Tracey lives in the Coolest Little Capital in the World (a.k.a Wellington, New Zealand) with her wonderfully supportive IT guy husband and two teens who would love to be surgically linked to their electronic devices. When she’s not writing, thinking about writing, or procrastinating about writing, she can be found reading sexy books of all romance genres, nibbling on smuggled chocolate bars or bribing her teens to take over the housework.
Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HEZR8V8
I love spring! Here in New Zealand we have cute little lambs leaping around paddocks and the first daffodils pushing through the earth in my garden. So I’m so thrilled to be a part of Tracee’s Spring Fever blog tour.
Spring is also a time for new life and new ideas—which to a writer means waking up the muse from her winter sluggishness. Only my muse is lazy. She’s often cranky. And she’s a real cow about not sharing her cookies. She shows up when she’s good and ready, but by God—I’d better have my butt in my office chair when she does. So I write five to six days a week, for about six hours a day while Teen 1 and Teen 2 are at school. At least, I sit on my chair and pray the words come. Usually they do—if I can ignore the muse’s polar opposite. The Critic. Now she—she, is a bee-yotch.
The Critic is my public enemy number one and the source of the greatest struggles I’ve had on my journey to publication. She whispers in my ear every few months, “Give up. Nobody wants to read your drivel anyway.” On bad days I listen. On good days I kick her ass to the curb because I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’ve always had the compulsion to write. And for years I wrote short stories (and one really rubbish novel that we won’t talk about) and practiced my craft until they were at a publishable level. Now that my kids are old enough to not need mum to entertain them, I finally have the headspace to write books. I often joke with my very supportive husband that if this writing gig doesn’t work out, I could probably get a job flipping burgers. He just rolls his eyes. Because, yeah. Aside from the fact I suck at cooking, even if I did work at a burger joint I wouldn’t stop writing because my characters just won’t, shut, up. Ever.
Take Piper, the heroine of my first book, In Too Deep. Piper didn’t come into my head fully formed and ready to rock and roll. Nope. Piper, when I first came up with the idea of a New Zealand police diver seeking redemption for the death of a family member, started out as a man. Her maleness vanished in a huff and a heavy dose of ‘tude. Like hell, would the author (that’d be me) tell her she couldn’t be a police diver because she was a girl and no females had ever qualified for this elite team of professionals. I believe the first words she uttered were, “Not only am I a police diver, but I dive with sharks. So bite me!”
I’ve only been able to call myself a ‘published author’ for little more than a month and it’s been a huge learning curve. Totally worth it though. I’ve made some wonderful, supportive writer friends. I’ve surprised myself by stepping out of my comfort zone and taking on tasks that would’ve frozen me solid a year ago. Most of all I’ve found a way to gag The Critic—because every time she opens her nasty little mouth I direct her to the lovely e-mails, tweets, Facebook messages and reviews I’ve received saying how much people have enjoyed my work.
Take that, Critic bee-yotch.