Life Beyond Style: Rewriting the Script

Growing up, my mom had a phrase for outfits that just felt right on me: “It’s so you, Beth,” she’d exclaim. Decades later, I still reach for pieces that feel timelessly me — white denim that works in every season, a clean-lined linen top in happy summer stripes, chic sandals, classic gold hoops, and a delicate necklace. These are the constants that anchor me.

But in this month’s Life Beyond Style: Rewriting the Script, I’m sharing why some things stay the same while others evolve. Because life isn’t just about what remains familiar — it’s also about what changes. And lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about rewriting the script.

The Story I Put Away

Over a decade ago — before Instagram, before BeBe, before this community existed — I started writing a novel called (In)Sincere Motives. It was a romantic suspense about an actress caught in a web of art theft, danger, and secrets from her past.

In fact, I launched Style at a Certain Age so I’d have a social platform when the book came out. But somewhere along the way, the blog took on a plot twist of its own — growing into a full-fledged brand, a business, and a connection point with women around the world.

The book? It waited patiently on the shelf.

Why Now

A blog. A business. Losing Mr. Style. A global pandemic. Weddings. Babies. Phew.

Somewhere in all of that, ten years flew by. I’d opened the manuscript before, only to close it again. Last year, I even caught myself thinking, “It’s probably never going to get finished…” Honestly? I didn’t have the time.

But this past February, something shifted. A moment of its now or never. This book needed to be finished — after all, it was the reason Style at a Certain Age was created in the first place. And my characters? They’d been dangling over a precipice for far too long.

You always make time for the things you love, and I love this book and its characters. They’ve lived in my head and heart for more than a decade. It was time to give them their ending.

Reading those early pages was part nostalgia, part cringe, and part deep pride. I could see the woman I was when I first started writing — full of ideas, but without the life miles to give the story its full weight.

In the years between, I’ve lived a lot of life: losing the love of my life, becoming BeBe, dating again, and building a company I’m proud of. I weathered the quiet of Covid, celebrated new beginnings, and navigated the bittersweet moments that come with watching a family grow and change.

All of that has given me the voice, perspective, and grit to deepen what was already on the page. (In)Sincere Motives has always had heart at its center — now that heart feels richer, layered with the life I’ve lived since I first began the story.

The Rewrite

I’m not reinventing this book — it’s been there all along. The plot was finished, the chapters were in place, the beats mapped out. But the last 25%? The climax? That still had to be written. The high-stakes, can’t-stop-turning-pages part of the story needed to be brought to life.

Now, the blog and socials are humming, and I’ve finally carved out the time it takes to write — really write. Because at the end of the day, this is my first love. And this book? Well, it’s been with me for over a decade.

I decided to become a writer when my 50th birthday rolled around. My family was grown, the nest was empty, and I knew it was time to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Women have been told they can have it all — and we can — but maybe not all at once.

My version of having it all began as a young girl in the Midwest heading off to university, then life in Chicago, then meeting Mr. Style and starting a family. I loved my life as a full-time mom and wife while carving out pockets of space for myself.

Mr. Style always said that life never truly stays the same — a line he probably repeated after our tenth move around the world, with the boys rolling their eyes and asking, “Again?!” And he was right. Life changes, and we grow as it changes direction. When the kiddos were grown, it was my turn again. Who knew that “my turn” would mean writing full-time for a blog, a YouTube channel, and now… this book?

Right now, I’m working with my editor, Laurie Chittenden, to put the final polish on the manuscript before querying literary agents. I want to put my best foot forward — or should I say, my best manuscript?

Feedback from Laurie

“I had an absolute ball reading your novel! Absolutely loved the characters (and really love that there will be another!). Found the setting, pacing, and timeline all handled well. I love the emotional connection with her father and all the book references. Her mother is a hoot, and the movie aspect is a lot of fun. You’ve got a wonderful draft that just needs a little tweaking and some brush strokes here and there. What I’d focus on are some inconsistencies and details overlooked, could develop your red herrings further, some characters and plot threads not fully developed and perhaps not necessary, and you’ve repeated passages in a few places. Notes about all of this below. Really looking forward to talking about the novel together and your next steps!”

I’ll take that as high praise for a story that’s been brewing for over a decade.

Life Beyond Style: Rewriting the Script — Meet Reggie

In Life Beyond Style: Personal Style Evolution, I shared the Prologue to (In)Sincere Motives. Although it’s already been through a revision, the best books — like the best writing — are always works in progress. This month’s Life Beyond Style: Rewriting the Script brings you a snippet from Chapter 1 and a first look at my leading lady, Reggie Cavanaugh, along with the man who will turn her world upside down.

Monday 10:26 A.M., Chicago, Illinois

Mondays were a lie. They promised structure but always delivered chaos. Reggie Cavanaugh had years of experience with the week starting off on the wrong foot. Fridays had an acronym and a cocktail. Mondays came preloaded with anxiety — disorder in disguise. She swore they were rigged, one surprise after another dressed up like a to-do list.

But from the moment her alarm clock rang this morning, she knew something was different. The air itself seemed to hum with anticipation. Maybe this whole mess would have turned out differently if it had fallen on Tuesday.

