Looking for a good book to read? How about "All My Restless Life to Live" by Dee DeTarsio. Below is a blurb about the book, as well as a glimpse at the first chapter. With winter fast approaching, I know I am starting to pick up books to read, as I sit sipping my cocoa and watch the snow fall outside. :-)
And, don't forget to enter my giveaway for your chance to win a copy of this novel, thanks to the author and publisher (scroll down to enter my giveaway)
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Book Blurb
"Life is a soap opera, especially for Elle Miller, who writes for
one. (Ellen dropped the “n” in her name in hopes of finding a better ending for
herself.) When her laptop crashed, she borrowed her dead dad’s computer and got
more than she bargained for. As Elle comes to terms with her father’s death,
she’s busy unraveling mysterious communications from his computer. From dealing
with her mom, who has decided to give Internet dating a try, to saving her
career at I’d Rather Be Loved, with a storyline featuring a
trip through Atlantis, to a trip to the Emmys, Elle also finds herself in the
middle of a romance between a real doctor and a hunk who just plays one on TV.
Friends, family, and clues from “the other side” all help Elle figure out the
difference between living the good life and living a good life. Hint: The
universe always gives us clues."
Don't forget to check out Dee DeTarsio's website, as well as follow her on Facebook and Twitter, to stay up-to-date on new book releases, book signings and more --
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Author website -
http://deedetarsio.wordpress.com/
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Author Facebook
- https://www.facebook.com/dee.detarsio?fref=ts
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Author Twitter -
https://twitter.com/DeeDeTarsio
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Excerpt from
Chapter 1
"Be nice and don’t eat sugar.
Once again, my daily mantra was
about to be blown. “GiGi!” I
hollered from the studio edit bay
as I caught a sparkly swirl of
scarf whiz by the corner of my eye.
The scarf froze. Then backed
up. Magenta-macchiato was the
color-of-the-week highlighting
GiGi’s Marge Simpson updo.
“You rang?” GiGi asked.
“Look, I thought we talked
about this. Go back.” I nodded
to the editor, Mr. Peevey. He
cued up the video as GiGi folded
her arms across her chest.
“There,” I pointed. “Stop,
GiGi. This show is in enough
trouble. I don’t care what our
leading actress has told you.
Danielle is anywhere from her
early thirties to only God and
the guy who signed her birth
certificate know. While it is lovely
lingerie, do you not see that
the scene takes place at a nursing
home?” I knew it wasn’t really
GiGi’s fault, but I was just getting
started on my tirade. “She is
about to find out that her Nonnina
is . . . ” I stopped and looked
at GiGi.
“What? Her Nonnina is what?”
“Ah. Good. You’re intrigued.
I’ll tell you what she isn’t.
She
isn’t supposed to wake up from her coma and think her
granddaughter is a prostitute.”
I had finally worked my way up
from an associate producer,
or ‘ass-prod’ as my friend Adam
always said, to producer, and I
may take things a teeny-tiny
bit too seriously. “Could you and
the rest of your stylist
friends please inform the fashion industry
we just want one more inch?”
GiGi laughed. Mr. Peevey
winced.
“Very funny.” I shook my head.
“One more inch of material.”
I squinted my eye through my
pinched fingers, “to raise the
waistband as well as the morale
and unreal expectations of all of
our viewers.” I told the editor
to zoom in. “It’s our job to make
her look perfect. You know,
like no one really is.”
One day, I thought as I tapped my pen
and pretended to be
a modern-day Scarlett O’Hara, as God is my witness, I will
have
a matching bra and underwear. I tugged up on the belt loops
of
my jeans.
“Sorry, Elle.” GiGi shrugged.
“Danielle loves those pants
and thinks she looks really
hot.”
“Well, ‘hot’ is such a strong
word.”
The editor’s shoulders
straightened. I suspected he was
pulling in his own stomach.
“They’re going to have to do a
cutaway to Mort’s face or
something, which will make no
sense, right Mr. Peevey?” The
editor just grunted and
straightened his bow tie. I sighed.
“Please, GiGi. We all have the
same goal. We don’t want this
show to be cancelled. Just
class her up a bit, and cover it up. You
know this. Please make sure
Danielle looks elegant. She is a
gorgeous woman, but do we
really want our audience to laugh at
her
underwear trying to escape?” It was hard to watch the video
without holding your breath.
“Cut the sizes out of her clothes if
you have to, but she should be
a little more haute couture, a little
less hot mess.”
“I hear you.” GiGi saluted and
walked out.
I left the edit bay and
detoured back to my own cubicle,
hoping to miss my boss.
“El-ena!”
No such luck.
“A word, please, dear, with
your favorite queer.”
