Monday, October 2, 2017

Interview with romance author Viviana MacKade

Romance novelist Viviana MacKade is chatting with me about her new contemporary with a dash of suspense, She Came with the Tide.

Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her husband and her son, her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her boy, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.

Welcome, Viviana. Please tell us about your current release.
She Came with the Tide is a contemporary novella set in the town of Crescent Creek, FL.

It’s a sweet story based on endurance, love of life, hope and, ultimately, love.

Erik and Andrea are opposite in pretty much everything, but they complement each other perfectly.

I stopped breathing a long time ago.
I was taken into a cult when I was ten, married to the leader's son at 20.
I learned to fear independence, so I stayed. 
Day after day after day.
Until I couldn't anymore.
So I started running and kept running because he's after me.
Afraid, alone, hungry, but free.
Until a stranger offered me breakfast. And I said yes.

The thing I can do best? Living. Hard and to the fullest.
The world had screamed my name, and I lived it all until I got tired of it.
Bought a surf board, a house in my sandy hometown, and started another great life.
Young, rich, and totally free had been working like a charm.
Until I saw that blue tent on the beach.
And my life changed again.

What inspired you to write this book?
I loved Erik since word one.

He bugged me to no end until I finally gave up and wrote the story he was screaming in my ear. And boy, is he loud!

Excerpt from She Came with the Tide:

Chapter 1
Crescent Creek, South Florida, May
"Well." Erik Axelsson wiped salty water from his face. “Look what the tide dragged in.”
Nestled in the dunes edging his property, the little blue tent sure hadn’t been there when he’d gone out surfing earlier that morning. With his board under his arm, he walked out of the ocean toward the uninvited guest.

Erik cringed, praying it wasn’t for one of those crappy TV shows like Where Did The Star Go or something. He had worked hard at building a normal life, and it had been years since the press had bothered him. Yet a nostalgic willing to stand the heat for a picture of Ax had shown up before.
“Knock knock,” Erik called out as he reached the tent.
When nothing happened, he drove the surfboard in the hot sand with a forceful swing and a chuckle. Whoever hid inside the camping igloo was too hung-over or too stoned to wake up. Each representing a better reason to be in such crappy shelter, on a Floridian beach, on a late May morning, than poking at his past glory. Must be at least three hundred degrees inside.
He grabbed a tent pole, shook it. The old thing shuddered like a leaf in a hurricane. “Rise and shine,” he sing-songed.
Someone moved. Then came the voice. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“A girl?” he mouthed before shaking his head.
The rock scene waved at him from far, so far behind him. But it had been his life, and back then a drunk–or stoned–chick within the boundaries of his home, wherever that was at the moment, was the norm. Damn, but he had a good run.
Erik brushed his palm over prickling shoulders as the angry sun hit, leaving only salt where ocean drops had been a few minutes before. He revered in that roasting pleasure, in the blues of the sky and water surrounding him. Entertained by his unplanned guest, he pulled his dripping, long hair into a messy bun. A good day for surfing, waves still crashed on the shoreline. The rumble must have hidden the croaky noise of the tent’s zipper because when he looked down at the entrance, he found two huge brown eyes staring at him. An echo of lifetimes ago, distant, feeble, poked at him. The feeling had dwelled into his heart after his parents had died and now lingered on her delicate features. Fear.
The girl took a breath, clenched her teeth, and crawled out. She rose on all of her five feet six or so. “Who–” she cleared her throat. “Who are you?”
Okay. He did not expect the question. The whole world knew Ax and the Hurricanes. He’d spent ten years of his life on everybody’s mouth, eyes and above all, ears. Newspapers. TV. Concerts. And the girl asked who he was. Surprise shadowed the male appreciation of the woman in front of him. For now. He’ll so be back at it.
“I think the question is, who are you?” he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
“A camper.”
“Well, camper, your tent is on my property, in case you missed that,” he said, pointing at the Private Property notice on the berm not far from her den. The rusty, barely visible, Pisa-tower-bend sign. He should invest some money into a new one. “My house’s back there, anyway.”
She turned around, took those details in. “Oh.”
All right, calculus time. A girl, alone, in an old tent. Add a black bag he’d peeked to with clothes in it, plus that look in her eyes. The result? Trouble. “All right. You hungry?”
She nodded.
“Let’s go.”
He picked up his surfboard and started off. “What?” he asked after he glanced behind his shoulder and saw she hadn't moved.
“I–I don’t know you.” Yeah, okay, back to that. She either had lived on the moon for the past fifteen years, or was bullshitting him. He would give her the benefit of the doubt because she was hot, and keep Sheriff Charlie on speed dial for a while. “I’m Erik Axelsson.”
He waited for his name to dawn on her. Nothing. For real?
“I’m Andrea Smith.”
“All right, Andrea. I’m hungry, covered in sand, and the sun is cooking my brain. I’m going in, you do as you please.”

What exciting story are you working on next?
I’m writing Book #3 of the Crescent Creek Series, one I’m very excited about so stay tuned because more is coming from this sandy little town!

When did you first consider yourself a writer?
I’ve always been one at heart, but I had the guts to refer to me as one (like, during parties or the likes conversations) after my first novel was published. I knew I was a writer, a novelist, but I needed the validation.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?
I write half time. The other half I spend it with my son, Massimo. It’s the last year before PreK, when he’ll be away the whole day…

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
I drink.

No, it’s not alcohol, but herbal tea. I write some, drink. Another sentence, sip. Delete that, rewrite it. Sip. I go through half gallon in a morning.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I went through different stages. I grew up on a farm and horse school, so my first choice was, of course, a vet.

Then a teacher, my mom being one.

I ended up graduating in law.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?
I hope they will give Crescent Creek and the people living in it a chance and read their stories!

Website | Facebook | Amazon

Thanks for stopping by today, Viviana!

1 comment:

Viviana MacKade said...

Thank you for having me!