Pretty Okay

By Laura Spinella


Remember the old Virginia Slims tagline: You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby! I’m not advocating smoking, but the cliché is appropriate. I wrote my first GBC post in 2010. Back then I was a nervous debut author, unfamiliar with the perks and perils of publication. When I recall the lengthy explanations my seasoned literary agent took time to offer, I am humbled as I cringe. To say it was a steep learning curve is an understatement. I’m still not sure I’m anywhere near the downside of that hill. But I do know a hell of a lot more than I did three years ago. At the end of the day, the debut novel did pretty okay—awkward phrasing to match my awkward published author garb. It’s hardly a custom fit, and it still feels a lot like dress-up.

Did I make the New York Times Bestseller list? No. Is BEAUTIFUL DISASTER in its tenth printing? No. Did Oprah call? Afraid not. On the upside, and there is one, the achievement of traditional publication did come with some nifty highlights. Like Cinderella’s trip to the ball, I went to RWA’s RITA awards last summer. They gave me a flashy green finalist ribbon that, amazingly, did make me feel as though I’d truly accomplished something. During the awards, I sat chair-leg-to-chair-leg with Nora Roberts—how cool is that? Funny, somehow she didn’t seem quite as excited as me. Book clubs turned out to be the hidden treasure on the hamster wheel of show and tell publicity. I’ve met some really nice people along the way and drank an awful lot of their wine. My icing-on-the-cake, however, came up front, on the heels of BD’s debut. The novel’s setting is my alma mater—the University of Georgia, a place that is my eighth layer of skin.

Southern hospitality is always in good form, and the university was kind enough to throw me a tailgate-worthy, kick-off bash. But that’s not the icing part. At the time, my daughter was an incoming freshman at Georgia. I wonder, to this day, what are the odds? A kid chooses a college, 1200 miles from home, as her mother’s novel debuts, literally and fictitiously, in the exact same spot. Along with an airline ticket, I probably should have invested in a lottery ticket.

Interestingly, the same daughter will be a senior when PERFECT TIMING hits store shelves in November. It’s a jarring reminder that time does move on, more quickly than you think. This book boasts an Alabama/Las Vegas/Boston setting, so I’m already panicked that I have no alumni affiliation to back me up. But since there is no crying or whining or resting on your laurels in books, I suppose I’ll suck it up and just hustle a little harder. Admittedly, there was enough about being a published author that made me not want to dive back in. It is my addiction to storytelling that compelled me to go again. It also insists I embrace everything that comes with promoting a bound book. So here’s to publication and PERFECT TIMING! Consider this newest Girlfriends Book Club blog the drop of the green flag. To celebrate, I’ve included the musical tribute below. It’s a nod to my rock star protagonist, Aidan Royce, and the whirlwind of book publicity to come! Oh, if you have a sec, please come by a "like" my new FB page, Laura Spinella Books, cuz where we go again...

Laura Spinella is the author of the award-winning novel, Beautiful Disaster and the upcoming novel, Perfect Timing. Visit her a lauraspinella.net

The Debut of Chapter Two and 364 Other Pages PS: Don't miss the giveaway!

By Laura Spinella

Well, here we are, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER’S debut. Six weeks to write the rough draft, six years to this moment. I have the champagne; who brought the glasses? You’re right—straight from the bottle it is. During the last half-dozen years many things have changed. Two daughters graduated from high school, one ending up on the campus of the book’s setting, Athens, Georgia. I so did not see that coming. Kahlua, the golden retriever who listened dutifully to a jagged first draft is gone. Never replaced, but the void has been filled by a cockapoo and a miniature golden doodle. Excellent listeners, zero shedding… marginal critiques. And BEAUTIFUL DISASTER, what changed there? Oh, that’s right. This is a blog, not a book. In deference to the celebration, let’s make this quick and go with what didn’t change: Chapter Two.

