I am seeking representation for WITH A SHAKE OF HER HAIR, a women’s fiction manuscript complete at 81,000 words.
Ellie Donahue is drowning in Suburbia. She’s driving a beige mini-van and wondering where the twenty-year-old version of herself disappeared to- the version that didn’t give a crap about high-fructose corn syrup and thought ramen noodles and beer was a balanced dinner.
Stuck in a predictable rut of routine Sunday night sex and Thursday night chicken, Ellie’s biggest concerns are running into meddlesome Sancti-mommies at the grocery store, or being forced by her nudist mother-in-law to listen to an AC/DC cover by her band, ‘The Noody Blues’ and trying to ignore the fact that they are indeed naked while singing it.
When confronted by her husband's infidelity with a coworker, Ellie is forced out of her rut and into a reality where she’s torn between the temptation of an affair of her own with her daughter's delicious soccer coach or fighting for her rapidly crumbling marriage. Now with her life upside down, Ellie struggles to determine her next step, and finds herself longing for the predictability of Thursday night chicken.
I have been writing for fifteen years, and for the last eight years have been featured in the local paper, "Our Home Town", as the head writer for the Reviews and Opinions column. While my training is in Psychology and Creative Writing, I have a strong background in Theater and Stand-Up Comedy, a combination of experiences that I have found very helpful when writing. I am a stay at home mother of two and in the process of writing my next novel.
I thank you very much for your time and look forward to hearing from you soon.
I am still picking crumbs out of my hair.
I cannot believe that just happened.
I had completely forgotten I was supposed to go into Abigail’s class this morning to pick up our “Summer Activities” packets. I mean, how many summer activities can a Kindergartener have that we need actual packets? Of course, as I had spaced this requirement, when Crystal Brubaker flagged me down as I was pulling away from the drop off, the image of a reminder printed on frighteningly bright green paper flashed into my brain.
Looking down and seeing the stained sweatpants I had thrown on in a rush to get both kids to school on time, my first instinct was to pretend I hadn’t seen her and run like the coward I am. Just as I was about to lay some serious rubber, I heard the memory of Abby’s enthusiastic little voice squealing about soccer camp starting soon after the school year ended.
Naturally, if I didn’t schlep myself in to get said packet, I wouldn’t know where to sign her up for this magical soccer camp, my daughter would be heartbroken. Then, she’d take up drinking, run off with an upper middle class douchecanoe who thinks he’s gangsta and pierce her nipples. All because Mommy didn’t want anyone to see her yucky sweatpants.
I resigned myself to my fate, waved back to Crystal, and parked my reliable beige mini-van. Reliable and visually soul-sucking. The next Mommy-mobile I get is going to be a cool color. Like black. Or covered in glitter. I walk down the hallway toward Abby’s classroom pretending to be fascinated by the plaques and artwork that are plastered all over the walls so as to avoid eye contact with anyone.
I don’t pull off the polished mom look in the mornings. My sweatpants are about as chic as I get for school drop-offs. In fact, these people are lucky I am wearing pants at all. That had been an unfortunate morning…
Catching up to Crystal, I give her a nod and a smile as we walk into the classroom, already full of peppy parents and downright raucous children. I have seen it many times when the mom and the teacher are both present. The mom wants to respect the teacher’s authority and not have to correct their child, but the teacher hates to undermine a parent and stays silent as well. Children sense this the way dogs can smell evil and test those limits with a deep rooted dedication.
God, I need coffee. And a shower. And I think I forgot to brush my teeth, dammit.
I smile at Abby who is chattering away with her little inner circle of five year olds. My daughter barely acknowledges me as she returns to their conversation and I can sense the teen years are going to be a blast with her. Showing this level of parental embarrassment at the age of five is not boding well for our future.