Jilted Lover Stories & News

advisor,

I have a gift that I’ve not been using very responsibly. But I’m trying to change.

We’ve changed the names of our clients to protect them from nosy neighbours, but their stories are as real as my powers.

I’m not proud of some of these outcomes, but Betsy says I shouldn’t blame myself; that karma’s a bitch and where people got hurt it was deserved… hopefully, as time goes by, the stories will have happy endings for everyone, not just our clients.

Stay up-to-date with our client stories over at Bloglovin.

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Betsy O'Connor

Oh, for God’s sake. None of those men will be missed.

First book club gig

Can I call it a gig, being a guest author at a book club? One of my advance readers loved Mother Teresa’s Advice for Jilted Lovers so much she bought copies for the 8 members of her book club. Lovely! Then, they invited me to come to meet them to discuss the... read more

My June Divorce

Authors are often asked, “What inspired you to write that book?” The answer might be, “a snippet of an overheard conversation on the bus that I carried forward into a story,” or “I had a random, ‘what if?’ thought and decided... read more

Win a paperback copy

Very pleased to be giving away five free copies of the novel just before Christmas… fingers crossed we meet all the publishing deadlines… head over to Goodreads to enter! Goodreads Book Giveaway Mother Teresa’s Advice for Jilted Lovers by Donna... read more

MTAfJl is available for pre-order!

So here’s the deal – Mother Teresa’s Advice for Jilted Lovers is only 3 bones whether you’re using greenbacks or loonies. What other author is that thoughtful toward Canadian buyers with our piss-poor exchange rate, eh? No other author, that’s who.

If you’ve already got an Amazon account, I hope that buying my debut novel will be a no-brainer. But in case you need some convincing, here are a few of the many a splendored things your 3 bucks will get you:

A novel that defies genres.

It’s laugh-out-loud funny but also has some harsh social commentary about challenging women’s issues; it’s got murder… lots of murders, but no gore; there’s suspense and romance and some new age woo-woo. Honestly, it’s a dog’s breakfast of a blended genre novel. A delicious, bacon-wrapped, dog’s breakfast.

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Should’ve skipped dessert

The maitre d’ walked Pamela and Pete to a table for two at the back of the restaurant, feeling the ominous weight of knowing that the night would not end well. It was Saturday and the busiest shift of the week. He didn’t have time to deal with challenging customers and, as he smiled and pulled out Pamela’s chair, wondered if they might leave and never come back if he ‘accidentally’ pulled the chair away from her descending backside rather than catch her in it. He wondered, but didn’t act. And he hated himself for it.

The waitress serving the back table scowled at the maitre d’ then stormed into the kitchen, slamming the two way doors against the counter where the prep cook was chopping onions.

“Hey! Relax. It’s just a door. What did it ever do to you?” he joked.

“They’re back,” Kvetoslava said though clenched teeth.

The prep cook poked his head around the corner. His shoulders and his smile dropped when he saw Pete.

“You should have called in sick,” he said.

Kvetoslava stared at the closed doors and yelled, “Oyobuk! I can’t serve him. I won’t.”

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Couch surfing

Julia arrived home from a visit with her mother thirty minutes later than she’d planned. Bobby was standing in the driveway waiting for her. She could tell he was upset by his posture—he tilted his head to his left and forced his weight onto his right leg whenever he was angry. She pretended not to notice.

“Hi, Honey! How was your day?” Julia asked, smiling and leaning forward to kiss him as he helped her out of the car.

“Fine. Until you decided to leave me wondering if you were dead or alive for the last hour,” he said, pulling his head away from her greeting.

“Sorry. You know Mom. She got on about Aunt Lilly and there was no stopping her. I tried to call to let you know I’d be late.”

As Julia stepped away from her car, Bobby stepped toward it and sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Keys,” he ordered.

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