Nancy Barone's Blog, page 2

The Summer-Couture Madness of a Big Girl Gone (slightly) Less Big…

Hello lovely ladies!

You might think that summer has been long coming where you live, but here in Sicily it is already absolutely baking! It’s not a question of Is it summer again, but, alas, Is it STILL summer?

While my northern counterparts are up there complaining about the cold, the rain and the drizzle and Why the heck doesn’t the weather improve, I’m already in short sleeves and dreading the summer! Not because I don’t like being off from work for a while, mind you, but because of the heat!

And that brings me to the crux of the matter: my bursting wardrobe…

Luckily my house has plenty of wardrobe space so I don’t need to put away my winter clothes to make space for my summer wardrobe.

Having said that, yesterday I counted (no, I wasn’t bored- I was just curious about the sudden drop in my finances!) all my summer clothes/ dresses and I think it’s safe to say that my forty (good) dresses would cover anyone’s summer span, especially in England!

But in Sicily?

In a country that is so fashion-minded, where you couldn’t possibly be seen in the same thing twice, that would only get you through, what- forty days? Namely from 1st April and to 10th May. So what about 11th-31st May? AND JuneJulyAugustSeptemberOctober?

That, my friends, is my argument whenever my husband asks me if I’m wearing yet ANOTHER  new dress. It’s so hot here that you need to change at least three/ four times a day:

Here’s a sample of my couture regime on a typical day off in Sicily:

Morning: You need a sundress for your morning stroll through the market in Vittoria to buy fresh veggies (well, that’s my excuse. Then I disappear off to the stalls selling women’s clothing, of course!). By the time you get home you’re soaked, so you change into your house-dress (which is an old rag so doesn’t count. But still…).

Lunch: If you’re going to Ragusa Ibla for lunch, or to Punta Secca for some delicious Sicilian fish, you need another outfit- possibly cool, white linen to fend off the heat.

After lunch and a siesta, you wake up with a hankering for ice-cream, right? So it’s another shower and another outfit change. And while you’re out, you bump into your friends at Edoardo’s ice-cream parlour and decide to hook up for an evening on the town later. But you can’t wear what you’ve been wearing all afternoon, can you? This dress is already old by Sicilian standards! So there you have it- at least three changes a day.

And you can’t wear the same shoes with every outfit, can you? But let’s not even GO there.

Some of you might prefer shoes to clothes, granted, but let me tell you this: ever since I went from a UK size 24 to a 16, you can imagine how I went absolutely mad racing around all the shops, both in Italy and the UK for items I’d only dreamt of buying! Being new to the game of OMG it fits and Do they really have my size, you understand it was difficult to put a stop to all that. And after a lifetime of shop assistants shaking their heads with a “Sorry, Miss, we don’t have anything your size…” Now I want it all!

So as the days grow warmer my wardrobe gets fuller and fuller. Even if, to be totally honest, there are times I prefer to sit under the trees in my garden with my husband, the dogs and a good book and not even bother with the world outside. Sometimes life is better wearing my ancient terrycloth nightie…

The Return of Erica Cantelli- Book Two of the Amazing Erica series

Erica’s new property in Tuscany!

Ever wonder what happened to Erica Cantelli once she got her dream man, i.e. her kids’ principal Julian Foxham, AND  her dream home/ B&B  in Tuscany?

Things are going great (-ish) in Castellino until Julian suddenly makes a request that she simply can’t satisfy.

And then, ENTER onto the scene Genie Stacie, actress/ model and Julian’s sweetheart from the past who wants him back with a vengeance and is offering him exacty what he wants…

Plus, they’re all back:

Maddy, her adorable princess has turned into a snooty teenager

Warren, her mature son is now chasing skirts left, right and center

Paul, her BGFF, is travelling around the world at a dizzying speed

The Three Ms, Aunts Maria, Monica and Martina are still at loggerheads with their fourth sister, the black sheep Marcy

Erica’s ”affectionate” sister Judy who can’t stay faithful to her husband…

Follow them all as Erica and her famous hairy eyeball battle everything jeopardizing her family’s happiness.

