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The Marguerite Coincidence (Spooky October)

Silken Sheets & Seduction


~ part of Sofia’s Spooky October series ~

I was up against a tight deadline to get the editor revisions completed, and was struggling to do them at home. In frustration I grabbed my laptop and headed out to a local cafe, one I’d only been to once or twice.

His Temporary Fix is a romance written around the mysterious circumstances of a young woman’s death. Her name was Marguerite (Marnie), and she worked in a cafe near the station, in a quiet village very similar to my own. The cafe I headed for that day, is the one I’d had in mind for Marguerite’s place.

Anyway, I rattled through most of the outstanding revisions, and as the cafe was about to close, I prepared to leave. In the tiny bathroom, a single picture hung on the wall – a sprawling white daisy-like flower, with the word Marguerite underneath it.

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By sofiagrey1 Posted in News

Growing up in a Haunted House

#4 in the Spooky October series


Nope, that’s not code for something. I mean properly haunted. With a ghost.


Growing up, I was the youngest of three, and since my brother and sister were much older, I was more like an only child at home. I don’t remember much of the early manifestations, but it’s safe to say they freaked out my parents.


It was an old brick –built house, dating from the late 1890’s, and joined to the house next door, semi-detached style. These were the only two properties at the end of a long country lane.


Picture the scene. Late at night. The household is asleep. My brother is home with a group of friends, and after returning from a night at the pub, they all crash on the living room floor. All is peaceful, until the locked back door makes a banging noise, as though someone threw the door open. Same with the kitchen door. Then the door at the bottom of the stairs. Heavy feet pound up the stairs. Each bedroom door flies opens in turn, and then shuts again. The footsteps hurtle back down, the doors all slam shut. The whole thing was over in less than a minute.



My father was furious. He charged downstairs, ready to take the guys to task, but found then all asleep. Solidly, and drunkenly. They slept through it.


This pattern of doors opening and feet on the stairs was repeated a couple more times, but then stopped. Was it connected to the well-meaning local vicar saying some prayers in the house? We’ll never know. He drew the line at exorcism, you see. Anyway it seemed to work.


Other odd things happened while I was growing up, events that defied science. Strange noises coming from next door, like bowling balls rolling along the floor. When Mum asked the neighbour, he said the sound was coming from our house.


2000px-aceofspades-svgPlaying a card game—Chase the Ace—that relied on the Ace of Spades, and having to stop the game when it went missing. Totally and completely missing, from one hand to the next. The card turned up in the front garden the next morning, lying on the top stone of the rockery.


When I was eight, I was given a proper wristwatch for the first time, as opposed to the cheap ones beforehand. I was thrilled, and vowed to take good care of it, wind it up every day, and take it off at bedtime. Two days later, it vanished from my bedroom overnight. I swore I placed it on the dressing table when I went to bed, but in the morning it was gone. It turned up a week later, lying proudly on the rockery stone—and still keeping time, even though it should have run down days earlier.


The TV being struck by lightning as we watched the Wimbledon finals one year was bad enough. When it happened again a couple of years later—again during the Wimbledon finals—it went beyond coincidence. Our poor next door neighbour had theirs struck by lightning another year. Three strikes on the same building? Seriously?


And yet, even with a plethora of unexplained things happening, we never felt scared or uneasy. Ours was a calm and playful ghost. Rumour had it, a teenage boy that grew up in the house, had died in a road accident at fifteen, and it was his spirit that haunted us.


Years passed. My parents retired to somewhere smaller, and my brother bought the old place and remodelled it. The original staircase was taken out, the upstairs was redesigned. All was going well until the master builder decided to work late one bright, summer evening. He heard a noise behind him, and thought it was his apprentice packing up. “Pass me the hammer,” he said to his boy, but nothing happened. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw a young man looking at him. Even as the builder opened his mouth to speak, the stranger turned on his heel and walked through the new interior wall that had been constructed days earlier.


To my knowledge, the builder is the only person to ever actually see our ghost. The house has been sold on a couple more times, and now lies empty. That’s a shame. I’m sure our friendly ghost preferred to have company.


