novels
Showing posts with label novels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novels. Show all posts

Call Me Crazy

4:00 PM Add Comment
 
One of the main reasons I write is to get the crazy out. I’m not just talking about wild ideas, rants about the universe, or a need to share experiences. No. I am talking about getting to say and do all the things I would never say or do in real life. 
 Most writers limit the crazy to supporting characters. My crazy comes out in my heroes. You know, the one that is secretly me.

My first novel, 66 Laps, was inspired by my desire to throttle a model/mom who pointed out my first gray hair during a play-date for our toddlers. I wanted to slap the bitch. Guess what the first line of that novel is? “I slapped the bitch.” That reaction led to grave consequences for Audrey. While I smiled and let the comment slide, but poor Audrey’s identity issues made her the kind of character who reacted, so she was also the kind of person who would react to larger things. In fact, when she thought her husband was having an affair, she allowed herself to be seduced by a younger man. Unfortunately, tragedy ensued. Poor Audrey. But me? My only consequences were a literary prize and a contract with Random House.
 
Clearly, crazy was working. In my next novel, Wife Goes On, there are four protagonists, so I spread the crazy around. There’s an overworked mom who gets to rule the world, a ball busting lawyer who wears designer clothes, an actress who humiliates off her cheating ex on national TV, and a sweet young ex-football wife who sells sex toys. They become they kind of friends we all need. And they do crazy things that I’ve only imagined.

In What A Mother Knows, I explore the impulse to kill someone who threatens my daughter. You’ll have to read the book to find out if I did. I mean, if Michelle did. But that’s not all. The character faces all my worst nightmares and comes out okay. She also gets to have a makeover, a fabulous love affair, and a new career. See the pattern?

The greatest challenge to this method is that editors sometimes complain that my main character needs to start out more “likeable ." When they say that, it’s hard not to be insulted – they are talking about me. Then I realize they just need to see more of the real, boring me before they meet the hell raiser reacting to a gray hair, a divorce, or a threatened child.

So far I’ve gotten to swear, have an affair, come very close to committing murder, and have a happy ending.
Call me crazy, but it works. 
 _________________________________________________________________________________
Check out the film trailer for What A Mother Knows, email me about a book club visit, or read my NYT Modern Love column at www.leslielehr.com

Please "Like" the normal, not crazy me on Facebook to keep up with events and writing tips. www.facebook.com.authorleslielehr

Lonely no more! by Brenda Janowitz

3:04 AM Add Comment
It sat in a drawer, gathering dust.  A lonely little manuscript that I never sold.  But I never stopped thinking about it.  I blogged about it, I talked about it, and then a funny thing happened:  I sold it!

And today, THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB makes its big debut!

I really hope you'll check it out.  You can get it on your favorite e-reader:

Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Kobo Books
Apple

And, just for you, my favorite readers, here's a little sneak peek from chapter one:  

THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB

by Brenda Janowitz

Chapter One: Money for Nothing


“Jo, you’re fired,” he says. Just like that.
Fired.
And I’m utterly shocked. I know, no one ever expects to be fired, but I really didn’t see this coming. My mouth is wide open as I stare back at him.
            “Fired?” is all I can choke out. The room begins to spin. That may be because I was out until sunrise last night drinking vodka tonics at an underground club in Williamsburg, but I’m pretty sure that it’s the news that’s doing it to me, not the hangover.
            “Yes. I’m sorry, Jo, but it’s not working out here,” he says. His skin is gleaming when he says it. His skin always gleams. He’s a dermatologist, so it has to gleam in order for him to stay in business. My skin doesn’t ever gleam. At the very most, it shines and turns red when I get hot or embarrassed. I feel it beginning to shine and my hand immediately flies to my cheek, which, of course, only makes it get hotter.
We are in his office when he tells me and he is sitting at his desk, his head framed by his many diplomas and awards that are hung on the wall behind him. They are, as they are always, shining brightly as if they’d been dusted and cleaned that very morning. I look at the picture he keeps framed at the edge of his desk—a photograph of his family taken at a New Year’s Eve party, framed in a sterling-silver picture frame that his wife lovingly picked out for their thirtieth wedding anniversary—and then look back up at him.
            “You can’t fire me,” I say, which I wholeheartedly believe. I really didn’tthink that he ever would or could fire me.
            “I can,” he says, “and I am.” He begins to toy with one of the pens sitting on his desk.
            “I’m your best employee!” I plead.
            “You wore a ‘Save CBGBs’ T-shirt to work,” he says.
            “CBGBs was a New York institution,” I say. He gives me a blank stare. I shrug in response. Is it my fault that this man has no sense of culture? Of history? “What does it matter what I wear under my assistant’s coat anyway?”
            “You know the dress code—scrubs or business casual,” he says.
            “Jeans and a concert tee is business casual!”
            “People can see the prints on your T-shirts right through the fabric,” he says. “And sometimes you wear ones with dirty words on them,” he continues, whispering the ”dirty words” part as if his grandmother is somehow listening from up above and would be appalled by this particular bit of information.
            “Like what?” I ask. Watching him squirm is kind of fun.
            “You know which one,” he says. And then, in barely a whisper, “Free Pussy Riot.”
            “That’s a band,” I say, “not a dirty word.” You’d think a doctor would have no problem saying the word “pussy” out loud.
“Jo, it’s not just the T-shirts. You’ve called in the wrong prescriptions for my patients more times than I’d like to admit.”
            “Some of those drugs have very complicated names,” I say in my own defense. And for the record, they do.
            “That doesn’t mean you can give a patient a more pronounceable drug without consulting me first.”
            “Then maybe you and your colleagues should start prescribing more pronounceable drugs,” I argue. He furrows his brow in response. “But I’m your favorite employee!” I plead.
            “You balanced the company checkbook wrong the last three out of four quarters.”
“You know that I’m not an accountant.” When he hired me for the job two years ago, I knew that there would be some accounting involved. What I hadn’t realized at the time was that I would have to be quite so specific with the numbers. Which is a challenge for me, seeing as I’m really more of a right-brain kind of person.
“But you know how to balance your own checkbook, don’t you?” he says.
For the record, I don’t.
“Of course I know how to balance my own checkbook,” I say and laugh, as if to say, “Doesn’t everybody?” “A business checkbook is much, much different than a personal checkbook,” I explain.
For the record, it’s not.
“I’m your most loyal employee,” I say. My last resort. I find myself alternating between staring into his solid gold, monogrammed Tiffany belt buckle and his shellacked black hair, because I can’t meet his eyes.
            “This is difficult for me, too, you know,” he says, even though I know that it’s not.
“Do you realize how embarrassing this is going to be for me?” I say. Manipulative, I know, but it’s not exactly like I have anything left in my arsenal.
“I thought you don’t get embarrassed,” he replies, looking into my eyes, challenging me.
“I don’t,” I say, frowning like a little girl who hasn’t gotten the piece of candy that she wanted.   
            “Don’t take this personally, Pumpkin.”
            “You can’t call me Pumpkin when you’re firing me, Daddy.”



I’m the author of SCOT ON THE ROCKS and JACK WITH A TWIST. My third novel, RECIPE FOR A HAPPY LIFE, was published by St. Martin's on July 2, 2013. My fourth novel, THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB, was published by Polis Books today!!

My work’s also appeared in the New York Post and Publisher’s Weekly. You can find me at brendajanowitz.com or on Twitter at @BrendaJanowitz.

Sexy socialites, wily widows, and lonely hearts by Brenda Janowitz

3:00 AM Add Comment
Who doesn't love a little romance on Valentine's Day?  I'm a sucker for chocolate, hearts and all things St. Valentine.  But by far, my favorite thing for Valentine's Day is a great read.  Today I've got three for you: THE GIN LOVERS by Jamie Brenner, THE WIDOW'S GUIDE TO SEX AND DATING by Carole Radziwill, and a sneak peek of my latest, THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB.


THE GIN LOVERS by Jamie Brenner


Oh, how I loved THE GIN LOVERS by Jamie Brenner.  And I knew that I would from the killer first sentence—“It’s the party of the year, and it’s a funeral.”  The writing is amazing, the story, sexy and fast-paced, and it's filled with drama and smart period details.

THE GIN LOVERS tells the story of Manhattan socialite Charlotte Delacorte.  Living in the height of Prohibition and the rise of the jazz age, she wouldn’t know it, with her controlling husband and high society expectations.  When her wild sister in law comes to live with her after the death of her mother in law, Charlotte is introduced to the world of jazz clubs, speakeasies and a sexy, mysterious stranger.

The beauty of THE GIN LOVERS is that you can read it in any way you want.  It's available to read two different ways; you can either enjoy it piece by piece in six parts as the e-book serial or devour it whole as a paperback.  So far everyone I've recommended this book to has absolutely LOVED it, and I know that you will, too!

THE WIDOW'S GUIDE TO SEX AND DATING by Carole Radziwill


You may know Carole Radziwill from the Real Housewives of New York City, or you may know her from her moving memoir, WHAT REMAINS, but now you have a whole new way to love all things Carole: her debut novel!

I couldn't get enough of THE WIDOW'S GUIDE TO SEX AND DATING.  I devoured it in two days.  Impossibly sexy, and incredibly stylish, this is the perfect read for Valentine's Day.

