Goodnight Tweetheart

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?Abby Donovan is an author who has written one great American novel, and has been struggling to write number two ever since. After a day of public humiliation at a local bookstore, her publicist signs her up for a twitter account that changes her life.
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.
Goodnite
close your eyes and just sleep tight
I'll lie awake and watch you dream
to be sure that all of your dreams are pure
My dear dont you worry bout a thing
I'll be near to you all night
and through the evening
I'll be by your side
so Goodnite
close your eyes and just sleep tight
I'll lie awake and watch you dream
to be sure that all of your dreams are pure
(whistles)
while you slumber
in case you ever wonder
if a summer breeze just brushed your cheek
know its me
And Goodnite
close your eyes and just sleep tight
I'll lie awake and watch you dream
to be sure that all of your dreams are pure
In her darker moments Abby Donovan had often fantasized that her career of choice might lead her to become intimately acquainted with the phrase "Would you like fries with that?"
MarkBaynard: I don't even want to meet my parents. Not for lunch. Not for coffee. Not for Thanksgiving.