Have you ever seen or heard a ghost? I’d love to hear from you🙂



Six Haunted Scottish Castles

~ Spooky October #3 ~


According to The Scotsman Magazine (11 August 2014), the five most haunted castles in Scotland are:

  1. Meggernie Castle (Perthshire)
  2. Ethie Castle (nr Arbroath)
  3. Sanquhar Castle (Dumfries)
  4. Duntrune Castle (Argyll)
  5. Barcaldine Castle (Argyll)

For more on these, read the article here: http://www.scotsman.com/heritage/people-places/five-of-the-most-haunted-castles-in-scotland-1-3505914

I mentioned six castles, but have only listed five. That’s because I want to tell you about a truly spooky experience I had in Elcho Castle, Perthshire.

elcho-1I visited here in September 2004, while on holiday. Elcho was probably the fourth castle I’d visited during that week.

Elcho was mostly empty inside, and in a good state of repair. It was a warm and sunny early autumn day, and the building felt peaceful and calm. Rising from the main floor space were four winding staircases, one of which—according to the information brochure—led to a roofwalk. I visited with my husband, our young son and his friend, and I left them pottering about while I explored the staircases. The first three were fine, and I left the roofwalk-access one until last. I wanted to check how safe the roofwalk was, before I took the children up there.


Half-way up, the staircase widened into a spacious, sun-filled landing, but as soon as I set foot on it I froze. It was as though I’d walked into a wall of icy fog. It looked bright and sunny, but the temperature dropped unbearably. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had the distinct impression of something squeezing me around the chest, tightening and forcing the air out of my lungs.

I broke free and managed to step back. Just two steps down, the temperature leapt back to normal. My heart was still racing. I took a deep breath. My lungs worked again.


Needless to say, I made my way back downstairs. When I caught up with my husband a few minutes later, I suggested he take a look for himself, without telling him what I experienced. He came back shortly after, looking pale and shaken. Yes, he agreed, when we swapped notes. That was WEIRD.

We asked the castle guide if the place was haunted, and she told us there were rumours of a white lady. According to legend, the woman was terribly burned when her dress caught fire, and she died a few days later. This was nowhere near the staircase, though, and so I’m not convinced they are connected.

Unfortunately this was before the days of digital cameras and hundreds of images, and the 35mm shots I took didn’t show anything untoward.

If you’d like to visit a haunted Scottish castle, or watch footage or paranormal investigators doing their thing, you should check out this site: http://haunted-scotland.co.uk/

There is footage of their findings in Elcho Castle, and it’s worth a look: http://haunted-scotland.co.uk/elcho-castle-2/

Do you have any stories about Scottish castles? Have you ever experienced anything you couldn’t explain with science? I’d love to hear from you.

Image of Elcho staircase courtesy of Pinterest: https://nz.pinterest.com/pin/412783122079519314/


Why is romance writing seen as a joke?


My close friends all know. My immediate family knows. Some of my workmates (past and present) also know. It’s not like I keep it a secret, so why don’t I make more of a fuss about it?

My name is Sofia, and I write romantic fiction. There, I’ve said it.




Despite its market share, romantic fiction is still seen as a joke. The dweeb at the office party. Not important enough to have an opinion. Not cool enough. The dim-witted fool that nobody takes seriously.

It frustrates the hell out of me.


When I tell someone new, the conversation follows a predictable path.

Me: I’m a writer.

Them: Really? Have you been published?

Me: Yes. Over 20 solo titles, and 11 short stories in anthologies.

Them: That’s exciting. What kinds of books do you write?

Me: Romantic fiction.


* tumbleweed drifts by *


Them: Umm. Like Fifty Shades?

Me: Not really.

Them: * snickering * I wouldn’t have thought you wrote romance.


At this point, I really want to drive home the statistics. Largest share of the genre fiction market. Approximately 15% of the entire adult fiction market. Over 70 million readers in the target market. Over half the mass market paperbacks sold in the USA.

Do I? Nope. I’m usually eyeing up my rapid exit and wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.


The next set of questions are predictable:

Them: How many have you sold?

Me: < Per day? Week? Grand total? > Difficult to calculate. More than I realise, but way less than many others.

Them: How much money have you made?

Me: < This one makes me feel like asking how much they earn. Again, I’m non-committal. > Not enough to give up the day job.

Them: Where do you get your ideas?

Me: < smiling sweetly > The office.

Them: Have you tried everything you’ve written about?

Me: Well of course. <  If I said I wrote sci-fi murders, would they still ask this? >  Yes, I bludgeoned a five-eyed green alien with my blaster on my way in today.

Them: Why don’t you write a proper book?

