You read, right, readers? I mean, I just called you readers, and no one can look at glowing rectangles forever. Sometimes you need to curl up with the printed word, printed on a piece of paper, a lot of pieces of paper, actually, that are bound together between two much thicker pieces of paper. Like...a book. And I've got one for you. It's called The Melting Season, and it was written by my friend Jami Attenberg.
It's a novel about a Midwestern girl who decides to leave her unsatisfying life and husband behind and head west to find...something. Like Las Vegas. And a best friend. And maybe a clue. It's a fun read, and I highly recommend you purchase it when it comes out this Thursday. Jami is getting plenty of attention for this, her third book, from O magazine and Glamour and Marie Claire and the Huffington Post and New York magazine...why not you?
We have a copy to give away to two lucky readers. Details on how to win after this excerpt:::
I wished I looked as classy. Valka had loaned me one of her party dresses, a strappy gown that swooped down low on the chest, and was shredded at the bottom and covered with sequins so that it looked like my legs were covered with shiny feathers. On her I was sure the dress would look glamorous, but on me it looked like I was trying to grow up fast. Valka helped me tease out my hair and told me I looked like I could be in a Bon Jovi video. “You’re a vixen,” she said. I did not want to be a vixen. I did not know what I wanted to be, but a vixen did not seem like the kind of thing that would come natural to me. I missed my flip-flops the minute I slipped on Valka’s patent leather high heels. “They’re fuck-me shoes,” said Valka. She scared me sometimes. I stared down and wondered how I was going to last in them all night, and if I really was required to have sex with someone when I was wearing them. Maybe I was a fraud if I wore these shoes. I had been with my husband for so long. And things had never been right in that area anyway. I had thought about what it would be like to have sex with someone else, sure. To see if it could be better. Or different anyway. But to fuck? That was a particular kind of act. Fucking was like howling at the moon, and I was no stray. Or had not been one in my past. I suddenly wanted to rip the shoes off my feet and throw them out of the room. Who knew there could be so much trouble with just one pair of shoes?
So tell me, reader, what have you ever worn that was most out of your comfort zone? Or, tell me what the hell you would wear for a night out in Vegas. I don't know, 'cause I've never been. Or, what is the most outlandish outfit you've ever borrowed from a friend? Just leave a comment, and the winners will be chosen at my whim on Thursday, the day the book comes out.
Also! Jami is doing a book tour. Won't you go say hello to her if she's coming to your city?
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