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Character Interview: Tracy Price
Tracy Price, 32 years old. Documentary film researcher, narrator of “Exit Signs” by Patrice Locke.
1. Give up three of your deepest, darkest secrets. Can’t tell you the biggest one. I’m saving that for the plot of “Exit Signs,” the story of my life, or the most important part of it anyway. But I can tell you:
• When I was 13 I predicted that I would marry Green Day…all of them.
• I say my favorite book is “Crime and Punishment” by Dostoyevsky, but it’s actually “Are You My Mother?” by P.D. Eastman. What can I say? My grandmother read it to me after my mother died. But kudos to Dostoyevsky for trying.
• I know the script of “Pretty Woman” by heart and believe the solution to all the world’s problems can be found therein. “Take care of You.” “You look hot tonight.” “Carlos would bust something if he could see you in that outfit.” See? “Maybe you could buy some diamonds and a horse.” Covers all the bases.
2. If you could have one super power in your existence, what would it be? It’s got to be mindreading. Someone I know has a very annoying habit of reading my mind. And it’s a little cluttered up there generally, so I don’t enjoy someone rooting around unaccompanied and uninvited. Also, when it comes to that mindreading person I have had some thoughts about him that he has no business knowing. The man’s ego is large enough already.
3. A biography has been written about you. What do you think the title would be in six words or less? My name is Tracy Price, so I have the perfect title. “The Price is Right.”
4. If money were not an object, where would you most like to live? I hate to brag, but lately money has not been an issue. Can’t say exactly why, just that things are working out better than I ever dreamed. And I’m still living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, though I’m ready to do some travelling. I’d like to rent a place by the ocean, both in California and on the coast of England. Hey, like I said, money is not an issue presently. I may have turned out to be a gold digger after all.
5. I can never narrate a documentary about the Viennese Lippizaner stallions because the word PRANCE cracks me up every time.
6. The next time I meet a semi-famous rock star I will not fall at his feet, literally or figuratively. Also, I will wear some sort of gag to make sure I do not make any inappropriate remarks. You know, a surgical mask might work. I could claim I have the flu…
7. Why do I always say exactly what I’m thinking when it’s something stupid and keep quiet when I should be confessing serious emotions?
8. My favorite flavor is always evolving because I am a snack virtuoso. Chocolate sauce for meatballs? I’ve done it. Rattlesnake meat wrapped in cotton candy? Not yet, but I’m thinking about it. How about tuna suspended in orange jello? See? I’m a prodigy.
9. I love my work partner Darren because I couldn’t be a genius without him. He says I’m the beauty and he’s the brains, but he’s actually both of those. I’m in awe, but don’t tell him. It would ruin our balance of power.
10. How much honesty can you take? I’ll take a small helping, please. Why? I’m afraid too much straight talk will hurt my feelings.
11. Name one thing you must do before you die, and why. I want to go to Bucharest to see where my grandmother grew up. Maybe I could dig up some relatives as well, not literally, of course. Though it is in Romania, so possibly I could star in a sequel to “Exit Signs.” How about, “Who’s Your Daddy? Dracula!”
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.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
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.
Author Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/bypatricelocke/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel
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