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The Darlings of Orange County

Friday, 19 May 2017 10:17 Jennifer Devore
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Just when you thought Orange County's windex waves were sketchy, The Darlings of Orange County are headed into the real, shark-infested waters: Hollywood. All The Darlings, and their cohorts, are headed to H-town: Veronica, Ryan, Chet, Tucker, Pardo and Astrid. If drugs, sex, veganism, duplicity and murder-by-fashion-doll don't belong in Hollywood, where do they belong?

Author and essayist Jennifer Susannah Devore (Savannah of Williamsburg, San Diego Comic-Con Souvenir Book) is currently adapting her bikini-and-martini, summer beach-read novel to a screenplay. Hold on to your Uggs, kids. You're going to get sand everywhere!

Read Natalie Wright's review of The Darlings of Orange County, then watch Jennifer's Darling interview with Natalie Wright.

Ideal production partners/storytelling stylists? Little Stranger, Inc. (NY/Tina Fey) or Imagine Entertainment (Beverly Hills/Ron Howard, Brian Grazer, Mitchell Hurwitz). Involved with one of these production companies? Cheers! Let's chat!

@JennyPopNet #OrangeCounty

Tuesday, 18 March 2014 08:26 Jennifer Devore
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Orange County versus L.A.? Well, versus just about everybody? Please. It's a fun game to play; but they started it. Orange County was just sitting there, beachside in her lovely Escada pixie pants, having a Bombay martini, minding her own business and, without provocation, all those other snarky, nasty, jealous little counties started razzing her. La Pauvre! Authoress Jennifer Susannah Devore is one of her most ardent protectors in such silly, verbal contests, most oft set in a grungy bar somewhere other than The O.C. (Psst, we don't call it that.)

Within the pages of her novel, The Darlings of Orange County, she takes the opportunity to give it a direct S/O and, ever so politely, correct the "competition". (Really though, short of Monterey, Carmel and Santa Barbara, Orange County has no competition in California.) Love it or hate it, Orange County counts ... and it doesn't, by a very long stretch.

Enjoy an excerpt from Jennifer S. Devore's The Darlings of Orange County

Orange County? Now, that’s a whole other zone. It counts ... and it doesn't count, by a very long stretch. Orange County is excluded from the spiritual as well as the legal TMZ, and with extreme prejudice.

Orange County is the pretty, privileged, perky cousin you hate, but have no real, valid reason to do so. All you have are some faint memories of childhood and family visits, because you really just don’t visit ever, if you can help it. Still, you're constantly reminded of her success, beauty and casual, happy lifestyle through family gossip, pictures and Facebook posts. She grew up in a bigger house, with nicer parents, received a better education, and had shinier hair, fancier clothes and even her own damn horse. You can't stand the fact that even though you secretly disdain her, she adores you and year after year gives you a better Christmas present than you give her and it's always beautifully wrapped. She's a total bitch because she's not a bitch at all and despite the crap you give her, she still smiles, laughs, drinks her cocktails and enjoys her life and, worst of all, has a kick-ass body that you know you could have if you actually worked on it like she did; but, she actually likes working out and that makes you hate her even more. It makes her feel good and she just couldn’t imagine a day without exercise and that makes you cringe. In short, you are jealous of her and that is why you mock her with the other unhappy people in your life … but you know you would trade places with her in a heartbeat if somebody just dropped it all in your lap.

Now, tonight that little bitch was having a kick-ass party and you were invited. You bitched all the way down the 405 from The Valley, but you showed up anyway and are going to drink all the free champagne you can, aren’t you?

The only folks whom proudly claim to love Orange County, live in Orange County. The rest of the world dismisses it with a flip of the wrist and a catty, convenient label: phony, vapid, unreal, tacky, fake, classless, trash with cash, Mickey's whorehouse, Silicone Valley. Los Angelenos think Orange Countians are stupid and unsophisticated, Inland Empire dwellers think they're phony and plastic, and Northern Californians hate them viscerally and consider them an Aryan race of Republican trust fund brats hell-bent on enslaving the Mexican immigrant community and manicuring the entire state to look like a Mission Viejo cul-de-sac. Amidst all that, the competition within and behind the Orange Curtain is fierce and it's a daily struggle to be the prettiest, perkiest, most privileged cousin on the block. To quote Lynne Curtin from the self-destructive Real Housewives of Orange County, "It's Orange County! It's freaking hard to live in Orange County! It's so hard!"

