Wednesday Briefs: The Sheriff #1

Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts!

As you'll recall, last week we finished Marshall and Lee's story, but don't worry, they're still around. This week the story continues from a different perspective as we get to know Sheriff Roy Landry a little better. I've given the story a working title of The Sheriff for now, but that's subject to change. I hope you enjoy my  new tale. Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!

The Sheriff #1

To Lee and Marshall.

Roy Landry raised his bottle of beer in a silent toast to the two men—his two best friends—who had just departed the wedding reception being held for them in Roy’s home. But that was traditional, wasn’t it? The newlyweds were always the first to leave. At least that was the case in Roy’s experience, and he’d been to a few weddings over the years.

He was beyond happy for the newlyweds, and he envied Marshall and Lee and what they had. He’d never met such a loving, devoted couple in his entire life.  And he’d never seen two people fight so hard to be together. Maybe their relationship was unorthodox in the eyes of the rest of the world, but to him they were perfect for one another. And he was happy to have become a part of their lives, even if the circumstances of their meeting were less than stellar. And proud to have been instrumental in their reunion after a horrific five year separation.

Hopefully, they’d have nothing but smooth sailing ahead of them, to make up for some of that unwarranted turbulence. And hopefully Lee’s ex would never show her face in Burnham again. After her last reception, Roy rather doubted she would.

 “So you’re a minister, are you?”

A voice broke into his thoughts, drawing Roy back to the present. Dustin stood beside him, long neck in hand.  Dustin’s cousin Denver was a friend of theirs, part of a small group that liked to hang out at a place called Partners, in nearby Tucker Falls. Dustin had helped Marshall out of a difficult situation at Partners—got him away from a pushy jackass who didn’t know how to accept no for an answer and was willing to inflict pain to get his point across. Roy was grateful to Dustin for that. But according to Marshall and Lee, he had the ability to be a real pain in the ass, too, and Lee’d had to put him in his place more than once.

Knowing Lee, Dustin should consider himself lucky he only got a talking-to.

All in all,  Roy trusted the boy about as far as he could throw him.

“Something like that,” Roy replied evasively. He didn’t think it was any of Dustin’s business one way or another. No, the ceremony he’d performed wasn’t legal, but there was no way anyone would allow that for Marshall and Lee, so Roy had done the best he could, and none the wiser who didn’t already know the truth. Which didn’t include Dustin, or even Denver. Theirs was not a secret to be told lightly, and Roy would never betray their faith in him by telling anyone what he knew.

“Did you do it over the Internet?” Dustin persisted. He was tall and blond, with hazel eyes and a cleft in his chin that some might consider attractive. He wasn’t a bad looking kid. Just not Roy’s type.

Roy wasn’t sure what his type was, but he liked his dates to be a little more… mature. And female. Not that he had anything against gay men, he just didn’t happen to be one.

“Some people do,” Roy said vaguely. “You thinking about becoming a man of the cloth?”

Dustin snorted. “Yeah, right. I don’t exactly see that happening any time soon. I think that would be more Denver’s style than mine.”

“What’s more my style?” Speak of the devil, there was Denver now. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes slightly glazed. Looked like he was having a great time.

“Your cousin seems to think you might be interested in being a priest,” Roy joked.

Denver glanced at Dustin and shook his head. “You better hope not. If I go into a convent, you’re out of a place to live.”

That produced an unexpected giggle from Dustin. “You getting a sex change operation, Den? 

Convents are for nuns.”

Denver shrugged, letting the words roll off his back. “Whatever. I’m just saying you’d better watch yourself. You remember our deal.”

As Roy watched, the young man’s face flushed almost angrily, and for a moment, Roy thought he was going to say something possibly inappropriate. But the moment passed, and Dustin didn’t say anything. Roy watched the rise and fall of his well-built chest as he calmed himself.

“Yeah, I remember,” he said at last.

“Good. I’m going to get another beer, want one?” The question was aimed at both Dustin and Roy.

“I’m good,” Roy said, and Dustin echoed the sentiment. Denver gave his cousin a final look before heading toward the kitchen, where the coolers were.

A moment of awkward silence sat between them.

“So I hear you’re going to work with Denver at the computer store?” Roy ventured after a couple of minutes.

“Yeah, for now.” Dustin shrugged. “Not exactly the job of my dreams, though.”

