Our Novelicious Undiscovered feature is picking up where it left off and will be running until the summer when will be awarding the most commented/talked about excerpt an award and a lovely trophy!
If you would like to have an excerpt of your unpublished Chick Lit novel published on the site, then please email kirsty@novelicious.com for more details. There is a waiting list so please be aware that you may have to wait before your excerpt is featured!
You can read our previous Undiscovered entries here.
Our excerpt this week comes from Vicki Wilson, a freelance and fiction writer who lives in New York. You can visit her website here!
Enjoy! Any constructive criticism or thoughts are welcome in the comments section.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Alice Nelson is a single, 28-year-old, 27-pounds-overweight, drug rep. For Erecticil. The erectile dysfunction drug. So when she's not enduring smirks from secretaries in the doctors' offices where she peddles her wares, she's killing herself at the gym to lose those 27 pounds that she thinks are the root of everything drab in her life.
Some might call Alice cynical; others with a kinder, gentler tongue — like her soon-to-be-divorced best friend Kath, who's sleeping with the mailman — would say Alice just needs a confidence boost. Either way, Alice's life is screaming for an overhaul. When she’s faced with losing her job because of a terrible mistake, she realizes she needs to get her priorities straight. A beautiful, sad young widow Alice befriends at the gym and the mailman's brother, a pediatrician, might just be the right people to help her see that it’s not the size of her thighs, but her heart, that matters.
EXCERPT OF IT'S NOT MY THIGHS, IT'S JUST BAD LIGHTING BY VICKI WILSON
There it is: full frontal nudity in my hotel bathroom. I stand in the tub, shower door open, and, across from me, a mirror the size of a Jackson Pollock mural doesn’t steam up; it’s some sort of fancy heated model that prevents fogging. So, I see myself, my whole self (except for my shins and my feet), in a way that I haven’t in probably 10 years. Oh boy. This is bad.
What makes me decide to turn around to check out my ass is still a mystery. But it’s definitely worse.
“Shit.” It’s all I can think of to say.
Luckily, I am on my way home from this hellish hotel, from this pointless pharmaceutical conference where you had to eat every meal standing up, which means you hardly eat anything at all. And then, you order room service when you get back to your room (alone) and there’s no one there to see that you’ve eaten your entire cheeseburger, fries, and even the coleslaw, which no one ever eats.
What is cellulite?
So, yeah, I’m going home today after three days of conferencing (“conferencing” now a real word because so many people host these things).
I need a new job.
I need a new life.
I wrap myself in an oversized hotel towel. It dwarfs me. I look much better. There should be a warning in the shower: Apply Large Towel Before Exiting Bath.
But I don’t blame the lack of warning signs or even the non-fogging mirror. I blame the lighting. It’s that yellow unnatural overhead light. Who wouldn’t have cellulite in shoddy conditions like this?
I step onto the fancy heated stone floor and turn the brass knob of one of the faucets over the double sink.
It’s not my thighs, I say to my reflection. It’s just bad lighting.
That’s it.
My whole life is just poorly lit.