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Zusatztext "A funny! sharp! insightful book! with bittersweet moments amongst hilarity! which made me want to pull on a pair of cowboy boots and head South!"- Sophie Kinsella! author of Confessions of a Shopaholic "Imagine Flannery O'Connor and John Irving swapping tales after a few stout bourbons! and you've got this splendid! entertaining book."- Martin Clark! author of The many Aspects of Mobile Home Living "A lively! irreverent twist on the ingénue-in-the-city genre—pure fun."- Lucinda Rosenfeld! author of What She Saw... Informationen zum Autor Kyle Spencer lives in New York City with her Northern fiancé. She is still an avid fan of country music and returns to North Carolina regularly. Klappentext Where does a single! twentysomething girl go for adventure when she's been raised among Manhattan artists! drag queens! and intellectuals threatening to move to Cuba? If that girl is Kyle York Spencer! an aspiring newspaper reporter! she heads south! to North Carolina! to cut her chops at the Raleigh News & Observer. Setting up shop in the Tar Heel state! Spencer finds herself interviewing everyone from skeet-shooting cowboys and Christian Rockers to the Human Carver--a serial killer--and the Smallest Woman in the World. Embraced by a sassy group of husband-hunting southern belles! she wonders whether sleeping with a Jesse Helms supporter is really part of the grand plan or if Mark! her best friend whose calls from LA provide a lifeline! is really the one. Picking up some valuable wisdom along the way! she learns that finding Mr. Right is far less important than surrounding yourself with the right people-and that making a home ultimately involves more than just deciding where to live. Leseprobe From Chapter 1: Who doesn't know what I'm talking about Who's never left home, who's never struck out To find a dream and a life of their own A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone? --DIXIE CHICKS I'll have you know that I don't usually drink in semiprofessional situations. But seeing as this pig pickin' is being held in my honor, and a handsome man in a seersucker suit is eyeing me intently as he pours me a tasty mint julep from an icy pitcher, I've decided to leave my newspaper ethics at home. I notice how pleasing his muscles look in his suit. And I'm sure he notices how stunning I look in my buttercup brown cowboy boots and my powder pink hat—the size of a Frisbee—which hangs over my head in a slightly funky, slightly elegant way. I'm feeling rather relaxed as I gaze up from my cushioned lawn chair at this giant Italianate mansion in front of me. Green sheets of Japanese kudzu are dripping down the walls by the columned front steps, and two hundred purple rhododendrons line the brick walkway. I'm nibbling delicately on a heaping plate of food: crackling, crisp pieces of pig, baked beans dripping with molasses, and pieces of fried okra that are soft in the middle and crunchy on the outside. Meanwhile, all around me on the lawn, violas and snapdragons reach up out of the earth, and the fragrance of the hickory wood coals from the pig pit mixes with the minty smell of late afternoon. The scents wrap around me like a summer shawl, and a few feet away from me my new editor is telling everyone I'm the most exciting thing that has arrived in North Carolina since General Sherman. Fortunately, I've been too busy to pay attention to this cornucopia of compliments—which I find rather embarrassing, considering that I'm really quite new at this. For a while, I was playing putt-putt with Michael Jordan—on the tarmac by the garage. He flew in last night to welcome me to his hometown state. Then I was chatting with the North Carolina Young Heifer Star of the Year. A few minutes ago, she ceremoniously threw off her jean jacket and tossed it my way—in case I go...