“What would that be?” Roy asked in spite of himself. He was tempted to walk away from the conversation, but it was his house, so how far could he really go?

“I’d like to do what you do. Law enforcement,” came the surprise answer.

The words caught Roy off guard. He froze, bottle of beer halfway to his lips. “You would?” He couldn’t think of any better response off the top of his head.

“Yeah. Need a deputy?” Dustin asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Roy said with what he hoped was a note of finality. “If you’ll excuse me, I should mingle a little.” He turned and walked off, not waiting for a response.

Like that would happen. Yeah, right. When Hell froze over.

to be continued

Now see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

Carol Pedroso

Jim Dunaway

Ravon Silvius

Virtual Book Tour: Rebirth

Author Name: Dusk Peterson

Book Name: Rebirth

Series: The Eternal Dungeon

Volume One

Release Date: February, 2016

Blurb:

"'This prisoner deserves special treatment.' The hooded man looked over at the young man again."

Elsdon Taylor, a prisoner accused of committing a terrible murder. Layle Smith, a torturer with a terrible past. Their meeting in the Eternal Dungeon appears certain to bring out the worst in both men.

Yet neither man is quite what he appears. As the prisoner and his torturer begin to be drawn toward each other, the ripple effects of their meeting will have a powerful impact on other inhabitants of the Eternal Dungeon: Layle's faithful guard, struggling to contain his doubts. A younger guard determined to take any shortcuts necessary to ensure that his life follows the path he has already chosen. An old love from Layle's past, still sorrowing. And most of all, a prisoner who has not yet arrived at the Eternal Dungeon, but whose fate will depend on how Layle handles Elsdon Taylor . . . and on how Elsdon handles Layle Smith.

A winner of the 2011 Rainbow Awards (within the "The Eternal Dungeon" omnibus), this tale of love and adventure can be read on its own or as the first volume in The Eternal Dungeon, a speculative fiction series set in a nineteenth-century prison where the psychologists wield whips.

The Eternal Dungeon series is part of Turn-of-the-Century Toughs, a cycle of alternate history series (Waterman, Life Prison, Commando, Michael's House, The Eternal Dungeon, and Dark Light) about adults and youths on the margins of society, and the people who love them. Set in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the novels and stories take place in an alternative version of America that was settled by inhabitants of the Old World in ancient times. As a result, the New World retains certain classical and medieval customs.

Pages or Words: 130,000 words

Categories: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Historical

Excerpt:

"Do you have any questions?" the Seeker asked. "About the routine of the dungeon? The times you will be fed? The questions you will be asked? The instruments of torture I use?"

The faintness went beyond Elsdon's voice this time and entered his body. He could feel the sweat upon his skin; he wondered whether he had turned white. He blurted out, "What if I'm innocent?"

The Seeker's gaze did not waver. "If you are innocent, then I trust that our time together will be short. I would far rather find a prisoner innocent than guilty; too many prisoners are sent to us, and the quicker that we can release them from here, the better. If your release is to the lighted world rather than to the executioner, it is likely to come more quickly. But we are commissioned by the Queen to ascertain the truth of accusations of death-sentence crimes, and we are committed to fulfill that commission. Please don't waste my time with false pleas of innocence, Mr. Taylor. It will only make our time together more difficult."

Buy the book: http://duskpeterson.com/eternaldungeon/#rebirth

Meet the author:

Honored in the Rainbow Awards, Dusk Peterson writes historical adventure tales that are speculative fiction: alternate history, historical fantasy, and retrofuture science fiction, including lgbtq novels and other types of diverse fiction. Friendship, family affection, faithful service, and romance often occur in the stories. A resident of Maryland, Mx. Peterson lives with an apprentice and several thousand books. Visit duskpeterson.com for e-books and free fiction.

