Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to Becky Wicks and her story The Day of the Wave!
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Becky Wicks is mostly powered by coffee. She had three travel memoirs published by HarperCollins before going the indie route. Her first book in the Starstruck Series, ‘Before He Was Famous’ recently reached #1 in Amazon’s Coming of Age and New Adult & College categories. The second in the series, ‘Before He Was Gone’, and the third, ‘Before He Was A Secret’ are both out now along with ‘The Day Of The Wave’ – a romance based around the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami.
Becky blogs most days at beckywicks.com and always welcomes distractions on Twitter: @bex_wicks (especially if you have cat photos)
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I asked Becky Wicks, “If you could share one major writing tip, which could assist other writers in their goal of publication, what would it be and how have you implemented it in your own career?” and here is the response.
Hi there, thanks so much for having me on the blog! Great question, hmmmm, one major writing tip.
Well, to be honest, the main thing that comes to mind is just to write. Write, write, write, whatever comes into your head and don’t procrastinate! Don’t just talk about how you’re going to write. Writers write, and that’s a fact.
Sometimes it’s so hard to sit down and just get on with it – I’m guilty of suddenly finding a million other things to do before I put words onto a page if I’m feeling stuck! Oh… I have to water the plants, oh I have to alphabetize my CD collection/wash the towels/Skype my friend… haha! But I find that setting myself a deadline every day really helps. I reward myself too. I say, I’m going to write 3000 words and then, and only then, am I allowed a glass of wine, or to watch my fave TV show.
I think you can program yourself to write when you have to – it might start off as a chore but soon, when the words are flowing, you build a sense of self-confidence and pride within yourself because you actually did what you set out to do. This feeling is awesome, so you want to keep on feeling it, and to feel it, you have to keep on writing! It’s the creative’s equivalent of being a gym-bunny I suppose! It gets addictive.
Whatever happens though, you should never stop writing and improving your craft. You’re making good art, even if it’s only for yourself at the end of the day, so pour your passion into it and one day it will pay off!
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Torn apart by the tragedy. Thrown back together ten years later by destiny… Isla and Ben were just sixteen when the Boxing Day tsunami ripped through their beach resort in Thailand. Just days after forming a life-changing bond, both were missing and presumed dead.
Based on real life events, The Day of the Wave is a story of healing, learning to let go, and figuring out when to hold on with everything you have left.
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The karaoke guy catches me on the way to the bar, and again on my way back with the fresh bucket. ‘I’ve seen you two trying to keep it on the down-low,’ he says, beaming. He’s huge, hot and sweaty and sounds like he’s from Essex. His beer belly is bloating out under the ubiquitous Chang T-shirt. He’s boozed up outside and in. ‘I’m putting you down for Endless Love – the Mariah Carey version, yeah?’
‘Um, no,’ I say. ‘Don’t do that, buddy.’
‘Ah, come on, we need a duet!’
I tell him no again, go put the bucket back down on the table. Izzy’s smiling lopsidedly. ‘Is he going to make us sing?’
‘I hope not!’
She’s buzzed already, I can see it in her eyes. She’s luminous in pinks and greens and sparkles from the lights and the glitter ball. Three girls are dancing, holding a bucket each, wearing nothing but bikinis and sarongs. I’m guessing they’ve been in here since the rain started, straight off the beach.
‘You know,’ Izzy says, contemplatively, watching them twirling each other round in an epileptic’s nightmare, ‘if you’re in London while I’m there I’m going to take you to this deli near my office. They have the best hot cross buns, you need to try them.’
‘Hot cross buns?’ I say, drawn to her mouth again.
‘Usually they’re an Easter thing in Britain,’ she says, ‘but this place has them all the time, we go there most days. It’s near Covent Garden. You’d love it. You’d love London. I can’t believe you haven’t been.’
She talks and I lose myself in her voice, the way I did when I first met her. I don’t know what the hell hot cross buns are, but she makes them sound like something I could feast on and live inside and be happy with for the rest of my life. I can see her coming back more every day; the confident her, the vibrant her, the adventurous her. I imagine walking round London with her, holding her hand, riding one of those big red buses and taking photos of Big Ben. I’d be little Ben next to Big Ben; that’s what she’d say. I smile. I’ve zoned out. Damn, this rum is strong.
We’re halfway through the second bucket when our names are called – or rather, ‘Girl in green dress, guy in green shirt! Get up here!’ We look at each other, only just realizing our colors match.
‘I can’t sing,’ Izzy says now. Her tongue is pink from the juice.
‘Can’t because you’re full of rum?’ I laugh.
‘Can’t because I really can’t!’
She tries to cover her face and bury her head in her arms but everyone’s cheering for us now, stomping on the floor, clapping their hands. The three girls are wolf-whistling and one of them has taken off her sarong so she’s literally standing on the dance floor in her bikini, doing some kind of weird hippy welcome dance as she beckons us forwards with her hands.
‘OK, OK, come on,’ I say, holding my hand out to Izzy. She groans dramatically as she lets me pull her up but we’re both grinning like drunken idiots three seconds later when we get to the mics. The music’s already started. It’s a slow one but it doesn’t stop the buzz in the room.
My love, there’s only you in my life. The only thing that’s right.
My first love, you’re every breath that I take, you’re every step I make.
The rum’s rolling round in my brain but I can see it’s getting to Izzy, more than me. She can protest all she wants but she’s animated now, like she hasn’t had this much fun in forever. Maybe she hasn’t. She reaches for my hand. I twirl her around obligingly, like we’re doing a slow dance. She gets caught for a second in the mic wire and I help her untangle herself as she cracks up, still singing, while the room whistles and whoops and dances.
‘Another drink?’ a guy from the bar asks us. Obviously he thinks we’re too sober.
I pause. ‘I don’t think so…’
‘Yes please, we’ll have one more,’ Izzy cuts in. ‘And maybe one more after that.’
‘Are you trying to get me drunk now?’ I say.
‘It was your idea!’ She sticks out her pink tongue, spins again next to me in a kaleidoscope of color and in my mind I’m pulling her in and kissing her sugary lips. In my mind I’m carrying her right out of this bar and right back to that bed.
Two hearts. Two hearts that beat as one. Our lives have just begun…
My love, my love, my love, my endless love.
No. What good would ever come from me starting something? Nothing good at all. But Izzy is another tsunami. She’s sweeping me up, faster and faster now and I’m not entirely sure how long I can fight.
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~ * ~ GIVEAWAY ~ * ~
Becky Wicks will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. CLICK HERE to enter to Win! Readers, follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates and places can be found here: Tour Schedule
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Becky Wicks, thank you for stopping by today!
Love & blessings to all! ❤