Thanks so
much, Michelle, for letting me ramble a bit about my upcoming release, Prelude,
and hosting the first stop on the Prelude Blog Tour! The book releases this Monday, May 5th,
and is now available for preorder at Dreamspinner
Press’s website.
Prelude is the fourth book in the Blue Notes
Series of classical music-themed gay romances from Dreamspinner Press and
is co-authored with my good friend, Venona
Keyes. Each Blue Notes Series book
is an independent story that revolves around two men, at least one of whom is a
musician. You can dive into the series
in any order. Please make sure to read
to the end of the post to learn about how you can win a Blue Notes Series book
or t-shirt to be given away at the end of the Blue Notes blog tour.
Prelude, as with the other Blue Notes books,
is all about love and music. In each
book, I explore a different aspect of music and of relationships. The first book in the series, Blue Notes, is about letting go of your
expectations and finding yourself through the love of another person. In it, attorney and former pianist Jason
Greene escapes the ruins of his relationship in the US by running to
Paris. There, he meets violinist Jules
Bardon, who has begun to more past his painful childhood to pursue blossoming
career as a jazz musician. Together,
Jules and Jason find love against the backdrop of one of the most romantic
cities in the world. But it’s not just
the relationship that helps them heal, it’s their shared love of music as well.
In The Melody Thief, cellist Cary Redding
is on a downward spiral filled with anonymous sex and alcohol. Things come crashing down around Cary when
he’s mugged late at night on his way home from a seedy Milan nightclub. Enter lawyer Antonio Bianchi, who saves
Cary’s life in more ways than one. With
Antonio’s unconditional love and support, Cary not only comes to realize that
he’s worthy of being loved, but that through that love he can connect with his
music in a way he never knew possible.
In Aria, lawyer Sam Ryan (yes, I do like
writing about lawyers!) meets and falls for opera singer Aiden Lind. But Sam isn’t ready to let go of the love of
his life who died several years before.
Fast forward five years, and Sam and Aiden meet once more at a party in
Paris. They begin a rocky relationship
that’s threatened by Aiden’s demanding career and Sam’s inability to let go of
the past. Both men must learn to
sacrifice a bit of what’s important to them in order to stay together and grow
as a couple.
Of all the
Blue Notes books, Prelude has perhaps
the deepest connection to music.
Superstar conductor David Somers literally hears music in everything he
does. Whether it’s in the conflicts he
had with his domineering grandfather when he was a child, or in the day to day
activities of his life, each event, each emotion, each person evokes a melody
in David’s mind. But when David meets
violinist Alex Bishop, the music he hears is unlike any other. David, who always wanted to be a composer,
longs to write Alex’s music. But each
time he tries, he fails miserably. How
can you write the music of your heart when your heart is walled off from
emotion? With Alex’s help, David must
learn to open his himself to both pain and joy.
Only that way can he begin to express what he hears in his soul.
Curious
about how love and music can combine in romance? You can pick up any of the Blue Notes books
at Dreamspinner
Press’s website or on Amazon,
AllRomanceEbooks.com, Barnes & Noble, and many other outlets.
Thanks for
listening to my ramble! I’ll leave you
with the blurb for Prelude and a
short excerpt from the novel. Want to
win some Blue Notes swag? I’ll be giving
away winner’s choice of a paperback or ebook of one of the Blue Notes novels as
well as a Blue Notes Series t-shirt (winner’s choice of cover) at the end of
the Blue Notes blog tour. To enter,
comment on this post and the other blog posts to win!–Shira
PS: Michelle mentioned she wanted me to talk a
bit about my next book, the first in a fantasy series that will be published
late summer by Dreamspinner Press. Stealing the Wind is the first in a
series of stories about Taren Laxley, a slave who is kidnapped by pirates and
who learns that he isn’t human at all, but an “Ea”—a merman shifter. Stealing
is a bit sexier than my contemporary books, and features my first foray
into mermen sex and my first ménage scene (although the pairing is strictly a
twosome). You can read an excerpt from
the novel on my website
(www.shiraanthony.com). Just click on
the “excerpt” tab under the book summary on the “Works in Progress” page! More about that later....
