Goddess of Suburbia Sneak Peek (Final One!!!)


You can ignore all the other sneak peeks – this is it! This is the final, soon-to-be printed, “no time to make any more changes now,” version. Goddess of Suburbia is in layout as I type. So, read this one if you want a little peek at what awaits once the book is out…


The paparazzi start trailing me the moment I pull out of my driveway at 532 Rockwell Circle. My street sounds fancier than it is—mostly ranches and capes dot the landscape of postage stamp size lots. It’s a slice of blue collar nestled in this mostly upper-middle class Long Island town. My neighbors have never seen a line of paparazzi follow anyone, and they certainly have never seen the paparazzi follow a worn out mom dragging her cranky son to ShopRite for eggs and milk. One of my neighbors glances up from watering her mums and stares at the spectacle, jaw slack, until small muddy puddles form at her feet.

It is an achingly beautiful October day. It’s the kind of day that reminds me why autumn is my favorite season—blue skies and no humidity. There’s the tiniest bite of a chill in the air, mild enough though that the sweatshirt jackets necessary this morning will be stuffed in backpacks by this afternoon. I would love to take a detour, take my four year old son, Sam, to the playground. I would love to catch him at the bottom of the slide, give him a push on the swings while he pretends to be on a spaceship, valiantly pumping his little legs. Only I can’t. I constantly glance in my rear view mirror. Are they still there? Where will these pictures end up? How much more can my family take? Like the silver spheres of a pinball machine, these thoughts bounce around my brain.
In the parking lot I shield Sam from the cameras exploding like flashes of lightning around us as we try to make our way into ShopRite. He is gripping a handful of my shirt in each fist, his face pressed into my stomach. His voice is muffled as he wails, “Why are all these people around us, Mommy? Why are they keeping us from going in the store?”

I’m breaking out in a sweat, panicking that I might not actually be able to get food for my children. My heart is hammering in my chest and I’m beginning to feel a bit speckly as I beg the faces behind those massive lenses, “Please, back away. You’re scaring my son. We just need to get food.” One photographer steps back a few feet, letting us by. Maybe he’s a parent, maybe he just feels bad for me. Maybe, he’s realized I’m not that interesting…

Purchase an autographed copy of Goddess of Suburbia

Goddess of Suburbia on Amazon

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