When the finished copies arrived, it occurred to me that Chapter Two was nearly identical to the one I wrote manically on a rainy Saturday six Aprils ago. Soaked to the bone, my muse decided to come inside that day, tracking mud through the living room and an idea across my brain. Positive that my first Chapter Two and the polished print version couldn’t be the same, I scavenged basement boxes in search of an original copy. (Um, everybody has a stash of those, right?) Last week, inside a musty closet, with the world surrounded by Christmas, I sat with Easter decorations at my feet, leaning against a Hefty bag of clothes bound for Good Will. There, I compared a brave but pitiable draft to the glossy covered finished product. Pitiable with the exception of Chapter Two. I was right—if Kahlua were here, she’d back me up. The narrative and dialogue from Chapter Two read almost verbatim to the ’05 version. Clearly, from the timeline, the majority of the book took work, and lots of it. But I also recall writing that chapter, the telltale pulse that dictated the rest of the story. Today, I see the synchronicity of something I thoroughly doubted, while simultaneously understanding that it was meant to be. At the end of this blog I’ll share a snippet of Chapter Two. It’s a piece of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER that played a large role in keeping me on the path to here.



Showing off a finished copy to Auggie.



In the meantime, since this is debut day and I’m the novice, I’d like to know how you spent (or will spend) yours. Honestly, I don’t have much planned. It’s a Tuesday, which means the people I hang with are in mid-week mode, consumed by making it to Wednesday. Many friends are too many miles away to do more than offer a giant shout out via Facebook. My husband is decidedly, unavoidably, out of the country. Feel free to interpret that any way you’d like. And since Boston and balmy have nothing in common, particularly in January, any ideas about a Main Street parade are out. I’m okay with the quiet. The moment may have arrived, but I suspect this thing will continue to move at marathon pace. Still, I’d love to hear about your debut day. Did your phone ring endlessly? Did your best friend throw you a launch party? Or maybe your publisher—or maybe that only happens in the movies. Perhaps you did your first book signing that very day. Tell me about it. If you’re that all important reader, not a writer, I hope you find the muse inspired excerpt intriguing; I think it’s the bridge between there and here. A signed copy of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER will go randomly to one commenter. We’ll blindfold the cockapoo and let her pick. Don’t forget to leave your contact info so she can look you up. Thanks for reading, and thank you for sharing in BEAUTIFUL DISASTER’S debut.

                                                    Athens, Georgia, thirteen years ago

The bike rumbled up to the curb in downtown Athens, announcing his arrival like a lion advancing on new territory. Goddamn, but it was hot. He was used to hot places. Not that he had ever learned to like them. Rural Indiana, where he grew up; Parris Island; the bottom of hell—he always ended up in places where sweat was part of the dress code. The sidewalk was thick with college kids; they kept the place going, from what he had heard. College towns were a handy place to hang for a while. Nobody asked too many questions. If anything, people encouraged a come-as-you-are attitude. The casualness appealed to him. Conforming would never work out—ask any Marine.



Athens, Georgia



An eternity on the bike coupled by hours in a traffic jam had left his longs legs cramped and a little wobbly. Food would be good idea. He tugged at the sweaty jeans that were seared to his skin and pulled a red bandana from his pocket, blotting his grimy brow. Stepping to the curb, he attempted to blend in with the crowds of backpacks and portable CD players. He felt staring eyes as he moved among them. Girls mostly. Girls always looked at him. He wasn’t the typical fare, with hair as long as theirs and the scruffy beard. On most days it led to the Jesus remark before lunch. He didn’t care, but sometimes he wanted to lean into their probing, dewy eyes and whisper, “Yeah, just think what your old man would do if you brought me home.” He liked college towns, but he wasn’t interested in college girls. Despite their glances, they weren’t really looking for a guy like him either.

Laura blogs at www.lauraspinella.net, catch her signing dates on the events page, join BEAUTIFUL DISASTER’S Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Beautiful-Disaster-A-Novel/161793947170701