Little Miss Severance sat with her hands as cold as ice. The stage of her coming adventure was beautifully set—the conventional stage for the adventure of a young girl, her mother's drawing-room. Her mother had the art of setting stages. The room was not large,—a New York brownstone front in the upper Sixties even though altered as to entrance, and allowed to sprawl backward over yards not originally intended for its use, is not a palace,—but it was a room and not a corridor; you had the comfortable sense of four walls about you when its one small door was once shut. It was filled, perhaps a little too much filled, with objects which seemed to have nothing in common except beauty; but propinquity, propinquity of older date than the house in which they now were, had given them harmony. Nothing in the room was modern except some uncommonly comfortable sofas and chairs, and the pink and yellow roses that stood about in Chinese bowls. Miss Severance herself was hardly aware of the charm of the room. On the third floor she had her own room, which she liked much better. There was a great deal of bright chintz in it, and maple furniture of a late colonial date, inherited from her mother's family, the Lanleys, and discarded by her mother, who described the taste of that time as "pure, but provincial." Crystal and ivories and carved wood and Italian embroideries did not please Miss Severance half so well as the austere lines of those work-tables and high-boys. It was after five, almost half-past, and he had said "about five." Miss Severance, impatient to begin the delicious experience of anticipation, had allowed herself to be ready at a quarter before the hour. Not that she had been entirely without some form of anticipation since she woke up; not, perhaps, since she had parted from him under the windy awning the night before. They had held up a long line of restless motors as she stood huddled in her fur-trimmed cloak, and he stamped and jigged to keep warm, bareheaded, in his thin pumps and shining shirt-front, with his shoulders drawn up and his hands in his pockets, while they almost awkwardly arranged this meeting for the next day.

“I had a lot of bad dates. But I wrote a lot of good poems.” So maintains Anita Liberty, the caustically funny New York City performance artist who was going along happily healing her hurt by hating and humiliating her detestable ex-boyfriend on stage and in print until the unthinkable happened: she had a good date. And one good date deserves another. And another. And another. And, all of the sudden, Anita Liberty finds herself in a predicament. Getting dumped launched Anita’s career–Will falling in love finish it? Who’s more important: her devoted audience or her newly devoted boyfriend? And on top of everything, Hollywood won’t stop calling and Anita can’t figure out if It wants a serious commitment or just a little bit of no-strings-attached fun. From digging mercilessly into the minutiae of her new relationship to dramatically torching every professional bridge she crosses in L.A., Anita refuses to let a big load of bliss get dumped right in the middle of her career path. “He said that my work was amazing and hilarious and smart and that he can’t wait to see me perform. So I had sex with him.” “My boyfriend asked me to change my look. To something other than contemptuous.” {BARGAIN} Whatever Hollywood ends up paying me for the rights to the story of my life. “It’s easier to go back to fantasizing about perfection . . . than to accept that perfection is just a fantasy.” “Boyfriend thinks I’d rather be right than happy. Boyfriend’s right. But I’m not telling him that.” Through blog entries, film scenes, poems, and to-do lists, Anita Liberty documents the perils and pitfalls of dating, sex, relationships, artistic success, and the kind of true love that sucks the creative life out of you to the point where you just end up staring at a blank computer screen and thinking gooey thoughts about your new boyfriend even though you should be writing.

What's the secret to a life of happiness? "In this delightful book brimming with humorous and poignant passages, radio personality Hugh Hewitt provides the answer. The starting place is generosity, he says, and there are seven gifts that are sure to improve the lives of both giver and receiver: encouragement, energy, enthusiasm, good humor, graciousness, gratitude, and patience. Anyone can give these gifts, but Hewitt shows that some people are particularly well placed to offer them: parents, spouses, family members, friends, teachers, coworkers, and fellow church members. Channeling his skills as a broadcaster, journalist, lawyer, and teacher, Hewitt weaves stories about these seven gifts and seven givers with inspiring and motivating observations to help readers become generous in the ways that matter most. "The Happiest Life is not simply a delight to read, and not merely a glimpse under the hood of a remarkable man. It’s a map to what Robert Frost once described as the road less traveled—the road that leads to a life of meaning and gratitude and joy.” —Charles J. Chaput, O.F.M. Cap., Archbishop of Philadelphia "Reading this book is the next best thing to sitting down for a long conversation with my friend Hugh Hewitt.” —Dr. R. Albert Mohler, Jr., president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary “Wanna be a happier person? Know anyone else who does? What if this book could actually help with that? Cutting to the chase—it can. And it will." —Eric Metaxas, New York Times best-selling author of Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy and 7 Men: And the Secret of Their Greatness