Where to find the author:

Facebook: http://facebook.com/loveindarksettings

Twitter: http://twitter.com/duskpeterson

Blog: http://duskpeterson.com

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2072858.Dusk_Peterson

Tumblr: http://duskpeterson.tumblr.com

Goodreads Link: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7040736-rebirth

Publisher: Love in Dark Settings Press

Cover Artist: Dusk Peterson

Tour Dates & Stops:

Parker Williams, Divine Magazine, Jessie G. Books, MM Good Book Reviews, Sassygirl Books, Oh My Shelves,

Wicked Faerie's Tales and Reviews, Full Moon Dreaming, Bayou Book Junkie, The Hat Party, BFD Book Blog,

Kirsty Loves Books, The Jena Wade, Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words, Book Lovers 4Ever, Outrageous Heroes,

Wake Up Your Wild Side, Mikky's World of Books, Nephy Hart, Inked Rainbow Reads, Velvet Panic

Rafflecopter Prize: An e-copy of “The Unanswered Question” (prequel novella to “Rebirth”)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday Flash Fics #3: Roadside Assistance

Monday morning already? Maybe this will make it a little better! Here's the inspiration pic for this week's flash. The rules are to use the pic, and say it in 500 words or less. This week's tale is Roadside Assistance. You can find other stories here.

Roadside Assistance by Julie Lynn Hayes

“I said get in the fucking trunk!” Chip growled.

I shrank back against the car. The door handle jabbed my ass, painfully, and I winced. I hadn’t taken Chip seriously the first time he’d spoken the words. Now, I was starting to think he just might mean it.

“W-what the hell, dude, you need to chill out.” My words sounded braver than I felt, and stuttering wasn’t helping a damn thing. Chip was mad, and I knew it, but it was just so ridiculous. All because I’d happened to notice a stranger at the gas station. A cute guy in a white T-shirt and rumpled jeans. Probably a traveler, just like us.

So what?

So maybe Chip was just a tad on the sociopath side, and just maybe he intended to dump me somewhere on the side of the road. One thing I’d noticed, ever since we started driving through Florida, was the tons of water situated beside the highway. Lakes, ponds, swamps, even the ocean. A guy could go missing out here. Like permanently.

And suddenly I realized I didn’t know Chip very well at all. Guess that’ll teach me not to take up with the first good-looking guy who wants to take me for a drive.

“I’m not going to tell you again.” This time I saw the knife in his hand. The blade glinted wickedly in the bright sunlight.

I glanced desperately around me, but no one was there. We might as well have been standing in a ghost town. Even the cute stranger was nowhere to be seen. I gulped, forcing liquid into my too-dry mouth, looked between Chip and the open trunk, then crawled inside. He almost hit me when he slammed the lid, plunging me into darkness.

The ride was excruciating. It felt like he deliberately found every pothole and rut he could. All I could do was lie there, cramped and aching, waiting for him to stop… and then what?

I wondered if Chip had done this before. Did he have a usual spot where he took his victims? A dumping ground of sorts? He seemed the type that just might. In the short time I’d known him I’d noticed he was methodical that way. Not one for loose ends.

I was feeling more than a little claustrophobic by the time the car stopped, almost grateful for the lack of motion. I say almost because I knew what would come next. Wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. I braced myself for the worst.

When the lid lifted, I squinted up… into the handsome face of my partner.

“Comfy in there?” He grinned, deliberately flexing the muscles inside his form-fitting shirt.

I growled as he handed me out. I spied Chip, in cuffs, by a squad car.

“Took you long enough—“ His kiss stopped my rant.

“But I got here, and we just caught the Florida Mangler. You complaining?”

“Not I.” I sighed contentedly and snuggled against him.

Another good day’s work.

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #10

The weeks are just flying by! It's hard to believe June is almost over, and summer is here! And the work week is half done! Which means it's time for some flash fiction, right? This week's prompts are: "Don't move until I tell you" or "Your underwear is showing..." or "You're treading a fine line here..." or use: cart, prick, T-shirt or have a guest Frenchman in your story or have a hole in the ground or "wine, women, and song" or use a man with a brand new goatee or discuss either Mad men or Royal Pains in your story or use the big bang theory

In last week's No Way Out, if you'll recall, Shy met Wyatt clandestinely at the grocery store. So, what now? Find out in episode #10, and then don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!

No Way Out #10

They didn’t speak. Wyatt pushed the cart while Shy located the items on his list, carefully marking each one off once he placed it in the cart.

“Checking it twice?” Wyatt quipped.

Shy gave him a quizzical look.

“You know. Like Santa Claus?” Wyatt felt his joke fall flat, but forged ahead anyway. “He’s making a list, checking it twice.” That produced a small smile and Wyatt felt emboldened. “Gonna find out who’s naughty and nice.”

The smile faded.

Damn, he felt stupid. Had he struck a nerve?

