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)
"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 --
· Author website - http://deedetarsio.wordpress.com/
· Author Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/dee.detarsio?fref=ts
· Author Twitter - https://twitter.com/DeeDeTarsio
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
“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.
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
“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,
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
--WIN A COPY OF THIS BOOK--
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.