In my novel “Cancer of the soul” you will find out what happens when:
You went to The School of Life and majored in cocktailing and tailing cock.
You are a world renowned specialist in dancing on tables, cheating on lovers, boozing away your liver, self medicating, anal bleaching and shopping your Amex into the abyss.
All of “them” are trying to get into your lavish, powered by yoga, vintage couture and antioxidants world. From the out it seems like there is nothing to want. On the in it is scary, empty and painfully lonely.
You graduated with honors from your best friend's funeral.
You fought to stay a kind girl, like you once were, but so much of your soul has been eaten away, that you have no choice but to become an angry drunk.
You looked death in the eye. That glassy eye was full of pain and felt very cold.
You begged to stay here, but you died of cancer at 44 and came to terms with the agony of leaving three kids behind.
You watched the Betsys and the Tovahs try and get along. The Wasps, the Jews, the “Immigrants”, the Gays, the Single-Marrieds, the “Fair and Balanced” and the You.
You realize that people are just shit machines, no matter what season Yamamoto they “dare to wear” in the strip-mall choked, stagnated Boston suburb.
You know that it isn't what happens, it is how you deal with it.
This is a mess.
It's also got power and voice.
It wins for 'worst title' so far...but I wouldn't write a form rejection on this.
This one gets the "you have energy and a story; now learn how to tell it".