The Spider Man scene- how to meet a hottie!

I called an emergency service babysitter and within twenty minutes

I had a Mrs. Doubtfire lookalike at my door. Ever grateful, I shoved

the list of emergency phone numbers (all mine) at her and in three

minutes flat I was out of there. Which was unlucky for me because five

minutes later I was squirming in my Kia van, dying for a pee. I pulled

over into a plaza and charged into a nice-looking bistro restaurant.

Finally a relieved woman in every sense, I stepped out of the stall

and lathered my hands with some rose-scented soap. Did I remember

to get Paul’s slippers? I can’t rememb—what the hell? A tickling, multilegged

slimy sensation under my pants made me freeze as my mind

knew there could only be one explanation. A spider!

A horrible convulsion shook my body at the realization of my

worst phobia. Never mind heights, open spaces or closed spaces—the

only thing in the world that scared me were those wretched beasts.

I remember screaming and beating my leg to kill said beast, but

the thought of it crushed to a pulp against my flesh sent me into a

mindless hysteria. I was beyond panicking. I remember throwing

myself on the floor in a fit of terror for what seemed like days because

darkness kept washing over me and I must’ve been near passing

out several times until someone—a man—gripped my arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“Help! Take my pants off!” I shrieked.

“What?”

“A spider in my pants! Take them off!”

“Your pants?” he asked dubiously.

“Please!”

“Are you sure?”

What the hell was wrong with the guy? “Now!”

At that, the blessed man obliged and yanked on my zipper. “It’s

stuck,” he informed me.

“Just rip them off!” I begged him and he easily tore my pants

from my front zipper down and pulled them off my legs, checking

every inch of wobbly thigh as I frantically kicked, repeating, “Kill it,

kill it!” I didn’t give a shit if he saw my flesh flailing in the air—I’d

never see him again. All I wanted was to be rid of the monster.

At some point I finally collapsed under him, exhausted, but still

digging my nails into his flesh, still shaking and bawling and clawing

at his shirt until he was half-naked next to me. He felt so safe,

so solid, like a nice cozy cabin in the middle of a snowstorm. And

he smelled fantastic, like a real man, without the nauseating mist of

different colognes I have to

fight through to get from the lobby to

my office every morning.

But more than anything, I remember how he’d calmed me down

with his deep, soothing voice and how it had enveloped me, warmed

me, like a father’s should when you’re a scared child or a husband’s

when you’re a woman down in the dumps. I had never had either

source of comfort in my life from my dad or Ira, and it was like the

other shoe had finally dropped. This voice, this presence, this kind

of man, was what I’d lacked my entire life. If I’d had this kind of

solid support and understanding all that time, and not for just a few

terrifying seconds in the ladies’ room, my whole life would’ve been

made. I’d be a different woman today. Sweeter. More self-assured.

Less aggressive. More loved.

This was the kind of patience and loyalty that I needed. Someone

who would believe me and act upon my fears as if they were

as important to him as they were to me. This man had taken me

seriously. This man had been my security. If Ira had been there with

me, never in a thousand years would he have agreed to rip my pants

off just like that.

The stranger put his lips against my ear and whispered, “It’s all

right. It’s gone. Calm down now.”

“Are you sure?” I croaked, burying my head deeper into his

chest, my arms and legs still wrapped around him like a real whack

job.

“Positive—take a look for yourself—see?”

I stopped and lifted my face to scan the floor with trepidation.

He was right. No sign of the thing. The coast was clear. And then I

finally looked up at him. And almost fainted dead away again, but

for another reason this time.

He was surreal. Handsome didn’t even begin to cut it. Wide shoulders.

Muscles. Strong. Perhaps enough to lift me. Black hair that fell

over his forehead. Big green eyes and the most awesome, longest lashes.

Dark five o’clock shadow. Pure man. Pure, sinfully gorgeous man.

