Product Description

Act I: Avoid conflict at all costs. Even when someone signs you up for something you really don't want to do. Act II: Try to hold things together, even when your life is spinning out of control. Act III: (You'll have to read the book to learn how it all plays out.)

Playwright Leah Townsend doesn't think of herself as a doormat. In fact, her life is pretty good. There's the gorgeous and dependable Edward (even if he is a little dull), and her challenging career (even if the last two plays were flops). The trouble is, Leah's feeling restless these days. The new play isn't going well. Her agent is handing out ultimatums. And her boyfriend Edward, who insists Leah "doesn't handle conflict well," has the nerve to enroll her in a conflict-management class full of people she's sure are her polar opposites, including a conservative talk-radio host named Cinco Dublin who thrives on the very thing Leah wants to avoid--making waves. Can a conflict-challenged playwright ever learn to stand her ground...even if life doesn't come in three predictable acts?

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Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #394842 in Books
• Published on: 2006-03-07
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 320 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9781595540843
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
• Click here to view our Condition Guide and Shipping Prices

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

[She glances over the menu.]

I'm practical. Practical people can be romantics. I don't think the two contradict each other. Sure, I cringe when an insane amount of money is spent on a dozen roses, and as I watch them die their slow deaths despite the Evian and the aspirin tablet, I can't help but wonder what better use there was for forty dollars. Can the feeling of holding roses really match saving the starving children of the world? I simply pose the question.

I'm getting sidetracked. The fact of the matter is that I just see romance differently. I see it in defined spaces, with reason and structure attached. Romance doesn't necessarily need spontaneity either. Scheduled romance is certainly a viable option for busy people. There's no reason why a bottle of wine can't be sought out days ahead of time, why a horse-drawn carriage can't be ridden in the off-season to save ten dollars. Practicality is a simple frame of mind that in all honesty offers more perks and functionality than such frivolousness.

Jodie Bellarusa wanted more head time. She was on quite a roll up there, and I didn't want to stop her stream of consciousness, but it was 7:03 p.m. The workday was over, and it was Edward's time to arrive. You could set your watch by his schedule. Every Thursday night we meet at this French restaurant for dinner, and every Thursday night he arrived at 7:03 p.m., claiming to be on time because, he reminded me, "It's not fair to factor in parking and the distance it takes to walk to the front door."

Secretly, I wanted him to arrive just once at 7:10 p.m. Or even 7:30 p.m., rushing in with a frantic look on his face, finding me in the crowd, relieved I was still there, and with exhaustion and anxiety in his eyes, approach the table cautiously, reverently, hoping I wasn't mad. He'd apologize and wait to see if I would accept. And then I would smile and tell him that of course I would accept.

But Edward was never late. Edward never looked frantic. And now Edward was doing the same thing he always did at the front door, which was removing his scarf, folding it three times, and instructing the maitre d' on how to hang his coat, which was the same coat he wore every single spring.

As I watched him, my mind wandered back to my character of Jodie Bellarusa. For now she would have to wait. But soon enough, I'd be able to bring her back alive on the pages of my computer. I was still in the first act, and Jodie had yet to meet Timothy, her eccentric opposite. Four or five scenes down the road, they would meet and hate each other. But like all good romances, love would blossom, despite Jodie's preference for practicality.

I watched Edward make his way around the tables that stood between us. He could maneuver them blindfolded. We'd been eating at this restaurant for two years. I'd once suggested we try a window seat. Edward gave his best to be compliant, but I was forced to watch him eye our "regular" table all night like it was another woman.

And just like two years ago, we still loved each other's company.

He sat down without making eye contact, found his napkin, placed it on his lap, and then looked directly across the table at me. Smiling warmly, he said, "Good evening, Leah."

He'd never had a pet name for me, and I guess I never wanted one. I used to hate when I'd go out with couple friends and they'd call each other the weirdest things that would be offensive in any other context. But as the months passed, I started wishing for a pet name, something whispered in public, in my ear, like a private joke. But it was always Leah, pronounced with preciseness but not lacking delight.

"Hi." I smiled back.

He took my hand from across the table. His were cold, and he apologized by explaining he'd left his gloves at the office.

He glanced around for our waiter, who would be Joel on this evening, because it was the second Thursday of the month, and Joel always took Curtis's shift, because Curtis played in a band or something like that. "How was your day?" he asked, obviously still monitoring Joel's response time.

Something held my tongue and it surprised me. Normally I would say "fine" and provide some highlights if he looked in the mood for details. But today was not fine. My agent had explained my desperate need for a new and dynamic script, reminding me that despite my first success, the last two plays had been "utter flops" and that my career was hanging in the balance of hell and heaven, as if all of eternity rested on my ability to move dialogue along. She'd said this as though I might be unaware that my last two plays had been disasters. But I was very much aware. A bright One-Hit Wonder sign hung itself on the dark side of my eyelids every night when I went to sleep.

