The First Paragraphs of my New Book

I never wrote a book before so this a new (and scary!)  journey for me- especially since I’m writing about something so private and meaningful. I’ll be posting its paragraphs as I write along and attempt to complete it by the new year- ENJOY!
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I moved to New York City two months after my 25th birthday. It was always a dream of mine to live in Manhattan even before the future twenty-somethings of new America fell in love with the women from “Sex and the City” and flocked to the East Coast in mass herds to write cheesy fashion blogs and feed their YSL pump obsessions. Since my youth, I somehow knew that this city would be my salvation, my homecoming. Here, I knew I could be my true self- a bright but introvert, a shy but pretty Andrea and I was determined to make the most of things. It was my chance to reinvent myself into the muse-sex kitten-brilliant woman that cute men in sweater vests were always falling in love with in indie films. The darling maniac pixie dream girl. Yes, that was going to be me. I would get the dream job (writing for whatever publication that would hire me), find the perfect apartment and bed Mr. Right who hopefully looked like Ryan Gosling in “Crazy, Stupid Love.”

A year and a half prior to my big move, I was committed into a rehab facility for self-mutilation, multiple suicide attempts and an eating disorder. It was time of utter disbelief and self-discovery. It was there I finally learned how to be my real self. After leaving the hospital unscathed and outpatient treatment with the confidence I should have gained years before, I got on this “Live Your Life to the Fullest” kick. I was always that person who sat the in the back of the classroom, refusing to raise her hand even if she had the correct answer. I hated the way I looked, the thoughts I thought and was convinced that the world was indeed better off without me. After my stint in rehab, I finally started believing in my dreams and myself. I discovered that was a knockout, complete with mind-blowing curves and a pretty face. (I will never forget the woman who asked me if I modeled while I shopped with a friend. I stopped picking at my face that day.) I finally started listening to all the people who told me I was smart and creative and I believed it. I knew that I was better than nine-to-five office work, living in a rural western town with a head full of wishes. In my heart, I knew I was destined for bigger and better things, bigger and better places. It was time to pack up my things and move across East…

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