“Hands up!” twin voices echoed in the empty bathroom.

My savior turned toward them and raised his hands, his torso

still stuck to mine so that he looked like he was doing sit ups against

my breasts.

“It’s okay, lads. It’s only me,” he assured them.

One of the guards re-holstered his gun. “Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. A little accident with a big hairy monster,” he explained,

tucking his shirt back into his jeans as the two guards

looked at me.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and shot them an evil

glare. “He means the spider.”

One of the guards stifled a snort and I shakily crawled for my

trousers, which were now in shreds, too humbled to look my savior’s

way. It was a good thing that Paul always waxed the hell out of me,

otherwise the guards would’ve thought the poor man was tackling a

grizzly bear in the ladies’ room.

“Oh, okay,” agreed the other guard all too easily.

I hid my face in my torn trousers. “He was just helping out a

hysterical lady,” I contributed, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “Go

now, please. I’m in my underwear in case you hadn’t noticed.” And

they weren’t my best pair, either.

At that my savior chuckled and wrapped his jacket around me

like a kilt. I’m big, but this thing fit all the way around me. My face

82 Nancy Barone

still hidden, I muttered a muffled, “Thank you,” and crawled back

into the stall—a different one, though.

“Okay, let’s give the lady some breathing space,” I heard my hero

say. Was he the manager of the restaurant? He sure had authority.

“I’ll be sitting outside if you care to join me for lunch, madam?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Thanks anyway.”

A pause. “Okay, then. I hope to see you again soon.”

Yeah, like that was ever happening. “Me, too, sir. Thank you.”

“We’re at our desk if you need us, ma’am,” called one of the guards.

“All right. Thank you. And thank you, again,” I called to my hero

from over the stall, too embarrassed to show my face.

“My pleasure, madam,” he said. At least that’s what I think. He

had a crazy accent I couldn’t place.

I raced home wearing the guy’s jacket around my hips, up the

stairs past the aghast babysitter who must’ve thought I was a freak,

and hopped back down the stairs, one leg into a pair of jeans. By the

time I got to the front door I was dressed. When you’re a working

mom you learn to multitask very quickly.

“I’ll pay you the extra time!” I shouted over my shoulder as I

catapulted myself out the door and into my Kia, flooring it.

After The Husband Diet, Book 2 of the Amazing Erica series is in the making!

Erica’s new idyllic property in Tuscany!

Erica Cantelli has finally made it back to Tuscany, her land of origin, and has loads of plans to live The Good Life!

She now has her very own farmhouse, vineyards, olive groves and fruit orchards. She makes wine, olive oil, jams, pies and preserves like she used to dream of while sitting in her Boston office.

And did I mention A Taste of Tuscany, her new B&B?

She shares all of this with her two children, Maddy and Warren- and her brand new man Julian Foxham, who helped make her dream come true.

So what could possibly go wrong in one of the most idyllic places on earth?

Stay tuned for Erica’s amazing adventures with some old friends, new friends- and why not? Even some new enemies!

And while you’re in the area, why not pop over to my Pinterst board- Italian food, mothers and dieting-  to get some images of Tuscany and Erica’s life?

Another kind of tweeting…

You’d think I’d be strolling down the beach that is three minutes away, or in a park or pool- whatever kind or respite you had in mind for the summer- wrong. Well, partly wrong.

I’m in my home in the countryside, listening to the birds and banging away on my old clunker of a computer, when- thump- husband brings in a baby chick of some sort fallen from a tree. Its siblings are dead and this little guy (I’m assuming it’s a he) is the strongest of the bunch, although still covered in soft grey fuzz.

So I surf the internet looking for info and call up an old friend who is a Science teacher/ nature lover. Until he can fly, it’s a shoe box filled with toilet paper and baby food through a syringe every thirty minutes.

I  go back to the new story I’m writing. I’ve got a deadline and the whole story is in my head, but how can you resist the gentle (and insistent) tweet of a baby chick?

