Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Book Blast - The Salacious Marny Ottwiler by Bridget Straub

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Book Information

Release Date: November 25, 2012
Genre: Contemporary/Chick Lit 
Formats: Paperback/Kindle

About the Author 

Bridget Straub is an author, artist and mom who has been writing for as long as she can remember. When she’s not blogging at she is painting or spending time with her family. “The Salacious Marny Ottwiler” is Ms. Straub’s third novel. Also available, “On a Hot August Afternoon” and “Searching for My Wand”.

The Salacious Marny Ottwiler Synopsis

After several years of living life in the fast lane, bestselling novelist Marny Ottwiler vows to take control of the chaos that has invaded her everyday existence. This proves to be easier said than done. Over the next year she rides a roller coaster of experiences that are chronicled in hilarious detail. Follow along as she navigates through fame, family, friendships, and the writing of her next blockbuster series of books. Oh yeah, and the choice she has to make between two loves.

Author / Book LinksWebsite | Amazon | Facebook

Tour Giveaway!

One copy of the book and a $5 Amazon Gift Card to one randomly drawn commenter at the end of the tour. Please check this link for more info -!the-salacious-marny-ottwiler-by-bridget-straub/c19hd

Bridget Straub's 10 favorite songs - in no particular order.

1) Twist and Shout - as sung by the Beatles or Bruce Springsteen
2) Tenth Avenue Freeze Out - as sung by Bruce of course
3) Hallelujah - as sung by any number of people
4) The Shoop Shoop Song - the original or by Cher
5) Everybody – Keith Urban
6) All Over Again – Justin Timberlake
7) You Only Get What You Give – The New Radicals
8) Long Before Rock N Roll – Mando Diao – Check this out on Youtube. I love it!
9) Listen – as sung by Beyance
10) The Big Big Bang – The Black Keyes
There are so many more both old and new, I mean come on, Popular from Wicked and Marry Me Bill? Who doesn’t love that?

Undercover Rebel Excerpt

“Salacious novelist Marny Ottwiler has checked herself into the spectacular Meadow House Retreat, best known for its celebrity clientele and exclusive acreage in the mountains above the City of Angels, Los Angeles, California. Sources close to the beautiful, yet flighty Ms. Ottwiler insist she is simply researching her next book and does not suffer the chemical dependency that has been rumored, nor has she had a breakdown due to her recent affair with up-and-comer Kyle MacDonald, which appears to have ended her short-lived marriage to the ruggedly good looking action hero, Andrew Morris. As you may recall, she has also been linked to numerous other heartthrobs, most notably British rock star Malcolm. No word yet as to when we can expect her next bestseller, but it promises to be a doozy!”
Malcolm put down the paper and looked at me, raising his brow while trying to conceal his amusement. He was dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt he must have outgrown by the time he was twelve. His hair was its usual carefully disheveled mess, falling dangerously close to his eyes and over his collar. He was tan from his recent vacation on his private island in the Caribbean, and his green eyes were piercingly clear. I shrugged.
“I have a good publicist.”
“Who, not that hideous little gnat of a Nazi, Karla with a “K?”
“Exactly,” I smiled.
He moved closer, dropping the paper next to me on the unmade bed, where I was sitting in little more than a tissue thin t-shirt and my most comfortable, although admittedly disgusting, sweats. It wasn’t just that they were old and spaghetti stained, but also I had been wearing them every day for the past three weeks. My normally honey-colored and highlighted hair hung limply around my face, roots exposed, and I had been crying before his arrival, so no doubt my lids were rimmed in puffy redness. Still, as he sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder, he had the courtesy to tell me I looked beautiful as always.
“You are such a liar,” I smiled.
“Well, yes, clearly. In all honesty you look perfectly wretched, but one can only handle so much truth when in as delicate a state as you are.”
“Thanks for sheltering me.”
“My pleasure.”
“Is it?”
“Who wouldn’t want to spend their day comforting a damsel in distress, housed in some luxury mental institution for the wealthy and spoiled? Especially when the aforementioned damsel is as lovely as you. Would it be out of the question that you might one day soon burn this ensemble?” he asked, motioning towards my clothes.
“I’m trying to blend in with the other depressed, drug addicted, self -mutilating, over indulged inhabitants. It’s all a part of my research.”
“One does have to admire your dedication,” he smirked.
It was at that moment that my roommate, Deany, entered the room, and upon seeing Malcolm, immediately began hyperventilating.
“You’ve met before?” I teased, getting up to close the door before she alerted the powers-that-be to the fact that I had a boy in my room, as that was a big ‘no-no’ here.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Malcolm smiled, offering his hand.
Deany waved her hands and let out a little shriek as I handed her a brown paper bag, and suggested she breathe into it. She did so, never taking her eyes off the rock star in the room. The rock star who returned his attention to me, asking how long I’d be here “researching”.
“I’m hopeful that I can finish up quickly,” I told him.
“Do you need anything while you’re here?” he asked.
“Some vodka would be nice.”
“Ahh, yes, I remember you have a fondness for that, don’t you?”
I wanted to ask him why he was here, but I knew he wouldn’t be capable of giving an honest answer. A common thread I was coming to learn, among all of the men in my life. Instead, he stood up and said he should be going. He walked over to the window, pushed it open, blew me a kiss, and then jumped down to the grass below. Deany passed out.
In an effort to give full disclosure, I must admit that it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that I may have developed a slight dependency to certain inebriants. A breakdown over the likes of either Kyle McDonald, or one Andrew Morris however, is sheer madness, and grounds for a lawsuit. Kyle is a nineteen year old pretty boy, who couldn’t act his way out of a bag, and Andrew, well, the jury is still out. Suffice to say, I never would have spent more than ten minutes with Kyle, had Andrew not been so gaga over his leading lady in “Rescue at Midnight”.
    My thought process at the moment is like this. All of that is in the past, and what I must deal with now is a book that is long overdue. Tabitha, my editor, is calling me hourly requesting new pages. Pages I have led her to believe I have, but which, in fact, are all blank. Merely a white lie, right? I have the paper. Here’s the thing, though, the book is half - finished, and yet I’ve somehow managed to delete it. Now of course Tabitha has the first eight chapters, but do I want to admit that not only have I lost it, but I can’t remember any of it because I was less than sober when I wrote it? No, I do not. Do I wish to start the whole thing over again? No, I do not. Do I have a clue as to what I am going to do next? I’m thinking about a nap. “When in doubt, run away”. That has become my new motto. I learned it from Malcolm. You might recall he’s just jumped out a window. Not the first time, nor will it be the last time that he does so.


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