Saturday, April 9, 2011

About The Truth About Dating

When a funny, but introverted woman embarks on a quest to find a man, humorous and heartbreaking events redirect her to a different path in life.

Julie Christensen is the author of Searching for Meredith Love and The Truth About Dating. A native New Yorker, she studied painting at Pratt Institute and worked briefly in advertising on Fifth Avenue before she realized that her "creative" job was sucking the life out of her soul.

Julie worked as a live-in Au Pair in Brooklyn, taught preschool, and lived in Barcelona and New Mexico before finally going back to school to get her Masters in Audiology. She wrote Searching For Meredith Love while living in New Mexico. After graduation, Julie did her fellowship at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota before moving to Omaha to work at a center for pediatric audiology. It was in Omaha that she discovered how hard dating is when you are an old thirty-something. She began writing about her horrible dates to amuse her single friends and make her married friends appreciate their husbands. The Truth About Dating is based on these experiences. Julie was introduced to her future husband by an acquaintance who, after reading a draft of The Truth About Dating, realized that she knew the perfect man for Julie. One blind date led to marriage less than a year later. They now have two children, ages 2 and 3. Julie continues to paint ( and write ( She is currently at work on her third novel, a mystery set in Brooklyn.

What will readers like about your book?
The Truth About Dating is a funny book about the sad reality of dating in your late 30s. If you are single, you will see parts of your story in mine. If you are married, you will discover a new appreciation for your single friends and for your husband!

Why did you self publish?
The publishing industry seems to be in crisis. Agents seem so afraid to take a chance on a new author that I finally decided to bypass them completely.

What inspired you to write this particular story?
I went on a series of dates that were so bad, they were funny. I began to think I'd never meet a man in my town. Then, I thought, if I write these stories down I can turn them into a book and maybe meet a man on my book tour!

Excerpt from The Truth About Dating

When I was six-years old I wanted to be a ballerina. At the age of eight I switched to marine biologist. By high school I was going to be an artist, living in a Manhattan loft, showing my work in Paris and Tokyo. My family and I would live half the year in the city and the other half in the mountains. (I’d already decided in the fifth grade that I’d marry at age 27 or 28 and have 3-5 children and a dog.)
So I never dreamed that at age 38, I’d be working as an audiologist in Omaha, Nebraska, still single, without children, or a boyfriend, or even a dog. They say your life can change in the blink of an eye, but I hadn’t had much luck with the Omaha dating scene. And now it was 4:45 on a Friday afternoon and my only plan for the weekend was watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon from Netflicks.
Instead of going straight home, I decided to go to the art store. If nothing else, at least I could start a new painting. (Yes, I did attempt to live my dream. I studied painting but went back for a master’s in audiology because I couldn’t make my living off being an artist.) My cell phone rang as I pulled into the store parking lot. It was my best friend, Izzy Jaramillo. "I'm painting my kitchen tonight," she announced. "Tomato red! Want to come off and drink some wine, and maybe help?"
Relieved to have something to do besides TV, I hung up and headed into the art store. I was playing around with some glitter pens when the bell on the front door dinged and a tall, dark-haired guy strolled in from the street. He was outright handsome. We had a moment of eye contact. He looked at me like, “Wow, who are you?” and headed my way. His glance made my cheeks flush red. I looked down at my pens, wishing I was looking at something more intellectual, like, say, linseed oil. When he was a foot away, he crouched down to examine a pile of drawing pads that sat on a lower shelf.
Recognizing the golden opportunity at my feet, I tried to remember if I’d shaved my legs recently. I should be better about shaving when I wear skirts to work. I don’t always bother if there’s just a light stubble. One of my ex-boyfriends used to call it my Don Johnson look. I could hear the hot guy on the floor next to me flipping through the stack. He’d be finished in another minute. My brain scrolled through a list of one-liners. I thought of and dismissed, “Hot enough for you?” and “I like your shoes,” finally seizing on dropping my keys, so that he could hand them back to me. I got a firm grip on my keys, took a deep breath, and…suddenly I felt something wet and cold on my calf muscle. A tongue. The man was on the floor, licking my leg. I dropped my keys and screamed. The man on the floor beside me leapt backward. Too late, I saw that the storeowner’s miniature collie was also on the floor behind me. The owner and other customers stared at me in alarm. “Sorry,” I stammered. “The dog licked me.” How could I explain that I thought the man had licked me? I turned to go. The man on the floor handed me my keys.

“Not a dog person?” he asked as he stroked the collie.

I love dogs. I thought you were licking my leg. I left the store without answering him.

So Omaha cannot take all the blame for my single status.


Also available on Smashwords and Barnes and Noble

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