corrigan's memoir, The Middle Place, Lift is boisterous and generous, a book readers can't wait to share.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Library Journal
Penned as a letter to her two young daughters, the latest from author Corrigan is an attempt to illuminate their particular relationship ("I want to put down on paper how things started with us"), and an ambitious, inspirational meditation on parenthood in general. A slim volume, it perhaps suffers for its brevity but recounts engagingly events like Corrigan and her husband's decision to start a family, and baby Claire's bout with viral meningitis, "the beginning of how I came to know what a bold and dangerous thing parenthood is." She also examines the gifts all mothers hope to present their kids: "a decent childhood, more good memories than bad, some values, a sense of a tribe, a run at happiness." Fans of Corrigan's The Middle Place, a memoir of her fight with cancer, will welcome the return of figures like Corrigan's father, Greenie, and should appreciate her wistful but down-to-earth thoughts on parenthood. Newcomers might be less inspired, but should appreciate Corrigan's charm and honesty.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Anne Lamott
"Although we've never met, I love Kelly Corrigan like a friend. Her work gives me a rich sense of intimacy with someone who is full of life and hard-fought wisdom. She's hilarious, tender-hearted, tough, loyal, wild, and screwed-up--like all the coolest women I know."
The Oprah Magazine O
Praise for The Middle Place

"Funny and irresistibly exuberant."

San Francisco Chronicle
Praise for The Middle Place

"Come for the writing, stay for the drama. Or vice versa. Either way, you won't regret it."

Winston-Salem Journal
Praise for The Middle Place

"Plan to laugh, cry, and be consumed by Kelly Corrigan."

Ayelet Waldman
Praise for The Middle Place

"For two days I ignored my family while I devoured Kelly Corrigan's memoir. I spent a good part of that time crying, but mostly I was laughing . . . She captures our hearts and teaches us something new about family, love, and yes, even death."

From the Publisher
"Although we've never met, I love Kelly Corrigan like a friend. Her work gives me a rich sense of intimacy with someone who is full of life and hard-fought wisdom. She's hilarious, tender-hearted, tough, loyal, wild, and screwed-up—like all the coolest women I know."—Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird and Traveling Mercies

Praise for The Middle Place

"Funny and irresistibly exuberant."—O, The Oprah Magazine

Praise for The Middle Place

"Come for the writing, stay for the drama. Or vice versa. Either way, you won't regret it."—San Francisco Chronicle

Praise for The Middle Place

"Plan to laugh, cry, and be consumed by Kelly Corrigan."—Winston-Salem Journal

Praise for The Middle Place

"For two days I ignored my family while I devoured Kelly Corrigan's memoir. I spent a good part of that time crying, but mostly I was laughing . . . She captures our hearts and teaches us something new about family, love, and yes, even death."—Ayelet Waldman, author of Bad Mother and Love and Other Impossible Pursuits

Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781401341244
  • Publisher: Hyperion
  • Publication date: 3/2/2010
  • Pages: 89
  • Sales rank: 109,250
  • Product dimensions: 4.80 (w) x 7.00 (h) x 0.70 (d)

Meet the Author

Kelly Corrigan

Kelly Corrigan is, more than anything else, the mother of two young girls. While they're at school, Kelly writes a newspaper column, the occasional magazine article, and possible chapters of a novel. She is also the creator of CircusOfCancer.org, a website that teaches people how to help a friend through breast cancer. Kelly lives outside San Francisco with her husband, Edward Lichty, and their children.

Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

LIFT


By Kelly Corrigan

Hyperion

Copyright © 2010 Kelly Corrigan
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4013-4124-4


Chapter One

Dear Georgia and Claire,

You're both in bed now. Dad, too. I should be sleeping but I'm wound up.

First day of school's tomorrow. Bus comes at 7:44 and won't drop you off until after three. We don't usually get downstairs before nine. But tonight, shoes are by the front door and backpacks are zipped. You even laid out your clothes, so we don't have to argue in the morning.

