About The Author

Tracy Darity was born, raised, and currently resides in St. Petersburg, Florida.  She has three daughters, Morgan, Jasmin, and Shaunte, and a grandson, Mason.
As a child, she had a creative imagination and a love for reading.  

 

In her early teens, she began writing short stories as a hobby.  It was not until she attended the 1997 Essence Festival in New Orleans, Louisiana, that she decided she wanted to fulfill her dream of becoming a novelist.   The words of Tavis Smiley inspired her. During his speech at one of the forums she jotted down this message, "We all have a God-given talent but if you don't have the desire to define, develop, and deliver your talent, you will always be in the audience and never on stage." 


Tracy returned home from the festival energized and began penning her first novel.  Although the manuscript was completed in late 1998, she became discouraged after receiving rejection letter after rejection letter from the publishing industry.  She shelved her manuscript but every now and then she would pull it out and do minor rewrites.  The desire to have her work published still simmered deep inside.  In 2004 the flame inside of her reignited and she made the decision to pursue self-publishing.  As time passed she began to feel discouraged again but refused to give up.  She did research, talked with other self-published authors, and continued to believe that her dream would one day become a reality.  

 
Today, Tracy has published three novels, He Loves Me He Loves Me Not!, Love...Like Snow In Florida on a Hot Summer Day, and The Red Bear Society. In 2019 she will release her first non-fiction work, When Sunday Comes Will I Still Believe God that chronicles her time as a member and employee of the prominent church in her community.


On schedule to also be released in 2019 is a fiction novel The House of Jezebel. She will also republish her debut novel He Loves Me He Loves Me Not! into an expanded four-part series.

© 2008 - 2019  Tracy L. Darity

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

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