Me:<  This one stings. I want to stamp my foot and reply, “because romance isn’t ‘proper’, or isn’t a ‘book’?” >


A close family-member recently informed me that I’m not a “real writer”. Not sure what criteria they were using, either.




Romance novels regularly top the major bestseller lists (New York Times, Publishers Weekly and USA Today), and have a large, dedicated audience of readers.

A 2014 report on RICHEST.COM (http://www.therichest.com/rich-list/which-5-book-genres-make-the-most-money/), looked at genre fiction, and which is the most lucrative. They collated information on leading authors’ earnings and reports of industry trends, to compile a list of the 5 most valuable, highest-earning genres in the book business.


5. Horror ($79.6 million)

4. Science Fiction & Fantasy ($590.2 million)

3. Religious / Inspirational ($720 million)

2. Crime / Mystery ($728.2 million)

1. Romance / Erotica ($1.44 billion)


I’d love to think that next time I tell someone new, I’ll be loud and proud, but I bet I won’t. I might even be vague. Perhaps I’ll say I write contemporary fiction. Does that make me more acceptable?









Last chance to win $300 Amazon voucher…

~ This promo runs until midnight on Saturday 8 October ~


How does a $300 Amazon gift card sound? And free books?

I’m taking part in a fabulous October promotion along with my Acelette Press buddy Allyson Lindt and 9 other authors. It’s FREE to enter too  :-)

Really, what’s not to like?

6 Haunted Air Force Bases in England

~ Spooky October #2 ~


I grew up in a haunted house, and have had a few spooky encounters of my own. It’s no surprise I enjoy writing stories about psychics, and ghosts, and things that go bump in the night.

In the run up to World War 2, hundreds of air force bases were hastily constructed in England and haunted WW2 airfields now litter the English countryside. Most of them have either returned to the farms they were commandeered for, or built over and used for modern purposes. Some still remain, if you want to do some ghost hunting.

  1. RAF Davidstow Moor, Cornwall

Open from late 1942 until 1945. It is the highest airfield in the UK at 294 metres and as such suffered badly with low cloud and fog. There is a superb museum based near the airfield, the Davidstow Moor RAF Memorial Museum, with free admission.

I stumbled on this place years ago, and had my own déjà vu experience. Check out my story here: https://sofiagrey.com/2016/10/02/dreaming-of-ponies-and-a-control-tower/

  1. RAF Wigsley, Nottinghamshire

Reports of morse code tapping inside the control tower. The tower was recently put up for sale: http://thelincolnite.co.uk/2015/09/former-world-war-two-raf-control-tower-near-lincoln-put-on-the-market/

  1. RAF Coleby Grange, Lincolnshire

The derelict control tower is all that’s left of this base, and is said to be haunted by a guilt-ridden RAF officer. The mournful figure has been observed looking sadly from the top floor of the old control tower, his gaze taking in the over grown runway. Mysterious footsteps have also been heard in the top corridor.


  1. RAF Thorpe Abbotts, Norfolk

The control tower was restored in 1977 and was turned into the 100th Bomb Group Memorial Museum. Several World War II era buildings remain in various states of decay. There are several reports of ghost activity here. http://www.nightwatchmanchronicles.com/thorpe-abbots-haunted-airfield/

  1. RAF Wickenby, Lincolnshire

Shadowy figures walking near the runway, people whistling old songs, airmen spotted smoking cigarettes before vanishing, a pilot who walks into the control room and vanishes upstairs, mechanics running towards where the old hangars used to be and vanishing into thin air.

  1. RAF Hemswell, Lincolnshire

Today’s visitors to the former wartime airfield at RAF Hemswell report being challenged by sentries who vanish, or have seen men in vintage aircrew uniform walking or hanging around the hangers, and even heard 1940s’ music playing around the buildings.

Have you visited any spooky locations? Gone ghost hunting for yourself? Or do you think it’s a load of old hokum?

Dreaming of ponies and a control tower…

My spooky encounter with RAF Davidstow Moor, in Cornwall

~ Spooky October #1 ~


I dreamed of being inside an empty building. It was small inside, constructed entirely of concrete, and had a sad, abandoned feeling. I kicked my way through dried grass and leaves on the floor, walked up narrow concrete stairs and found myself in a long, thin room with one side open. It overlooked a flat plain of grass, with a road cutting straight through it. It reminded me of a 1960’s construction concrete multi-storey carpark, but I had no other frame of reference for it then. To add to the strangeness of the dream, there were wild ponies gathered around the entrance.


