STEPHANIE ELLIOT
THeRe'S a MeTHoD To HeR MaNiC
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40 Weeks a novel by Stephanie Elliot Complete and currently on submission with my agent, Maura Teitelbaum, Abrams Artists When Ellen McMillan discovers she's pregnant, she's shocked. Suddenly, her career is at stake, her marriage is being tested, and her hormones are sky-rocketing out of control. Pregnancy is not what Ellen had planned for this stage in her life, but really, is dealing with morning sickness, weight gain and roller-coaster emotions all that bad? Add an unhealthy obsession with her OB, an infertile sister, and a coworker who will do anything to sabotage her career, and Ellen's pregnancy becomes the least of her worries. Medical mishaps, job drama, marital problems, and the discovery of a family secret force Ellen to step back and take a long, hard look at where she's been, where she's going, who she is, and who she wants to be. Follow Ellen each week, chapter by chapter, as she discovers that being pregnant requires more than just changing on the outside - she'll also have to bloom on the inside to become the person, deep down, she knew she was always meant to be: a mother. |
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Checked Out a novel in progress by Stephanie Elliot An excerpt What Marnie really remembered about that night, the night she met him, was that she hadn’t even picked out a special pair of underwear. She wasn’t looking to meet anyone, hadn’t planned on shedding her jean shorts and tank top, didn’t think a guy would be loosening her bra straps to feel the firm flesh of her breasts, to pinch her nipples until they tightened. The underwear. That was the one thing that held her back. That she didn’t know if her underwear were sexy enough for a guy to peel from her hips, to lower down her thighs, to hold in his hands and toss to the floor. “I can’t.” “Why?” He nuzzled into her neck, licking her, and she melted, smelling beer and his cologne. They were both buzzed. She shivered from the thrill of being there, in the dimly lit room, on a bed with a guy she hardly knew. It was always a turn-on to feel this way, to not know how far it would go, how far he would try to go, how far she would let him go. She told herself she wouldn’t go further only because she might be wearing the Hanes yellow cotton underwear she usually wore when she was on her period. So she didn’t answer and just felt for his face, and began kissing him again, while trying to pull his hands back up to where they had been. That was feeling nice anyway. He hadn’t asked again, and for that, he won some major points in Marnie’s book. She liked this guy. The party behind the door was loud. She remembered Phil Collins’ song, “Take Me Home” blaring on a tape deck, and him whispering, “I’d like to take you home.” She bucked up her hips to meet him, and although he was still wearing his shorts, she could feel his thickness through the denim. He felt big. And hot. She loved being able to do this to a guy. And Marnie knew if she stopped him right now, she’d most likely see him again. And that’s what she wanted. “Stop,” she breathed heavily into his ear, and nipped at his lobe. “I have to go.” “Why?” “I just do. You’re turning me on too much.” There, she said it. Sometimes, she would say it just to get the guy off her; sometimes she would say it just to be a flirt. This time, however, she said it because she meant it. And she really, really didn’t want him to see her yellow cotton high-legged briefs with the green daisies on them. They’d have to wait. Plus, she didn’t even know his name yet. He rolled off her, frustrated, she could tell, but then he leaned onto his elbow, and began playing with the strands of her hair, and this gesture felt more intimate than the kissing and grinding. Their breathing regulated, and he looked into her eyes. “Your eyes are pretty.” “Oh, come on,” Marnie laughed. “What kind of crap line is that? They’re shit brown.” “No they’re not. They’re chocolaty. By the way, don’t you want to know my name?” “Do you want to know mine?” “I think I’m interested in that, yes.” He continued to twirl the one piece of hair. “And a lot more. Later. Okay?” “Marnie.” “I never knew a Marnie before. That short for something?” “Actually, long. For Mar.” She made a bold move and touched his shoulder, just to feel that he was here and real. His skin was warm. And tan. She liked that. “Mar. I like that. I’m Joe. Short for Joseph.” She giggled and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Joe.” He smiled back, and then settled his head down on the pillow. They were on the bed of one of his friends, she guessed, because he had led her into the room after the party started dying down, after the game of “Have You Ever” ended with him asking her, “Have you ever seen the bedroom here?” Marnie hadn’t even known whose house it was; she just knew Collette had a friend who knew the kid who was having the party, and that maybe there would be some cute guys there. Collette had definitely been right about that part. “Give me your number?” he asked, still playing with her hair, tickling her neck with his fingers. It made her shiver, and tingle, and she cursed herself again for wearing unsexy undies. She rattled off the number and when he said he needed to write it down, Marnie replied, “You want to call me, you’ll remember it.” “Tell me it one more time. Slower.” |
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Representation: Maura Teitelbaum Abrams Artists Agency New York ~ Los Angeles |