I Kill Me: Tales of A Jilted Hypochondriac by Tracy H. Tucker
Check out my interview with Tracy!
Tell us about yourself.
First and foremost, I am a newly-empty nested mother to three of the best young women on Earth. I've been a teacher for a total of seventeen years, was a stay-at-home mom for nine and am currently teaching middle school (God help me) in a wonderful small-town community in Maine. Writing has always been a a major part of my life, ever since I was ten and wrote my first "real" story called "The Talking Cat." I enjoyed rereading it and was quite pleased that I could make someone laugh (even if that someone was me). I'm an avid animal lover and have my own little farm with two horses, a pony, two dogs and four cats. I fell in love with horses when I was nine and never outgrew it! The barn my wonderful husband built me is my happy place--that, and to a lesser extent, Target. And then there's chocolate. I consume it on a daily basis. Okay, several times a day. If I'm being totally honest, throughout the day. I call Dove chocolates "author vitamins."
How did you come up with this story?
I went through a very difficult, very unexpected divorce ten years ago. I found it cathartic to create a character who went through a similar experience. As the author of the book, I was able to control what happened, and this was comforting since my world had been so drastically shaken. I thought I'd add some humor with the hypochondria and make each chapter of the book have a double meaning...what the character was experiencing health-wise, but also what she was going through emotionally. For example, in "Heart Failure," Christine worries about having a cardiac condition but is also devastated by the realization her marriage has ended.
What are you working on now?
I'm about a third of the way through a women's fiction novel. It has some humor like I KILL ME, but it has more sex and more drama, with a major twist planned for the end. The main character is a 36 year old woman veterinarian who was widowed two years ago and is raising her teen daughter. She's rather addicted to sex but prefers to keep emotions out of it...until a new man enters her life. Oh, and she keeps seeing the image of her dead husband as she orgasms. I'm hoping for an early spring release.
What character was the hardest to write, and which one was the most fun?
I honestly didn't have difficulty writing any of them, because I "knew" all of them so well. I felt for Christine, so she was relatively easy to write. I think I had the most fun writing Hank. I could picture and "hear" him clearly...he's the gay man any woman would love to have as a best friend!
Do you have a favorite comfort read?
The children's book Love You Forever by Robert Munsch always gives me that "warm fuzzy" feeling. I have wonderful memories of snuggling with each of my daughters on the couch and reading that aloud to them. I gave each of my girls a copy of that book for Christmas.
If you could live in any book, what one would you choose and why?
Hmm...in terms of a childhood book, I'd choose The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I remember feeling like I was in that world, pushing back those coats in that magical closet to reveal the land of Narnia. I would have loved to have met the wonderful and mighty Aslan. If I picked an adult book, I'd have to say the novel I'm currently writing. That way, I could get up close and personal with the characters - maybe even ask them to take me by the hand and lead me through their individual stories. It would be quite a time-saver :).
I could think of two big reasons why this threesome wasn’t going to work: her boobs. When my husband of nineteen years told me he wanted to “spice things up,” I was envisioning sex toys…spanking…chocolate-covered penis. The kinkiest thing we had done thus far was Richard tying me to the bedposts. We’d had a code for him to untie me if I started to freak out. The code was me saying, untie-me-right-now. So when he first proposed the idea of a playmate, I was shocked. I mean, who did that, anyway? Certainly, not us. He was an insurance salesman whose specialty was planning for a secure future. I was a high school English teacher. We lived in the wholesome Green Mountain State. And we were parents—which was something Eleanor Wilkinson definitely was not, as was evident by her breasts.
They were truthfully too big to be called “perky.” Thing One and Thing Two were up and out. My breasts, on the other hand, were not only small (32 B minus) but had turned into saggy, limp skin sacs with droopy areolae and indifferent nipples from two years of nursing babies. So it was very much unappreciated that my husband wanted to invite someone with a cup size further along in the alphabet than mine to join us under the covers.
