Sadie Dawson’s mother goes into labor hours before her great-grandfather’s 100th birthday party and Mom refuses to cancel the festivities. Now it’s up to domestically-challenged Sadie to host the dinner party–only she hasn’t a clue how to cook a turkey.
This could be the mother of all culinary disasters, but with the help of her two best friends, Sadie is determined to pull off the best dinner party in a hundred years. And maybe land Mr. Right, too.
How to Cook Up A Disaster is a breezy chick lit novelette of 11,000 words or 69 pages which should also appeal to romantic comedy fans.
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
A writer’s contest inspired this book. The story had to start with the words “If I’d know what was in store for me that day I would have…”
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
They just came to me as I writing the story.
If I’d known what was in store for me that day, I would have convinced Mom to order take-out, locked the cat on the porch and never, ever allowed my father in the same room as my Aunt Ginny. But, being the dutiful daughter I was, I took the bus to Mom’s place that morning, prepared to bake and roast and decorate and otherwise make Grampy Joe’s one-hundredth birthday party the best it could be.
Mom greeted me at the door, her blonde hair pinned back in a youthful hairstyle that actually seemed to make her look older, her beach-ball-sized belly poking out from under the words ‘Kiss the Cook’ emblazoned on the front of her apron.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said and planted a token kiss on my cheek.
“How’s the baby?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light. The baby had been a sore spot between my mother and me since she’d announced she was pregnant just shortly after her forty-fourth birthday, claiming with a laugh that if my brothers and I weren’t going to come through with the grandchildren, this was the next best thing. That’s right. Who needs grandchildren when you can simply divorce your husband of twenty-one years, marry a guy ten years younger, and start a whole new family? I pasted what I hoped was a convincing smile on my face.
“Fine, fine.” She patted her belly and smiled. “She’s been boxing with my insides these last few days. I think she wants out, but she’s got to wait another two weeks.”
Mom was determined the baby was a she, even though she refused to let the technician verify the sex at any of her three ultrasounds.
I unwound my scarf from my neck. “So where’s this cake I’m supposed to ice?”
Mom flashed me a smile that was part sympathy, part malicious grin, and led me into the kitchen. The countertops were already cluttered with dirty pots, assorted utensils, mixing bowls, turkey-stuffing ingredients and four empty boxes of cake mix. A huge slab of white cake was lying benignly on the table in the adjoining nook, looking quite naked without its icing.
“There you go,” Mom said and stuck a huge mixing bowl full of butter icing under my nose. “Have at it.”
Rachel Elizabeth Cole writes a mix of genres–from heartfelt literary and women’s fiction, to laugh-out-loud chick-lit, to quirky contemporary middle grade fiction. Her short stories have appeared in literary magazines both online and in print, including Cahoots, Literary Mama, and Flashquake.
When she’s not writing, Rachel works as a graphic designer specializing in book covers. Her favourite season is autumn, she prefers tea to coffee, and she wishes every morning began at ten a.m.
Even though she hates the rain, Rachel lives just outside Vancouver, British Columbia, with her husband, their two sons, and two very spoiled house rabbits.
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