The next moment the mask was back in place, and Wyatt felt like the scum of the earth.  Be more careful, he cautioned himself.  You’re treading a fine line here...

“Um, do you cook?” He quickly changed the subject. They stood in the meat department.  Shy critically examined two packages of beef, comparing them. He selected one, set the other back. “Yes, I do all the cooking.” He began to riffle through the chicken parts, eyeing the thighs and the drumsticks in particular.

“I love to eat but I’m not much of a cook,” Wyatt confessed. “I practically live on ramen most of the time.”

“That’s not good for you. Too much sodium.”

“Yeah, well, it’s cheap.” Wyatt laughed. “Since I’ve been housesitting, I’m eating better, I have to admit. Mr. Masterson isn’t stingy at all with the food budget.”

Did Shy wince, or did Wyatt imagine that? Damn, he seemed to be hitting every one of Shy’s nerves today, clumsy oaf that he was. But it was difficult to know what might or might not set him off. And Shy wasn’t exactly being forthcoming either.

Wyatt was determined to get through to him, no matter how long it took. He was a patient man. He had to be—art wasn’t created in a day.

He held his tongue until he noticed that every item on the list had been marked off, then turned the cart in the direction of the snack area, which was empty at the moment. “What kind of soda do you drink?”

“I can’t drink soda. Just water.”

Wyatt tamped down on the desire to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, okay. Water it is.  Want some chips with that? Popcorn?” he hastily amended. He was finally catching on. Healthy only. For whatever reason. “No butter, no salt.”

Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief when Shy nodded. That was a start. They took the farthest table in the back, and set the cart out of the way. Wyatt watched Shy slide into the bench seat. Once he was fairly sure the blond wasn’t about to bolt, he went to the counter, bought their snacks and drinks, and carried the tray back, setting the contents on the table. He took the seat across from Shy, resisting the urge to sit beside him. That would not be a good idea, he realized.

Besides, he could watch Shy’s expressions better this way. Wyatt had a feeling he really needed to pay attention to those. He was feeling his way through unfamiliar territory, and he needed to see Shy’s reactions to know when he was keeping to the right path and when he was making a misstep.

He instinctively unscrewed the cap on the water bottle and handed it to Shy. “Thanks.” Shy took it and drank, peering at Wyatt over the bottle. Such beautiful blue eyes. Wyatt ached to get them on canvas.

Where to begin? Wyatt wanted to know everything, but what subjects were safe? The last thing he wanted was to make Shy uncomfortable. Or, worst case scenario, cause him to run.

“Have you lived in the neighborhood long?”

“Fifteen years.”

The response surprised Wyatt. And unsettled him. He began to do the mental math. Assuming Shy to be maybe twenty or twenty-one, that meant... he’d been just a little boy? What the hell. He swallowed his next words, rather than blurt out something harsh about Randy. He needed facts, not conjecture.

“Oh.” He kept his voice deliberately noncommittal. “Long time. “

Shy nodded.  He reached for the bag of popcorn, popped a swollen kernel between his lips with careful deliberation. Wyatt watched, fascinated by the grace in his motion. His cock gave a twitch.

“Where did you and Randy live before that?” Wyatt ripped open his bag of barbecue chips, releasing a spicy fragrance he could fairly taste. Shy’s eyes flickered briefly to the chips and away.

“Nowhere.” The reply was sharp and succinct. “That’s when we moved in with him. Fifteen years ago.”

Tread lightly... lightly...

“Hey, I’ll trade you some of my chips for some of your popcorn?” Not waiting for an answer, he placed a few of the crisp red treats in his hand and held it out to Shy, counting on instinct and desire to override whatever held him in check.  “Go ahead,” he encouraged him. You know you want to...

A moment passed that felt like a lifetime before Shy’s hand shot out and claimed the chips and practically inhaled them. After he chewed and swallowed, Shy tentatively licked his lips—whether to savor the flavor or remove a telltale trace of spice, Wyatt couldn’t be sure.

Shy stiffened and his cheeks flamed as he cast his eyes down on the table. Wyatt got the feeling he was waiting for something... but what? And then it hit him. Shy expected to be punished for what he’d done. Was Randy that strict about his diet?

Or was there more to the story than met the eye? Surely this wasn’t just because of a few grams of polyunsaturated fat?

