A love story for the technological age, GOODNIGHT TWEETHEART
by Teresa Medeiros tells the tale of Abby and Mark. Abby is
a novelist suffering through a major case of writer's block
and Mark is a teacher on sabbatical that is traveling
the world. One unexpected night their paths cross on
Twitter, a social network website that only lets you
communicate 140 characters at a time.
Almost instantly a connection is formed between the pair and
their relationship moves from random encounters to
pre-arranged tweet-dates. Both are fluent in pop culture and
wit and seem like an ideal match, so their relationship
flourishes within the confines of the website.
But things aren't always what they seem, as Abby is about to
find out, and soon they are both going to have to decide how
much they're willing to give to one another and just how far
they're willing to go.
With GOODNIGHT TWEETHEART, Teresa Medeiros has offered up a
very clever love story that speaks loudly and clearly to the
fast paced digital age we're living in. At first I had my
doubts that the tweet style of writing would be able to
capture my attention, but it did. However, I still wonder
about the long term relevance of the novel, considering that
in a few years twitter could very well be a thing of the
past. That said, GOODNIGHT TWEETHEART
is a touching story about the intense and unexplainable bond
that two people can form without ever having seen each
other's faces.
New York Times bestselling author Teresa Medeiros absolutely
dazzles in this quick-witted, laugh-out-loud funny, and
highly moving love story that will set readers’ hearts atwitter.
Abigail Donovan has a lot of stuff she should be doing.
Namely writing her next novel. A bestselling author who is
still recovering from a near Pulitzer Prize win and the
heady success that follows Oprah’s stamp of approval, she is
stuck at Chapter Five and losing confidence daily. But when
her publicist signs her up for a Twitter account, she’s
intrigued. What’s all the fuss?
Taken under the wing of one of her Twitter followers,
“MarkBaynard"—a quick witted, quick-typing professor on
sabbatical—Abby finds it easy to put words out into the
world 140 characters at a time. And once she gets a handle
on tweets, retweets, direct messages, hashtags, and trends,
she starts to feel unblocked in writing and in life. After
all, why should she be spending hours in her apartment
staring at her TweetDeck and fretting about her stalled
career when Mark is out there traveling the world and living?
Or is he?
Told almost entirely in tweets and DMs, Goodnight Tweetheart
is a truly modern take on a classic tale of love and loss—a
Griffin and Sabine for the Twitter generation.
Excerpt
In this scene from Goodnight Tweetheart, former literary
sensation Abby Donovan is reluctantly trying Twitter for the
very first time after an extremely bad day spent reading to
toddlers at a local bookstore. She's about to meet Mark
Baynard, a man who uses both humor and imagination to hide a
secret that could change both of their lives forever.
According to the page that popped up, Abby was now
Abby_Donovan and she already had seventeen Followers. Having
"Followers" made her feel like some sort of kooky religious
cult leader. An empty box invited her to answer one simple
question—"What's happening?"
Her fingers hovered over the keys, torn between typing,
"None of your business" and "I'm sipping Cristal on the
beach at St. Tropez with Brad Pitt."
Sighing, she finally settled on the truth: "I'm feeling
sorry for myself." She hit the Update button and waited.
Nothing. Apparently users of Twitter had better things to do
with their time than attend her little pity party.
She drummed her fingers on the MacBook's touchpad for a
minute, then typed, "Hallooo…? Is anybody out there?"
She refreshed her screen two times in quick succession.
Still nothing. She decided to try one more time before
retreating to the steamy oblivion of the shower. A message
popped up on the screen, rewarding her persistence: "R U a
virgin?"
Taken aback, Abby studied the cheery little profile pic of a
plump bluebird that appeared to belong to one MarkBaynard
for a long moment before cautiously typing, "That depends.
Are you auditioning for TO CATCH A PREDATOR?" and hitting
the Update button.
MarkBaynard's response was immediate: "Glad to see you have
such high-brow taste in entertainment."
A reluctant grin curved her lips as she typed, "What can I
say? ROCK OF LOVE: TOUR BUS can't be on every night."
"Yeah & who hasn't dreamed of marching up to some pedophile
& saying 'My name is Chris Hansen from DATELINE NBC & your
sorry ass is toast'?"
"Ha!" Abby typed, hitting the exclamation mark with a
triumphant flourish. "So you HAVE watched it!"
"Only when PBS is having a pledge drive. But I digress—R U a
Twitter virgin?"
"This is my first time," Abby confessed. "But you're not
being very gentle with me."
She was growing increasingly comfortable with the rhythm of
their exchange on the screen. It was like being in a tennis
match with their words as the ball. Before she could draw
back her racket, he lobbed another volley across the internet:
MarkBaynard: What can I say? I like it rough. So how did you
end up here? Attention span too short for Facebook?
Abby_Donovan: I didn't like the answers to those silly
Facebook quizzes. They kept telling me I was the love child
of Marge Simpson & Marilyn Manson.
MarkBaynard: Maybe you're just secretly one of those people
who would rather have Followers than Friends.
Abby_Donovan: Yes, it's part of my diabolical plot to
achieve world domination.
