Title: Nice Girls Don’t Date Rock Stars
Genre: Commercial, Women's
Word Count: 103,000
Pitch: Ali idolized rocker Matt Hartley in her teens, but after 5 fairy-tale years together, she meets his young lover whose foolish sacrifices mirror Ali’s. She swapped coasts and deserted her own talents to be with Matt, believing she was just as happy as her friends busy climbing career ladders and buying properties. Now Ali’s got to backtrack to when she lost herself to please others—as far back as childhood, and far away as the UK—if she wants to escape her one-bedroom flat on the corner of Nearly 30 and Nowhere.
Question 1: In your MC's voice, what costume character do you relate most to and why?
Before my breakup, I would've said Penny Lane from Almost Famous, but . . . you know those two-people horse costumes? Yeah, right now, I think I'd be the ass, except I wouldn't want to be close enough to my ex for him to be the front, so maybe I'd just be a horse's backside all on its own.
Question 2: As an author, what makes your manuscript a tasty treat (aka marketable/unique)?
This identity tale is a tasty inside peek into what it's like to date the celebrity you adored as a teenager, and how that dream engineered one young woman's adult life. It's about coming-of-age later than your peers, and the difficult reality that despite all the methods we embrace, there's no shortcut to self-confidence.
First 200 Words:
I’ve known Matt Hartley since I was fifteen. I didn’t actually speak to him until I was eighteen, and by twenty-three, he knew my name. Some might call that a pretty slow-moving relationship, but since it started with his image adorning my bedroom walls, I call it outrageous fortune.
The packed bodies shift like planets aligning in perfect sync, for one split second giving me a glimpse of Matt from head to foot. The foot taps slow and steady, and the head is creased by tell-tale narrowing of dark brows. I’m the only one in the room able to read this exact expression, though I wish the world knew everything that face hides. Sometimes.
Sometimes I just want to keep it tucked safely inside, with the shameless, selfish notion that it’s mine. But like the beauty of a sunset or tear-jerking movie moment, you want to turn to the person beside you and communally gush. So it goes if you date a celebrity of any stature, I guess. You’re delighted when others get what he does, but you also feel like Gollum, hoarding away his private quirks like the One Ring. I’m happy being the only person who knows Matt watches Reading Rainbow over his Cheerios, or that he files paperwork in grocery bags.