Hi lovelies! It gives me great pleasure today to host Patrice Locke and her new book, “Exit Signs”! For other stops on her Goddess Fish Promotions Book Tour, please click on the banner above or any of the images in this post.
Be sure to make it to the end of this post to enter to win a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Card! Also, come back daily to interact with Patrice and to increase your chances of winning!
by Patrice Locke
GENRE: Romantic Comedy
Tracy Price has a documentary-style life until rockstar Jesse Elliot rewrites her script and takes the wheel to drive her crazy.
In her quest to find a writer missing since the 1930's, Tracy thinks she has discovered exactly how to handle her new relationship. But she may be listening to the wrong voice.
Then Tracy and Jesse find out they've both been keeping some big secrets, and the truth may ruin everything.
Will sharing the missing writer's story open both their hearts?
Jesse lunged toward me. It was too late. I had already launched. He reached out but didn’t connect. Instead, I broke the trajectory of my upper body by grabbing him at chest level and sliding down. He was pushed backward into the table, which stabilized our ungainly host-parasite tableau. He softened my landing so that physically I was fine, but my pride was ready for intensive care.
Heaped at his feet, like a demented penitent, I hugged his knees, my face pressed flat into his thighs. I might as well stay down. What’s worse? To stand up and face you, or remain here, nestled between your legs? What do you think? Then, the finishing touch: I erupted into nervous, snorting laughter. He guessed there was no serious injury.
“It’s nice to see you, too. You are okay, aren’t you? Can you stand?” He reached for my arms to unwrap them from his legs and help me up. I jammed my eyelids together to conjure up a do-over, but no such luck.
I would have to deal with it.
He held my elbows in his hands. “I guess we were both in a hurry to see each other.”
I do appreciate your attempt to lighten the mood, but you are standing SO close. I can feel your body heat. Or is that mine? By the way, you smell tart and fresh, like a lime.
I stared at his shoulder. My dignity meter was stuck on empty.
“Enthusiastic greeting. Thanks for that.” He was blatantly amused.
“It was nothing.” I stepped backward to regain a semblance of independence. Don’t mock me. But, you did go to all the trouble to bring your hair. And your eyes. I might forgive you for witnessing my disgrace. That hair.
The Voice, Literary Style. Why not?
By Accident of Birth, I’ve Written a Book by a Woman
I wish there was a show called, “The Voice, Literary Version: What’s Your Genre?” -- that popular game show where you read a few lines of your unpublished novel and four award-winning authors judge you on the spot and offer to coach you if they like your ‘voice’.
Can I just wait until one of the experts turns a chair around and smiles encouragement? Because I have no idea what to call the book I’ve been working on for the past two years.
I do have a published collection of 91,000 words about a woman investigating a 75-year-old literary mystery while she cyber-stalks a musician who is the world's best-known, least-known semi-rock star. It's not a romance. It's not a mystery. It's a comedy. And I shouldn't be afraid to call it that. It’s called “Exit Signs,” and it was published in September by Soul Mate.
Is it bragging to say it's funny? Doesn’t somebody else have to say that first? Probably. It's hard to claim humor as your genre -- because what if someone doesn't think it's funny? I have to face it... if someone doesn't think it's funny, they're not going to like it anyway. (Logically, then, doesn't that mean they don't like me? How can I bear that? Doesn't everyone have to think it's funny – and think I’m charming? Perhaps I could be satisfied with only a 99 percent approval rating on Amazon. But, no, I'd worry about that one percent and I'd read their comments over and over. I’d be like a tongue worrying an aching tooth.)
Just wait before you judge me. I’m NOT overly sensitive, though I would toss and turn if there was a pea under my mattress. I would stay up wondering who broke into my house and put a pea under my mattress. And exactly what they meant by it. That would definitely keep me awake. Also, should I change my locks?
I digress. The question is: Should I announce that my second novel is funny? It's tempting to call it something else and count on someone else to mention the humor. That's really not fair. People don't write cowboy stories and wait for someone to point out all the horses and cows before they admit that they have written a western.
So far, my new word child is called Ghostsitter, kind of like a babysitter, but for otherworldly creatures that may or may not exist. I’m in the market for a title, though I understand anything with ghost in the name is a likely best seller.
Title isn’t the only problem. I have the added burden of sex -- I don't mean I’ve written an erotic novel, but I did write a book by a woman – I had to by accident of my birth. And, woman writer plus humor plus a man/woman relationship -- bingo. You don't have to say it out loud; I can hear the cold dismissal in your silence. You think I've written CHICK LIT. The only thing worse is ROMANCE – and there’s some of that in there too. I resent that dismissal! I know, who do I think I am being proud of my word-child? But I am. Resolutely. Proud.
As a journalist, Patrice Locke wrote a lot of stories with unhappy and even tragic endings. Facts are facts, and a writer doesn't mess with facts.
But fiction is another world. Patrice began writing novels, where she could control the endings and make them as happy as she wants. The best thing about fiction, she says, is having time to think before her characters speak, so they can say the things most of us only come up with after the perfect moment has passed.
She loves to write, read, and watch romantic comedies where life always turns out the way it should. Her only obsessive relationships are with semicolons and Oxford commas.
Though she doesn't like to brag, Patrice is an award-winning artist. She won a gold and diamond watch when she was 13 for decorating a turkey drumstick bone to look like Batman. Alas, that was her last recognition in the fine arts.
Patrice lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where the blue sky is brilliant, the air is thin, and the vistas are breathtaking. She is none of those things, which is one reason she enjoys living among them.
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Patrice will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour.
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