It is a damn fine place to live, though. Like those outside the main stream enough to build a house into a boulder, and there happens to be one of those on Laguna’s Aliso Beach, some of the Hollywood set have made Orange County their home: if not a primary residence, at least a second home.

From John Wayne, Richard Nixon and Errol Flynn to Dennis Rodman, Barbara Eden and Bette Midler, some have just understood the beauty of Orange County. Some, like Humphrey Bogart, Mae West and James Cagney, were content to keep their yachts moored in Newport Harbor and some, like Charlie Chaplin, Billy Bob Thornton, Britney Spears, Susan Sarandon and Tom Hanks, are happy to use her facilities on occasion: Disneyland, South Coast Plaza, Fashion Island, Monarch Links, The St. Regis. Yep, a lot of the world may talk a lot of smack about the O.C., but, like an appletini or mozzarella sticks, once you've had a taste you know you want some more.

Excerpt from The Darlings of Orange County by Jennifer S. Devore. All rights reserved. Property of KIMedia, LLC. Excerpt may be shared digitally for entertainment,  non-commercial purposes only and may not be reprinted in analog format or sold in any format, digital, analog or otherwise.


Follow @JennyPopNet #OrangeCounty


Saturday, 24 March 2012 09:37 Jennifer Devore
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For Immediate Release

Contact:Gary David
KI Media, LLC
949) 698-4276
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The Darlings of Orange County
Stings H-town with Sexy Salacious Satire 
an Diego, CA - March 27, 2012 - Author, Jennifer S. Devore, will release her 4th book, a work of fiction, The Darlings of Orange County, published by KIMedia, LLC. The novel will be released in Kindle, Nook, and epub formats.

Veronica Darling has an image problem; nobody knows who she is. To get noticed in the literary and entertainment worlds, she soils her soul to bring Hollywood to the California Riviera.

The Darlings of Orange County is a salacious, hysterical and murderous romp that's overflowing and pulsating, like a bikini top that's way too small, with eco-terrorism, horseracing scandals, sleazy drug deals and an obligatory lipstick-lesbian affair. It all leads to a white-knuckled climax in a glitzy, celebrity-encrusted, Laguna Beach film premiere that spells success for Veronica Darling and trouble for her friends and family.

Like a virus, as she stood next to the sickness of celebrity, it infected her. She flashed back in an instant to what had worked for Raina Schein, dead “author” of The New York Times Best Seller My Vagina Loves You. It was at that moment that it dawned on her. These people didn’t want intelligence or historical-accuracy or morality and ethics wrapped up nicely in an exciting and well-written adventure. She watched the people watching Lorelei. They grew animal. They wanted dirty sex and reveled in the fear and threats of perceived violence.

In an act of pure selfishness, Veronica jumped into action … reached up grabbed Lorelei’s blouse and ripped it open like she was welcoming the morning sunshine by pulling back the drapes.

-excerpt from The Darlings of Orange County

When asked about release of her fourth novel, Jennifer replied, “It’s bonkers! The idea for it spilled out of a bottle or two of red wine over dinner. Three years later, voila! All I can say is grab your sex wax and string bikinis, Guys and Dolls! If you think Bravo's The Real Housewives of Orange County is trashy, hold on to your bippies! You haven’t seen anything yet!”

Gary David of KIMedia, LLC, the book’s publisher, says, “We are really excited about this story. The comedy is sharp and the characters are dysfunctional riots. For a publisher, a novel like this, spit-out-your-coffee funny and sexy, is a dream come true. This story has it all.”

KIMedia, LLC. is a publishing and visual media company based in San Diego, California:

Jennifer S. Devore is the author of the Savannah of Williamsburg novels. She writes for and is a regular contributor to the official San Diego Comic-Con Book. She also writes for under the pen name Miss Hannah Hart, Ghostdame of the Hotel del Coronado.

Friday, 18 October 2013 10:07 Jennifer Devore
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It is Friday! Like sage Confucius, the Grande Silver Dame Nordstrom say "Put your party shoes on!". Well said! In like spirit, I proffer you an excerpt from my latest novel, The Darlings of Orange County. If the selection below nudges you toward a day of shoe shopping at your local Nordstrom, wunderbar! If it nudges you to buy the whole book and, thus, support my shoe needs, all the mehr wunderbar! Enjoy!

