The sorority sisters of Alamo House at the University of Texas may be at comic odds with each other, but at least they have one thing in common: They all hate the fraternity rats across the street, the Sigma Upsilon Kappas—aka the SUKs. But amid the collegiate turmoil, Alamo House is also the scene of an extraordinary, endearing friendship among three women: Mary Jo, hilariously confused about life and love but determined to get both right; Fayrene, flushed with freedom after her escape from Baptist Waco; and Collie, party girl and self-proclaimed guide to the ways of the world. Together they embark on a roller coaster of escapades that changes them all—and galvanizes Alamo House into an all-out counterattack against the SUKs. The result is infectious, side-splitting fun sure to convince everyone that Mary Jo, Collie, and Fayrene are the best southwestern mixture since tequila, lime, and salt.
Outtakes from an interview that appeared in the April 2011 issue of Southern Living...
Southern Living: Are there any personal connections to this novel that you'd like to share?
Sarah: Oh, gads, there are SO many. I'll try, (and no doubt fail), to keep it brief.
In 2008, our son became a member of the largest college freshman class in history. Everything about the experience surprised me. Let's just start off with the cost. I knew that college costs had skyrocketed so we'd put aside a small fortune. We learned, however, that small wasn't going to cut it. Instead, a great walloping fortune would be required.
The next shock was discovering that in order to even be allowed to spend these breathtaking sums I would have to take on a second job as a ratings coordinator. There are over four thousand colleges and universities in this country and each one had to be parsed because, as it turns out, the college your child goes to is, essentially, a referendum on you as a parent. Are you a five-star Ivy League parent? A small, selective liberal arts college parent? A giant, state university parent? A two-year community college parent? Being a no-college parent was so far beyond the pale that it wasn't even ever mentioned.
So the getting in part surprised me. But what surprised me even more was what happened after when the empty nest loomed as a reality. I was bereft. Completely blindsided by how much it affected me.
While pregnant eighteen years earlier, I had devoured every "What to Expect " book out there. As we slogged through this college experience, I wished for a whole new slew of guides to help me through this unsettling phase. For example, was it normal to both ardently pray for the day when this grumpy stranger you've raised would vacate the premises and burst into tears in the frozen food aisle because you'll never buy pepperoni Hot Pockets again? And Real Estate Regret? Is Real Estate Regret--the constant replaying of the different lives your child would have had if you'd lived in a different neighborhood, went to a different school, had different friends--normal?
Time Travel, I knew that Time Travel wasn't normal, yet, as we approached the date of our son's departure, I was swept uncontrollably off on journeys back through the years where I'd revisit key moments in the past. Then, like Real Estate Regret, I'd create an entirely different childhood for my son in which, for example, we'd never allowed videogames. Or had been active in the Methodist church. Or the Buddhist temple. Or had owned a telescope and pursued astronomy as a family hobby. Or raised chickens. Or all made our beds every morning.
Obviously, I needed, probably still need, intensive therapy. Instead, I wrote "The Gap Year."
