Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Emily Giffin Book Giveaways (Autographed)


{ Today at my other blog, A Bookworm's Diary, read about Cartoon Furniture, Astronaut Ice cream, Stroller Wars, etc and of course, giveaways! }

Love the One You're With
Author: Emily Giffin
Hardcover: 352 pages
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Over the past four years, Emily Giffin has delivered three consecutive New York Times bestsellers - Something Borrowed, Something Blue, and Baby Proof. The secret of Emily’s success is simple—she writes novels that truly resonate with readers. At their core, these dramas reveal the complexities inherent in all intimate relationships—with our parents, siblings, friends and, of course, those with whom who we fall in love.

It takes a gifted writer to so engage readers that they not only understand, but also sympathize with her heroines: a Manhattan lawyer who sleeps with her best friend’s fiancé in Something Borrowed; the same spoiled and self-absorbed best friend who must confront her past and present in Something Blue; and a woman who loves her husband, but can’t seem to give him the child he so covets in Baby Proof.

Now in her highly anticipated new novel, Love the One You're With, readers meet a woman who seems to have it all, including a husband who adores her. But she begins to question her choices when she runs into the one who got away. Through this heartbreakingly honest story, Emily allows readers to explore the forbidden territory of what if….

Love the One You're With is being released on May 13th, that's today! Here's the first chapter for you to peruse. Giveaway details are below that.


Chapter 1

It happened exactly one hundred days after I married Andy, almost to the minute of our half-past-three-o’clock ceremony. I know this fact not so much because I was an overeager newlywed keen on observing trivial relationship landmarks, but because I have a mild case of OCD that compels me to keep track of things. Typically, I count insignificant things, like the steps from my apartment to the nearest subway (341 in comfortable shoes, a dozen more in heels); the comically high occurrence of the phrase “amazing connection” in any given episode of The Bachelor (always in the double digits); the guys I’ve kissed in my thirty-three years (nine). Or, as it was on that rainy, cold afternoon in January, the number of days I had been married before I saw him smack-dab in the middle of the crosswalk of Eleventh and Broadway.


From the outside, say if you were a cabdriver watching frantic jaywalkers scramble to cross the street in the final seconds before the light changed, it was only a mundane, urban snapshot: two seeming strangers, with little in common but their flimsy black umbrellas, passing in an intersection, making fleeting eye contact, and exchanging stiff but not unfriendly hellos before moving on their way.


But inside was a very different story. Inside, I was reeling, churning, breathless as I made it onto the safety of the curb and into a virtually empty diner near Union Square. Like seeing a ghost, I thought, one of those expressions I’ve heard a thousand times but never fully registered until that moment. I closed my umbrella and unzipped my coat, my heart still pounding. As I watched a waitress wipe down a table with hard, expert strokes, I wondered why I was so startled by the encounter when there was something that seemed utterly inevitable about the moment. Not in any grand, destined sense; just in the quiet, stubborn way that unfinished business has of imposing its will on the unwilling.


After what seemed like a long time, the waitress noticed me standing behind the Please Wait to Be Seated sign and said, “Oh. I didn’t see you there. Should’ve taken that sign down after the lunch crowd. Go ahead and sit anywhere.”


Her expression struck me as so oddly empathetic that I wondered if she were a moonlighting clairvoyant, and actually considered confiding in her. Instead, I slid into a red vinyl booth in the back corner of the restaurant and vowed never to speak of it. To share my feelings with a friend would constitute an act of disloyalty to my husband. To tell my older and very cynical sister, Suzanne, might unleash a storm of caustic remarks about marriage and monogamy. To write of it in my journal would elevate its importance, something I was determined not to do. And to tell Andy would be some combination of stupid, self-destructive, and hurtful. I was bothered by the lie of omission, a black mark on our fledging marriage, but decided it was for the best.


“What can I get you?” the waitress, whose name tag read Annie, asked me. She had curly red hair and a smattering of freckles, and I thought, The sun will come out tomorrow.


I only wanted a coffee, but as a former waitress, remembered how deflating it was when people only ordered a beverage, even in a lull between meals, so I asked for a coffee and a poppy seed bagel with cream cheese.


“Sure thing,” she said, giving me a pleasant nod.