He’s got his head stuck under a layer of feathers for now but he’ll let me know when he’s good and ready for his next meal.

This morning I find him out of the box. He’s jumped! Soon, I hope, he’ll be able to fly…

So I take him out and put him on my dwarf pine trees, no taller than myself so I can get to him no matter what. And I watch as he adapts to his new environment, liking it, too. He cocks an eye at me as if to say, “How come you didn’t bring me out here sooner?”

Because he was weak, starved and needed a bit of mothering. I’m supposed to let him go when he starts flying around the room. I sure hope he doesn’t start pooping all over the place. I would not be impressed.

I also hope I don’t get the empty nest syndrome when he flies away…

Could the Gandyman be Julian Foxham?

David Gandy and Julian Foxham

Hi again and thank you to all the readers who’ve purchased and commented on The Husband Diet!

It’s great to see such warm and enthusiastic feedback on the book, especially your appreciation of the mixture of humor and poignant moments.

Many of you have mentioned you love the spider scene. I was in stitches myself while writing it! But I also like the scene where she’s waiting for him at his house. And many many more, but I’m not spoiling!

Others have mentioned the hairdryer scene. Please don’t follow Erica’s example!

But all of you have mentioned how much you want my hunky hero, Julian Foxham, all for yourselves- who the heck wouldn’t? Okay, time for a confession from a happily-married, law-abiding woman: I thought about David Gandy as Julian for a film version of the Husband Diet! I decided that when I saw him in Away We Stay, a short film that you can find here (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVX2nE...). Check the man out!

But Julian isn’t only a gorgeous, breath-stealing guy. He’s also incredibly sensitive, smart and sexy. He’s the breath of fresh air she (and many other women!) is dying for.

And for our gal, Erica Cantelli, who would you picture? I have a couple of images up on my Italian Food, Mothers and Dieting board on Pinterest:

http://pinterest.com/nancybwythe/ital...

but it’s really hard to choose because Erica has a bit of all of us in her- yes, even you thin ladies! She has your strength, your resolution and your confidence (albeit not in bed yet- but with a man like Julian Foxham? All she needs is time).

So once again, thank you for loving Erica (and Julian!) as much as I do and please keep the comments coming!

Nancy Barone

Bikini Blunders?

All that’s missing is the best thing- you!

 

Summer is almost here and I’m more than ready to ditch all the winter blues and soak up the sun, sea and lazy days. So I pull out my beach bag from the bottom of my closet for a recon: flip flops? Check. Sun hat? Check. Sunscreen? Got it. Wip? Oh, yeah, plus lots of colored pens to highlight the various phases of my new story, Book Two of The Amazing Erica series. Kindle? You need to even ask? Plus look at my gorgeous beach towel. But there is one, horrible thing missing…

***

A primal fear grips my throat all of a sudden, and I can’t understand why. All is well. School is almost over and soon I’ll have plenty of time to write. So what the heck is up?

And then I remember. I have to buy a swimsuit. Not because I’m one of those bikini (ha!) buffs who not only have a swimsuit for every day of the week, but also for every moment of the day, but because the one I bought three years ago at Tesco’s has had it. The elastic (which at the best of times are put to hard work) has now given up and collapsed- can you blame the poor thing?

I look in the mirror and sigh as I catch sight of my thighs. Too many chocolate chip cookies and too much pasta al pesto. And not enough walking, even if the beach is a one-minute drive away and I can see the waves from all my windows.

So here we are- yet again, with the roly-poly body of a writer that was never meant to be an athlete and who would rather spend time pounding out stories than, say,  the grounds of a tennis court.

In the privacy of my bedroom my thighs are, yes, big, but it doesn’t matter. I love me, my husband loves me and my friends don’t judge me by my jeans size.

But out there, in the cruel changing rooms of any place that’ll have my size (usually a UK store)  I have to face the facts- or rather, the mirror which I always tell myself comes from a circus, and I really don’t look like that.

