Tra la la droolings!
It is, in the words of my hair and makeup role model, the great Effie Trinket, a BIG BIG BIG DAY!
I, Jane Capsticher, have REVEALED the cover of my manifesto, my masterpiece, my magnum opus.
That last thing was LATIN, my beleaguereds. When you are A-WOKE and HEALED AND WHOLE, like moi, you become open to new experiences and other cultures and I have a deep respect for the Latin culture, in a totally non-appropriative way, natch-ur-ally. I did, after all, pretend-to-participate-err-make-tamales with Ms. Rosa this past winter holidays season which shows my deep commitment to Latin Exes. Viva Carpay Dime, y'all. Tee hee.
Meet my new book baby, A-WOKE.
A-WOKE is DEEPLY PERSONAL. RAW. It will reveal...well, probably nothing I haven't posted here on Instagram, droolings, but that's not the point. The point is, that you will have a copy of my pain, my struggles, and my JOURNEY to find deep, meaningful joy to hold in your hands. It will not, unfortunately, dive deeply into my former relationship with my former husband.
Stupid NDA.
And can we talk about this GLORIOUS cover art for a hot minute? It was inspired by the vajingle painting class my RIDE OR DIES (except YOU Megan) and I did on board the Carnival Salty Spitter during the last JANE CAPSTITCHER CRUISE. There was wine - the good kind not from a box - and laughter and tears and lots of talk about vibrators and anyway - I decided right then and there that our sloppy, sauce-fueled attempt at artwork would grace the cover of my latest book.
Take a moment to FREAK OUT with me at its utter perfection.
K Moving on. A few select FANS will be able to receive an advance copy for review - just comment CORNEATER below and MY TEAM will inbox you the deets.
I can't wait for you to read A-WOKE. It is truly NO HOLDS BARRED. We talk about SEGGS and body image, how I'm totally not on Ozempic, FLOCL gummies, and perimenopause, all wildly revolutionary conversations that are NOT LIKE CONVERSATIONS ANYONE ELSE HAS naturellement. I do, after all, eat ricotta cheese by the pound in January when everyone else is subsisting on carrot juice and sadness.
And I can't TEASE too much before publication day, which rest assured, will be celebrated by tens of people the world over with brass band level fanfare, and of course, CAKE, but there's a 37-page dedication that goes into great detail about the renaissance of my relationship with @THETREVORBARRETPROJEKT who is still totally my boyfriend and totally still wears DREDS #edgy
Sure, we only see each other a few times a year on junkets that my publicist Heater sets up but he did, after all, send me a countertop mixer* and gave my LESBIAN daughter, who is a fearless courageous young woman who has been on an airplane before, a fancy litter box and if that's not an indicator of steadfast commitment, I'm not sure what is.
*I am required per contract to put "Allegedly" on any mention of said countertop mixer because @THETREVORBARRETTPROJECKT has never OFFICIALLY acknowledged that he sent the mixer. Stupid contract.
I can't wait to hear from you, my beleaguereds, and BASK IN THIS MOMENT with you. I mean, yes, it's definitely MY moment but you're here too and that's...great. I can picture you cozied up with my epic vagina flower inspired cover art in your grubby little unmanicured hands in your very own reading nook, which is certainly not as cool as my reading nook. Not everyone can pull off peacock blue with killer psycho guard bird accents but I do strive to deliver aspirational content.
This is just such a special, chocolate covered day, droolings. I love you all. Not as much as I love boxed sauv blanc and statement rings, but a lot.
Tra lal la.