I smiled and thanked her. Then, as she turned toward the kitchen, I exhaled and closed my eyes, focusing on one thing: how much I loved Andy. I loved everything about him, including the things that would have exasperated most girls. I found it endearing the way he had trouble remembering people’s names (he routinely called my former boss Fred, instead of Frank) or the lyrics to even the most iconic songs (“Billie Jean is not my mother”). And I only shook my head and smiled when he gave the same bum in Bryant Park a dollar a day for nearly a year—a bum who was likely a Range Rover–driving con artist. I loved Andy’s confidence and compassion. I loved his sunny personality that matched his boy-next-door, blond, blue-eyed good looks. I felt lucky to be with a man who, after six long years with me, still did the half-stand upon my return from the ladies’ room and drew sloppy, asymmetrical hearts in the condensation of our bathroom mirror. Andy loved me, and I’m not ashamed to say that this topped my reasons of why we were together, of why I loved him back.


“Did you want your bagel toasted?” Annie shouted from behind the counter.


“Sure,” I said, although I had no real preference.


I let my mind drift to the night of Andy’s proposal in Vail, how he had pretended to drop his wallet so that he could, in what clearly had been a much-rehearsed maneuver, retrieve it and appear on bended knee. I remember sipping champagne, my ring sparkling in the firelight, as I thought, This is it. This is the moment every girl dreams of. This is the moment I have been dreaming of and planning for and counting on.


Annie brought my coffee, and I wrapped my hands around the hot, heavy mug. I raised it to my lips, took a long sip, and thought of our year-long engagement—a year of parties and showers and whirlwind wedding plans. Talk of tulle and tuxedos, of waltzes and white chocolate cake. All leading up to that magical night. I thought of our misty-eyed vows. Our first dance to “What a Wonderful World.” The warm, witty toasts to us—speeches filled with clichés that were actually true in our case: perfect for each other . . . true love . . . meant to be.


I remembered our flight to Hawaii the following morning, how Andy and I had held hands in our first-class seats, laughing at all the small things that had gone awry on our big day: What part of “blend into the background” didn’t the videographer get? Could it have rained any harder on the way to the reception? Had we ever seen his brother, James, so wasted? I thought of our sunset honeymoon strolls, the candlelit dinners, and one particularly vivid morning that Andy and I had spent lounging on a secluded, half-moon beach called Lumahai on the north shore of Kauai. With soft white sand and dramatic lava rocks protruding from turquoise water, it was the most breathtaking piece of earth I had ever seen. At one point, as I was admiring the view, Andy rested his Stephen Ambrose book on our oversized beach towel, took both of my hands in his, and kissed me. I kissed him back, memorizing the moment. The sound of the waves crashing, the feel of the cool sea breeze on my face, the scent of lemons mixed with our coconut suntan lotion. When we separated, I told Andy that I had never been so happy. It was the truth.


But the best part came after the wedding, after the honeymoon, after our practical gifts were unpacked in our tiny apartment in Murray Hill—and the impractical, fancy ones were relegated to our downtown storage unit. It came as we settled into our husband-and-wife routine. Casual, easy, and real. It came every morning, as we sipped our coffee and talked as we got ready for work. It came when his name popped into my inbox every few hours. It came at night as we shuffled through our delivery menus, contemplating what to have for dinner and proclaiming that one day soon we’d actually use our stove. It came with every foot massage, every kiss, every time we undressed together in the dark. I trained my mind on these details. All the details that comprised our first one hundred days together.


Yet by the time Annie brought my coffee, I was back in that intersection, my heart thudding again. I suddenly knew that in spite of how happy I was to be spending my life with Andy, I wouldn’t soon forget that moment, that tightness in my throat as I saw his face again. Even though I desperately wanted to forget it. Especially because I wanted to.


I sheepishly glanced at my reflection in the mirrored wall beside my booth. I had no business worrying about my appearance, and even less business feeling triumphant upon the discovery that I was, against all odds on an afternoon of running errands in the rain, having an extraordinarily good hair day. I also had a rosy glow, but I told myself that it was only the cold that had flushed my cheeks. Nothing else.


And that’s when my cell phone rang and I heard his voice. A voice I hadn’t heard in eight years and sixteen days.


“Was that really you?” he asked me. His voice was even deeper than I remembered, but otherwise it was like stepping back in time. Like finishing a conversation only hours old.


“Yes,” I said.


“So,” he said. “You still have the same cell number.”


Then, after a considerable silence, one I stubbornly refused to fill, he added, “I guess some things don’t change.”


“Yes,” I said again.


