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Description of One Pink Line:
**WINNER of the 2012 Eric Hoffer da Vinci Eye Award for outstanding cover art**
**HONORABLE MENTION in the 2012 Beach Book Festival for General Fiction**
**FINALIST in the 2012 Indie Reader Discovery Awards - and selected as a 2012 Indie Reader ‘Top Title’**
Can the love of a lifetime be forever changed by one pink line? Dina Silver’s tender, absorbing novel, One Pink Line, is the warmhearted, wry story of love, loss and family, as seen through the prism of one singular, spirited young couple who find themselves in a predicament that changes the course of their lives, and those closest to them. With heart, humor and compassion, this debut work of women’s fiction is certain to stir anyone who relishes a good laugh, can stand a good cry, and, above all believes in the redemptive power of love.
This unique, contemporary story gives readers a dual perspective. Sydney Shephard, a sweet-tempered, strong-natured college senior is young, in love with an exceptional man, and unexpectedly pregnant. Faced with a child she never planned for, she is forced to relay this news to her neurotic mother, relinquish her youth, and risk losing the love of her life. Then there’s Grace, a daughter, who believed she was a product of this great love, grows to realize her existence is not what she assumed, and is left with profound and puzzling questions about who she really is.
Spanning generations and every imaginable emotion, One Pink Line reveals how two points of view can be dramatically at odds, and perhaps ultimately reconciled. Simultaneously deeply felt and lighthearted, One Pink Line deftly mines how the choices we make are able to alter so many lives, and how doing the right thing and living honestly can bring unexpected, hard-won happiness. It’s a must-read for anyone who craves a great love story, absorbing characters, and plenty of laughs along the way.
Accolades:
“It’s heartfelt, emotional, funny, sad, and happy all rolled into one engaging story that will keep you hooked, with characters that you come to care about quickly and root for. A fantastic read!” – Author, Sibel Hodge
“The skillful transitioning and Silver’s clear, concise writing make for an engrossing read, as two stories unfold from two viewpoints and generations.” – IndieReader.com for USA Today
“Nothing makes me happier than when a debut author has a hit right out of the gate.” – Mrs. Mommy Booknerd Blog
Reviews:
One Pink Line currently has a customer review rating of 4.5 stars from 120 reviews. Read the reviews here.
One Pink Line is available for purchase at:
An excerpt from One Pink Line:
CHAPTER ONE
Sydney
Finals week hit me like a gust of wind, and before I knew it, I was cramming for my last round of college exams, and trying to convince my mother to let me move back home after graduation. It was 1991, and she’d just started taking Prozac that year, so there was hope. A couple months earlier, after attending Purdue’s spring career day, I sent my resume to five hotels in the Chicago area, and was offered an entry-level job at the InterContinental on Michigan Avenue. I was due to start August 1st of that year, but had to get through finals, graduation, and potentially another summer living at home with that woman.
I knew my Spanish exam would be the hardest, because I barely paid any attention in that class, so I dedicated the most studying hours to that particular subject. Thursday night, as the intricacies of foreign grammar loomed heavily on mi cerebro, it occurred to me that I hadn’t had my period in a while. How that uncertainty popped into my head at that particular moment, I have no idea. My conscience had snuck up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and derailed my train of thought.
I remembered the last time I’d had it though, because I was trapped in an English Lit lecture hall with no panty liner, no tampon, and no break for an hour. As soon as the bell rang I sprinted to the bathroom, only to discover the tampon dispenser hadn’t been refilled since the turn of the century. It was a long, slow walk home with a wad of parchment-like toilet paper shifting around in my panties.
I grabbed my day planner and started flipping back through the pages to check the date of that lecture. The topic was Wicked Women, and it was exactly eight weeks before finals. A small cloud of wicked panic moved in overhead as I realized I might be pregnant.
I grabbed the phone book and dialed the number for Wal-Mart. The woman who answered told me they were open until ten o’clock every evening, which meant I had exactly twenty-five minutes to get there. Unlike my mother’s support, my menstrual cycle was always something I could count on, which is why I quickly abandoned my books that night and drove to the nearest, yet not-so-near-someone-might-see-me, super store. I convinced myself during the fifteen-minute ride that I was not pregnant. It had to be the stress of finals, the end-of-college anticipation, and starting my big girl job that was causing my ovaries to rebel. However, there was not a chance I would get through exam week without confirmation either way.
