Afterglow
"My first affair with Cherry Garcia lasted nearly three weeks"
India Othmar
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India Othmar isn’t having a great year. Her husband of thirty-one years has left her for their son’s ex-girlfriend. Her grown children have moved home. Her best friend Eva seems determined to set her up with every oddball in their small Massachusetts town. And her most significant relationship these days is with Cherry Garcia.
But India is more resilient than she thinks. And though it will take a broken arm, a lawn littered with engine parts, some creative uses for shoes, and a scandalous love affair of her own, she learns, much to her surprise, that her life hasn’t ended with her marriage.
But India is more resilient than she thinks. And though it will take a broken arm, a lawn littered with engine parts, some creative uses for shoes, and a scandalous love affair of her own, she learns, much to her surprise, that her life hasn’t ended with her marriage.
Why not write a romantic comedy about a woman of a certain age? Being an (ahem) woman of a certain age myself, the question came to me as a challenge. Most romantic comedies deal with fresh faced young ingenues, but love, romance, and laughter don't end at fifty. Into my imagination waltzed India, a fifty-something kindergarten teacher, who decided she could no longer live with her philandering husband and needed to start over.
Originally, I wanted to write a 'buddy-book', where India's best friend Eva--and who can't use a friend who'll throw a shoe at you if you wallow for too long?--sets her up on a bunch of terrible dates until India, surprise of surprises, manages to find a new romance all on her own.
What I hadn't counted on was Mitch, funny charming Mitch, twenty years younger than India, who walked onto the scene and told me he wanted to be that new guy.
"You?" I asked incredulous.
"Yup" Clearly, he would not take no for an answer. And so came the rest of the story.
Originally, I wanted to write a 'buddy-book', where India's best friend Eva--and who can't use a friend who'll throw a shoe at you if you wallow for too long?--sets her up on a bunch of terrible dates until India, surprise of surprises, manages to find a new romance all on her own.
What I hadn't counted on was Mitch, funny charming Mitch, twenty years younger than India, who walked onto the scene and told me he wanted to be that new guy.
"You?" I asked incredulous.
"Yup" Clearly, he would not take no for an answer. And so came the rest of the story.
Reviews for Afterglow
Afterglow is a 2014 RONE nominee for best contemporary.
And a nominee for Champagne Book's 2013 Novel of the year.
And a nominee for Champagne Book's 2013 Novel of the year.
"With three parts humor, one part romance, and one part drama, "Afterglow" is as delicious as India's beloved Cherry Garcia." Mimi Smith at InD'Tale Magazine
"A book I can recommend to all Romance lovers with a touch of comedy to keep the book entertaining to the end. With friends like India's you knew she would eventually make the right choices and believe that she too can have another chance at love.
Thanks Ute Carbone for a wonderful story." Lynette Clark, In the Limelight
"Afterglow is a comedy gem, particularly as India suffers from bad date after bad date, at the urging of her best friend. Then there are India’s children who have returned home, Patch the ex-boyfriend of his father’s current lover and Allie, back in the nest after a trip to Africa. Ute Carbone did a magnificent job of dealing with the subtleties and nuances India had to cope with as her entire life was in transition. Ending a relationship that was a huge part of her life and re-entering the dating scene, while trying to find the happy medium between being a mom and being a woman was expertly written. Learning how to deal with one another in their new roles was difficult, but Carbone handles it with aplomb."Natasha Jackson, Reader's Favorite
Afterglow Playlist
click on song to watch on you tube
Feel a Whole Lot Better--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
If You Want Me--Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard (Once)
Irreplaceable--Beyonce
Stolen Car--Bruce Springsteen
Gone Gone Gone--The Everly Brothers
When Love Takes Over--David Guetta and Kelly Rowland
Silly Habits--Janice Ian
My Love Will Not Let You Down--Bruce Springsteen
********************
click on song to watch on you tube
Feel a Whole Lot Better--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
If You Want Me--Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard (Once)
Irreplaceable--Beyonce
Stolen Car--Bruce Springsteen
Gone Gone Gone--The Everly Brothers
When Love Takes Over--David Guetta and Kelly Rowland
Silly Habits--Janice Ian
My Love Will Not Let You Down--Bruce Springsteen
********************
Afterglow Extras
India's Good-For-What-Ails-You Chicken Soup
Ingredients
- 8 cups of Chicken Broth or Stock
- 1 onion, chopped
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 T olive oil
- 4 carrots, diced
- 4 stalks of celery, diced
- 4 cups cooked chicken, cubed
- ¾ cup soup noodles
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Crock Pot
Cooking Directions
- Pour Chicken Stock into Crock Pot and set on low
- Heat oil in small sauté pan
- Saute onion and garlic until just browned
- Add onion and garlic mix to stock
- Add carrots, celery, soup noodles and chicken to stock
- Cook for six to eight hours on low setting
- Add salt and pepper to taste before serving
Ingredients
- 8 cups of Chicken Broth or Stock
- 1 onion, chopped
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 T olive oil
- 4 carrots, diced
- 4 stalks of celery, diced
- 4 cups cooked chicken, cubed
- ¾ cup soup noodles
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Crock Pot
Cooking Directions
- Pour Chicken Stock into Crock Pot and set on low
- Heat oil in small sauté pan
- Saute onion and garlic until just browned
- Add onion and garlic mix to stock
- Add carrots, celery, soup noodles and chicken to stock
- Cook for six to eight hours on low setting
- Add salt and pepper to taste before serving
Two True Shoe Stories and a Single Idea
As you might have surmised, given the fancy high heel with flowers on the cover of Afterglow, shoes figure as an important part of the story. Five thousand outdated singleton shoes are donated to the hero, Mitch, by an eccentric retired shoe manufacturing mogul because Mitch had saved his life.
