Excerpt Chapter One
The only thing I was worried about as I headed back to my apartment building was the spot on the back of my hand where hot fat had left a burn the size of a nickel. Small, but mighty, the burn throbbed and ached, reminding me it was there. It was worse when the sun hit it, which it did frequently. It was one of those perfect, mild days in December, when you could actually see the sky over L.A. and it was blue.
Who am I kidding? The burn spot wasn’t the only thing I was worried about. If you were to ask me, I could rattle off a dozen major and minor problems, including the sumo-sized rat I suspect was trying to take up residence under my kitchen sink. But those were all chronic problems.
The burn on my hand was new and painful. I didn’t need new problems and was trying my best to ignore it until I could slather aloe vera gel on it. Marjorie, at the diner, had hacked off a leaf from the plant sitting in the pot outside the kitchen door when Deborah, the assistant manager, hadn’t been looking. Marj had wrapped the leaf in plastic. It was in my bag, along with the serving of pecan pie which Deborah had ordered the waitresses to throw out because it was too old. Three days old…there was nothing wrong with it, and it had more calories in it than the egg and toast I had lined up for dinner.
In this world that wasn’t the one I would voluntarily choose, today was turning out okay. Pecan pie, and Hobgoblin of History in my ears. I had been waiting weeks for book fifteen of M.K. Lint’s fantasy series. The library had doled it out to me yesterday and I was on chapter three. Harry the Hobgoblin was looking for the Fairy Eloise, this book; he’d lost her at the end of the last one, because he hadn’t closed the Doors of Eternal Flame in time and a demon had abducted her.
I like reading. I like it a lot.
My building was a white monstrosity that did nothing to enhance the L.A. skyline. The white had long ago turned to a stained, dull grey. Five years ago, a fire had broken out on the top floor and burned out a few apartments. The black smoke had billowed up out of the windows, staining the walls above them. The stains were still there and every time I saw them, I had to remind myself they were smoke stains, not black mould taking over the building. Black mould seemed more appropriate.
I turned off the audiobook, stashed my phone in my pocket and headed for the front door. I only used the front door when I came home from work. Usually, I used the side door, because it was closer to the bus stop.
There was another homeless person sitting on the front steps, leaning against the wrought iron bannister as if they couldn’t prop themselves up, their jean jacket pulled in tight. It wasn’t that cold, although this late in the afternoon, any warmth in the day was beginning to fade.
I swung around the homeless person’s worn boots, and up the steps, digging out my key.
“Mom?” The voice wavered.
I whirled, my heart rate climbing, to face the woman rising from the steps, a denial on my lips.
Blue, short, spiky hair. A nose ring. Black eye makeup that had run…or that she had been wearing for too many days. The black looked like bruises.
“Ghaliya?” I asked, for the high cheekbones, narrow chin and high forehead were hers. So were the blue eyes—even if they were blood shot. The next question was right there, behind my teeth. What the hell are you doing here?
Ghaliya pulled the jacket in around her once more. She’d lost weight since the last time I’d seen her…two years, two months and five days ago. And about thirty minutes.
“The super said you’d be home around now,” Ghaliya said. She bent and picked up a small black backpack that had been sitting under her knees and straightened.
Was it possible she’d got taller? She’d been an inch shorter than me. I didn’t think she was shorter than me anymore, and I am nearly always the tallest woman in the room.
I didn’t ask why she was here. That was obvious. She needed help.
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Interview with . . . Tracy Cooper-Posey . . .
How would you describe your style of writing to someone that has never read your work?
It isn’t me who describes my writing style, but my readers and reviewers. A great many reviews talk about how immersive my stories are. That, when you read them, you are there, right in the story, breathing alongside the main characters, seeing everything they see and feeling everything they feel.
My readers have told me that it is that quality of my writing that keeps them reading my stories no matter what I write.
Which is lovely.
Do you feel that writing is an ingrained process or just something that flows naturally for you?
I don’t think writing “just flows” for anyone. It certainly didn’t for me, not when I first started writing. Everything, every word, was a conscious decision.
Even after 200 books, writing isn’t ingrained for me. I’m certainly more practiced, but every novel is different and has unique challenges.
There is a danger in thinking that writing should just flow, or be ingrained. It makes an author relax and perhaps not pay as much attention to the process as they might.
With the ugly realism of AI written books taking over the stores, the last thing authors can afford to do is relax.
We should all be writing books that only humans can write, which requires digging deep inside and finding the emotions that reach the page and move readers. That takes focus and deliberate practice.
Have you found yourself bonding with any particular character(s)? If so which one(s)?
I have two heroes, Brody and Veris, who feature in the Kiss Across Time series. They are my best and most favourite characters. They sprung upon the page nearly fully formed, their voices completely individual and their personalities at full wattage. I took dictation, for those books, and every time they make encore appearances in the rest of the series, I have to make sure they don’t take over the scene. They’re that strong.
A few years ago, I had coffee cups made with “I ♥ Brody & Veris”. I sold hundreds of them! So it isn’t just me who likes the pair.
Can you share your next creative project(s)? If yes, can you give a few details?
My very next project, that I will be starting very soon, is Grace of Lancelot, book 10 of my King Arthur romance series, Once and Future Hearts.
I don’t have a lot of details for the novel itself, yet, but for anyone who knows the Arthurian mythology well, they will recognize the theme of the story from the title. Lancelot faces a severe test of his morals, beliefs and faith in himself and the rightness of his world…and of Arthur’s rule of Britain.
After ten books, the series is ramping up for the ending. Again, if you know King Arthur myth, you know how part of the series ends…but just part of the series. There are a great many stories being told in this series. The series sprawls. It’s huge.
What are some of your writing/publishing goals for this year?
I’ve had a couple of very rocky years, writing-wise. I have cancer, which was diagnosed at the end of 2022, after a year of mysterious pain and immobility…and very little writing.
I wrote very little more in the following year, which was filled with operations, chemotherapy and other equally stressful treatments.
There is no cure for my type of cancer, but I am in remission, and for this year, I want to write as much as possible, and get back to the pace of writing that would let me release books at the pace I once did.
Where would you spend one full year, if you could go Anywhere, money is not a concern? What would you do with this time?
I’d go to the future. About a thousand years ahead, just to see how it all works out.
But if you’re insisting on somewhere in the current world, then I would spend a year in Britain, and buy my way into every historical research project and archeological dig taking place in that year. I would walk the length of Hadrian’s Wall. And I would hire a historian who specializes in sub-Roman Britain and have them tour me to every interesting location on the island, including, of course, Tintagel.
I might like history a bit. 😊Thank you Tracey Cooper-Posey for joining and giving a little insight to you and your process. Your work is appreciated.
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