The dream stayed with me, as they sometimes do, but it was lots of years later while on holiday in Cornwall, that I actually found the building. We were exploring one day and stumbled onto a disused World War 2 airfield – RAF Davidstow Moor. And there was an abandoned control tower. I didn’t recognise it at first – remember, I dreamed about being inside – but I knew I had to get closer, to find a way in. Hubby thought I was crazy, but short of locking the car doors and driving away at high speed, he couldn’t stop me.



I knew the minute I stepped inside. The dream flooded back in vivid detail and I made my way upstairs to what was actually the viewing gallery, overlooking what had been the runway. Everything was as I’d dreamed it. To say it sent shivers down my spine was an understatement. The only thing missing was the ponies. Really? Ponies in a control tower. Laughing to myself at the absurdity of the morning, I went back downstairs and out to the sunshine, walking around the other side of the tower… and stopping dead when I saw the dozen or so wild ponies sheltering there from the wind.




Images copyright of Flickr Hive Mind http://flickrhivemind.net/Tags/davidstow/Timeline


I finally wrote this fantastic setting into one of my dark paranormal romances, CRAVING (currently on offer for $0.99). Although it’s part of the Talisman series, it can be read as a standalone.


CRAVING (Talisman #2)



A deal with a demon, a biker psychic and the girl who might just be his salvation… if the demon doesn’t get to her first.

Dante isn’t your typical medium. With his leather jacket, tattoos and piercings, he looks more at home on his motorbike than he does holding a séance and Katherine has no intention of getting involved with him. He’s the complete opposite of the kind of man she wants and represents everything she’s tried to leave behind, but she needs a medium and he’s the best one around.

Dante’s never allowed himself to get close to anyone for fear of putting them in danger. His craving for Katherine is about to bring his worst nightmares to life.



Even as I contemplated the impossibility of finding another medium at such short notice, I realized something had changed. I recognized the music instantly. Glen Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. Surely Melissa wasn’t listening to it outside? When the temperature dropped, I felt an icy trickle down my spine. Like an idiot, I held tighter on both sides, Dante and Tristan. Dante’s hand was warm against mine, his palm slightly calloused. The hand of a man who worked for a living. Tristan’s in comparison was smooth and cool.

Dante was speaking, but I didn’t pay any attention. There, flickering in the doorway, like a hologram on a bubble gum card, stood a man in uniform. A Royal Air Force uniform. Oh. My. God. I’d help to set up the room—there was no hidden projection unit, just our own equipment. I hoped to God it all worked. I could see the airman clearly. He was transparent in places, yet parts of him looked solid. I shivered, my breath hanging in front of my face. How could it be so cold, so quickly? I tightened my grip on Dante, excitement coursing through me, the breath catching in my throat.

Tristan stared, his mouth open. Dante’s girl looked mildly interested. Lucy and Chaz, the remaining members of our party gazed with wide eyes, leaning fractionally closer together.

“I thank you for joining us. Please tell us your name.” Dante’s voice, a calming presence, broke through the fear gripping me.

The image shimmered as he took a step closer, tugging off his cap and twisting it in his hands. He frowned, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. “I can’t find Emma. Where’s Emma?” His voice was clear and well-spoken, just a hint of a Scottish burr in his accent.

Anticipation bubbled. This was real, tangible proof of the paranormal. Not just a disembodied voice, but a walking and talking apparition. I could never have hoped for such a fantastic success—and in our first session.

Dante spoke, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’m sorry, Emma’s not here. Could you please tell us your name?”

“Sergeant Jackson. Six-one-two Squadron.” He sounded distracted, his eyes darting left and right. He didn’t seem to see us. “Emma said she’d be here for the dance. I know I’m late. Please don’t tell me she’s already left?” His features were blurred: short dark hair, a pale face and dark eyes. I squinted, but he stayed resolutely fuzzy.

“Where are you from, Sergeant Jackson?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, the airman’s mouth twisted. “I need to find her.” Our eyes met. I blinked, turning away, unable to face any more of his pain.

The lamps flickered—I looked back up, but he was gone. Snuffed out as though a light had been turned off. At the same instant, the temperature surged, rose back to normal, and the music stopped. I sucked in an excited breath. Gazing round the table, I looked at Dante and felt a ripple of uncertainty. His head was bowed, shoulders strained, and he was panting—his lungs whistling with each ragged breath. With the damp circles of perspiration on his back, he looked as though he’d run a marathon.