When Claire Byrne's older, very famous husband dies in a freak accident (struck down by a falling Giacometti!), she finds herself in a role she'd never imagined before: widow.  Untethered from her secure Manhattan life, Claire must reinvent herself and embark on a new life.  One where her own writing ambitions aren't overshadowed by her famous husband's career, one where she can carve out her own place in Manhattan, and one where she may even find something that's always eluded her: true love.

Funny and oozing with charm, THE WIDOW'S GUIDE TO SEX AND DATING is a must read.  It comes out this Tuesday, February 11, just in time for V-Day!



THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB


And while we're on the subject of Valentine's Day, I'm finishing up edits on my latest novel, THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB.  It's the story of a woman who, after a few too many lonely vodka tonics on Valentine's Day, inadvertently starts an anti-love movement.

Some of you may remember this as my "trunk novel," the one that got away.  The novel I wrote, but never published.  Well, now the fabulous peeps at Polis Books have decided to correct that grievous wrong, and THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB will be making its e-book debut on your e-readers in just  a few months.  But since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I'd offer a little treat.  A sneak peek at THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB.  Enjoy!

Chapter 12: Owner of a Lonely Heart

Valentine’s Day.  February fourteenth.  A day of love and romance and frills and doilies.  A day filled with chocolate in heart shaped boxes and all things pink and red.

Valentine’s Day is the day on which lovers freely express their passion for each other by sending flowers, candies, and insipid love notes.  Lots of love notes.  According to the Greeting Card Association, approximately one billion valentines are sent every year, making it the biggest card giving holiday besides Christmas.

Dozens of red roses are sent on this day and hundreds of couples get engaged.  Radio stations play love songs and bakeries bake heart shaped cookies.  February fourteenth is a day dedicated entirely to the pursuit of love.

It’s also the day that five of Al Capone’s men gunned down seven members of Bugs Moran’s gang with Tommy guns in a garage on Chicago’s North Side in 1929.  But people usually don’t send cards for that.

It being Valentine’s Day and me being alone, I do what any respectable single woman who’s utterly alone would do—I open a bottle of Stoli and order in some fried food from my local Italian place.

“That’ll be $32.15,” the hostess says after she’s tallied up my dinner delivery order. 

“But I get the same thing every time,” I say, pouring my first vodka tonic of the evening.  I pour way too much vodka into the glass, making it stronger than I intend it to be, but I’m not exactly drinking it for the taste this evening.  “Isn’t it $18 and change?”

“Oh,” she says, “Yeah, normally it is, but there’s an extra charge on all of the menu items for Valentine’s Day.”

“What?”  I say, since I must have misheard her.  There’s no way in hell that this girl just told me that even though I was ordering in for one, she was charging me extra because it’s Valentine’s Day.  In fact, since I’m ordering for one and it’s Valentine’s Day, shouldn’t I actually get a discount instead of a price increase?  The whole situation really brings out my Irish.  Being a Jewish girl from Long Island, I don’t really have much Irish in me, but it brings it out nonetheless.

“Oh,” she says, “I was just saying that there’s an extra charge on all of the menu items for Valentine’s Day.”

“But, I ordered for one,” I say, pacing around my kitchen with my glass as I speak, “Clearly I’m alone and it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah,” she says, “I know, it’s just that there’s an extra charge on all of the menu items for Valentine’s Day.”

“I heard you,” I say.  I take a big gulp of vodka.

“Okay, so, then it should be there in about 20 minutes,” she says, trying to get me off the phone.

“I ordered for one.” 

Dead silence on the line. 

“I’d like to speak to a manager,” I say, polishing off my first glass in just one large gulp. 

“Um, okay,” she says, “hold on.”

“Hi there,” the manager’s cheery voice announces, as I’m pouring vodka tonic number two.  To call this one a vodka tonic would be a bit of a misnomer.  Glass number two is more like a vodka with a splash of tonic.  “I’m Greg.  I’m the manager here.”

“Hi, Greg,” I say as I sit at the kitchen counter and swirl the glass to mix my drink, “I understand that it’s Valentine’s Day and that means that you have to gauge the eyes out of all the lovesick puppies that come into your restaurant tonight.  I would do the exact same thing, Greg.  The same thing.  I mean, fuck them, okay?  Fuck ‘em, Greg.  But, I am home—alone—ordering for one.  How dare you charge me extra for my goddamned Caesar salad and chicken parm.  Tonight of all nights.  I mean, what the fuck, Greg?  What the fuck?”

“You are absolutely right, miss,” manager Greg says to me as I down the second glass of vodka, “I’m so sorry.”