Because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was sure right about that. Chapter 1


It happened exactly one hundred days after I married Andy, almost to the minute of our half-past-three-o’clock ceremony. I know this fact not so much because I was an overeager newlywed keen on observing trivial relationship landmarks, but because I have a mild case of OCD that compels me to keep track of things. Typically, I count insignificant things, like the steps from my apartment to the nearest subway (341 in comfortable shoes, a dozen more in heels); the comically high occurrence of the phrase “amazing connection” in any given episode of The Bachelor (always in the double digits); the guys I’ve kissed in my thirty-three years (nine). Or, as it was on that rainy, cold afternoon in January, the number of days I had been married before I saw him smack-dab in the middle of the crosswalk of Eleventh and Broadway.


From the outside, say if you were a cabdriver watching frantic jaywalkers scramble to cross the street in the final seconds before the light changed, it was only a mundane, urban snapshot: two seeming strangers, with little in common but their flimsy black umbrellas, passing in an intersection, making fleeting eye contact, and exchanging stiff but not unfriendly hellos before moving on their way.


But inside was a very different story. Inside, I was reeling, churning, breathless as I made it onto the safety of the curb and into a virtually empty diner near Union Square. Like seeing a ghost, I thought, one of those expressions I’ve heard a thousand times but never fully registered until that moment. I closed my umbrella and unzipped my coat, my heart still pounding. As I watched a waitress wipe down a table with hard, expert strokes, I wondered why I was so startled by the encounter when there was something that seemed utterly inevitable about the moment. Not in any grand, destined sense; just in the quiet, stubborn way that unfinished business has of imposing its will on the unwilling.


After what seemed like a long time, the waitress noticed me standing behind the Please Wait to Be Seated sign and said, “Oh. I didn’t see you there. Should’ve taken that sign down after the lunch crowd. Go ahead and sit anywhere.”


Her expression struck me as so oddly empathetic that I wondered if she were a moonlighting clairvoyant, and actually considered confiding in her. Instead, I slid into a red vinyl booth in the back corner of the restaurant and vowed never to speak of it. To share my feelings with a friend would constitute an act of disloyalty to my husband. To tell my older and very cynical sister, Suzanne, might unleash a storm of caustic remarks about marriage and monogamy. To write of it in my journal would elevate its importance, something I was determined not to do. And to tell Andy would be some combination of stupid, self-destructive, and hurtful. I was bothered by the lie of omission, a black mark on our fledging marriage, but decided it was for the best.


“What can I get you?” the waitress, whose name tag read Annie, asked me. She had curly red hair and a smattering of freckles, and I thought, The sun will come out tomorrow.


I only wanted a coffee, but as a former waitress, remembered how deflating it was when people only ordered a beverage, even in a lull between meals, so I asked for a coffee and a poppy seed bagel with cream cheese.


“Sure thing,” she said, giving me a pleasant nod.


I smiled and thanked her. Then, as she turned toward the kitchen, I exhaled and closed my eyes, focusing on one thing: how much I loved Andy. I loved everything about him, including the things that would have exasperated most girls. I found it endearing the way he had trouble remembering people’s names (he routinely called my former boss Fred, instead of Frank) or the lyrics to even the most iconic songs (“Billie Jean is not my mother”). And I only shook my head and smiled when he gave the same bum in Bryant Park a dollar a day for nearly a year—a bum who was likely a Range Rover–driving con artist. I loved Andy’s confidence and compassion. I loved his sunny personality that matched his boy-next-door, blond, blue-eyed good looks. I felt lucky to be with a man who, after six long years with me, still did the half-stand upon my return from the ladies’ room and drew sloppy, asymmetrical hearts in the condensation of our bathroom mirror. Andy loved me, and I’m not ashamed to say that this topped my reasons of why we were together, of why I loved him back.


“Did you want your bagel toasted?” Annie shouted from behind the counter.


“Sure,” I said, although I had no real preference.


I let my mind drift to the night of Andy’s proposal in Vail, how he had pretended to drop his wallet so that he could, in what clearly had been a much-rehearsed maneuver, retrieve it and appear on bended knee. I remember sipping champagne, my ring sparkling in the firelight, as I thought, This is it. This is the moment every girl dreams of. This is the moment I have been dreaming of and planning for and counting on.


Annie brought my coffee, and I wrapped my hands around the hot, heavy mug. I raised it to my lips, took a long sip, and thought of our year-long engagement—a year of parties and showers and whirlwind wedding plans. Talk of tulle and tuxedos, of waltzes and white chocolate cake. All leading up to that magical night. I thought of our misty-eyed vows. Our first dance to “What a Wonderful World.” The warm, witty toasts to us—speeches filled with clichés that were actually true in our case: perfect for each other . . . true love . . . meant to be.