I don't think you'll remember tomorrow, or many of the other days we've spent together so far. I only know a handful of stories from before middle school. There was the kiss by the coats in the spring of fifth grade that I pretended was gross. And the time my teacher, who was tall but wore purple heels anyway, asked if anyone knew how to spell chaos and I wanted to raise my hand so badly and be the one who knew something no one else in my class knew but I couldn't because I didn't know. I feel that way still, like I wish I knew more, like I wish I had answers.

And I remember in third grade, I pulled a tiny foil star off Julia Burr's row and put it on mine, so I'd have more. I got caught and was taken to see the principal, who had very short hair that looked burnt on the ends. When she started in on me, Mrs. Ford, my teacher, held out her hand and guided me into her lap. I put part of her long necklace in my mouth-I was very nervous-and she gently took it out so I could concentrate on the principal's thoughts about truthfulness. You guys love that story.

You're always asking me to tell you about making mistakes or getting grounded. Like when I was ten and I tried to get a bug off my dad's windshield by kicking it, over and over, from the inside, until the glass cracked from top to bottom and side to side. Greenie came back to the car after paying for gas, sliding his billfold into his back pocket. and said, "Lovey! What the-?" We drove home in silence, Greenie shaking his head like he'd never met a kid with less sense. Those stories are as clear as stains compared to the everyday stuff like eating ice cream or playing Go Fish or swimming with my room in Squam Lake, which I've seen a picture of but can't actually call up inside me. I can't feel the water, or my mom's shoulders under my hands, or her neck under my chin, I can't remember how safe and good it must have felt to ride around on her like that.

* * *

I heard once that the average person barely knows ten stories from childhood and those are based more on photographs and retellings than memory. So even with all the videos we take, the two boxes of snapshots under my desk, and the 1,276 photos in folders on the computer, you'll be lucky to end up with a dozen stories. You won't remember how it started with us, the things that I know about you that you don't even know about yourselves. We won't come back here.

You'll remember middle school and high school, but you'll have changed by then. You changing will make me change. That means you won't ever know me as I am right now-the mother I am tonight and tomorrow, the mother I've been for the last eight years, every bath and book and birthday party, gone. It won't hit you that you're missing this chapter of our story until you see me push your child on a swing or untangle his jump rope or wave a bee away from his head and think. Is this what she was like with me?

The last time we went to Philly to see your grandparents, Jammy taught you how to play dominos while I checked my e-mail. I listened as she explained the rules in stages, showing you all the ways to score until she was sure you understood. When you bagged your first point, she helped you move your peg up the board, winking and clicking her tongue and saying jokey stuff like By Georgia. I think you you've got it.

When I was little, I don't think she winked or clicked or punned.

And my coming-of-age? Imagine one long string of cursing, crying, and lying followed by stomping and slamming, punctuated by the occasional kindness-These eggs are good or Is your knee feeling better? Jammy must've cut those moments into tiny pieces and rationed them to herself: for all she knew, it'd be a month until I fed her another morsel of affection.

I don't know when you'll read this. Maybe when you're a teenager? No, probably later, when you're on the verge of parenthood and it occurs to you for the first time that someone has been loving you for that long. Maybe (let's hope not) you'll read it because something's happened to one of us-my cancer came back or Dad was reading a text going across the Bay Bridge and cars collided-and you want to piece together what it was like before. No matter when and why this comes to your hands, I want to put down on paper how things started with us.

* * *

I always wanted kids-more than all other things. Not very Harvard Business School of me, I know. There are other things I want to do, big crazy things, like make a movie and build an artists' compound and fix my printer. But at night, in the years before I met your dad, when I was talking to a God I wasn't sure I really believed in, I whittled down all my requests to one: children. You.