Why does he think that’s funny?
“Oh, hey, Liam.” As in
Liam Neeson. He had his name
legally changed. Jackie Gleason
would have been more
appropriate. And away we go.
Names are important, though, I
thought, trying to be fair.
Look at me. I’m not that much
better. It hasn’t been that many
years since I tried to lop off
my Midwestern roots by deleting
the last consonant of my name.
I thought “Elle” sounded so
much more Californian than
the pigtails-with-freckles name
of “Ellen.” Growing up I had
always hated my plain-Jane name
and wished I had gotten the
bright idea much sooner, say in
the sixth grade. I could still
hear the scars being carved.
“Ellen, shuck the corn. Ellen, your
ground bologna sandwich is
ready. Ellen, it’s time for church.”
My parents didn’t get it. My
dad had never remembered to call
me by my new, sophisticated
label. I missed my dad and the way
he called me Ellen.
“Why don’t I have your dialogue
for next week’s shows?”
Liam tutted, interrupting my
thoughts. He actually went ‘tut
tut.’
“I’m
working on it, Liam. You’ll have it by this afternoon.
But, one of the editors just
had me take a look at Danielle’s
footage.” I pinched my mouth
and my nose leaned to the left.
“Ah, yes. Danielle. If she
doesn’t stop drinking and kick her
Fritos habit we just might have
to kill her off.”
My jaw dropped.
Liam laughed. “Just kidding, of
course, but threats are very
effective. Let her know.”
“I had a talk with GiGi from
wardrobe. She’s working on it.”
Liam had already lost interest.
“I want your script.”
He smacked the rolled up Us
Weekly magazine he was holding
against his left hand as he
strolled off toward the bathroom.
I smiled the smile of lying
cheeks and clomped around the
corner to my cubicle. I hummed
under my breath as I sat down
at my computer in the mistaken
belief that humming helps. It’s
hard to feel
scared/uncomfortable/about to throw up when you
are humming. Hmm hmm hmm. Sure,
I may annoy my coworkers
from time to time, but maybe
they should try humming,
too.
My fingers hovered over the
keyboard. “Where were we?”
Danielle was in love with
Mort’s evil twin, who everyone thinks
is really gay and using her for
her money. Only that’s in real
life. Add that romance to the
truth-is-stranger-than-fiction
pile. I couldn’t believe Liam
wanted to work that into the script
somehow. Thank goodness he
agreed to hold off going down that
storyline’s path, at least
until Mort’s brother, Cort, no kidding,
dumped Danielle and she got
over it.
I rubbed my eyes. Danielle’s
character, Nadine Maria Nardo
Spenser Ackerman Spenser
Huffman Rosetti Spenser Nguyen,
had
just discovered her current husband, Ben Nguyen, was a
drug dealer who was framing
her. I made a note to see if we
could shoot some video at the
downtown medical marijuana
facility. The crew would love
that. Her former husband times
three, Spence Spenser, played
by Mort, was trying to help nail
Ben, and while he was at it,
his former wife. I started jotting
yellow sticky notes for the
upcoming episodes of I’d
Rather Be
Loved, or IRBL as our fan websites referred to
it.
My stomach churned. I only had
a couple of bad ideas and
as usual, didn’t know how I was
going to pull it off. You were
only as good as your last good
idea. I lived in fear that whatever
spark of imagination I had was
extinguished. So while I sat
there worrying about a finite
supply of creativity, convinced I
had been gypped of my fair
share of dopamine, I made room for
angst about what I would do
when I was fired. Maybe my dad
had been right and this job was
meaningless. He wanted me to
be a journalist, with what he
called a “real” career. I wanted to
want to be a teacher, but if
you knew me a little better you too
would be pinching your lips together
and bending your nose
sideways. It was bad enough not
knowing what I would do if I
lost this job, but add that to
the weight of worrying if the show
itself got cancelled. There
would be about twenty people, just
like me, wondering what they
were going to do. Insert irregular
heartbeat
here."
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Want to win a copy of this book? Then, complete the entries on the Rafflecopter form below. One lucky reader will be sent a copy of "All My Restless Life to Live," thanks to the author and publisher. Good luck!
About the Author:
Dee DeTarsio is a TV writer living in
southern California. After growing up in Ennui, Ohio, and graduating from The
Ohio State University she vowed never to be cold again (in a tantrum more
worthy of Suellen than Scarlett) and ended up in Tucson, Arizona, producing the
news for the CBS affiliate, oddly enough called KOLD-TV. She moved to San Diego
where she worked in the SeaWorld entertainment department as a producer/writer.
(Penguins are mean!) She then became a producer/writer for the NBC affiliate.
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