"Where is Joel tonight?" asked Edward. "I really don't like him as well as Curtis."

"He'll be here. Just gives us more time to talk, right?"

His honey-colored eyes, the ones that I fell in love with more than two years ago at a banquet, studied me like I was a formula written out across an expansive chalkboard.

"Sure, of course."

"Good evening," Joel said, sliding toward the table out of nowhere. "How are you two this evening?"

"Fine, Joel," Edward said. Edward then proceeded to order. I had to hand it to him. We didn't eat the same dish every Thursday. He liked to throw in a few surprises. This evening, he requested a pasta dish that I couldn't pronounce.

But just as he finished speaking, the words "crepes suzette" flew from my mouth. I think I gasped as they escaped. Edward looked up at me. Joel glanced my way, too, as if he was surprised I could actually speak, since Edward had always ordered for us. But the fact was, I didn't feel like pasta tonight.

Edward frowned at me. "Those flaming French pancakes? So everyone can observe what we're eating?" It was true. The waiters would bring the dish out with fire encircling the mushroom crepes. It was one of the restaurant's specialties, and they liked to brag by way of dangerous combustion. I'd once observed a man order it for his wife, then watch with pleasure as all attention shifted to her when they delivered it to their table.

"It sounds kind of good to me. I'm not really in the mood for pasta."

Edward was leaning toward me, examining me with intense eyes. "Why not fish?"

"I don't know, fish just doesn't--"

Edward turned to Joel and said something that sounded like kah bee yoh ehn pee puh rahd. Joel smiled and turned to me. "We have a wonderful baked cod in a Piperade sauce. We use Serrano peppers, blended with bell peppers, plum tomatoes, and garlic, simmered to perfection . . ."

I was nodding and acting interested, but my attention focused on a strange stirring inside me. It was nothing I could identify, and it could just as easily be related to nerves about the new play I was attempting. But some kind of restlessness was provoking bizarre behavior, like ordering flaming pancakes.

"Sure," I finally said, noticing Joel's mouth had stopped moving and both men seemed to be waiting for an answer. "The baked cod sounds lovely."

Edward leaned back in his chair and smiled. The smile stretched into a grin. "So, I've been working on my speech all day."

It was a speech he was to give five months from now, but Edward had a long and distinguished history of speech phobias. To nearly everyone but me, he was Dr. Edward Crowse, professor of physics at Boston University. I still did not understand what exactly the speech was for or to whom he was giving it, but I knew it was important. Edward had been talking about it nonstop for five weeks.

"Yes. I think I've finally got the perfect opening joke." He rubbed his hands together with anticipation.

"Well, let me hear it." I grinned.

"Okay. There's this farmer, who is having a great deal of problems with his chickens. They're quite sick, and he has no idea what to do about them."

"Uh-huh."

"And so after trying all conventional means to find why his chickens are sick, he decides to call a biologist, a chemist, and a physicist to see if they can help figure out why the chickens are sick."

"Okay."

"So the biologist takes a look at the chickens, handles them a bit, and looks them over. But he cannot figure out what's wrong with the roosters."

"I thought they were chickens."

"Right. Yes. Chickens."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Well, then the chemist takes some tests and makes some measurements, but he cannot come to any conclusions about the chickens either."

"Interesting."

"So the physicist tries. He stands there for the longest time looking at the chickens. Not touching them. Just looking at them. Then, all of a sudden, he starts scribbling away in his notebook! The farmer rushes to his side, wondering if he's figured it out. After several lengthy calculations, he suddenly states, 'I've got it! But it only works for spherical chickens in a vacuum!'"

Edward leaned toward me, his eyes wide with expectation.

"In a vacuum. That's funny."

"Do you get it?"

"Sure. That's good."

Edward leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin. Then, flopping a lock of moppy golden hair to its proper side, he said, "I don't know."

"Well, joke-telling is really all about the timing--"

"Maybe it's too long."

"How long do you have?"

"Forty-five minutes, but I have to make some introductions and things like that. What about this one? Two atoms accidentally bump into each other. One atom says, 'I think I lost an electron.' The other asks, 'Are you sure?' to which he replies, 'I'm positive.'"

"Too obvious."

"Yes, I guess you're right." Edward sighed, and the conversation continued about his day until Joel returned with our meals.

I stared down at my baked cod then looked up at Joel.

"Wou...