Greenie has this huge family and I love being inside something that big. I love the noise and hugging and high-fiving and how we tell the same ten stories every time we're together and, after that, we tell the same six jokes, all of which have titles, like "Precious" and "Probably" and "The Sportcoat Joke," which Uncle Dickie delivers with a Scottish accent and a harelip for no reason anyone can give. I remember once in college climbing onstage with a band. The music was so loud. The bass line came up through the floor into my body. That's what it's like being in a room full of Corrigans.

Kathy is my favorite. She's one of Uncle Gene's seven kids, which I think explains her self-reliance and therapist's eye for interpersonal drama. I like her because she's so totally unguarded. I've always wanted to be like Kathy, and over the years, I've tried on various parts of her: I mimic her one-sentence e-mails in all lowercase letters, I listen to John Prine and early Bonnie Raitt. I clutter my bookshelves with unframed photographs, old lunch boxes, and homemade art. She's why I cut my hair short every couple of years and wear bandanas when it's too hot to turn on a blow-dryer. I read the books she sends me and the poets she mentions. She introduced me to Rilke, who has this line about how some harmonies can only come from shrieking, and another about how when crystal shatters, it also rings. The Rilke line that's up on my bulletin board is "the knowledge of impermanence that haunts our days is their very fragrance." So many true and delicate thoughts that prose can't touch. Promise me you'll read him.

Kathy took a job teaching high school English because she loves reading and talking about books. especially the things people accidentally reveal by empathizing with one character over another or hating a story too much or cuing over a certain passage. But more than reading, she loves her students-the pregnant girls, the sassy girls that call her Mizzes, the boys who look at her chest too long. I sat in on her class once at Charlottesville High and left thinking, God, she's important.

I remember this one Corrigan wedding-Cousin Boo's. Kathy and I were sitting by the dance floor, picking at an unclaimed piece of cake, the way you do when you've already had enough and think you might just have one more bite and then the other person joins in and then you're sweeping up the last of the icing with the backs of your forks. Her kids, all three of them, were on the dance floor together. I guess they were in middle school, or just starting high school. Lena was doing this move where you pull one foot behind you like you're stretching your thigh after a run, and Maggie was trying to moonwalk, and Aaron, the oldest, was doing the sprinkler.

"That's all I want, Kath. Right there. Funny kids who like each other."

She leaned into me and said, "It'll come. You'll get it. Oh! Look-"

Just then, Aaron and some other guys lifted Kathy's husband, Tony, over their heads, and Tony crowd-surfed, like Jack Black in the last scene of The School of Rock. People went nuts-cheering or reaching for their cameras or looking around for the father of the bride to see how this was going over with him. Over all the laughing and hollering, I could hear Aaron's voice. "Stay stiff, Dad! Like Superman!"

* * *

Dad and I were still opening wedding presents when I started to think about getting pregnant. I'd watched so many friends struggle-Tracy's seven in vitros, Mary Ann's three miscarriages, Kristi's baby born still. Dad and I were lucky, if lucky is a big enough word for it. Another way of putting it is that we were spared years of torment. Here's a third way of saying it: I've had cancer twice and if I had to pick one fate for you, cancer or fertility problems, I'd pick cancer.

One well-timed roll in the hay, then two weeks later: Gasp. I cried-though less than you probably think, less than I did the other day when we were reading about the Lorax popping out of the tree stump and the Once-ler handing over the very last Truffula seed. That about killed me. Georgia, you hate it when I cry. All my conspicuous emoting turns you off. That fed-up look you give me at teacher retirement parties or soccer games or the winter concert is partly how I know that I am only a few years away from exasperating you by the way I apply my lipstick or talk to waiters or answer the phone or drive or walk or breathe.

Anyway, Dad hugged me and made some crack about his uber-sperm and the Teutonic Knights. I held up the pregnancy test stick and said, "Should we keep this?"

"Is that gross?"

"I don't care, I'm keeping it," I said.

Then Dad suggested we go downstairs, have a Guinness, and play some darts. So we did.