I remembered our flight to Hawaii the following morning, how Andy and I had held hands in our first-class seats, laughing at all the small things that had gone awry on our big day: What part of “blend into the background” didn’t the videographer get? Could it have rained any harder on the way to the reception? Had we ever seen his brother, James, so wasted? I thought of our sunset honeymoon strolls, the candlelit dinners, and one particularly vivid morning that Andy and I had spent lounging on a secluded, half-moon beach called Lumahai on the north shore of Kauai. With soft white sand and dramatic lava rocks protruding from turquoise water, it was the most breathtaking piece of earth I had ever seen. At one point, as I was admiring the view, Andy rested his Stephen Ambrose book on our oversized beach towel, took both of my hands in his, and kissed me. I kissed him back, memorizing the moment. The sound of the waves crashing, the feel of the cool sea breeze on my face, the scent of lemons mixed with our coconut suntan lotion. When we separated, I told Andy that I had never been so happy. It was the truth.


But the best part came after the wedding, after the honeymoon, after our practical gifts were unpacked in our tiny apartment in Murray Hill—and the impractical, fancy ones were relegated to our downtown storage unit. It came as we settled into our husband-and-wife routine. Casual, easy, and real. It came every morning, as we sipped our coffee and talked as we got ready for work. It came when his name popped into my inbox every few hours. It came at night as we shuffled through our delivery menus, contemplating what to have for dinner and proclaiming that one day soon we’d actually use our stove. It came with every foot massage, every kiss, every time we undressed together in the dark. I trained my mind on these details. All the details that comprised our first one hundred days together.


Yet by the time Annie brought my coffee, I was back in that intersection, my heart thudding again. I suddenly knew that in spite of how happy I was to be spending my life with Andy, I wouldn’t soon forget that moment, that tightness in my throat as I saw his face again. Even though I desperately wanted to forget it. Especially because I wanted to.


I sheepishly glanced at my reflection in the mirrored wall beside my booth. I had no business worrying about my appearance, and even less business feeling triumphant upon the discovery that I was, against all odds on an afternoon of running errands in the rain, having an extraordinarily good hair day. I also had a rosy glow, but I told myself that it was only the cold that had flushed my cheeks. Nothing else.


And that’s when my cell phone rang and I heard his voice. A voice I hadn’t heard in eight years and sixteen days.


“Was that really you?” he asked me. His voice was even deeper than I remembered, but otherwise it was like stepping back in time. Like finishing a conversation only hours old.


“Yes,” I said.


“So,” he said. “You still have the same cell number.”


Then, after a considerable silence, one I stubbornly refused to fill, he added, “I guess some things don’t change.”


“Yes,” I said again.


Because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was sure right about that.

Giveaway Rules

Deadline to enter is 5 am, CST on 31 May, 2008.
There will be FOUR winners. Each winner will get one of Emily Giffin's books (out of the four published), signed!
Eligibility - Anyone 18 and older can enter. OPEN WORLDWIDE!!
One entry per family.

How to Enter

For those that run a site/blog:

1) Write about this giveaway and place my button on your blog's sidebar/site's main entry page with the most visible view. Leave a comment here with your email address and a direct link to your post. No email address = no entry.

Right Click To Copy and Save As and link it back to A Book Blogger's Diary or use the html coding provided :



A Book Blogger's Diary

2) If you haven't already, Subscribe to this blog's posts. This is optional. Step 1 is a must-do.

For non-bloggers or not a site owner:

1) **edited or rather, clarifying** Send one Email addressed to 3 of your friends (ONE TIME ONLY and no 3 separate emails) about this giveaway with a link back here and CC'd to winabook(at)gmail(dot)com – Subject: Giffin Book Giveaway. No spamming please.

AND

2) Send another email to winabook(at)gmail(dot)com - Subject: Answer Giffin. In the body of the email answer the following easy question. I've reviewed many books at A Bookworm Reads. Which of those books have you read or would like to read and why?

You must do both Step 1 and 2.

Good Luck!

If you have any questions about the Rules, please ask them in the chat box located on the sidebar.

* Also, previous winners are not eligible.

Don't want to wait to read this book? Buy it from Amazon and help support this blog.


Treat me to a Starbucks, so I can stay up late blogging my heart out!



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24 comments :

  1. I love Emily Griffin's books. Here's a link to my post:

    http://bookingmama.blogspot.com/2008/05/love-one-youre-with-giveway.html

    bookingmama(at)comcast(dot)net

    ReplyDelete
  2. I've posted your button on my sidebar and blogged about it HERE.
    Thanks!

    bunnybox9 at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hope it's OK that my blog doesn't get many visitors... Maybe this'll help change that. :)

    http://foryournose.blogspot.com/

    aromagik@yahoo.com

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oops, meant to check that little box to get emails of follow-up comments...