By eight a.m., Children’s Memorial Hospital looked like a media circus. Four TV trucks. A dozen tabloid reporters. Local journos. Hundreds of fans jostling for position—plus the ever-hovering buzzards: paparazzi in full plume.

Vultures, really. Circling. Waiting for their half-million-dollar photo op to emerge and blink at the sun.

The sliding glass doors hissed open. Reggie stepped into chaos wrapped in sunlight. Flashbulbs popped like machine gun fire. One hand shielded her eyes; the other dove into her handbag—tissues, mints, her signature red lipstick.

Smile first, find footing second. Her face was famous—high cheekbones, elegant nose, swanlike neck. The smile came easily.

No matter how seasoned she was, her bright blue eyes always betrayed her. A flicker of wariness surfaced anytime the paparazzi hovered. Which was why she rarely appeared in public without her Gucci sunglasses—sometimes even at night.

Her fingers found the glasses. Breathing leveled. Armor on. She slipped them into place and gave the crowd a practiced wave.

Claire Harrington stood beside her—seven inches shorter, sharp as a whip, and Reggie’s ride-or-die since college orientation. Quick wit. Mind like an abacus. Elbow like a vice when required.

When a long lens lunged too close, Claire clamped onto Reggie’s elbow and steered her down the steps, expertly dodging a teenage fan waving pen and paper like a drowning swimmer.

They were on a tight schedule, and Claire didn’t just manage time—she ruled it. One glance at her watch, two fingers in the air.

“We stop at the base of the stairs,” Claire called over the swell of voices. “Two, maybe three softball questions. Then your statement. Then we disappear.”

Reggie nodded, eyeing a perky blonde from WGN checking her reflection in the camera monitor—tongue swipe, hair flip, teeth like a Colgate ad.

As Reggie breezed past, the mic shot up like a sword. “Reggie!” the blonde shrieked.

“Tell us—what’s it like working with Miles Kelley?”

Of course. That would be the first question. What else would they lead with?

Miles Kelley—Hollywood’s golden boy. Box office royalty with ten hits and a rotating cast of ingenues hanging on his arm like designer handbags.

Reggie stole a glance at her co-star. He’d slipped out of the hospital minutes earlier and was holding court like he was born for it. Black fitted shirt, worn-in jeans, Frye boots. All ease. All charm. All Miles. Even while he smiled for the cameras, she caught him scanning the crowd. A flicker of tension behind the charm. Like a man who never forgot where the exits were.

Something about that made her pulse skip. They’d met months ago at a rooftop meet and greet Valerie had orchestrated in New York—part team bonding, part PR stunt. Reggie arrived late, jet-lagged, and half-tempted to ghost the whole thing.

But then she saw him.

Miles Kelley. Propped against the bar like it was built for him. Sleeves rolled. Glass of bourbon in hand. Relaxed. Watchful. The kind of man who didn’t need to chase attention—he absorbed it.

Their eyes met. No grand gesture. Just a flicker of recognition—like two magnets noticing the pull.

The spark had been immediate. Tucked beneath pleasantries and film jargon, it was there—undeniable. She told herself it was just part of the job. Chemistry on set. Nothing more.

And yet… here it was. Still humming. Still dangerous.

Claire had spotted it, too. “He’s the kind of trouble that smiles while he ruins you,” she’d muttered behind a champagne flute. “Just look at him, for God’s sake.”

At the sound of his name, Miles turned, offered a tight smile, one dark brow lifted—directed solely at her. All six-foot-two of hard edges and lean lines. And those blue eyes—locked on her, expectant. Still amused. Still watching. But something behind the smirk—calculation, maybe—flashed and was gone.

She swallowed. Hard. Like her body knew what her brain wasn’t ready to admit.

Something about the way Miles looked at her suggested he knew exactly what she had on beneath her linen sheath—lavender lace, 34C. Nothing headline-worthy by Hollywood standards. But respectable. And most importantly, real.

Heat crept up her neck. Get it together, Cavanaugh.

She leaned into the mic, summoning her publicist’s favorite mantra: We use the media. They don’t use us.

Reggie was a pro. Not her first rodeo. She smiled like she meant it.

“According to People magazine,” she said sweetly, “I’m working with the sexiest man alive. And I have to agree—he’s not exactly hard on the eyes.”

The crowd chuckled. Solid start.

Miles Kelley, for his part, thought the title was nonsense. “Dubious,” he’d called it. He didn’t give two cents about Hollywood royalty—preferred the solitude of his seventy-acre spread near the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota.

She glanced back. Still amused. Still watching. But now? Measuring. He gave her a slight nod of approval.

Not that she needed it—thank you very much.

Closing Thoughts

At the heart of Life Beyond Style: Rewriting the Script is the reminder that we’re all works in progress. Whether it’s an outfit you’ve worn for years or a dream you’ve kept tucked away, the pieces you love most never truly leave you — they’re just waiting for the right moment to shine again. This book is mine. And who knows? Maybe this season is when you dust off something you’ve been saving and make it part of your story.

Beth’s Style Tip: A great story and a great outfit both need strong bones. Keep the classics, update the details, and make it entirely your own.

Your Turn: I hope you’ve enjoyed this month’s Life Beyond Style: Rewriting the Script. Have you ever put a dream or project on the shelf? What would it look like to take it down and rewrite the ending? Share in the comments — I’d love to hear your story.

About The Author