Darts is the only "sport" in which I have a real chance to beat Dad. He seems to have forgiven me for not being the athlete my family background would have predicted. All those Corrigan coaches and athletic directors and all-Americans-and me, a girl who'd hear birds singing upon entering the office supplies aisle at Radnor Pharmacy. You girls can pin your fixation with file folders, hole-punchers, and three-ring binders on me. Watching you fashion a wallet out of index cards and double-sided tape, or embellish the edges of place cards with deckle-edge scissors, or swoon over a metallic, fine-tip paint pen? Talk about genetic validation.

But back to darts. I spent the first two years alter college mastering bar games with a bunch of Sigma Chi's, while somewhere in downtown Little Rock, Dad worked until midnight at the analyst desk of an investment bank. Before I challenged him to a game, he'd never held a dart. He caught on. A few years later, on our honeymoon, we ended every night playing on an outdoor dartboard, usually alongside an Indian busboy named Ibrahim, who had this unforgettable hair, perfectly cut and styled, shiny and black-the moon laid down a line on it like it was a lake. The point is, as funny as it seems, darts are kind of a romantic symbol for us.

When I finally started having contractions, forty-one weeks after the Guinness, Dad said. "Stay here. I'll get the good dams. We'll play to pass the time."

"They're on the corner of the table," I called after him. "Underneath some bibs and board books."

I have the video from that day. It's not much to watch-it took seventeen hours and an IV of Pitocin to start active labor-but every so often, you can see me bend over and wince. I'll show you, assuming you're old enough to hear me say "sweet-Jesus-mother-fucker." You know the rest of the story-the three-foot umbilical cord, the Jackson Browne song that was playing about soothing a fevered brow, the stork bile on your forehead that I can still sometimes see traces of when you get really hot or terribly upset.

I saw it last week, actually, when you came downstairs with a Safeway bag filled with paperback books and said. "I have to give these away."

"What?" I asked.

"I have to find all my other books and give them away too."

"Honey, why? What's the matter?"

"Because I don't understand them," you said, as your bottom lip quivered. "I don't understand the words. You know all the Harry Potter books I've read?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't understand any of them. I read them but I don't know what's happening in them."

You stood there, totally sick with the sense that you were not smart like I told you you were, and now you had to tell me, and how could I ever love a kid who didn't understand Quidditch or the Dark Arts, divination or transfiguration?

"Oh honey, no one understands Harry Potter." I held out my arms but you didn't come.

"Margaret Faust does. Even Ruby does-and she's six and I'm eight."

"Well, I don't. All I know is that I'm a Miggle."

You sighed.

"Come here. Tell me what you were reading just now that got you so upset-"

"I was reading a book that the librarian said is perfect for third-grade girls! So obviously, I should not even be in the third grade because I am so stupid!" Then the collapse into me, then the cry that sounds like a sewing machine at full speed.

Eventually, you went upstairs to get the book so we could read together. You opened to page one and read aloud.

"It says Pru would give her eye-tooth. What is an eye tooth?"

You stopped at every word you didn't know-utter, ransacked, pitch-perfect-no longer willing to skate past all those words and idioms.

"You feel better?" I said, after we finished the first chapter.

"Yeah. Can we keep going?"

"Of course."

"And Mom, it's Muggle."

It won't always be so easy to make your stork bite disappear.

* * *

During the four-month maternity leave that became the next eight, years, I made a job for myself as a photographer. It was pretty nervy, I guess, since I didn't have any training in composition or light or printing-just a one-night seminar at Elmwood Camera. But trust me when I say there's a lot you can figure out as you go. You don't always have to be Qualified or Experienced. Nobody really knows what they're doing, except maybe gene-splitters, and even they'd probably admit that there's an unteachable art to everything.

