AUTHORS INTERVIEWING CHARACTERS: TRACY WOLFF
IT HAPPENED ON A SUNDAY
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff comes a fierce, emotional romance about surviving the spotlight, outrunning your past, and choosing love when everything says you shouldn’t.
They call her the Black Widow. A pop star. A tabloid tragedy. A girl who set the world on fire―and got burned in return.
But Sloane Walker doesn’t care what they say. Not anymore. The headlines, the hashtags, the rumors that never die? Let them come. She’s survived worse―like the ex who tried to kill her and the fans who blamed her for surviving. These days, she’s armor and eyeliner, singing songs that hurt and pretending they don’t.
She’s halfway through a sold-out tour and dangerously close to unraveling when a meet-and-greet throws her into the path of Mateo Sylvester―a rising star quarterback with a devastating smile and a grandmother who’s Sloane’s biggest fan. He’s got stadiums at his feet and the press eating from his hand. She’s got a flask full of sweet tea, a voice full of ghosts, and no patience for golden boys with good intentions.
She tells herself it’s just a photo op. Just another handshake. Just another charming fan with perfect cheekbones and no idea what it means to bleed for your art.
But Mateo sees more than the stage persona. He sees the cracks in her smile. The songs she’s too scared to write. The girl underneath the glitter, still fighting to stay.
They weren’t supposed to fall. Not in the spotlight. Not when the world is watching. And definitely not when the people closest to them would do anything to keep them apart.
This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a slow-motion car crash. And if they’re not careful, it might just cost them everything.
Tracy Wolff Author Interview with Sloane “The Black Widow” Walker, international pop star and diva extraordinaire
Tracy (in her favorite pair of hot pink pajamas, currently clutching her fifth cup of coffee and staring nervously at the clock, since Sloane is late and Tracy is on a very tight deadline)
Sloane (sweeping in, sunglasses on, carrying her trusty flask of ice tea and pretending it’s bourbon—even to me): Let’s get this over with, shall we?
Tracy: You’re the one who’s forty-five minutes late.
Sloane (tossing her hair): Please. You should be grateful I came at all.
Tracy: You know, most characters are eager to chat with me. They actually show up on time. Or early. Or in the middle of the night because they’re too impatient to wait for morning to talk to me. Since I am, you know, the author.
Sloane (dropping dramatically into the chair): The author thing makes this even worse. At least when Rolling Stone asks me questions, they buy me lunch first.
Tracy (reaching into her desk drawer for the secret writing stash she hides from her kids): I can offer you three day old gummy bears?
Sloane (peering into the bag with a sneer): You ate all the red ones.
Tracy (feeling guilty even though Sloane never told her she likes gummy bears): Sorry, they’re the best ones.
Sloane (leaning back in Tracy’s oversized chair and kicking her black leather, thigh high boot encased legs out in front of her): Exactly my point.
Tracy (rattling the bag, hoping against hope a red one pops to the surface): The yellow ones are pretty good, too.
Sloane: Is that why there are so many of them left?
Tracy (stuffing gummy bears back in drawer): Okay, fine. Sorry. Next time I’ll make sure to have lunch for you.
Sloane: You’re assuming there is a next time.
Tracy: Considering I have a book to finish, I really hope there will be.
Sloane (shrugging carelessly): Hope springs eternal, I suppose.
Tracy (taking advantage of the opening and also because she’s getting desperate): Is that why you decided to give Sly a chance? Because you’re hopeful?
Sloane: Pretty sure you’re the one giving Sly a chance. I’m just along for the ride. As usual.
Tracy: Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s a pretty good ride. He’s a good guy.
Sloane (looking doubtfully over the top rim of her sunglasses): That’s what they all say.
Tracy: So… not ready to talk about Sly yet, huh? How about your nickname? Why do they call you the Black Widow?
Sloane (smirking): Shouldn’t you already know that? You are the one who made it up after all. Thanks for that, by the way. And the stellar back story of two dead boyfriends and a rabid press corp that goes with it.
Tracy (looking and feeling really guilty): I really am sorry about that. But this is a rise from the ashes kind of book. You’re doing great dealing with all of it, by the way. Including the press’s questions and nicknames.
Sloane: “Questions and nicknames.” That sounds so innocent. But let’s be real: they call me the Black Widow because the world loves to see women burn.
Tracy (settling in to see where this takes them): Well, this sure got dark fast.
Sloane (shrugging): You wanted honesty.
Tracy: Actually, I wanted something funny and blog-appropriate.
Sloane: Then you should’ve interviewed Sly.
Tracy: He’s stopping by later. But for now, since we’re being honest… what was your first impression of Mateo “Sly” Sylvester?