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My Name is Human – Best Song This Year?

Silken Sheets & Seduction


Profound and a little mysterious. Just as I like ’em

Yeah, it’s barely October, but this one gets my vote for most stunning song this year – from a band I only started listening to recently. Highly Suspect. Have you heard of them? Maybe not, this rock trio from Massachusetts only released their first album (Mister Asylum) in July 2015.

Anyway, there isn’t a ‘proper’ video released yet for My Name is Human. What you do get, is a breathtaking and hypnotic piece of film that captures the essence of the song completely. Take a look, and see if you agree:

I adore the night skies, and when I moved Down Under to New Zealand and saw the Milky Way in all it’s majesty, it threatened to reduce me to tears. I was an emotional mess at the time (new life half-way around the world, new job, new…

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By sofiagrey1 Posted in News

Fantastic boxed set on offer – from Tracey Alvarez

Due South boxed set – only $0.99 (usual retail price $7.99)


If you like heartwarming, sexy and sweet small-town romances with a touch of comedy, you’ll love sharing the journey with these authentic men and women struggling to find their special someone.

The Due South bundle contains the first five books of Tracey Alvarez’s best-selling series set against the stunning backdrop of Aotearoa, New Zealand.


The first 5 Due South Books (over 1500 pages) included in this bundle are:

In Too Deep (Book #1)
Two hearts. A second chance. Everything on the line…
To save her brother from financial ruin, police diver Piper Harland does the one thing she swore she’d never do—return to the tiny island hometown on Stewart Island where Ryan “West” Westlake crushed her heart. West lost Piper once, but now she’s back for an unexpected six week visit. Maybe he wants her a little bit, but can he fall in love with such a flight risk? Saying goodbye the second time might just destroy them both.

Melting Into You (Book #2)
They’ll either melt or raze their lives to the ground…
Ben Harland is, by his own admission, a bit of a grouch. He doesn’t do soppy chick-flicks and he’s hen-picked enough as it is with his mother and two younger sisters on his case. He sure doesn’t need any more drama in his world. But life has a way of rearing up and biting him in the butt when he least expects it. Cue insta-daddyhood to an eight-year-old girl and an out-of-control attraction to Stewart Island’s hot school teacher, Kezia Murphy. 

Ready To Burn (Book #3) 
Watch the sparks fly as they burn it up in the kitchen…
Shaye Harland desperately wants the role of Due South’s head chef, but the far too sexy Del Westlake muscles in and steals it. A reality TV show plans to feature Del at his estranged father’s restaurant—jump-starting his ruined reputation and career in the States—but will the sparks flying in the kitchen burn his chances of ever becoming Shaye’s Mr. Perfect? 

Christmas With You (Book #4)
The Kiwi barbecue isn’t the only thing sizzling this summer…
Carly Gatlin’s doesn’t want to spend another Christmas alone since her father died the year before. She’s come to Stewart Island in New Zealand to spend the holiday with her stepfamily, though she feels more of a Christmas Grinch than filled with good cheer. Kip Sullivan’s big, boisterous family have also arrived en-masse—someone just shoot him before his match-making relatives get out of control. Kip agrees to make Carly’s first Kiwi Christmas special, but will he gain more than mistletoe kisses from the woman who threatens to claim his heart? 

My Forever Valentine (Book #5) 
Love small town romance and Happily Ever Afters?
Dive into the Due South world to find out what your favourite characters are doing to celebrate Valentine’s Day with these four short and sweet romance stories.
Intended for mature 18+ aged readers.

Praise for the Due South series!

“It’s official…I’m hooked on this series! I want to jump on a plane and fly to this island, because apparently they grow them big and HOT in New Zealand…men that is!!!” ~ Swept Away By Romance

“Perfection comes in many shapes and forms, and Ms Alvarez delivers in her contemporary voice and quirky character traits that make a distinctive difference between average and stellar storytelling.” ~ InD’Tale Magazine


On offer at $0.99 until 2 October. Buy it now from:


Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Kobo | Google Play |  Amazon UK


Excerpt  – From Ready To Burn

One second Del stood beside her all moody and mysterious, and the next, his hands gripped the railing on either side of her hips. He moved fast–fast enough that she made an embarrassing little eep-ish squawk. Nowhere to go unless she became flexible enough to do a flip over the wooden railing. 