I specialized in family "candids," even though when I got to people's houses, the kids looked like they'd just come from that glossy green salon in Oz where the Cowardly Lion had his hair curled. I shot kids in the sandbox, on the swing, in the bath; making mud pies, blowing bubbles, smelling flowers, twirling, running, laughing. The trick to pleasing the client. I figured out pretty fast, was cropping out every nick, scrape, and bruise, along with the pimply parts, the second chins, and any flash of impatience or disappointment in either parent's brow. It's embarrassing, how much we want to idealize family.

Before I photographed you girls. I licked you clean like a mother cat and then sat you in a patch of open shade where the sun wouldn't make you squint or drape you with shadows. I framed out the dirty cuffs of your shirts and the neon plastic toys you wouldn't put down. I shot down on you so your eyes would seem bigger. I made you smoother and more beautiful than you could have ever been. Except you were, for a second. I was there. I saw it.

Most of the pictures taken after you turned four and became self-conscious have no character. You couldn't stand in front of a camera without making a peace sign or bunny ears or baring your teeth like you do for the dentist. The only good shots I got after that were when you were too consumed by something-weaving a hot-pot holder, peeling off your toenail polish, memorizing the dialogue between Troy and Gabriella-to notice me skulking around with my Nikon.

I had my camera the day Claire put her foot in the ocean for the first time. We'd stopped off at a stretch of beach after lunch at this greasy, delicious Mexican place and even though it was too cold to swim, Claire, you stripped off your clothes and greeted the sea like an audience, or your oldest friend. Before we got back in the car, you had to wash the sand off your body in one of those almost-painful public showers where the pressure's been set too high. You found so many ways to thrill yourself in those jet streams, ways that would make your Catholic grandmother blanch. Neither Dad nor I were inclined to stop you. You're only two and a half once.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from LIFT by Kelly Corrigan Copyright © 2010 by Kelly Corrigan. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 60 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(18)

4 Star

(18)

3 Star

(9)

2 Star

(8)

1 Star

(7)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 60 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 16, 2010

    Lift by Kelly Corrigan

    This is the second ebook I read on my new Nook. It was entertaining and well written, however, I was quite surprised to find out it was only 45 pages long, after I had already purchased it. I wouldn't expect such a short story to be this expensive.

    9 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted June 3, 2010

    I felt totally ripped off!

    There should be a way to see how long a book is before purchasing it!! Although I liked the content of the book, it was truly a short story and I would not have paid $9.99 for it if I had known! The actual length of the book after the title page and dedication was 35 pages. I feel that I deserve a refund.

    5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 3, 2010

    Great!

    As a mother this book has made me want to run out tomorrow and by a journal and write a journal entry everyday to my two children. Kelly Corrigan really is such a gifted story teller. Very Enjoyable!!!!

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted March 16, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Should be required reading for parents

    This is a small book, an "easy read," but it will stay in your mind long after you've finished it. Corrigan is a gifted storyteller with the ability to make you laugh one moment and weep the next. Written as a letter to her two young girls, the book made me regret not keeping up my journals as my three sons were growing up; I should have been recording "ordinary days" for all eternity because, before you know it, they're adults with lives of their own.

    For parents (especially young, new ones) parenthood is a daunting task: those nights of walking the floors with a colicy baby, or changing endless diapers seem like they'll go on forever. There's never enough time. You're always tired. You often have a short fuse. But before you know it, they're off to the first day of school, graduating high school, turning 30.

    Corrigan is honest in her writing, confessing to maternal tirades and not listening, things all of us have done but are not always honest about admitting. I loved this book and highly recommend it to mothers, fathers, and grown children - so they realize what we go through in raising them!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted March 4, 2010

    A lovely, touching, funny book

    Read this book last night on the train home from a reading @ BN with Kelly. What a great woman, and her warmth and personality shine through in this refreshingly honest take on life as a parent. Recommending to everyone.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 26, 2013

    Story plot.

