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About the author:
Sex, Life, & Hannah is Dorota’s juicy woman-on-top book series chronicling the exploits of Hannah, a female professional trying desperately to make sense of the L.A. single life. Through broken hearts, broken dreams, and nearly-broken bed frames (yes–there is a lot of sex), Hannah grapples with the modern late-twenty-something’s conundrum: Does the fairytale life exist, and is it worth having?
What inspired you to write your book?
I watched a couple of seasons of Sex and The City and then I read the book, and was blown away at how candidly the women were talking about sex. They weren’t just sex objects, or experiencing sex in some naïve way. They were going through real emotions and discussing sex and relationships on a both a physical and philosophical level. That’s how me and my friends discussed sex and relationships. That’s how I wanted to write.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Ireland and I are shopping for another pair of shoes (it’s a chick thing—not a bad habit). My morning ice cream buzz is wearing off and I am starting to feel anxious. I haven’t confronted Ireland about her visit with Jack yet, and I’m confused about why I’m feeling territorial over the whole thing anyway. And I’m really starting to worry that this break-up really is the last. He has never denied me sex!
Suddenly I’m freaking out over everything that’s happening around me: The break-up and whether or not it could have been avoided had I been drinking a hot drink versus a cold drink, or had I intentionally spilled it all over his crotch instead of the floor. The possibility that two of my best friends could be starting some torrid affair that could lead to them getting married, running away to some tropical island, and procreating until their family represents half the population, leaving me to grow old alone, bitter, and decrepit, fighting for enough space on the sidewalk to fit my walker.
I’m having a severe moment of weakness and want to call The Ex to work things out.
Ireland takes a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you ate shit this morning.”
I put down the pair of white heels I’m considering. “I feel nauseous.”
I walk out of the store.
Ireland follows me out and lights a cigarette. “Over the price, or the relationship?”
I give Ireland a what-the-fuck-do-you-think look. “I need a cigarette.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“Neither do you.” I grab her pack of cigarettes.