Blog Tour Interview and Giveaway: Exceeding Expectations by Lisa Smith

Joining us today is Lisa Smith, author of Exceeding Expectations.

Author Lisa April Smith lives with her husband, He-Who-Wishes-to-Remain-Anonymous, in
Eternal Playland, Florida, a delightful spot just off I-95. Ms. Smith describes Eternal Playland as
"a little piece of level heaven with occasional dampness, where the bugs are plentiful but respectful, and even the smallest strip mall contains at least one pizza place and a nail salon."

For more about Lisa, her books, and upcoming projects visit her website

Interview Time!

Today, as part of her Virtual Book Tour, I have the pleasure of hosting Lisa April Smith, Great to have you here, Lisa.
I couldn’t be more pleased. Thank you for inviting me, Kristen.

How long did it take you to write Exceeding Expectations?
Two years – about the same amount of time it took to write “Dangerous Lies.”

Is there a message in the novel that you would like readers to grasp?
I think authors have one or more basic themes in their books that reflect their underlying concept of the world, of life. While my protagonists are quirky flawed human beings, they are ultimately rewarded for determination, integrity, self-reliance and taking responsibility for their actions.

I noticed that you changed the original cover, can you tell us why?

I liked my original cover. But negative comments told me that my readers either didn’t “get it” or didn’t like it. It’s a foolish author who doesn’t listen to readers, particularly about something so simple to correct.

How did you come up with both covers?
I received help with the design and execution of both covers, but I take sole responsibility for the subjects. The first featured a self-portrait oil painting I own. The second is a photo I found after poring over thousands. I am happy to report that response for the second one has been overwhelmingly positive.

Charlie does quite a bit of traveling in the book, did you have to do a lot of traveling for this book?
Traveling absolutely helps capturing the sights, sounds, atmosphere and personality of a location. Fortunately, I love to travel. Sooner or later, the countries I’ve visited find their way into my books.

Since we do fave parts/quotes in our review, What's your fave part or quote from the book?
Being forced to pick a favorite is like being asked to pick a favorite child. Instead, I’ve selected a short quote which I hope will give readers a glimpse of 5’ 11” Charlotte’s dilemma and her quirky but engaging personality.

The year is 1961. Things couldn’t be much worse for Charlie. Her father recently killed himself and her sister Amelia had to be carried out catatonic to a private clinic after hearing the news. She is in her wealthy step-mother’s attorney’s office having just learned that her father had no assets and she and her sister have been left penniless. “For the next three months, your allowance and the expense involved in maintaining Amelia at the” – Regis glanced at his notes – “Silver Glades, will be provided by Mrs. Morgan, which I’m sure you’ll agree is very generous of her. She is under no obligation to do so. Your charge accounts, naturally, have been terminated. Oh yes. And you may stay on at the house here in Palm Beach until next season. Mrs. Morgan intends to stay in New York. So that’s it. All of it. I’m sorry if this all comes as a shock.”
A shock? My legs had turned to Silly Putty and my upper body had fossilized. Forcing air into my lungs required all my concentration. I could taste rancid baby food, which had somehow managed to remain lodged in a crevice of my stomach for the last twenty-two years.
“I can imagine what you must be thinking. Would you like me to repeat any part of what I’ve said?”
Exiting Regis’ office I walked faster than my normal pace, temporarily unconcerned if I was seen limping in my quest for the Ladies Room. Mercifully, it was empty. I had the luxury of regurgitating into the porcelain bowl in privacy. I flushed several times during the process to muffle the sound. When I turned to the sink, the mirror corroborated my expectations. Like the Italian flag, I was red, white, and green. I bathed my face with cold water, rinsed out my mouth, and applied face powder before exiting.
On my way past thickly carpeted offices and conference rooms, I decided to forgo all earlier resolutions regarding self-pity. Learning I was a pauper entitled me to a three-month orgy of self-pity, or until the last dollar of my allowance was spent. After that, Amelia and I would convert to Catholicism, join a convent, preferably one with good wine, minimal requirements for self-flagellation, and an abbey with a dazzling view. I had visited several lovely facilities in France. Escape was within my reach until I felt a hand touching my shoulder.
“Wait! Please. We should talk.”
I turned and stared directly into a man’s eyes. He was a few years older than I am and an inch or two shorter. I could hear him speaking. The language was English, but the rhythm and deep cello undertones were foreign. With the exception of Richard Burton and a few other Brits trained for the theater, English-speaking voices lacked that resonance. He had to repeat himself before I understood.
“I’m sure I could be of help if you could give me a few minutes.”
I stared at the man – dark wavy hair, skin the color of a pecan, and dark chocolate eyes. And he wore a suit. A Latin man. A Latin man wearing a suit, doubtless a common sight in Barcelona or Madrid, an imaginable occurrence in Manhattan, but not in Palm Beach. In Palm Beach, residents employed Latins as gardeners and household staff. But this man with the long sweeping lashes and glacier-white teeth seemed completely at ease in his suit.
“Raul Francesco.” He extended his right hand. “I’m an attorney with the firm. Neville Byrd is my uncle. He’s asked me to speak with you. My uncle considered your father more of a friend than a client. As dreadful as things may appear at the moment, there may be some way we can help.”
Neville Byrd was the firm’s founder. My father hadn’t abandoned us, hadn’t left us destitute. Andrew Regis had been mistaken. I shook the proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Francesco.” “My uncle thought you might appreciate some assistance, letters of recommendation, advice on employment. We’d like to help in some small way. And please call me Raul.”
So there wasn’t any money. Advice! I didn’t need advice. I needed my father and hard cash. In lieu of that, I needed to be alone. At the very least, I was entitled to a good cry and the half bottle of sherry I had stashed in my bedroom. “Perhaps some other time. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“What about tomorrow? How about lunch? We could meet at Taboo.”
“Tomorrow? Lunch? Ah, that would be impossible.” I responded, hoping to dissuade my persistent pursuer with a thin pasty smile.
“Then coffee or a drink in the evening?”
“I’ve made other plans.”
“What about later this week? I absolutely promise to be helpful.”
Realizing this insistent man would simply continue suggesting times and days, I decided to name a day. “I’m free on Friday.” That gave me three full days to invent an excuse.
“Where and when?”
“The Sandbar, three o’clock.”
“Three o’clock, Friday, the Sandbar,” he replied, once again flashing those outrageous teeth.

Giveaway Time!!

Check out our review for Exceeding Expectations HERE.

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