*****************
Blurb: World-renowned conductor David Somers never
wanted the investment firm he inherited from his domineering grandfather. He
only wanted to be a composer. But no matter how he struggles, David can’t
translate the music in his head into notes on paper.
When a guest
violinist at the Chicago Symphony falls ill, David meets Alex Bishop, a
last-minute substitute. Alex’s fame and outrageous tattoos fail to move David.
Then Alex puts bow to string, and David hears the brilliance of Alex’s soul.
David has
sworn off relationships, believing he will eventually drive away those he
loves, or that he'll lose them as he lost his wife and parents. But Alex is
outgoing, relaxed, and congenial—everything David is not—and soon makes dents
in the armor around David's heart. David begins to dream of Alex, wonderful
dreams full of music. Becoming a composer suddenly feels attainable.
David’s
fragile ego, worn away by years of his grandfather’s disdain, makes losing
control difficult. When David’s structured world comes crashing down, his
fledgling relationship with Alex is the first casualty. Still, David hears
Alex’s music, haunting and beautiful. David wants to love Alex, but first he
must find the strength to acknowledge himself.
******************
Excerpt from
Chapter Two
David Somers had a
headache. He’d hoped it would pass, but
it had only gotten worse in the past fifteen minutes. He waited stage left as the orchestra
finished tuning.
Deep breath.
Focus.
The concertmaster
sat back down—the signal for David to walk onto the stage of Orchestra
Hall. His hall. His orchestra. He breathed in slowly before walking onto the
stage, his expression schooled, utterly focused. The Armani tux he wore was perfectly pressed,
his posture faultless, and his stride confident. The orchestra stood as he entered. The hall, filled to capacity, rang with
polite applause.
But David’s
disinterested poise was merely a sham—he was irritated to the extreme. Only his strong sense of duty had brought him
back to the stage tonight for the second half of the program. That, and the potential sponsors of his
modern music series whom he knew sat in the center box seats—the box that had
been owned by Somers Investments for more than sixty years.
He glanced
stage-left to where the soloist waited to make his entrance. David had seen him for the first time only
moments before, and he'd been left with the distinct impression of a street
thug. Tattoos, indeed. There was no place for such a thing in the
refined world of classical music. True,
the soloist had worn the traditional tails of an artist making a solo
appearance with the Chicago Symphony, one of the finest symphony orchestras in
the world. But that was de rigueur,
expected of him, regardless of his personal tastes. No, it had been the telltale ink visible at
the other man’s throat as he buttoned up his shirt that had taken David by
surprise.
"Lastislav
Voitavich is ill," his personal assistant, James Roland, had told him as
he arrived at the back entrance to Symphony Center that afternoon, "but
we've managed to find a replacement."
David hadn’t been
concerned. Such last-minute
substitutions were rare, but not unheard of.
He knew there were plenty of violinists who would give their eyeteeth to
take the stage under his baton and with such a prestigious orchestra. There were few conductors on the classical
music scene with his reputation, let alone as young as he.
"Has the
replacement performed the piece before?"
"Of course,
Maestro," James assured him. “Several times, I’m told.”
"That will be
sufficient." It would be just
that—sufficient—nothing more and nothing less.
That was the way of all last-minute substitutions. The evening would not be a memorable one, but
David would make sure that his audience did not leave disappointed. The orchestra’s performance would, at least,
be outstanding.
"There is one
thing you should know, though," James added in a quavering voice. It meant little that they’d worked together
for nearly five years; David had never been an easy man to please. But then, one didn’t get a reputation like
his by having lax standards. David was a
perfectionist and proud of it.
He glared at
James—he didn’t appreciate being troubled with such nonsense before a
performance—he needed time to prepare, to focus on the music, and review the
score. "What do you wish to tell
me?"
