I always knew Ros would be a tough sell, but she has good intentions…
She has been compared to a cross between E.T. and Starman, but ultimately, she’s women’s fiction…with a hopefully-ever-after ending, dedicated to my idol, Marian Keyes.
If I haven’t lost you yet, please check out author Vaughn Roycroft’s brilliant review of Ros!
I would love to hear what you think!
(Marian Keyes, where are you?)
PS: Oh my gosh, you’re still here? Why don’t you go click the “Like” button on Ros!
The Kitchen Shrink
Women’s Fiction: If your life’s a mess, your house could probably use a makeover, too!
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The Scent of Jade
Women’s Fiction: Romantic adventure set in Costa Rica!
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I was going to go with an eOrgasms article to spice up this dreary winter day, but I sat in front of my computer for such an embarrassing length of time, nothing came. Har har. (I wish I could write erotica…I hear it pays well.)
I apologize–this is strangely personal for someone you’ve never met. Let me digress. I grew up in Ennui, Ohio. (Which is a joke.) (Because it gives far too much credit to my hometown.) Back then, I would have traded clear skin for being fat in a heartbeat. Well now, the joke’s on me–I can eat exponentially greater quantities of potato chips when I read on my kindle, than while fumbling with a paperback book. That’s not to say I haven’t fumbled a bit with my Kindle–we’ve been to third base, (thanks to an overambitious, delicious, non-nutritious reading feast that included a glass of wine). Salty fingers are no friend to the digital domain, either, (orange-colored crumbs are even worse) but have no fear, a toothpick combined with a napkin serves as a tiny magic wand, erasing the evidence.
Thanks to a steady diet of so many new books to explore, I do try to limit my grazing while gazing…feeding while reading…glutton on the button…
“Oh, dear God, please let this woman write better novels than blog posts,” you may be thinking. When updating my blog, I fear no one really cares about what an author has to say; whether or not I donate spare change to street musicians or have pet names for family members. My husband informed me he wants to be known as “Director,” (he does direct TV shows) but you’ll be happy to know I shined him off by directing him to “Direct this,” while grabbing my own arse. As for my kids, I could full out ID them by their cell phone-slash-social security numbers for all the impression I make on them–they never notice anything I do.
Back to me. Focus. I like to write because I say really stupid things. I do embarrassing things. I am a shit-talker. Guilty of Schadenfreude. I cheat in yoga. My bra and underwear don’t match. To add insult to injury, my kindle is making me fat.
Misery loves company, as they say–won’t you join me?
Call me unimaginative, call me a Virgo with a stymieing need for order and control, just don’t call me late to the “monthly wine-swilling club where we pretend to discuss books we read.” (Call-out quote from Ros.)
I’m partial to stories that have built-in food themes for book club picks, and while my novel, Ros, hasn’t been recommended for any book club (yet! A girl can dream…) I offer up an easy presentation, using only ingredients found in Ros–including Cinnamon Pop-Tarts. Enjoy!
Dee DeTarsio 