Readers often wonder where a writer’s ideas come from. The shoe idea had two sources. I read in the paper where a woman had had bought five thousand pairs of shoes at next to nothing on Craig’s List. She hoped to sell the shoes for a profit. And the shoes would have sold like cold water in the desert had it been 1967. They were, in other words, very outdated. Which explained why they were being sold at such a ridiculously low price in the first place.
I changed the details; shoes gifted to Mitch rather than bought on line had been stored in his basement. He was looking to get rid of them. The story hummed forward. I shared what I had written with some writer friends. My friend, Trudy, worked for Catholic Charities. Her work involved helping refuges from war torn countries settle in the U.S.. These people often arrived on America’s shores with little but the clothes they wore. Trudy was always looking for donations of shoes and clothing and life’s necessities. And so it was that a large donation of shoes from a recently bankrupt manufacturer arrived at her office. When Trudy opened this new treasure, she found there was a bit of a problem; each box had only one shoe in it. To this day, no one knows what happened to the matches.
Outdated shoes were funny. Single outdated shoes were even funnier. And so, the singleton shoes in Mitch’s basement were born.
Here’s a peek at that part of the story:
Mitch pulled the light cord. There were shoes boxes piled into every nook and cranny. “It’s a shoe infestation. If they were alive, I’d have to call an exterminator.”
“Still in the original boxes,” Eva said. “That’s a great selling point.” She pulled a pink box off a tall pile, sneezed as she dusted it off, and pulled out a purple platform shoe, size eleven and a half.
“Nice,” I said. “They could use it as a prop in the remake of Saturday Night Fever.”
“Oh my God. Look at this.” Eva pointed to the platform under the toe. “A place for goldfish.”
“Goldfish?” Mitch questioned, taking the shoe from her and examining it.
“You're too young, darling,” Eva said. “Goldfish shoes. Popular during the disco era, long before you were born. You have no point of reference.”
“I’m not that young,” Mitch said. “And, by the by, I’ve seen Saturday Night Fever. Disco was awful.”
“Disco was awful,” I agreed. “Almost as bad as those shoes.”
“Are you kidding?” Eva said. “I know a transvestite who would die for shoes like these.” She pulled the tissue paper from the pink box. “Where’s the match?”
Mitch took the box from her. “I guess there is no match,” he said.
“There’s got to be a match.” I pulled down another box. One child’s black patent leather Mary Jane. I held it up. “Another singleton”
“Let me see that,” Mitch took the box from me as Eva pulled down a third. One penny loafer; size six.
“You have got to be kidding,” she said, dangling the single shoe by the heel.
Mitch pulled out another box, and held up a red Ked’s hightop sneaker. “Just the one,” he said.
“You mean to tell me you have a basement full of single shoes?” Eva asked.
“It looks that way,” Mitch said, a big smirk pasted on his face.
Readers often wonder where a writer’s ideas come from. The shoe idea had two sources. I read in the paper where a woman had had bought five thousand pairs of shoes at next to nothing on Craig’s List. She hoped to sell the shoes for a profit. And the shoes would have sold like cold water in the desert had it been 1967. They were, in other words, very outdated. Which explained why they were being sold at such a ridiculously low price in the first place.
I changed the details; shoes gifted to Mitch rather than bought on line had been stored in his basement. He was looking to get rid of them. The story hummed forward. I shared what I had written with some writer friends. My friend, Trudy, worked for Catholic Charities. Her work involved helping refuges from war torn countries settle in the U.S.. These people often arrived on America’s shores with little but the clothes they wore. Trudy was always looking for donations of shoes and clothing and life’s necessities. And so it was that a large donation of shoes from a recently bankrupt manufacturer arrived at her office. When Trudy opened this new treasure, she found there was a bit of a problem; each box had only one shoe in it. To this day, no one knows what happened to the matches.
Outdated shoes were funny. Single outdated shoes were even funnier. And so, the singleton shoes in Mitch’s basement were born.
Here’s a peek at that part of the story:
Mitch pulled the light cord. There were shoes boxes piled into every nook and cranny. “It’s a shoe infestation. If they were alive, I’d have to call an exterminator.”
“Still in the original boxes,” Eva said. “That’s a great selling point.” She pulled a pink box off a tall pile, sneezed as she dusted it off, and pulled out a purple platform shoe, size eleven and a half.
“Nice,” I said. “They could use it as a prop in the remake of Saturday Night Fever.”
“Oh my God. Look at this.” Eva pointed to the platform under the toe. “A place for goldfish.”
“Goldfish?” Mitch questioned, taking the shoe from her and examining it.
“You're too young, darling,” Eva said. “Goldfish shoes. Popular during the disco era, long before you were born. You have no point of reference.”
“I’m not that young,” Mitch said. “And, by the by, I’ve seen Saturday Night Fever. Disco was awful.”
“Disco was awful,” I agreed. “Almost as bad as those shoes.”
“Are you kidding?” Eva said. “I know a transvestite who would die for shoes like these.” She pulled the tissue paper from the pink box. “Where’s the match?”
Mitch took the box from her. “I guess there is no match,” he said.
“There’s got to be a match.” I pulled down another box. One child’s black patent leather Mary Jane. I held it up. “Another singleton”
“Let me see that,” Mitch took the box from me as Eva pulled down a third. One penny loafer; size six.
“You have got to be kidding,” she said, dangling the single shoe by the heel.
Mitch pulled out another box, and held up a red Ked’s hightop sneaker. “Just the one,” he said.
“You mean to tell me you have a basement full of single shoes?” Eva asked.
“It looks that way,” Mitch said, a big smirk pasted on his face.