Shaye yanked her hands from her pockets and gave his chest a shove. “Back off.”

Even after she added her sous chef do it now or die glare, he stayed, big and bad and way too close. He continued watching her with dark and unreadable eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed. 

Her hands didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t put them back on those two hard pecs, since every single nerve-ending had soaked up the heat burning through Del’s shirt and transmitted swoony, oh yeah sighs into her brain. 

Stupid nerve-endings. Stupid brain.

She wriggled her bottom, so she half sat on the railing, arching away from him. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you the reason.”

The rough timbre of his voice stroked over her. Wickedly dark, decadently rich, scarily addictive. Like chocolate, the quality stuff made of eighty percent pure cacao. 

He leaned forward, his face level with hers. “It’s a compelling reason.”

Shaye’s hand shot out to grip his biceps–that or topple backward–but God, he felt amazing. All hard, sinewy muscle and why the hell couldn’t she unhook her fingers?

Her breathing hitched, high and ragged. “My sister’s a cop, and I know how to defend myself.”

“So, show me your ninja moves.” 

“Daring a cornered woman to hurt you isn’t very bright.”

One of his hands rasped off the wooden railing and touched the end of her ponytail. He selected a strand and stroked it down her jaw. Shaye licked her lips, unable to suck her gaze from his mouth, which angled closer. Close enough that she could tell the flavor of the last handful of potato chips he’d eaten. 

Salt and vinegar. Her favorite.

She strained upward to see if he tasted as good as he smelled…Freaking hell– 

Shaye reared back a little, hair slipping from his fingers, her chin narrowly missing his. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Her heart gave a little bunny-hop at the thought and leaped around her ribs.

“Not unless you ask real nice.” 

“Ask you?” There was that damn smirk of his again. She should’ve guessed he was playing with her. “When pigs fly.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but the smile didn’t falter. “Now you’ll have to say, ‘Please, Del. With a cherry on top.’”

“I’d jam that cherry up your nose before I’d kiss you, Hollywood. Get outta my face.”

His gaze dipped once to her mouth then flicked up. “I can’t go anywhere while you’re grabbing onto me.”


Copyright © Tracey Alvarez 2014


Author links:

Website: http://www.traceyalvarez.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/TraceyAlvarezAuthor

Twitter: http://twitter.com/TraceyAlvarezNZ

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/TraceyAlvarez

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/traceyalvarez/

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+TraceyAlvarez/posts

Amazon Author page: http://amazon.com/author/traceyalvarez

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/traceyalvareznz/

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/JR3Asu


Author Bio:

new-author-photoTracey Alvarez lives in the Coolest Little Capital in the World (a.k.a Wellington, New Zealand). Married to a wonderfully supportive IT guy, she has two teens who would love to be surgically linked to their electronic devices.

Fuelled by copious amounts of coffee, she’s the author of contemporary romantic fiction set predominantly in New Zealand. Small-towns, close communities, and families are a big part of the heart-warming stories she writes. Oh, and hot, down-to-earth heroes—Kiwi men, in other words.

When she’s not writing, thinking about writing, or procrastinating about writing, Tracey can be found with her nose in her e-reader, nibbling on smuggled chocolate bars, or bribing her kids to take over the housework.

Follow Tracey on Twitter as @TraceyAlvrezNZ or Facebook as http://www.facebook.com/TraceyAlvarezAuthor 

Her website is http://www.traceyalvarez.com and don’t forget to sign up to her newsletter here: http://bit.ly/JR3Asu



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You Have An Ugly Baby! aka Why Writers Need Thick Skins

Silken Sheets & Seduction


FACT – writers need thick skins


To a writer, our books are our babies. They often take longer to gestate than real babies, and we are every bit as protective as new mothers. And when it comes to first books, we’re the proverbial roaring lion protecting our words against all comers.

Think about it. Our first book. We spend months creating every aspect of it. The characters, the world building, the plot, the dialogue. We stay up late at night debating whether Jack would really say “divine”, or would he be more likely to say “cool,” before restructuring the sentence completely.

The experts tell us to write what we know, and boy, do we do that with book #1. The pony-crazy, car-loving heroine who could be us, if we were ten years younger and several pounds lighter. We unwittingly pour the pure essence of ourselves into our books, and…

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By sofiagrey1 Posted in News