The Wal-Mart was just off State Road 52 and noticeably cleaner than the one back home. When I arrived ten minutes before closing, it was nearly empty, with the exception of a few weary people in the checkout lanes. I raced past them toward the sobering and well-lit Pharmacy aisles, and managed to find the pregnancy tests ironically right next to the contraceptives. It took me all of four minutes to grab one, pay for it, and make my way out of there with nary a judgmental glance from the sales clerk. I tossed the bag in the front passenger seat next to me, and sped home. My phone was ringing as I put the key in the door, but I ignored it and let the answering machine pick up. My instinct was to grab it, because I hadn’t heard from Ethan in three days, but I needed to stay focused on clearing my mind and getting back to my studies. The caller did not leave a message.
Once the bag was in my hands, I seized the box, dropped the receipt on the floor and began to read the instructions. Since I hadn’t paid any attention to what brand I snatched off the shelf, I needed to know exactly what type of signal would inform me that I wasn’t pregnant. It was a First Response test, and after unfolding the origami-like instruction booklet, I learned that my ultimate goal was to see one pink line upon completion. One pink line, one pink line, one pink line…
First: Remove the stick from the foil wrapper and remove the Overcap.
Easy enough.
Second: Hold the test stick by the Thumb-Grip with the Result Window facing away from you.
Done.
Third: Place the Absorbent Tip in your urine stream for exactly 5 seconds.
Damn.
I sat the test stick down on the edge of my pedestal sink and went to grab a Diet Coke and a No Doz. I drank half the can as fast as I could without inflicting brain freeze, and then waited. I wasn’t sure which waiting episode would be more stressful, waiting to pee or waiting for the results. My phone rang again, and again, but I continued to let the machine answer it. The third time it was Jenna, but I couldn’t take her call either. Instead, I threw a scrunchie in my hair, took the small white stick in my hand, and sat on the toilet with my sweat pants balled up around my ankles. The box said five seconds exactly, so I began to count as soon as I felt my bladder relax and release.
One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, five-one thousand.
Fourth: Replace the Overcap, and lay the stick on a flat surface with the Result Window facing up.
Mission complete.
Fifth: Wait three minutes before reading results.
Wait on the toilet? Wait in the kitchen? Where was step six explaining how to maintain composure and process said results?
Five seconds passed.
I stood, pulled my sweat pants up, rolled the top to keep them from slipping, and checked the stick. Nothing.
Common sense whispered to me, “Move away from the stick.”
Fifteen seconds passed.
A flash of warm nausea came and went, so I walked to the kitchen for some cold water. Two ice cubes that were fused together slipped out of my hands onto the floor, and I just stood and watched them begin their transformation into a small puddle. I had only one concern.
One minute down.
I walked back to the bathroom and sat on the floor opposite the sink with my toes pushed up against the white porcelain base. The air felt heavy and absent of oxygen. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly through my nose.
Two minutes passed.
By that point I’d convinced myself that looking at the stick prematurely would no doubt be misleading and uninformative. I pictured it like a slot machine, with various pink lines spinning around the tiny results window.
Two and a half minutes passed.
My lungs were contracting so I walked back to the kitchen, but sadly the air in there wasn’t any better, and my socks were wet. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. Three minutes had passed.
I don’t recall ever walking back into the bathroom…only sitting on the toilet staring at the stick on the edge of my sink. My shoulders slumped and heavy, keeping me from lifting my neck and properly viewing the window. I leaned forward, grabbed the stick tentatively like a shard of glass, and just as I brought it toward me, two bright pink lines appeared in the results window.
“Holy shit,” I said aloud.
I held the little test stick, which now seemed so technologically un-advanced, that I could hardly believe something so disposable was capable of delivering such life-altering information. But there they were, two gleaming, fuchsia lines, and neither one were remotely pale in color or incomplete. I placed it back on the sink and buried my head in my hands, because as if seeing those neon stripes staring back at me wasn’t bad enough, next came the realization of who the father was.
The slowest three minutes of my life were then followed by the passing of two hours in the blink of an eye. I sat on the floor, catatonic in front of my books until after midnight when I took my phone off the hook and went to bed.
Two Tylenol PM’s and a Bud Light were all it took to get me to sleep.
One Pink Line is available for purchase at:
Connect with Dina Silver:
Author Website: www.dinasilver.com
Author Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/One-Pink-Line/235260919862358
Author Twitter Page: https://twitter.com/#!/DinaSilver
definitely has it for the cover art !