Today it is my pleasure to welcome author Branden LaNette and her self-help book Once Upon a Time, Bitches. Author’s description of the book:
That’s Branden on the cover. Yes, she has a boy’s name, a Mom bod, and her tattoos are not photo shopped. She doesn’t look like your typical author and she sure doesn’t look like the next self-help Instagram sweetheart.
However, besides being a wife, mom to six kids (plus others with fur), coach and business owner, Branden is the author of the new book, Once Upon a Time, Bitches. It’s a fast paced, in your face, expletive laced, nothing held back message to women everywhere: There is no magic fairy tale, but if YOU work at it enough you can come pretty close to creating your version with a happily ever after.
But first, no more whining and no more damsel locked in a tower, bullshit. Is it possible to design a fairy tale life? Control your destiny? Be the hero in your story? Branden thinks there is and she wants to help you.
A personal note from me:
I don’t generally read self-help books and I’ve never reviewed one. But given this a blog about empowering women, this particular book seemed a fine fit. I’m so glad I took the chance.
In Once Upon a Time, Bitches, Branden LaNette has written a fast-paced, funny book so good you will hardly realize you’re being given advice to improve your life.
My own advice to you is to (1) read this book, (2) laugh while you do it and (3) wake up the next day with your life a little better on track. Then (4) buy a copy for someone you love.
Best things about this book:
1. It is solid advice told in funny and entertaining way.
2. There is just enough about the author to make you like and believe her and not so much that it becomes all about her, not you.
3. This should only be a 100 page book and guess what? It is.
4. Her humble I’m-no-better-than-you-are-at-this-shit approach is endearing and convincing.
The worst things I can say about this book:
1. The foul language is a shock. It reminded me of the musical “The Jersey Boys.” I spent the first minutes thinking wow, I didn’t know people could use the word fuck that many times in a sentence. Then I got used to it and loved the show. In a similar fashion, by about 10 pages into this book, I loved it, too. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had to acclimate first.
2. There is no giant revelation here, but that’s not the author’s fault. There really isn’t one to reveal. We know the secrets to a good life are the easy-to-say and hard-to-do things like take responsibility, forgive others, and love yourself. I, at least, struggle to do these things on a good day, so I certainly benefited from hearing them again, and appreciated them being stated so bluntly.
So, who would I recommend this book to?
Anyone who happens to be a human. Others need not bother.
About the Author:
Branden LaNette doesn’t look like a typical author but she has long ignored what she “should” do, say and look like. On her own at a very young age, Branden eventually found herself with the wrong guy, the wrong job, and a bleak future. The fairytale she was promised as a child never materialized.
Finally, Branden decided that she wanted something different for her life, and realized no one was going to do it for her. Prince charming wasn’t coming to save her—she’d have to save herself.
Step by step, decision by decision, through major trials and tribulations that would stop most people in their tracks, Branden learned how to turn heartbreak into happiness and self-judgement into inner joy.
Today, Branden LaNette is an entrepreneur, coach, speaker, wife, and stay-at-home Mom to six C-section babies (ages 1-16) and way too many f-ing pets. Somehow, however, she manages to juggle all of this effortlessly (a blatant lie) while pushing her way through the kinds of fear and self-doubts that whisper within all of us (totally true) to achieve her goals. Her most recent dream come true is this book, one that is destined to have a major impact on millions of women across the globe (or at least nine people in Michigan.)
Through it all, she has found her happiness, her joy, and more importantly, her voice.
Find her on Facebook or on Twitter, visit her on her blog, and buy One Upon a Time Bitches on Amazon.
Yes, there is a giveaway.
Branden LaNette will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate to a randomly drawn winner via raffle copter during the tour.
This post is part of a tour sponsored by Goddess Fish. Check out all the other tour stops.
Enjoy this excerpt :
Ever since I was 8 years old, I dreamed of an easy life. The problem with my dream? I expected that fairy tale life to be handed to me. And when it wasn’t, I decided that fairy tales were bullshit. Not that you can’t have a fairy tale life—you can. What I understand now, however, is that to get a fairy tale life, you’d better be willing to work your Cinderella-ass off for it.
Still, I held on to the fantasy of having an easy life handed to me. I wanted to be saved. To be specific, I thought I needed a guy to be my hero. So I went about trying to find one.
I dated a lot of guys. Lots of guys.
But as they came and went, I always ended up disappointed. Not a single one of them ever made my life easier. Things weren’t going the way I’d planned. WTF? Hadn’t anyone read the fucking script? It was right there on page 43:
“Tall handsome guy with tight ass, great pecs and a 124-foot yacht named “Shitload of Cash” enters stage-left and sweeps Branden off her feet, and they sail off to Barbados.”
Even in my adult years, I would find myself just wishing—not just for prince charming to appear (which he eventually did in the form of my husband, minus the yacht and gobs of cash) but wishing for things in every area of my life. Even today, in my writing/coaching career, I find myself drifting into wish-mode: Why isn’t this easier? Why can’t things just take off and grow overnight? Is it always going to be this hard?
And when it comes to parenting, it’s the same thing. Why can’t parenting just be easy? And in my marriage, too: Why do I have to keep asking for things? Can’t my husband just read my fucking mind?
One day I—still 8 years old—had the most terror-filled realization in a simple yet profound truth:
No one is coming to save you.
Fuck. No one is coming to rescue me. Ever?
My heart broke. More like shattered. Yet, after taking some time to mentally digest this fact, I found this realization liberating somehow. Why was this liberating? Because it meant I could stop waiting for something outside myself for my salvation.
It put me in control. Newsflash, bitches: No one is coming to save you, either. Get it? No. One. Is. Coming. You’re going to have to save yourself.