"Th… the… the
soloist… he… ah—"
"I don’t care
who he is, as long as he can play the Sibelius." David ran a hand through his hair in
frustration.
"He… he can,
of course.” Beads of sweat appeared on James’s forehead.
Five minutes
before he’d taken the stage for the second half of the concert, when he read
through the bio James had handed him, David realized what a mistake he’d made
by not pressing the issue further. It’s
a concert. Nothing more. There will be time to kowtow in apology to
the board tomorrow, if need be. He
detested kowtowing, but he also knew he did it quite well.
David rarely made
any sort of public speech, let alone an announcement in the middle of a
concert. He despised public speaking,
but there was nothing to do for it—the substitution had been too eleventh-hour
to print something to add into the programs.
“Good evening,” he
began with a practiced smile. “There has
been a slight change in tonight’s program. Our featured soloist, Lastislav
Voitavich, has taken ill.” There were
murmurs from the audience, so David waited until the hall was silent before
continuing, “Alexander Bishop has graciously agreed to perform the
Sibelius.” Instead of voicing their
disappointment, the audience applauded with surprising enthusiasm. “Thank you.” David was unsure what to make of
the response. He nodded toward the
wings. There was renewed applause as the
violinist took to the stage.
Alex Bishop. A
rock star masquerading as a classical violinist. Tattoos and groupies. He didn't doubt that the man was competent—his
assistant was young, not stupid. Still,
David loathed this "new breed" of musician who all too often graced
the covers of magazines like Time and, more recently, Rolling
Stone. Tattoos, indeed. In David’s estimation, the term “crossover
artist” was a mere marketing tool, intended to exploit an artist’s good looks
and increase sales.
He signaled for
the concertmaster to provide the soloist with an opportunity to tune before
turning to face the orchestra, his back to the audience. The Sibelius Violin Concerto was a
challenging but not an overly taxing piece, and he’d rehearsed his orchestra
well. The orchestra will shine,
despite any deficit in the quality of the fiddle playing. He raised his
baton and did his best to ignore the auburn hair that fell onto the soloist’s
shoulders in a tumble.
Alex Bishop was
attractive enough. Tall and
muscular—taller than David himself.
David was surprised he even noticed, but then there was something about
Bishop that commanded attention. Still,
in spite of his apparent ease in front of the large crowd and his undeniable
stage-presence, David knew Bishop was no more than a pretender to the world of
classical music. All hype and no
substance—a creation of Hollywood agents and a second-rate player, no
doubt. He’d heard so-called
“crossover” artists perform before, and he hadn’t been impressed.
Bishop glanced
over to David, his instrument tucked under his chin. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Bishop’s dark brown eyes simmered with
passion and focus. David raised his
baton higher, the signal to the orchestra for the downbeat. One deft flick of the baton later, the
orchestra began the first measures of the Sibelius Violin Concerto in D Minor.
As a conductor,
David had always preferred the less emotional, modern repertoire to the
sweeping romanticism of Brahms, Mahler, or Sibelius. Tonight's program had been a nod to the
wealthy patrons who kept the orchestra’s finances in the black. It was a tedious thing, to be required to
accommodate the common musical tastes of his benefactors, but David tolerated
it, knowing he'd been able to include a less tonal, more challenging piece of
music later in the symphony's performance schedule. In David’s opinion, the Sibelius concerto was
no exception. He was unmoved by its
soaring and plaintive melodies, although he knew that his audience would
respond to it with enthusiasm.
David glanced over
at Bishop. Their eyes met again as
Bishop began the first few notes of the solo line and the heady tones of his
violin filled the concert hall. With
practiced concentration, David returned his focus to the score that sat on the
podium in front of him. He didn't need
to read the music to conduct the piece—he had committed every measure to
memory—but he sought the distraction.
Strange. He’s
better than I expected. Far better,
really, although David would hardly admit it to himself.
