Today, I’m thrilled to have another Crimsonista (fellow Crimson Romance author) on my couch telling you all about herself. Her name is Traci Douglass, but before I start grilling her with questions, here’s a little about her.
Traci is a Midwest native. She is the author of Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy & Contemporary Romance. Her debut novel, Seal of Destiny, was published with Crimson Romance in January 2013. The next book in her Seven Seals Series, Seal Of Surrender, will be released by Crimson Romance May 6th, 2013. She is an avid animal aficionado, sappy quote lover & more than occasional smartass.
On with the grilling…
Have you ever based a character (good or bad) on a real person? (Do they know?)
I think all writers draw inspiration from real-life, good or bad. The trick is making the characters just different enough to be unrecognizable.
What is your favorite way to celebrate the completion of a book?
Chocolate and wine! 🙂
What social media are you most addicted to?
Facebook—can be a major time suck if I’m not careful… 🙂
Do you binge on sinful treats when you write?
LOL! Unfortunately, just the opposite. Usually I’m so engrossed in the work, I forget to eat altogether!
Best dessert you’ve ever had and where you ate it?
One of my former bosses used to make a dessert called ‘Better Than Sex’ cake. Didn’t quite live up to its namesake, but boy oh boy, that stuff was an extremely close second!
I can’t eat food with food with faces on it. You know, like gingerbread men, animal crackers, chocolate Easter bunnies. Even if it just looks like a person or animal, it’s not for me. All my friends think I’m nuts, but it’s my quirk. ***shrugs*** 🙂
We have guests from all genres, what genre(s) do you write?
Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy & Contemporary Romance
What book(s) are you currently promoting?
My current release is Seal Of Destiny, the first book in my Seven Seals Series. The second book in the series, Seal Of Surrender, will be available from Crimson Romance on May 6, 2013.
They say love conquers all, but can it stop the Apocalypse?
Mira Herald is having a really bad life. Not only is she plagued by horrific nightmares starring the Devil himself, now she’s being targeted by a crazy rogue minion who’s escaped from Hell, bent on her destruction. To top it off, she’s got a stalker named Kagan who insists he’s a divine warrior sent to protect her because she houses an ancient relic with the power to bring on Armageddon. When all hell erupts and her survival hangs in the balance, Mira must let go of her staunch independence and work together with Kagan to stop the first Seal from being opened. Their undeniable attraction draws them down a path neither one expected but both of them yearn for, more than they ever knew.
Can love conquer all? The fate of the world depends on it.
It always started with the stench.
Mira Herald strapped on her extra-small, hot pink sparring gloves and prepared to assault the heavy bag, replaying the horrors of her nocturnal freak show. Fight training had become her refuge, her armor against the vulnerability of a petite frame and the accumulated scourges of abuse. Now she’d use her skills to battle this new siege. With a sniff to chase away the lingering odor of sewer, Mira began her attack.
Pop, pop, pop. Each strike brought forth a new detail of the long-recurring dream. Mud caked clothing. Iron cuffs locking her in place. The warbling off-key tune of some obscure lullaby.
She switched to a series of six-jab combos, the bag morphing into the image of her after-dark tormentor. Thin lips. Yellow, jagged teeth dripping with spittle. The diseased, greenish tone of his flesh, veins dark and bulging beneath it’s mottled surface. His forked tongue flicked out against her cheek like a serpent scenting its prey.
Muscles burning, Mira ignored the pain and continued to pummel her phantom assailant. His emaciated frame dwarfed by a dingy white leisure suit and the wrinkled stained dress shirt beneath. Sulfuric ooze dripping from beneath his pant legs to stain the ground before he descended. The taunting smarm of his cockney drawl.
Bob. Weave. Cross. A guttural moan, the desperate keen of an addict jonesing for his fix. Mira’s mind blurred the sleepscape with visions from her own trailerpark-trashed childhood. Her dearly departed innocence. A twisted Dickens tale courtesy of the State’s family-for-hire foster care system.
Despite her adrenaline-fueled barrage, the final moments of the nightmare persisted. Ghoulish digits trailed her thigh. His parting words—vulgar, rough, yet oddly reverent—delivered with the staccato rat-tat of machine gun fire. “Yolcam Emetgis.” Slip. Slip. Uppercut.
Mira executed a perfect roundhouse kick and the bag teetered wildly, ceiling creaking to support its heft. She grabbed it in a bear hug, slowing its swing. Lounge demon defeated—for now. Her years of self-defense served her well as the nightmares became increasingly vile. The episodes replayed every night, and had even begun to invade her waking hours. Worse, the return to reality grew more difficult with each sojourn. Mira couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a solid eight-hours of uninterrupted sleep. She was so damn tired.
For the umpteenth time, she wondered if insanity ran in her family. Then, grunting, she shoved the punching bag away and stomped toward the bathroom. You don’t have a family, dumbass.
Stepping into the scorching hot shower, she tried to scrub away the revulsion from her captor’s touch. It didn’t help. Why would someone—her birth mother, say—leave a newborn at the ER entrance with no note, no way to cope, no link to the world beyond. Mira jammed the shower off. Didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t need a family. She didn’t need anybody.
Mira strode into the bedroom and surveyed the clothes in her closet before tossing out a clean pair of jeans and a hot pink t-shirt. The cute tanks and faded denims tucked away in the corner stirred a pang of sadness. She crammed it deep, out of reach. She didn’t wear those clothes anymore. They revealed too much. At sixteen, she’d reveled in her blossoming figure. Twelve years and one brutal violation later, she knew better. Now she dressed for defense. Mira pulled on her self-imposed uniform then moved to the edge of her bed to lace on her steel-toed combat boots. Barriers in place, she was ready to tackle the outside world.
She suppressed a yawn and bustled to the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee in her chipped happy face mug and check her phone. Only one person ever texted. The only person who’d never betrayed her. She smiled when the message flashed across the screen. ‘Meet you at the platform. Need caffeine. Z.’
Mira plucked her oversized coat off its hook on the wall and bundled up, her chest squeezed by a familiar sense of foreboding. Yet another pleasant side effect of the nightmares. After a firm mental shake, Mira locked the door and sprinted to catch the train at the nearby station.
Wow. Mira, sounds like one badass gal. My kind of heroine! Thanks for sharing a little about you and your work, Traci.
Thanks so much for having me on your blog.