Sloane: Trouble. I thought he was trouble.
Tracy (excitedly writing): Because you couldn’t resist him?
Sloane (snatching Tracy’s pen away): Absolutely not. Do not write that.
Tracy: So why was he trouble then? Because you like him even though you don’t want to? Because he makes he makes you feel things you don’t want to admit, even to yourself.
Sloane (leaning in, deadly serious): Don’t put words in my mouth, Wolff.
Tracy (eyeing her pen, which Sloane still has): That’s kind of my job.
Sloane: Yeah, well, maybe you should stop doing your job.
Tracy: Is that really what you want? For me to leave you alone in your black tower where no one can touch you?
Sloane: What I want doesn’t matter. It never has.
Tracy (speaking softly so as not to spook Sloane): So what does matter? Hiding from everyone?
Sloane: Being safe.
Tracy: Is that what the Black Widow persona is to you? A way to stay safe?
Sloane (suddenly looking anywhere but at Tracy): You can’t hurt what you can’t see or touch.
Tracy: I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt. But Sly’s a good guy. If you let him in, just a little, he’ll show you that.
Sloane (whispering): Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.
Tracy: You don’t have to be afraid—
Sloane: Are we done yet? I’m supposed to be at the airport in an hour.
Tracy: More like three hours. But you can leave if you want to.
Sloane (snorting): You’ll just drag me back later. I’d rather get this over with once and for a ll. What’s your next question?
Tracy: What are you so afraid of?
Sloane: Worldwide headlines that read Black Widow Strikes Again.
Tracy (quietly, as the truth dawns on her): You’re afraid of hurting Sly?
Sloane: You said it yourself. He’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve the mess I’d bring to a relationship.
Tracy: Maybe you should let Sly figure out what he deserves. And what he can handle.
Sloane: And what if he decides, in three months, that he can’t handle me? Can’t handle us?
Tracy: What if in three months he falls even more in love with you?
Sloane (snorting): Please. This isn’t a fairy tale, Tracy.
Tracy: So what is it then?
Sloane: A slow-motion car crash. A disaster waiting to happen.
Tracy: Maybe. Or maybe it is a happily ever after—if you’re brave enough to go for it.
Sloane 9: You keep saying that like it’s an insult. There’s nothing wrong with being cautious.
Tracy (flipping to a new page in her notes): No, there isn’t. But there is something wrong with letting fear make all the decisions for you.
Sloane: I’ll take a few of those yellow gummy bears now.
Tracy (Pulls out the squished bag and hands it to Sloane): Okay, how about a couple easier questions?
Sloane: My favorite color is black.
Tracy (rolling her eyes): Not that easy. What’s your favorite thing about music?
Sloane (with a smirk): The applause. Obviously.
Tracy (raising a brow): Really? That’s your favorite part?
Sloane (sighing, looking away): No. The truth is, it’s the only time I can be myself. When I’m making music, it’s like all the noise—the lies, the whispers, the fear—they all just fade away until I’m not the Black Widow. I’m just Sloane.
Tracy: And who is Sloane?
Sloane (glancing at her watch): Nice try, but I’m not that easy. I’ve got time for one more question.
Tracy (wanting to press but knowing that will make Sloane shut her out even faster): Okay. Then what’s your favorite thing about Sly?
Sloane: You’re looking for a soundbite? Okay, fine. How about he’s tall, he’s hot, and he buys me tacos?
Tracy: That’s not what I meant and you know it.
Sloane (after a long pause): Okay, fine. He sees the girl under the stilettos and spiderwebs.
Tracy (softly): That’s beautiful.
Sloane (standing up): You can’t use it.
Tracy: Don’t you ever get tired of running?
Sloane: Don’t you ever get tired of messing with people’s lives?
Tracy (barely resisting the urge to bang her head against her desk as Sloane strides away): You’re impossible!
Sloane (without turning around): I’m exactly who you and the world want me to be. Don’t forget to write that down, too.
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BUY IT HAPPENED ON A SUNDAY HERE
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Tracy Wolff is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of sixty-four novels that run the gamut from young adult action adventures to new adult romance and from women’s fiction to erotica. A long-time lover of vampires, dragons and all things that go bump in the night, Tracy loves nothing more than combining her affection for paranormal creatures with her love of writing tortured heroes and kick-butt heroines. When she’s not writing (which is a rare occurrence), she can be found trying out new recipes, offering make-up tips online, wandering comic book/gaming stores with her sons, and watching movies or plotting stories with her besties. A one time English professor, she now writes full-time from her home in Austin, Texas, which she shares with her family. She also writes as Tracy Deebs and Tessa Adams.
Category: Interviews, On Writing
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