After I fight my way into a swimsuit, naturally a one-piece,  (the bust area has strong support, so that’s a plus) I inspect my reflection to check for damages. I can see last winter’s Nutella sandwiches in the not-so-cute dimples on my thighs. But I can also thank a year of eating fruit (among other things such as chocolate cereal) for the quality of my skin.

But… the year before I had lost sixteen kilos by eating mixed salads of all kinds and proteins every day for six months. No desserts, no fried stuff, no sauces. And I felt great! I had never looked better. I’d wake up in the morning thinking, ‘Hey, not only do I not feel lethargic- I actually feel great!’

Never mind that it didn’t last more than six months- until I got my first whiff of fresh summer ice cream- but at least I proved to myself that it could be done. And for the sake of feeling great, I’ll probably do it again- maybe a little less harsh and restrictive (you try to live through a Sicilian summer without gelato, lemon slush or Saturday evening pizzas at a seaside restaurant), but keeping an eye on my health.

As soon as this school year is over and I’m relaxed, I’ll do it. And even if I don’t fare very well, I’ll always have the sea to swim in and lose some of that flab and tone my muscles. Plus don’t underestimate the positive effects of breathing sea air with nothing on your mind for two months!

All in all, we should feel good about ourselves no matter how many commercials show big girls frowning, trying to squeeze into tiny bikinis. No matter how many narrow-waisted, skinny-legged women traipse across our TV screens. Those girls aren’t real, anyway.

Only you are, with your lovely curves and round shoulders. No one is like you. So walk down that beach to your favorite spot and plunk down your stuff with utter confidence. You have a whole holiday ahead of you. And you sure as hell deserve it. So celebrate yourself, celebrate the summer with the joy of being you. Because, unfortunately for them, no one else will ever be quite like you.

 

The Husband Diet full cover

The Husband Diet cover reveal

And here it is! The perfect cover for my debut Women’s Fiction novel, The Husband Diet!

From page one of Erica Cantelli’s roller coaster story I’ve been wondering what kind of cover would best portray my big, beautiful heroine (besides which actress would best portray her and Julian on the screen, I must admit!).

And here it is- fantabulous, colourful, feminine… but most of all it tells it like it is! Erica is like most women who think their body could do with some improvement. But her love of life and everything that is good (including lasagna!) puts everything else on the back-burner. And then when she meets Julian, she learns what is most important.

I love everything about this cover because even the title looks like a big beautiful women- curvy, feminine and soft. On the outside. On the inside she’s got one helluva life!

And to my husband’s question, Did you send Oliver a picture of your feet? the answer is no- but they sure look like mine! And the SOS on the scale are what I think every five years or so when I pluck the courage to step onto one of these dreaded contraptions (she exclaims while chomping on potato chips).

I am immensely grateful to Oliver Rhodes of Bookouture who not only believed in this series, but went as far as designing the cover himself! Thank you so much, Oliver!

I hope you enjoy The Husband Diet as much as I enjoyed living, drinking and breathing it. Because still, after having read it and edited it a gazillion times, it always leaves me with a good feeling inside. I hope it does the same for you!
Nancy Barone

Italian Mothers, Food and Dieting… my Pinterest board

 

Hello again and welcome to my brand, spanking-new website! I’m absolutely thrilled to be able to share my stories with you.

Although my Pinterest board is called Italian Mothers, Food and Dieting, this board is actually my heroine Erica Cantelli’s life in pictures.

Now, we know she’s plump. And even if she doesn’t, we know she’s also very pretty with a smile to die for. But what does she look like? I’ve posted a couple of faces that could represent her, but please feel free to suggest any others. Who could be Erica, Julian (yum-yum!) and even Paul? Don’t bother with Ira.

And yes, I admit I couldn’t wait to post images of some of the characters and places in book two as the plot thickens (and she thin-ens)! These are images of Tuscany, a farmhouse and things to do (and eat) in Tuscany.

But this is just a work in progress as Erica matures every day, so more on my snarky, sassy heroine very soon.