Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to Iris Dorbian and her story Love, Loss and Longing in the Age of Reagan: Diary of a Mad Club Girl!
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Iris Dorbian is a former actress turned business journalist/blogger. Her articles have appeared in a wide number of outlets that include the Wall Street Journal, Reuters, Venture Capital Journal, DMNews, CFO.com, Playbill, Backstage, Theatermania, Live Design, Media Industry Newsletter and PR News. From 1999 to 2007, Iris was the editor-in-chief of Stage Directions. She is the author of “Great Producers: Visionaries of the American Theater,” which was published by Allworth Press in August 2008. Her personal essays have been published in Blue Lyra Review, B O D Y, Embodied Effigies, Jewish Literary Journal, Skirt! Diverse Voices Quarterly and Gothesque Magazine. She has a master’s degree in journalism from Columbia University.
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I asked Iris Dorbian, “What is the best and most rewarding thing you find about being a writer? Want to share what you think is the worst and most frustrating thing you find about being a writer?” and here is the response.
The best thing about being a writer is being able to express an idea or tell a story using words as your stock in trade. The most rewarding thing about being a writer is when your story, article, novel or whatever is published and read. It’s a double whammy if it’s acknowledged and praised. It all ties in with why I write: I write because I have something to say. As a journalist, that could be a news story; and as an author, that could be a long-form narrative that has been gestating in my head for a while and which I’ve been wanting to tell.
As a journalist and author, if I have an outlet for expression, a blog, a newswire, a newspaper, magazine, etc. and if it’s widely read, I’m fulfilled. However, if I don’t have that kind of outlet and if no one reads my writings, then it’s very frustrating and upsetting. I’m not doing this for fame; I’m doing this because I have no other recourse. It’s what I need to do; it’s what feeds me and makes me get up in the morning.
Another aspect I find very frustrating as an author is promoting my work. I always wonder if I’m doing enough. Other questions that arise: Which sites should I target? Who is my audience? How much money should I invest in marketing my work? When do I know I’ve done enough? Should I use a publicist? These questions also plagued me when my first book, “Great Producers: Visionaries of the American Theater” (Allworth Press), a nonfiction trade for the educational theater market, was traditionally published.
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It’s the early 1980s, MTV is in its infancy, the Internet does not exist, Ronald Reagan is president and yuppies are ruling Wall Street. Edie is a naïve NYU student desperate to lose her virginity and to experience adventure that will finally make her worldly, setting her further apart from her bland suburban roots. But in her quest to mold herself into an ideal of urban sophistication, the New Jersey-born co-ed gets more than she bargained for, triggering a chain of events that will have lasting repercussions.
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Looking like a cross between Keith Richards right before his descent into unregenerate drug addiction and a homeless vagrant with a permanent 10 o’clock shadow, Peter flashed a confident smile at me, revealing two rows of jagged, yellowing teeth. Wearing a snug black shirt with a V-neck that showed generous tufts of dark chest hair, a Free Sid button referring to the arrest nearly a year ago of Sid Vicious, the Sex Pistols’ bassist for the murder of his girlfriend and skin tight blue jeans, I recoiled at the sight of Peter but also couldn’t turn away. He was that perversely transfixing.
“Edie, this is my roommate Peter. Peter, this is Edie,” said George whom I had practically forgotten at that point.
Peter duly nodded back at me. “So, what do you think of Professor Jackson’s class?” he asked, gazing back at me with his Rasputin eyes.
I was flustered. His freaky eyes and sexy caveman aura threw me off balance. On one level, I was grossed out by his teeth and he seemed really hairy. But on the other hand, I liked his feathery dark straight Beatle mop, his trim, cute body and his softly masculine deep voice. He was short though—only slightly taller than me and I’m barely 5’7.
“What are you interested in doing when you get out?” I said, the words rushing out of my mouth before I could clog them. What a heavy-handed question to ask someone I just met. I should be muzzled.
“I want to be an English professor,” Peter said forcefully, the leering gleam in his eyes temporarily dissipating. “And write.”
While Peter talked, I continued to eyeball him even though my better Emily Post instincts kept telling me I shouldn’t. It wasn’t polite but I couldn’t help it.
My nose noticed, much to my delight, that Peter reeked of pot, which I soon learned he smoked nonstop. I hadn’t smoked pot in a long while—not since my stint with the misfit crowd I briefly hung out with in high school. My nostrils flared a bit as I tried to inhale more of that familiar sticky-sweet scent.
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Iris Dorbian will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. CLICK HERE to enter to win a $20 Amazon/BN GC – a Rafflecopter giveaway Readers, follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates and places can be found here: Tour Schedule
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Iris Dorbian, thank you for stopping by today!
Love & blessings to all! ❤