Title: You Can Still Make A Baby With Your Socks OnAfter her divorce, Aida realizes that she makes truly terrible decisions. What’s even worse is that her therapist believes Aida’s nosy and hilarious eighty-year-old Italian grandmother might be the key to turning her life around. To prove her point, she challenges Aida to follow one piece of advice from each of the letters she receives from her grandmother.
Word count: 60,000
Genre: Women's Fiction
Word count: 60,000
Genre: Women's Fiction
You Can Still Make A Baby With Your Socks On, is an entertaining and touching story of a confused thirty-year-old who realizes her grandmother knows much more about life than just how to make meatballs and go to confession.
A novel that begins each chapter with a letter from Aida’s opinionated yet beloved grandmother. It documents Aida’s journey through a painful divorce, bad first dates, new found love, botched proposals, painful losses and the eventual death of her beloved pen pal after an emotional bout with dementia. Throughout it all, Aida faces the struggle of how to make her own decisions and what happens when you dare to disagree with the person you love the most.
You Can Still Make A Baby With Your Socks On is about experiencing life and love in all the places you were never smart enough to find without the help of a wise old Italian grandmother.
First 250 Words:
I hope you got the socks I sent you. When I first mailed them, they were in a regular-sized envelope with one of those return address labels from the Easter Seals. I always feel bad using those since I only donated $5 back in 1992, and since then they've sent me enough labels to cover the Great Wall of China. Of course, I would never actually use those labels on the Great Wall because I wouldn’t want that many people knowing where I live, but it doesn’t matter because two days later the envelope was returned.
How is the new apartment feeling? I know it will take a while to feel like home, but you will heal from this, Aida. You will.
I never liked him. I know you thought it was because he wasn’t Italian but that’s not true. I didn’t like him because he drank too much. It would be different if he was Italian and enjoyed a few glasses of wine at night, but he liked all that beer and I heard that beer is the drink that turns most people into alcoholics. I think that’s why you don’t see any Italian alcoholics.
You’re too young to be sad. Wear one of those bodysuits you used to wear in college, the one that snaps down in the crotch (it’s really amazing you never got an infection down there with how tight those things are). You’re beautiful. Go have some fun before your breasts start to droop.
Loving you always,
Entry Nickname: Michigan Yankee
Title: Not From Here
Word Count: 77K
Genre: Adult WF
Anne has spent her life in a comfortable cocoon of like-minded people. If she gives Jon and his hometown a chance, she can begin reversing her ingrained conceit and judgmental attitudes before they fossilize. To do that, she’ll have to learn to see the good in a place where people don’t drink or curse, and where they treat Jesus like a personal friend. Inspired by the character arc of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, the story addresses the vast cultural gulf between blue and red regions of the country through the developing bond between Anne and Jon.
First 250 words:
“Do you think they manufacture them there, or is that just the retail outlet?” I asked Elizabeth, reaching for a fun and clever tone but managing only sullen. My fingers gripped the steering wheel. The landscape, even the chain restaurant options, was so different from Detroit, and every other city I’d ever called home.
She looked up from the useless paper map they’d given us at the rental car counter, and rolled her eyes, grinning. “It’s for Bibles. They sell Bibles at stores like that. And maybe Christian music and things. Which you know perfectly well. Don’t be obnoxious, Anne.”
Thank God Elizabeth had come with me. I had to find housing in Lynchburg, Virginia, and I didn’t think I could handle it alone. We’d been friends for years and had once been to Washington, D.C. together. This place, however, seemed metaphorically a whole lot further from Washington than a mere four-hour drive south. In the ten minutes since we'd left the airport we’d seen two Chik-fil-As, a gas station advertising both live worms and homemade candy, and as many as four mobile home dealerships, advertising double- and triple-wide trailers in neon lettering. What on earth was a triple-wide mobile home? How could it be mobile?