Thankfully, the annoying world of Becca was contained within her phone and, regretting she had started such a perfect day with such a call, Veronica threw her device and Becca into her purse, took off her sunglasses and tossed them in on top of the phone and continued toward a large glass door with a simple, vertical, brass bar handle. As she pulled it open, a blast of glorious air-conditioning bathed her whole body. She lifted her chin and let the initial blast coat her chest and neck, allowing the air to penetrate and swirl all through her hair. The door closed automatically behind her as she entered the building she tried hard to eschew Becca and her No Reading-rule. She couldn't help but get drawn back, though and she pondered the world of non-readers.

Who was she kidding? Modern man wasn't pulling up Reuters news clips about Italy's latest political fight or NPR bites on water sanitation in India; they were pulling up Fantasy Football scores, Jackass-wannabe videos, amateur porn and Twitter sext messages, and their numbers were drowning the planet in whole-learning idiocy. Being a published author may not hold cache for much longer on a planet of growing mindlessness, vapidity and apathy. Where were the great thinkers? Where were the great philosophers, the great humanitarians? It sickened her and she did the only thing possible that could assuage a deep, gothic and penetrating mind like her own. "Hello, Nordstrom!"

They were perfect: red plaid wool and black suede, lace-up booties with a five-inch shaft and a one-inch platform. They were L.A.M.B. by Gwen Stefani and they had a name: the Rose Bootie. They were nearly six hundred dollars and because of this distinction they stood alone at the pinnacle of a L.A.M.B. display in Salon Shoes at Nordstrom, South Coast Plaza. They couldn't actually glisten or emanate purity and goodness in brilliant strobes of light because they were suede and wool. Nevertheless, in Veronica's head, she saw the strobes of purity and goodness. She knew L.A.M.B. was synonymous with purity and goodness. It was a perfect collection headed by a perfect designer. With the exception of some really ugly 1980s-inspired designs of a few years ago, Gwen Stefani could do no wrong and Veronica would forever remain her most devoted disciple.

They had her size in the Rose Booties; she'd checked first thing. Most Nordstrom stores carried only one pair of each size, of each shoe. That's just genius marketing. Get 'em before some other chick does. The young salesman (Nordstrom shoe guys are almost always young, beautiful and impeccably dressed.) had eagerly helped her try on a pair and told her, ever so politely and just once, for Nordstrom was all about the soft sell, they were "sexy" and "set off the calf perfectly". She knew what that meant. Not the calf, but her calf. Her calf looked excellent in tattered, Polo flip-flops; she didn't even need a mirror to tell her they looked stripper-excellent in these booties. (Say what you want about strippers, but they're forever a mile marker of some sort to women everywhere.) She did look in the mirror, though, and he was right. They were sexy. She was sexy. He asked for her name, to hold the shoes, of course.

"Veronica?" she said in her standard, non-accent accent of the So Cal girl, whereby everything sounded like a peppy question. She eyed the booties with far more lust and enthusiasm than she could have ever summoned up for the salesman with the blue eyes and black curls, her lids falling nearly shut as she tried to turn her head away from them and back to the salesman. Then, like a stubborn cow pulled back to the herd with a rope, she reluctantly turned to him and her eyes shot open and sparkled with her default excitement for pretty much everything under the sun and said, "I'll be right back!"

" It's me, Veronica. Is he back?" she curtly asked Becca.

"Oh. Hi, Veronica. Um, let me see," she paused then spoke again. "Um, I don't see him anywhere. He may have gone for a coffee or something."

"Damn it, Becca. Why are you answering his phone? He can't answer his own phone?"

"Well, um, he's really busy and I'm just handing him the really important … I mean," Becca stammered.

"I know exactly what you mean. The really important calls? Listen up, Becca. You tell him I'm driving up there tomorrow. Tell him he'd better have a badge for me at Will Call. One for Ryan, too. See you in the morning, Becca."

Naturally, within minutes her cell rang. Too late. Now, he could wait. She'd talk to Glenn tomorrow. Besides, she and Ryan were always up for a drive to L.A. They'd stop at the Book Expo, harass her agent for a bit, then keep going up to Monterey and spend the night.

She didn't return to Salon Shoes. It was clear there was either no good news, at the very least, or no news at all about her book sales at the Expo and, that said, she'd make herself wait on the booties. L.A.M.B. was a treat, a pricey carrot for work well done. She agreed to treat herself only if the tradeshow went well and as of now she had no idea. Treats were always sweeter when well-earned. They'd put the boots back on the shelf at the end of the day, but at least they'd be safe from other women's skanky feet for a little while. She had to get herself another agent. Glenn was proving to be a worthless hassle.

