Synopsis:
Nothing announces the failure of one’s life quite as loudly as having to move back in with your mother at the ripe old age of thirty-five. Synchronized Breathing, introduces Scarlett Spencer in just this situation: her marriage has recently imploded and she’s headed for Beverly Hills—toddler in tow—to move in with her highly over-sexed mother, CeCe.
Having squandered her twenties having adventures and losing herself in men, Scarlett—out of desperation—leapt into an unsuitable marriage, but the best gift came out of that union—her son, Oliver. After successfully escaping that ‘Lemon Marriage,’ Scarlett struggles to put back together a life that was not very together to begin with. After being a stay-at-home-mother, Scarlett wades back into the Hollywood employment pool with hilarious results.
Balancing motherhood with the unique demands of Hollywood men provides a new twist on the dating dilemma—and living with one’s mother is not without its own set of challenges. With her robust sexual appetites and colorful parade of men, sixty-year-old CeCe has plenty of startling sex tips to share. After tiring of dating jerks, Scarlett goes on a self-imposed ‘man-diet’—which isn’t easy when your mother is perpetually on a manhunt—and in the quiet of a new man-less existence, she discovers what is really important in her life. Scarlett only finds her direction in life—and love—when she stops seeking to fulfill herself through other people (men).
Tara thinks of her novel as “A Single Mother’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing in Beverly Hills.” Synchronized Breathing was born after her own lousy divorce, during a very dark time when she thought the greatest luxury was to laugh. Her hope is that other women going through challenging times will be able to share a laugh with Scarlett Spencer and relate to her missteps on the path to love.
Take a look at this Excerpt:
“Every marriage is work, but the trick is to pick someone you actually want to be
married to.” Susan smiled at me.
Susan was my opposite in almost every way. Logical and levelheaded, her
pragmatic view of life was so foreign to me that I often thought she was speaking
another language.
“I’ll try to remember that for next time,” I said. “If there ever is a next time.”
“You gave it your best shot,” she said. “Personally, I thought you should have
bailed right after you found all those nude photos. You’ve been very tolerant, as far
as I’m concerned.”
“What photos are you talking about?” Autumn asked. “Why I don’t know about
this?”
“You’ve been away on location. Tell her.” Emma nudged me.
“One day, while I was using the computer, I stumbled upon his extensive nude
photo collection.”
“Of other women?” Autumn shrieked.
“No . . . that would actually make a certain amount of sense. They were all nude
pictures of him, but mostly just of his dick.”
I got up and put another log in the fire, as Autumn scrambled to reclaim her jaw
from the floor.
Stunned silence followed, so I pressed on. “His penis obsession was hardly a new
thing. After all, it was his most prized possession, but seeing the photos en masse
was a bit much. There were hundreds of pictures of his penis—chilling out in the
garden, lathering himself in the bath, erect penis checking the mailbox. It was nuts.
It was like that traveling Gnome series of photos—but each one featuring his dick in a new pose. Even his winking asshole made some artistic cameos!”
“Jeez . . . how on earth did he manage that?” asked Autumn, instantly intrigued.
“See . . . all that yoga pays off.” Susan’s quip sent Emma into hysterics.
“Hey, I’m not saying the guy isn’t creative! It’s amazing how creative you can be
when you have nothing to do all day but play with yourself.” I squeezed myself
back on the couch in between Emma and Autumn.
“Wow . . . I had no idea. I guess he’s not the total bore I thought he was after all,”Autumn said with awe.
“I just had less and less respect for him and that’s a very difficult thing to
overcome in a marriage, especially with all of our other issues.”
“So, what did you say to him?” Autumn was now almost bouncing out of her seat
with excitement.
“I asked him what he was doing with all the photos. He laughed and said he was
‘just having some fun’. He even turned one of the photos into his screensaver so
that twelve gleaming images of his penis greeted me every time I used the
computer. It felt like I was living with a teenage boy who’d just discovered the
pleasures of wanking and not a nearly-forty-year-old man. CeCe caught an eyeful
too. She was there when I found them.”
“What did she say?” asked Emma.
“She said she was underwhelmed.”
“And let’s face it, CeCe would know!” Susan said, sending Emma into another fit
of giggles.
“Wow. I had no idea.” Autumn continued to grapple with the news. “He just looks
so . . . vanilla to me.”
“That’s what all the gay guys do,” said Emma. “They send each other pictures of
their dicks! Do you think he flipped to the other team?”
“Who knows what he was up to? All I could think was ‘What am I doing here?’
I’m exhausted from nursing and caring for the baby all day and night while my
unemployed husband blasts music and dances around naked in the garden taking
pictures of his cock, like some demented elf.”
Author Bio:
Tara Ellison was born in London and raised between Sydney and Hong Kong. Her childhood was spent immersed in American culture and she eventually realized her dream of moving to the US to pursue a career as an actress. The acting career was not a good fit and she spent many years trying to figure out what to do next. After a difficult divorce, she turned to her love of writing and Synchronized Breathing was born.
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