    The year is 2031.<br>While visiting a facility dedicated to genetic and chemical enhancements, a chemical bombing takes place, gassing the maze-like, thirteen-mile-wide building, and Francis/Frances Zarev is trapped inside. Stuck in a sealed off room with only his/her girlfriend/boyfriend, Frances/Francis must fight through ranks of insane, chemically powered humans without becoming infected and reach the bottom floor, which would give access to the outside.<br><br>You can include anything in your story. Sex, intense violence, language, I will be choosing quality, not kids stories. To make this a bit more video-gamish, Frances/Francis can collect chemical vials that enhance him/her with powers and abilities.<br>Start your story at the third result. I will pick a winner on a random date, so hurry and post all five or more chapters. Any story under five chapters will not qualify, but there is no minimum to how many pages you have to write.<br>Remember, the third result and up. Begin!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 6, 2013

    Sucks i want money b I dont know

    Havent read it

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 8, 2012

    Lift

    Good writing
    Important themes
    Too short

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted April 28, 2011

    GOOD BOOK

    It was a great book I loved it so much!It was a great life story.Read it!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted January 8, 2011

    Refreshing and Poignant

    It was a quick read, but the message is clear, one that every mother will understand.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 16, 2010

    I was so disappointed...

    I was so disappointed in this book. When I saw the author interviewed on TV and listened to her reasons for writing the book, I immediately thought it would be a terrific Mother's Day gift for my daughter and daughter-in-law. But when I read it, I knew that neither of them would enjoy it. I suppose I shouldn't be amazed that many writers appear to think that everyone else shares their values. But, we don't. I can actually think of only one of my friends who would have agreed with her views.

    I am grateful for the idea of writing a chronicle of what life was like and what important events happened while my children were too young to remember them. However, when I'm finished I will not be tempted to publish it. This book convinced me that these private thoughts should remain among those closest to me. I am not arrogant enough to feel that the world would judge them with the same importance that I do.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 12, 2010

    Waste of time

    After reading the reviews of this book, I thought I was in for a real treat. I couldn't have been more wrong. I totally missed the purpose of this book. This is nothing more than a few collective memories she has of her family. I felt as is she was writing in stream of consciousness. Bouncing from one thought to the next. When I reached the last page I felt as if she decided that was enough and just stopped writing mid-thought! Don't bother reading. Instead, write down your own personal thoughts and memories of your family. You'll get more from them! I'm ashamed of myself for 1) buying this book and 2) reading it.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 11, 2010

    loved it!

    I absolutely loved this book. I received it as a mothers day present and finished it that day. It was inspiring and almost put into words how i feel about my own children. I am actually passing it on to everyone I know... my daughter is reading it now!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 8, 2010

    Mother's Day

    We are one day from Mother's Day Celebration. And I bought this book "Lift" because it is true what the author, Kelly Corrigan, says.

    My son is already 19 and I am sure he nor I remember "little moments" but very special that occured while he was growing up. I spent 10 years as a single mom with him and I loved every moment. But now I try to remember the little moments and it is very hard. I recommend this book to all the new moms. Every time they see this book they can remember to write down what is going on in their small ones life so that they remember for a lifetime. Our children's life is so important and when they get to be 18, 19, etc. they start drifting away from the parents. You need the good memories when that happens. I have a friend that will be giving birth soon and I will give her this book as a reminder to record every special moment that she has with her new born. I also love the cover. They really did a special work on this book and cover. Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to write a review on this book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 12, 2010

    excerpts taken from a mother's journal to her daughters

    The book was enjoyable, but not what I expected. The author (mother) writes to her daughters about specific days in their lives and how if effected her and what she wants them to know about her.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 8, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Short, Sweet and Inspiring

    I loved The Middle Place and loved Lift, too.
    Kelly writes like she is telling her story to a friend, and you feel at the end, that she is your friend.
    Her stories are personal, yet we can all relate. I found myself laughing and crying along with her.
    I look forward to her next book!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 28, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted March 13, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted December 30, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted June 30, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 60 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)