    ReplyDelete
  5. I've blogged/posted your contest at my blog, The Things We Read.
    http://thethingsweread.blogspot.com/
    I dont think I added this right as a direct link.

    My email address is thethingsweread@gmail.com

    ReplyDelete
  6. I love this author very much...it would be a treat to get a signed copy of her book!

    I blogged about it here: or link http://www.mommysfunbooks.com/2008/05/emilly-giffins-giveaway.html

    e-mail:midasfive at gmaildotcom

    ReplyDelete
  7. I'd really love to read this book. :)
    http://welcometothemotherhood.blogspot.com/2008/05/win-copy-of-love-one-youre-with.html
    I also posted your button on the sidebar on the left column.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Hey,
    I forgot to post my email addy. Sorry! :)

    LilacButterfly [at] earthlink.net

    ReplyDelete
  9. Thank you, Julie, Bunny,Bree, Midas and Lesha, for blogging my giveaway.

    aromagik - it's quite ok. We all have to begin somewhere, right? When I started this blog, I was lucky if I had 1 visitor in a week. Not to brag, but it's considerably more now. You just have to slog away at your blog :) Just one thing though. Although you may think about adding a few words to your post saying something about the giveaway besides just posting the button. Helps to have a little content and context.

    ReplyDelete
  10. hi!

    sorry i don't have a blog as i am not too tech savvy and i have trouble with the rules!! lol

    i did send to several friends so they could enter too.

    sorry, i've never read emily's books before and i hope i get the chance to win one..... good luck everyone!

    linda_bass@sbcglobal.net

    ReplyDelete
  11. This sweepstakes has been featured on Sweepstakes Advantage, http://www.sweepsadvantage.com. The Web's Largest Directory of Free Online Sweepstakes. Good Luck to Everyone!

    ReplyDelete
  12. Hi Book Blogger!!

    I have posted your contest on my blog site: http://carolbee.info/?p=12

    and I have to say that your button looks great on my sidebar! :D

    Carol (at) CarolBEE.com

    ReplyDelete
  13. I'm a subscriber at my new email address!

    Carol (at) CarolBEE.com

    ReplyDelete
  14. Please enter me, i have the sidebar button and a post at my site
    not sure how to do an link but will try
    link here
    ausjenny (at) gmail (dot) com

    ReplyDelete
  15. I would love to win a copy. Great site! I posted about you on my site http://www.bookroomreviews.wordpress.com
    my e-mail is mets86@hotmail.com

    ReplyDelete
  16. I had some trouble posting but if you already checked please check again I finally got it whew:) tracy e-mail mets86@hotmail.com I am having a pay it forward book giveaway also.

    ReplyDelete
  17. These sound like great books I d love to try them out!
    Blogged you and added your button here:

    http://daniellesquest.blogspot.com/2008/05/everyday-book-giveaways.html

    dansan826 at yahoo.com

    ReplyDelete
  18. I blogged this giveaway on A Contest Blog at http://acontestblog.com/index.php/2008/a-book-bloggers-diary-emily-griffin-book-giveaway/
    Good luck!

    ReplyDelete
  19. I blogged here:

    http://dinasthoughtblog.blogspot.com/

    Thanks,
    Dina

    dlsmilad(at)yahoo(dot)com

    ReplyDelete
  20. Hi, I blogged here:

    http://dinasthoughtblog.blogspot.com/

    Thanks,
    Dina

    dlsmilad(at)yahoo(dot)com

    ReplyDelete
  21. Hi, here's a link to my post:

    http://alessandrasplace.blogspot.com/2008/05/emily-giffin-book-giveaways.html

    MY e-mail address:

    outofblue1 at gmail dot com

    I would love to get a copy!

    ReplyDelete
  22. Oh thank the Universe I found this in time!

    52faces(at)gmail(dot)com

    http://52faces.blogspot.com/2008/05/chick-lit-giveaway.html

    http://52faces.blogspot.com/

    ReplyDelete
  23. Here is the link to my post:
    http://bookwormsballroom.blogspot.com/2008/05/giveaway-emily-giffin-books-at-book.html
    You are also on my sidebar.

    My email is:
    sassylucylootoo at yahoo.com

    I think I would love these books as I have never read them.

    ReplyDelete