Jennifer Ammoscato

Aspiring author. Successful chocoholic. Debut novel "Dear Internet: It's Me, Avery." May 2014

The Internet knows what you’re too embarrassed to ask anyone else


Don’t try to tell me that you’ve never checked that weird mole on your thigh on WebMD. Or how to fold meringue on Epicurious. And, there’s no way that I’m the only one who clears her search history after looking up how to give a great— (Um, that last one’s not important.)

So says Avery Fowler, the plucky and profane heroine of my coming novel, “Dear Internet: It’s Me, Avery.”

If the Internet is Avery Fowler’s information god, then the website is her Holy Grail. Its live chat option is like having a virtual life coach (named Clementine) for the low, low price of $14.95 a month. Naturally, it’s where she clicks when she figures out that her husband is having an affair. Add into the mix a new boss whose managerial style calls to mind the Wicked Bitch Witch of the West—or the Anti-Christ—and Avery needs all the help she can get!

I created Avery to reflect a society literally attached at the hip (or, more accurately, the palm) to the Internet. We look to it for everything.

Recipes for peanut butter crunch cheesecake (I just made that up but doesn’t that sound good right now?), the quickest, easiest way to lose that last 10 pounds (which apparently involves not eating bananas. Or, likely, peanut butter crunch cheesecake), or what men really like in bed (peanut butter crunch cheesecake. Or just beer. You can’t go wrong with beer).

With Clementine (virtually) in tow, our heroine tackles such tricky questions as dating after divorce, sex once nothing points north anymore, and becoming the new and improved Avery Fowler 2.0.

This will be of interest to women around the world who have been screwed over by a guy. Or anyone who has ever Googled anything. Ever. Or people who live in Windsor, Ontario, Canada (where it’s set).

Yup. That pretty much narrows it down 🙂

“Dear Internet: It’s Me, Avery.” will be available on and on May 28, 2014.

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Don’t hate me, Siri!

I slept alone last night for the first time in ages.

I left my iPhone downstairs, you see.

When I stumbled up to bed, I had felt something wasn’t quite right. Exhausted, though, I ignored the utterly forlorn cry of my very soul and went to sleep.

I awoke in the wee hours and reached under my pillow to find…NOTHING!

I shook off my slumber and felt for it again, this time more frantically. My fingers hit the headboard without touching that familiar smooth, hard outline of my cell phone.

For a brief moment, I think I had the tiniest inkling of the sensation that people say that amputees can sometimes experience. Years after losing a limb, they insist that it aches and even itches. If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel my iPhone in my welcoming hand, ready to serve up my morning dose of CNN, the weather, Facebook and Gmail. Happy to even just tell me the time.

It must have been lonely there, downstairs on the coffee table, without my pillow keeping it warm. (I wonder if Siri hates me.)

There was no question of me staying asleep. I bounded down the stairs a scant few moments after realizing my tragic error. It was already 4:30 a.m. I felt so behind on the day’s current events. People Magazine’s website might have had breaking news about Justin Bieber spitting/egging/brawling. I berated myself with each step: My God! How could I have been so stupid!

In the still, dark living room, I found my iPhone right where I’d so thoughtlessly left it after falling asleep looking for deals on Groupon. It looked smudgier—and a little sadder—than I remembered. I lovingly wiped it with a special cloth I keep expressly for that purpose. I think Siri appreciated that.

I hope so.

I need directions later. I don’t want to end up in a bad neighbourhood because she’s feeling spiteful.

Do we have unhealthy relationships with our cell phones? Tell me what you think below.