It had all started with a trigger point. Richard had been complaining of his upper back muscles being tight, and since I knew he’d been under a lot of stress at work, I got him a gift certificate to a local spa. Eleanor, a transplant from England with what Richard called a “killer accent,” was his massage therapist. After about four sessions of seeing her, Richard mentioned that someone at the office had engaged in a threesome, and then said what did I think of that. I said a twosome was more than enough for me, and the conversation had ended. The morning after his sixth massage, he told me over breakfast (while the girls were upstairs getting ready for school) that he thought he might like to try a threesome, and what did I think of that. I had stirred my coffee a bit too vigorously so that some of it slopped over the sides of the mug and onto the table. I had not known what to answer, and thought it wise that I refrained from my initial response of what the FUUCKK?! After a few moments, I whispered (so the kids wouldn’t hear), why didn’t we just watch some good porn instead?
That’s not what I’m talking about, he snorted. I feel like we need to really shake things up here. Make it exciting again.
Aren’t I enough for you? I asked. I didn’t understand this; we’d had sex three times last week, and I’d gone down on him every time. Even when he hadn’t showered immediately before.
I need a change, he had answered. Sorry, but I’m just being honest.
That was when I got scared. And I said, okay.
I Kill Me was a semifinalist (top 20!) in the
Humor Category for the Goodreads Choice Awards!
Christine Bacon has a fatal attraction. To all things fatal. A veteran hypochondriac, her near-death experiences are exacerbated when her husband proposes they have a menage a trois with Eleanor, his busty British massage therapist, to "shake things up." Christine reluctantly agrees (although she is more wholesome than threesome), never expecting just how much she'd be rattled. As her marriage to Richard, a/k/a "Dick," falls apart, so, too, does Christine, whose fear of her own demise causes her to research every freckle, blemish, cough, bump, lump, tingle and hiccup. She isn't a doctor, but she plays one on the internet.
There is solace for Christine: in raising daughters Lily and Carli, leaning on her friends, and wearing out the shower massager. In order to heal, she struggles to become her own person and to view her symptoms (and ex-husband) as less malignant, while searching for that special someone who will love her--despite her grave condition.
Humor Category for the Goodreads Choice Awards!
Christine Bacon has a fatal attraction. To all things fatal. A veteran hypochondriac, her near-death experiences are exacerbated when her husband proposes they have a menage a trois with Eleanor, his busty British massage therapist, to "shake things up." Christine reluctantly agrees (although she is more wholesome than threesome), never expecting just how much she'd be rattled. As her marriage to Richard, a/k/a "Dick," falls apart, so, too, does Christine, whose fear of her own demise causes her to research every freckle, blemish, cough, bump, lump, tingle and hiccup. She isn't a doctor, but she plays one on the internet.
There is solace for Christine: in raising daughters Lily and Carli, leaning on her friends, and wearing out the shower massager. In order to heal, she struggles to become her own person and to view her symptoms (and ex-husband) as less malignant, while searching for that special someone who will love her--despite her grave condition.
Author Bio:
Tracy H. Tucker is first and foremost the mother of three of the best people on Earth. She has a Master's in Literacy from the University of Maine and has inspired the youth of America for seventeen years. She's an avid animal lover and would like to publicly thank her husband for putting up with the pet hair, the dogs in the bed, the things the cats hack up and the repeated requests for goats. It's a wonderful life.
Tracy H. Tucker is first and foremost the mother of three of the best people on Earth. She has a Master's in Literacy from the University of Maine and has inspired the youth of America for seventeen years. She's an avid animal lover and would like to publicly thank her husband for putting up with the pet hair, the dogs in the bed, the things the cats hack up and the repeated requests for goats. It's a wonderful life.
Connect with Tracy!
Twitter: https://twitter.com/THTucker
Buy the Book!
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/205124
Thanks so much for featuring me, Shelley!
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