Without Benefits cover revealed!

A little less than three months from now, Without Benefits will be showing up on doorsteps and in e-readers! But today we get a first look at the amazing cover, designed by Ashley at Cardboard Monet! Ashley even did a special photoshoot just for this cover. So check out the cover and make sure you scroll down to the giveaway below! 

Here's a bit about the book:

Emma will always be a New Yorker at heart, even though she has a perfect life in Seattle. She has a prestigious job fundraising for the Seattle Symphony, a handsome boyfriend who adores her, and a Belltown apartment with views of the Sound. It should be more than enough to keep her pain from not playing the piano, and her 9/11 nightmares, away.

But when her old college crush, Owen, comes back into her life, it’s more than just spending time with him that’s causing cracks in her picture-perfect life. As she steps back on stage, and back into the spotlight, her connection with Owen and his world, dredges up old memories that Emma worked hard to forget.

Emma’s past comes back to haunt her, forcing her to face the truth about more than just her fears of returning back to New York. As her once perfect life begins to burn down, Emma is forced to figure out what she really wants: her fundraiser and cocktail party-filled life with her boyfriend, or forging a new future with the one thing, and one person, she’s ever loved–even if it means returning to New York.

Without Benefits is a beautiful and moving exploration of modern relationships and family written in the vein of Taylor Jenkins Reid and Renee Carlino.

So here it is... 

The moment we've been waiting for...

          

Isn't it gorgeous? Pre-order your copy today!

As part of the cover reveal release Check out this link for your chance to win a signed & annotated copy of Without Benefits, a free reader’s report for your manuscript, or a fun pamper package!

About the author:

          
          Nicole Tone is a freelance editor, MFA student, traveller, pet collector, binge-watcher, and a self-
          proclaimed coffee snob. She lives in Buffalo, NY with her husband, three cats, and two very large dogs,
          but spends as much of her time in Seattle as possible. You can like her page on Facebook, @ her on
          Twitter, swoon over dream houses together on Pinterest, and add Without Benefits on Goodreads.

 

Velma, Robert, Norine, and Willy

I finally finished all of my unpacking today. I hung up the last few pictures on my wall, my grandparents. It's been a few years since I lost my last grandparent, and it was bittersweet to see their faces smiling up at me. I have to sit and wonder what they would think of how my life has been and where I am now. Would they be proud? Would they laugh with me? Would my past make their heart ache the way mine does sometimes?

I see so much of their influence on the person that I've become. I find myself listening to swing and jazz, dancing and humming a tune as I open my mail, just as one grandma used to. Every winter I take up knitting and crocheting as it reminds me of her. I think of my other grandma every time I bake. She's the one who taught me all of the family recipes. My grandpa's laugh lives in every corny joke I tell, and my other grandpa's tongue in all of my smart-ass sarcasm.

My grandparents helped to raise me. I don't mean that in the sense that my parents weren't around, quite the contrary. We happened to be able to expand on a house when I was around four years old to make it big enough to fit all four of us kids and one set of grandparents. I loved growing up with my grandparents. I thank them every day that I am the old soul that I am. I thank them for the values and common sense that they taught me. I thank them for helping me to appreciate all of the goodness and life around me. They were always the most grateful people, and that rubs off more than anything.

It's sad that they aren't around to sit and have pinochle games like we used to. I have so much that I'd like to talk about with them now, so many things I wish I had known to say when they'd left. I always remember them when the holidays draw near because of how much bigger those four people made my family feel. Their lives were by no means easy, but they made them beautiful, wonderful things by the end. It makes my heart happy that they can be part of my home again now.

Psychic Readings and Green Eggs and Ham

Today was a fantastic, self-assessing, wonderful, anxious, panic-stricken day.

Today was the local Psychic Fair.

I have never been to a Psychic Fair before; I've never even seen a Psychic. My friends and I will read each other's Tarot cards here and there, but that, until today, has been the extent of it. There is something soothing in reading Tarot and seeing the things you already know you have to do laid out before you. It's affirming in a way that's almost like someone else is telling you that you're doing great at this thing called life -- and that someone else is the cosmos and life itself. Some people may balk at this, but I find a certain comfort in it. Which is why I was so excited to have my first psychic reading today.

I started the day off excited in anticipation, which rather quickly turned to anxiety toward the amount of lines we had to stand in just to get everything scheduled properly, the amount of time spent in said lines, and the close proximity to aggravated people also in said lines. Once we were scheduled (for three hours later) and out of the standing masses, there were a lot of awesome vendors to go and see. Being able to move helped curb the terrifying amounts of anxiety and panic building up inside of me, but left me in a slightly manic edge.

It wasn't until after we had left the fair and come back two hours later that I began to calm down slightly. The crowds had dissipated and no one was in a hurry. This was more my pace. One vendor was even incredibly kind and offered my friend and I some cupcakes she'd just bought. Our time slot came up, and to the psychic we went, and holy crow was I not expecting what came next.

It wasn't some flouncy, over-dramatic, guessing-vague-items presentation that I half-expected. I literally gave this woman zero information and she told me exactly what was happening in my life and how I need to approach it, and the most amazing part -- that it's okay to focus on me.

I always say I'm going to focus on myself, and to trick myself into thinking I am I do one little thing and call that focusing on me. I never actually look into the care I take of myself. I don't make sure I'm getting 7 hours of sleep each night. I don't make sure I'm eating healthy every day. I don't make time for all of the things that I love doing. I make time for things that have to be done, that are required of me, and that other people want of me. To have this woman I have never met look at the cards and look at me and tell me my cup is empty and even though I want to give, I need to be giving to myself, blew me away.