She instead browsed through the rest of the store. Nordstrom made everything better, even without an extravagant purchase. Her mother had introduced her to Nordstrom at a very early age. She had, in fact, introduced her to all things South Coast Plaza at a very early age. As Veronica's childhood friend, Dr. Mandy Fong, once said of both their mothers, "It's like a mother cat and her kitten. First, the mother cat catches the mouse, kills the mouse and gives it to her kitten to eat. Next, the mother cat catches the mouse, lets the kitten play with the mouse a bit, then takes back the mouse, kills it and gives it to the kitten to eat. Finally, the mother cat catches the mouse and passes it off completely as she proudly watches the kitten play with, kill, and then eat the mouse all by herself. So it is true with Nordstrom mothers and their kittens.

Excerpt from The Darlings of Orange County by Jennifer S. Devore. All rights reserved. Property of KIMedia, LLC. Excerpt may be shared digitally for entertainment,  non-commercial purposes only and may not be reprinted in analog format or sold in any format, digital, analog or otherwise.

Shoes pictured above: (L) Chinese Laundry "Celestial" pump; (R) Dolce Vita "Kaydn" pump. Available at

Wednesday, 02 January 2013 12:29 Jennifer Devore
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Fresh from the art department once again, The Darlings of Orange County 2013 New Year's ads, Part 1: "Downright Filthy" & "Leaking Silicone".

Look for the ads, along with "Meet Pardo" wherever you surf, online or otherwise!



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Meet Miss JennyPop

Jennifer Susannah Devore

Jenny Pop is the acclaimed Author of the Savannah of Williamsburg series of books and The Darlings of Orange County. In addition, Jen is a prolific consumer of media and pop culture. Never leaving the house without her journal and fave Waterman pen, an old-fashioned, analog book (usually Hunter S. Thompson) and a fresh coat of lipstick, she is constantly on the hunt for fun, espresso, animation  and comics of any kind and always ready for an impromptu day at Disneyland. is a natural extension of  Jen's World; so, spend some time visiting. You'll have fun, she promises!

Meet The Darlings

The Darlings of Orange County

The sexy, cashmere beaches of southern California aren't always what they seem. The dirty little secret here is what it takes to survive. Everyone has a trick up their silk sleeve. Liz Lemon meets Parker Posey, Veronica Darling is smart enough to know what it takes and is willing to soil her soul to bring Hollywood to the California Riviera. The Darlings of Orange County is a salacious, hilarious, harrowing romp chock full of eco-terrorism, horse-racing scandals, weed deals and the obligatory lipstick-lesbian affair that inevitably leads to murder. It all climaxes in a white-knuckled, glitzy, celebrity-stacked Laguna Beach Film Premiere that spells success for Veronica Darling and trouble for her friends and family.

Meet Miss Savannah Squirrel

Savannah Prudence Squirrel

Savannah Prudence Squirrel

Meet Miss Savannah of Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. Equal parts Amelia Earhart, Lucy Honeychurch, Scarlett O'Hara and Miss Piggy, Savannah is a scholar, adventurer and a lady. Moreover, she is a pebble in the silver-buckled shoe of injustice and with her best pals she is not a squirrel to challenge. She carries  the Magna Carta in one paw and the latest Parisian silk bag in her other. Whether fighting to end slavery, arguing for freedom of the press or scheming to end a duel, Miss Savannah does so with wit and persistence. Read more to meet her best friends and accomplices: Ichabod Wolfgang and Dante Marcus Pritchen. Prepare to also meet pirates, a Venetian fox and an Irish gull, The Commodore!


picswlesli 045.jpg

Meet Miss Hannah

Hannah Hart, ghost dame of the Hotel del Coronado

Hannah Hart, ghost dame of the Hotel del Coronado

So, here's the low down, all you Joes and Janes ... I'm Hannah Hart, dead girl. Don't fret, it's actually a sweet dish being dead. Having perished in 1934 in a terrifically vicious accessories incident with actress Ida Lupino, I reside where I died: San Diego's gorgeous Hotel del Coronado. It ain't a bad gig at all, really! Great weather, swanky guests (not to mention a few fellow ghosties), amazing amenities, my own private turret overlooking the sea and all the java juice and giggle water I can handle; plus, these bartenders know how to make a Planter's Punch like nobody's business! See, I've been waiting for this Internet thing forever ... now, instead of slamming doors and moving lamps, I get to wag my tongue all I like at

Abyssinia, kids!