MarkBaynard: If you start hanging out over here, won't your
Facebook friends miss you?
Abby_Donovan: Those people weren't my friends. If they had
been, they wouldn't have sent me all those annoying quizzes.
MarkBaynard: A true friend never asks you to feed their
imaginary fish. Or fertilize their imaginary crops.
Abby_Donovan: Or take home their imaginary kittens. So how
is Twitter different?
MarkBaynard: Twitter is the perpetual cocktail party where
everyone is talking at once but nobody is saying anything.
Abby_Donovan: Then why are YOU here?
MarkBaynard: Because no one will invite me to their cocktail
parties.
Abby_Donovan: I can't imagine that. Not with your warmth and
charm.
MarkBaynard: Well, if you must know, I was considering a
career as a DEmotivational speaker.
Abby_Donovan: And just how would that work?
MarkBaynard: You get a fabulous, innovative new idea then
pay me to come to your house and explain why it'll never work.
Abby_Donovan: How do I know you're not a serial killer or
some lonely 14-year-old living in your mom's basement?
MarkBaynard: For all you know, I'm a lonely 14-year-old
serial killer living in my mom's basement.
Abby_Donovan: With your girlfriend's head in the refrigerator?
MarkBaynard: That would be my EX-girlfriend, thank you very
much. I tried to tell her I didn't care for cream in my
coffee. Or wire hangers.
Abby_Donovan: Is that your mom I hear knocking on the
basement door?
MarkBaynard: No, it's the police. Did you just call 911?
Abby_Donovan: C'mon…who are you really? Are you hiding a
secret identity? Are you Batman? Ashton Kutcher?
MarkBaynard: Would you believe I'm just a lowly college
professor on sabbatical?
Abby_Donovan: Let me guess. You've taken a year off from
teaching English Lit to travel the world and write the Great
American Novel.
MarkBaynard: If you must know, I've taken a year off from
teaching English Lit to travel the world and write the
Mediocre American Novel.
Abby_Donovan: Oops. My bad. I'm Abigail Donovan, the author.
But you can feel free to pretend you've never heard of me if
you like.
MarkBaynard: Um…that shouldn't be too hard…since
I've…um…never heard of you.
Abby_Donovan: Oh. Reading limited to SPORTS ILLUSTRATED
SWIMSUIT EDITION?
MarkBaynard: And the special double Christmas issue of JUGS.
Abby_Donovan: I'm not quite sure how all this works yet. I
just assumed you were one of my Followers.
MarkBaynard: I am now. Your name popped up when I just
happened to be trolling Twitter looking for new vic—um…friends.
Abby_Donovan: Now that we've successfully humiliated each
other, maybe we should start over.
MarkBaynard: Why not? So what are you wearing?
Abby_Donovan: A bunny suit.
MarkBaynard: Playboy?
Abby_Donovan: Biff.
MarkBaynard: Ah, does this mean you'll be expecting Felicity
the Fawn and Henrietta Hedgehog for tea this afternoon?
Abby_Donovan: Oh my gosh! Do you mean to say you've actually
heard of that wascally wabbit???!!!
MarkBaynard: Hasn't everyone? After all, he inhabits the
exalted toddler stratosphere formerly occupied only by
Barney the Dinosaur and Tinky Winky.
Abby_Donovan: At least Tinky Winky had an inkling of fashion
sense. Biff wears an apron and no pants.
MarkBaynard: Who are you kidding? Tinky Winky's purse looked
like something Queen Elizabeth would carry.
Abby_Donovan: Don’t you want to know why I'm dressed like
Biff the Bunny and smell like pee?
MarkBaynard: I was just assuming there was a strict "Don't
ask, don't tell" policy.
Abby_Donovan: You're right. There are some things I should
only share with my therapist. So what are YOU wearing?
MarkBaynard: The trenchcoat and fedora Bogie had on when he
said goodbye to Ingrid Bergman on the tarmac in the last
scene of CASABLANCA.
Abby_Donovan: Sigh…we'll always have Twitter.
MarkBaynard: I'm afraid not. I have to go now.
Abby_Donovan: Oh. Well, tell your mom I said Hi. Or your
parole officer.
MarkBaynard: If you'll log on tomorrow around 3 PM, I'll
teach you a few Twitter survival tricks.
Abby_Donovan: What makes you think I have nothing better to
do with my time than take Twitter 101 lessons from a serial
killer?
MarkBaynard: The fact that you're wearing a Biff the Bunny
costume and you smell like pee?
Abby_Donovan: Point taken.
MarkBaynard: You can click on my Profile and hit the FOLLOW
button if you want to Follow me.
Abby_Donovan: And just why would I want to Follow you?
MarkBaynard: Because I make really tasty Kool-Aid?
AbbyDonovan: So if I do Follow you, does that mean we're
going steady?
MarkBaynard: It's more like a quickie in the back of a cab
where we trade fake phone numbers afterward.
Abby_Donovan: That would be the longest (and most
meaningful) relationship I've had in quite awhile.
Abby refreshed the screen four times but there was still no
reply. She was wondering if her last post had made her sound
too pathetic when the words "Me too" appeared on the screen.
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