The Unofficial Book Blitz: All My Restless Life to Live by Dee DeTarsio

All My Restless Life to Live
by Dee DeTarsio
Release Date: April 29th 2013
Genres: Adult, Romance

Synopsis:

Award-winning author Dee DeTarsio combines life’s darker side with humor and tenderness in a wonderfully charming look at love and the afterlife.

Life is a soap opera, especially for Elle Miller, who is a TV producer. (Ellen dropped the “n” in her name in hopes of finding a better ending for herself.) When her laptop crashes, she borrows her dead dad’s computer and gets way more than she bargained for.

As Elle tries to save her career with a storyline featuring a trip through Atlantis, she takes a trip to the Emmys, and finds herself in the middle of a romance between a real doctor and a hunk who just plays one on TV. Friends, family, and clues from “the other side” all help Elle figure out the difference between living the good life . . . and living a good life.

All My Restless Life to Live

by Dee DeTarsio

I laughed. Giggled, actually. I didn’t know why I felt so happy. A low-pitched voice hummed between the beeps of some kind of monitor. Was somebody playing with the hospital props again? The voice got louder. “I’m Quez Shirrock. Can you hear me?” Uh huh, I thought, still smiling. And I’m Betty Rubble. Quez Shirrock. Liam has really lost it. That is the worst soap opera name I have ever heard.

“Elle. Wake up.” The low, soothing sound of that voice vibrated to my very heart as I felt a hand touch my left breast. Yikes! Who’s feeling me up? My eyes flew open. What in the world?

Forget The Flintstones. It was Jon Snow. From Game of Thrones. Without the accent and animal pelts. But with the same vulnerable, brooding, coal-black eyes. An odd, not unpleasant mix of peanut butter and cinnamon blew into my nostrils. He peered into my eyes.

“I know nothing, Jon Snow.” I must have said that aloud because his immobile, almost stern features, shifted as the corners of his mouth turned up. What was going on here? I turned my head. Nope, I wasn’t in the studio.

“You hit your head and fainted,” he said. I couldn’t think about him as Quez Shirrock, I was afraid I’d laugh in his face. “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

I shook my head no.

“They brought you up here, to Sharp Memorial Hospital. I’m a neurologist.” Of course you are. Quez Shirrock. Why couldn’t I keep the smile off my face?

by Dee DeTarsio

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the rayon will not creep.

I mix it up before powering down,

But look more like a circus clown.

In case of emergency,

(If neighbors, police or firemen might see,)

I cover up, but comfortably.

In my head I’m a femme fatale,

That lying mirror tells a different tale.

Victoria may have a secret, but I have one too.

I look like I killed someone, or escaped from the zoo.

A. Slinky, sexy lingerie.

B.  Shunned-by-the-dust-rag yoga pants.

If you answered A, thank you. That is all. You aced the quiz, no need to keep reading. The rest of us:

A.  Wish we were you. Go you. Seriously, just go.

B. Don’t believe you.

This edition of Vicks or Vixen is brought to you by It’s time to buy a new pair of pajamas—ones that don’t wrinkle, creep, make you sweat or look like a man; smell good, wash well, and fit perfectly. Seriously. What do you sleep in? And what do all those popular authors out there write in? The One & Only Emily Giffin, I’m talking to you. I bet she has a peignoir, a word I can barely spell. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m fascinated by what people wear to the land of Nod. T-shirts? Leggings? Flannel nightgowns? Half of our life is spent in this hidden wardrobe, seen only by those special (lucky?) few. How can we not honor this important costume? 

I’ve tried Victoria’s Secret–though I’m apparently fifteen years, ten pounds and two cup sizes out of their demographics. I was watching a movie with my family, and I had on a two-piece number. There may have been fuchsia trim. Someone actually hummed a circus ditty, “doo doo doo doo do do doo do do do,” like I was balancing on a unicycle in the center ring, honking my nose while chasing down an ice cream cart. Not the look I was going for. 

How hard is it to invent cute pajamas? Ones that don’t wrinkle, creep, make you sweat or look like a man; smell good, wash well, and fit perfectly. (I am ashamed of how much I love polka dots—what is it about their dangerous lure?) When the bra comes off, the brain and body power down, according to research at IMTU (I Made That Up). We deserve special garb for this most sacred time. Hey garment industry, the world would be a much better place if you could design pajamas that make us look like Jennifer Anniston starring in a romantic comedy. Thank you. 

*Music rises with a swell.* One day, there will be sweet, sweet PJs . . . soft, smooth, comfortable, alluring, am-muy-bien snoozewear, in which we can answer the door, wear to check the mail, and even drop kids off at school without having to fill out a journal entry for their future therapist. A girl can dream. 

Anybody? Please tell us about your favorite jammies! 

You do not want to see what Dee DeTarsio sleeps in. Her latest novel, All My Restless Life to Live, will put you to sleep. Oh, come on, you know what I mean!

Dee DeTarsio is a graduate of The Ohio State University and lives in southern California with her family. She did not teach herself to read at an early age or write stories by the time she was in kindergarten. She was still wetting the bed and playing in the can cupboard.

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