---

Customer Reviews

Hilarious & poignant story of self-discovery...
Leah Townsend is a struggling playwright who skyrocketed to instant fame with the surprise success of her first play, The Twilight T-Zone. Since then, her writing -- and her relationship with her ever-dependable boyfriend, Edward -- has gone downhill. She can't seem to recapture the "magic" that made her first play a success, and as far the relationship goes, well -- suddenly Leah finds herself wanting more out of life (she's just not sure exactly what "more" means -- and if "more" involves conflict, well forget about it). When Edward interprets her desire for change as an inability to cope with conflict, Leah finds herself enrolled in a conflict management class with Cinco Dublin, a man who's everything she's not...and to whom she finds herself increasingly attracted.

Much like Tamara Leigh's Stealing Adda, Gutteridge provides her readers with a fascinating (and often humorous) glimpse into the life and career of a writer -- dealing with agents, writer's block, and self doubt -- and of course there's the inevitable romantic entanglement. There's even hilarious input from Jodie Bellarusa, the main character in Leah's work-in-progress. Leah's voice is fresh, funny, and oh-so-honest. In Leah, Gutteridge has crafted an incredibly hilarious, relatable, very real heroine. Leah's transformation from a pushover and a doormat to outspoken self-assurance is both incredibly entertaining and inspiring. This is the perfect summer read -- light and engrossing, with characters so real they'll stay with you long after you close the novel. Highly recommended.

Memorable characters and overall -- enjoyable!
Rene Gutteridge's latest novel, My Life as a Doormat, is told from the perspective of Leah Townsend, a playwright who is struggling to find her true identity in Christ. Tired of the dull predictability in her two-year relationship with physicist Edward Crowse, Leah attempts to add spontaneity by breaking some of her usual habits. A minor argument follows, and Edward signs Leah up for a conflict resolution class. From this point on, everything reliable in her life is torn to shreds, but through the pain and tears, Leah learns from the class that she cannot avoid conflict simply to please others.

The memorable characters and multiple levels of person-verses-person and person-verses-self conflict kept me turning the pages. In some form or another, conflicts arise between Leah (who ironically tries so hard to avoid it) and nearly every other character she encounters. My favorite scene occurs when Leah finds herself kneeling in church, finally seeking the only One who can give her the courage to be her true self, especially in the face of adversity.

The plot flows smoothly as Leah struggles to decide whether she will marry Edward or not. I could not predict with certainty what she would choose until the climax. She decides that she must do what is best for her life, regardless of how Edward feels.

Leah has a vivid and witty personality and is emotional and sensitive to others. It was her character, more than anything else, that drew me into the book. In accordance with their roles, all of Gutteridge's characters have fully developed and varied personalities. Amazed, I watched Leah evolve from a submissive, placid woman to a person of strength and love.

All things considered, My Life as a Doormat is an enjoyable read. The dialogue could have been more personalized for the prominent characters, and I'd have liked more emphasis on Leah's spiritual life; however, these weaknesses are only minor and do not hinder the plot in any way. The ending was extremely satisfying, and left me feeling optimistic about how trials and controversy can help us grow into the people God wants us to be. I recommend this book to women facing similar issues in their lives, women who love romance, and any others who are intrigued but usually pass over such novels in the bookstore. They might just enjoy this one. I certainly did. -- Bridgette L. Oakes, Christian Book Previews.com

witty, intelligent writing not just for writers
We have all met the doormat type. These people avoid conflict like the plague, and 34-year-old struggling playwright Leah Townsend is no exception. She always lets her boyfriend order for her when out to dinner. Never would she tell her former senator father that she is a republican. Her mother is overbearing and her best friend needs advice, but no reply from Leah will rock the relationship boat. Even the main character of her play bullies her into submission. What she doesn't know is that trying to make everyone happy just makes everyone unhappy, especially herself.

Leah has dated straight-laced Edward for two years, and although she longs for some spontaneity, she dare not tell him so. When she wears a color other than her regular black to a party they attend, he seems embarrassed, but she refuses to confront him about it. Edward decides she needs help, so he sends her to an all-expense-paid conflict resolution class. This, of course, is the worst thing imaginable to Leah, but she agrees so as not to make waves.

She grows more and more uncomfortable among the annoying attendees, who either bicker and fight or cower in fear. All the while, Leah's trademark red splotches creep up her neck, threatening to take over her entire head. But will she understand herself better through the process? What kind of friendships will she strike up in such an unlikely place?

And what of her manuscript? Her play is going nowhere, and her agent lets her know in concise terms that this will be the end of her career unless she turns out a successful play.

A wide range of supporting characters weave their way through Leah's life, each one bringing about different feelings within her. Will she learn to speak up for herself and state her opinion without being rude or breaking into a cold sweat?

I rarely cackle while immersed in a book, but this story had me doing it with startling frequency. My response alternated between laughing at or feeling deep concern for dear Leah throughout the book.

On the serious side, it takes extreme circumstances in our lives to highlight our character flaws. There is a point where we must decide to change because we can't stay the same anymore. All of us must experience this at some point, but it was nice to see it happen to someone else via compelling and comical fiction.