Bishop finished
the opening phrase of the movement with obvious ease. Again, David found himself taken aback by the
intensity of the other man's playing, as well as the natural musicality and the
warm tone he was able to coax from the fiddle.
The violin Bishop played was serviceable, but it was no Stradivarius or
Guarneri. Still, David found it
remarkable that the instrument sounded nearly as resonant the as finest
instruments he had heard through the years.
“A good instrument can make the performer,” his old friend and
predecessor, John Fuchs, had once told him.
“But without talent, it is only an instrument.”
As the evening
progressed, Bishop began the second movement: a slow and sensual adagio. Once more, David found himself transported by
the artistry with which Bishop conveyed the depth of the composition, and again
David found himself struggling to maintain his focus and not lose himself in
the music. After the third and final movement,
the crowd jumped to its feet. Amidst the
enthusiastic applause were resounding calls of "Bravo!" from some of
the patrons. Including, David noted with
pleasure, the two men and one woman seated in the Somers’s box.
The audience was
satisfied with no fewer than four bows, each time calling back both soloist and
conductor to the stage with more cheers and applause. As they walked back and forth across the
stage for each bow, David watched with interest, half-expecting Bishop to react
as a rock star might and toss an article of clothing to his adoring fans. He did nothing of the sort, instead bowing
with surprising grace and maintaining the decorum expected from a soloist
performing with a world-renowned symphony orchestra. David noticed that rather than basking in the
glow of the audience’s response, Bishop appeared slightly ill at ease with the
adulation, although he smiled personably and with genuine appreciation.
After the final
bow, David followed Bishop offstage. He
had intended to retreat to his dressing room, but several fans already crowded
the wings, blocking the way. Irritated
by the lack of security, David attempted to walk around the gathering crowd by
taking a path through the wings instead of directly out to the corridor. Several orchestra members milled about,
clearly anxious to congratulate Bishop on his performance. Seeing David, they nodded in a formal
manner—they had long since learned that the he did not wish to be disturbed
after a performance. David returned each
gesture with a curt nod, sidestepping the approaching fans before slipping out
the door and into the hallway.
He closed the door
behind him and looked up into a pair of dark eyes. Bishop, it appeared, had also sought to avoid
the backstage chaos. He smiled at David,
holding his violin and bow in his right hand.
“Maestro,” he said. Transferring
his instrument to his left hand, he offered his right hand to David. The casual warmth of the gesture took David
aback—he was used to being the one to initiate such contact with the
orchestra’s guest artists.
They shook hands
in silence. There was a moment’s
hesitation before David withdrew his hand and said, "We appreciate your
willingness to fill in at the last minute."
"It was my
pleasure," the violinist murmured.
He watched David as if unsure what to make of him. "I've played the concerto a few times,
although never with such a skillful conductor."
David, accustomed
to compliments, remained unmoved.
"Thank you."
Bishop shifted
inelegantly on his feet.
"Listen," he said, "we're having a little party at my
place. Just a few friends, a couple of
beers, that sort of thing. Nothin'
fancy. Would you like to join us?"
"I appreciate
the invitation, but I’m expected at a donors’ party in a few minutes."
"No
problem." Bishop smiled and nodded.
"I understand."
Was that
disappointment David saw in the other man’s face? Unlikely.
He’s relieved. Besides, can you
see yourself at a party with a few friends and a ‘couple of beers’? He’s just trying to be kind. Then, realizing that his response had been
quite rude, David said, "Perhaps another ti—" His words were cut short by shouts and
giggles as two teenage girls launched themselves at Bishop, nearly knocking his
violin from his hand.
David stepped
backward to avoid the onslaught and almost collided with a woman with long
blond hair who swooped in to protect Bishop from the girls. The girlfriend, no doubt. Time to leave. He turned and strode quickly down the
hallway to his dressing room, closing the door and taking a deep breath on the
other side.
****************
Shira Anthony, in
her last incarnation, was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such
operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV
for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile
of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.
Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.
Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.
Shira can be found
on:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com