I've always taken care of other people. It helps me compartmentalize and distract myself from the emotions I can't handle. Whenever I have mood shifts and all of the other joys that come with bipolar, I feel like I'm out of control, so I reach to the one thing I always have control over -- taking care of other people. I know this doesn't sound like a horrible plight, and I actually do enjoy it, but when I stop taking care of myself it only makes my problems worse. When I stop taking care of myself it becomes unhealthy.

It's a lot to take in, being told that it's okay to put yourself first and care for yourself. So, to whoever is reading this, you may not actually know me or attribute any weight to what I say, but I want you to know that it's okay for you too. Go take long walks by the river, wander the streets at night, paint a mural on your bedroom wall, create blueprints for a machine that records dreams so you can always remember them, write a song, hop on a pogo stick, and read Green Eggs and Ham. Do what makes you happy. Always make time for that.

You are important.

Don't ever forget it.

I'm not happy...

It's been some time since I've written, and dear me the changes that abound. I've officially taken steps into the adult world and found, dare I say it, my career. I have finally begun a job that I want to do for the rest of my days. It's funny to say, but even though I'm in a low swing and depressed and at most times close to tears, this is the happiest I have ever been in my life. No, the most content.

Being content is an interesting concept. We usually always talk of being happy, being frustrated, depressed, dissatisfied--but we never usually mention content. My life has seen an intense upheaval with many pitfalls of trial and error over the past six years. It has constantly changed and evolved and I have become someone I never knew would be possible. I never thought I would pine so much for the comfort of being content. The comfort of being still.

And here I am six years later with an eclectic little apartment that appropriately reflects my own eccentricities, with bills that I can afford to pay, a car I can rely on, pets that are well fed and taken care of, a partner who supports my every endeavor, two jobs instead of six--both in the literary field that I love, and over a 3.0 GPA. I have all of this and an amazing counselor to help me finally address my bipolar disorder, OCD, and psychosis. I am constantly pinching myself to make sure this is real.

My mood might be stuck on depressed at the moment, but I am a different level of happy; I am content.

Rain, Rain

That beautiful sound of rain as it first begins to spatter down from the sky. It makes my soul happy. A wry smile begins to curl from my lips as I hear the first low murmured rumbling of a thunderstorm on its way. Book in hand, blanket on my lap, and a mug of chamomile tea close by. This is my heaven.

I can feel it coming in the weakness in my ankle. The only weakness I don't mind at all as it signals one of my favorite comings. In my mind I conjure the feeling of the warm, sticky pavement beneath my feet as I smell the acid of wet earth. Rain itself is an oxymoron--warm and cold combining together to create something so cleansing and beautiful.

I smile as I realize I have forgotten to shut the kitchen window.

Oh my soul

Her shoulders are hunched and defeated now.

Her eyes glazed and glossed from

years of staring straight ahead.

Eyes that are, for the first time, turned downward.

They stare at her tattered apron and

secondhand shoes,

but see nothing.

Her mind is far away, yet so near

A single sound could snap it to focus.

She is tired.

She aches for rest.

She has demanded it.

And so, here she is.

Her silhouette frail against the 

Northern wind

She stands along the bank of the river

and remembers being young and careless

And wades in.

High-Functioning

An important point was brought up to me today that gave me the most incredible “Ah-ha!” moment. I began reading Esme Weijun Wang’s blog on the recommendation of a friend. I was immediately drawn to her post on psychological disorders and being high-functioning. Esme has been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, but is a high functioning schizophrenic.  Usually when you are diagnosed with a mental illness such as this, or my own bipolar disorder, it is suggested that you work in low-level jobs to make it easier to collect yourself, aka fast food type environments. In her article, Esme talks about how she can’t work at McDonald’s, but she can run a business.

            There are so many different levels of mental illness, and this article really made me think of how we need to treat each individual as just that. If you meet five people on the street who all have the same college degree, will you immediately think all of them will act exactly the same and end up in the same exact career? Of course not. So why assume that those with mental disorders, despite some being low functioning, some being high functioning, and some unable to function at all, will all have the same limitations?

            I am stuck inside of my brain every single day. It can be the hardest challenge to even get out of bed some days, but when I have a job that challenges me and holds me accountable and demands that I put this brain that won’t shut off to good use—I can function. I can contribute something to society. Currently I’m working five different jobs and I’m going back to school. I am a teacher, a tutor, a writer, and an entrepreneur.  I’m also a sales associate at a retail store. My job in retail causes panic and anxiety attacks before every call in and every shift. Once I am there, it is busy enough to distract me from myself, but my symptoms are still going on to the point that I end up sick by the end of the night. This low-level job that is supposed to be simple, easy-on-the-brain income has become my main source of triggers and anxiety.
           This is my second attempt at a retail position in the past two years, and I had originally thought it was a break down in my mental state that was holding me back, as years ago I loved working retail. Since then I have found ways to cope with my inner self and a couple of medications that help significantly, so I decided to give retail another shot. It disappointed me that I was having the same reactions that I had when I was without medication, and I felt as thought something was wrong with me until I read this article. It made me realize that not everyone is fit for the same things, and though most people use fast food or retail as an entrance to the work force, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me when I can’t handle the environment.  To quote Esme’s article and Andrew Solomon’s book Far from the Tree, “Intermittently, I have little things trigger here and there, but they only last a day or two… Some people get stressed and their back goes out. I get stressed and my mind goes out. But then it comes back.”