My Caesar salad and chicken parm arrive hot on my doorstep twenty minutes later, and the delivery guy presents me with the bill.  I glance at the bill, ready to pay, but then I notice something.  It’s not a bill for the usual amount—it’s a bill for the jacked up Valentine’s Day price.

“I’m not paying this,” I say, handing back the bill to the delivery guy.

“Um,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean you can tell Manager Greg to go fuck himself,” I say.

“Um, wait?  What?”

I hand the delivery guy a tip.  “This is for you.  You can tell Manager Greg I’m not paying for this.  If he has a problem with that, he can come up here himself.”  I grab the bag of food just before I slam the door.

I barely even taste the chicken parm.  Minutes later, I realize that I must have eaten—the take-out container’s empty—but it’s like I didn’t even have a bite.  Anger coursing through my veins, my face getting hotter by the second, barely processing a thought.  Just seeing red.  Blinding red.  I look down at the take-out container and realize I’m still hungry.

But I don’t want to eat.  I want to rage.

Put it into a song, I tell myself, Get it out with your music.

But the words don’t come.  There’s no structure, no rhyme or reason—I just want to scream at the top of my lungs for a while.  To blow off the steam.

A tear comes to my eye as I think about everything that’s happened to me in the past few months.  All the things that I’ve lost, all the things that were totally out of my control.  The job, the guy, the freelance gig, the wedding. 

The guy.  My eyes burn as I force the tears back, refuse to let them out.

I look at my computer across the room, its black cursor against the pale white screen flashing in the dark.  Talking to me.  Beckoning to me.  Write.  Get it all out.

So I do.



I’m the author of SCOT ON THE ROCKS and JACK WITH A TWIST. My third novel, RECIPE FOR A HAPPY LIFE, was published by St. Martin's on July 2, 2013. My fourth novel, THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB, will be published by Polis Books this winter.

My work’s also appeared in the New York Post and Publisher’s Weekly. You can find me at brendajanowitz.com or on Twitter at @BrendaJanowitz.





Something Old, New and Borrowed for 2014

3:00 AM Add Comment
by Malena Lott

It's ordinary time. I used to loathe the "in between" — of holidays, life events. I always wanted something to look forward to 
Every woman needs her own power drill. 
- something BIG and bold and photo-worthy.

Now I relish the ordinary day and finding extraordinary moments within each one and I've tried to stop judging a day, a week, a year as "good" or "bad." Now to jumpstart this year, I give you something old, something new and something borrowed to make our writing year a big success.

Something Old:
I get the rights back on Dating da Vinci this summer sometime. I'm thrilled I'll get to give it a new cover, new pricing and control the marketing. And the cool thing about the Internet is even "old" things are new to someone. And my novel Fixer Upper was the first one I self-published in 2010 and it's my top seller now. Pause for a moment and be proud of your past achievements. 

Something New:
I do like to set my intentions for the year so it helps me to come up with a theme to keep me on track. I settled on Get Real, where I've (probably stupidly) committed myself to a weekly blog post and video about a new topic I (and we) can get real about. I started with time because I'm so tired of how much it slips away and am certain I'm the one to blame for any of it being "lost" or wasted. I want to take bolder action with my intentions this year and that means paying attention to what I do and where my mind goes.

I'm currently writing my second Messengers YA book, Genesis, and I know once I commit to daily work on it, I'll love the story again.) I'd like to finish a mystery I started but don't want to commit to that just yet. It might be 2015 and that's okay with me. I also get to edit and publish other writers' work and that's a fun challenge. The story and strategy are my favorite parts.

I think it's important for writers to be broad with their interests, too. We can feel like we live in a cave in a world of all imaginary people. That's why I started a new media site, Sooner Spaces, focusing on stories about stylish spaces and the people behind them in Oklahoma and it's been a blast. I'm getting out of the house, meeting people and getting to be creative in a new way.

Take a deep breath of gratitude that we get the opportunity for creating something new. 

Something Borrowed:
Well, it's not exactly borrowed, but I have set an intention to not buy anything new the rest of this year for me personally. After a closet cleanse, I realized I have loads of extra clothes and if I do need something, I'll try to shop thrift first or actually borrow a friend's. We'll see! I'm also borrowing lots of great advice from people I admire to include in my Get Real series.

Treasuring the things we have help us to feel we have and are"enough."

I'd love to hear your old/new/borrow for 2014 and I hope you'll get real with me this year. No time like the present.

Malena Lott is a storyteller and strategist from Oklahoma. She's written five novels and two novellas under her name, one young adult book under pen name Lena Brown and an advice book, Dance Mom Survival Guide, with co-author Jill Martin. 

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)