Shy’s lower lip trembled. Wyatt had to resist the urge to brush his thumb over it, to reassure him that everything was all right. How could he when he didn’t know what was wrong.

He could barely hear the words that forced themselves out. He had to lean in, in spite of himself.

“Please... don’t tell... Randy...”

The agony in Shy’s eyes tugged at his heart.

to be continued

Now go see what the rest of the Wednesday Briefers are doing!

LM Brown 

Tali Spencer   

Lily Sawyer      

Cia Nordwell    

Andrew Gordon 

MC Houle     

MA Church     

A.R. Von 

Renee Stevens 

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Guest Blogger Chris T. Kat

Please welcome back my friend and fellow author Chris T. Kat, who has a new release she's going to tell us

about, The Caveman and the Devil! She's going to tell us how her characters... er... badgered her into writing it  lol I'm excited for it and for her! I haven't read it yet, but I have read other works by her, and I plan to read this one too. She's one author that I can honestly say I would read anything she writes. Chris, make yourself at home. I got us a treat, some gummi bears. Hope you like them!

Characters who badger for a sequel

Julie, thank you very much for having me on your blog again! I'm excited to share my new release The Caveman and the Devil, with you and your readers. Dreamspinner Press published it on May 1st.

The Caveman and the Devil is an m/m contemporary romance story. The main characters are Paul Myers (POV) and Noah Collins. They're both zookeepers at the Philadelphia Zoo and became a couple a year ago.

When I first invented the characters of Paul and Noah, I didn't know how much I'd come to care for them. Their first story, Cuddling Up, dealt with Paul and Noah becoming a couple and was written for Dreamspinner's submission call for the Animal Magnetism anthology. I sent my submission very early with not much hope of Dreamspinner accepting it but they did. Hurray! :)

I would have posted the story on my blog if they hadn't accepted it, simply because I like the dynamic between Paul and Noah so much. Paul is a very down-to-earth character while Noah is high-strung and sometimes on the bratty side of the spectrum. I should probably also mention that there's an age difference of eleven years between them.

After the anthology came out, I thought I would be done with Paul and Noah but they badgered me for another story and I was only too happy to comply. I love how easy they are to write as much as I enjoy the differences in their personalities. Paul is very practical and adjusts to some of Noah's quirks without hesitation or feeling strange. Noah is only to happy to let Paul deal with things he doesn't like but at the same time he makes sure Paul knows he's the most important person to him.

Paul is a big man and uses his body mass and muscles to manhandle Noah sometimes. He's always conscious of his strength and would never do anything to hurt Noah but he's not above picking Noah up if he deems it necessary. Noah loves Paul's caveman attitude and is never intimidated by him. He enjoys that he can trust Paul to carry him if his legs suddenly turned to jelly. Even though Noah is physically smaller than Paul, he always holds his own verbally.

Noah teases Paul whenever he gets the chance, which has brought the nickname “devil” on. Paul teases right back and I hope readers get a sense of how much fun they have and how much they love each other in:

This is a continuation of Paul and Noah's story “Cuddling Up”, which is included in Dreamspinner's Animal Magnetism Anthology.

Buy links:

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3793

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Caveman-Devil-ebook/dp/B00CLME0MY

All Romance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thecavemanandthedevil-1186678-149.html

Blurb:

The animals at the Philadelphia Zoo brought zookeepers Paul and Noah together, but now they might tear them apart. When a bloodthirsty lioness stalks her cubs, Noah charges into her enclosure without regard for his own safety. Luckily, a coworker catches his mistake and saves the day. It’s not the first time Noah’s rushed in on impulse, and he still carries scars from the last time.

Paul can’t pretend nothing happened. Frustrated, he tries to comfort Noah, but he can’t get past his anger. As head keeper of the big cats, Paul must report the incident and figure out how to keep his reckless lover safe. Somehow, he has to make Noah see that his carelessness could cost him his job or his life—and maybe Paul too.

Excerpt from Chapter Three:

Once inside the bathroom, I inspected my reflection in the mirror. I looked exhausted, but also ready to pop a vessel. Since the sight wasn't all that inviting, I turned away. I hadn’t even opened the first button of my shirt when the bathroom door opened. It was all I could do not to snap at Noah. Was it too much to ask to have some alone time so I could calm down? I hoped he'd get the hint if I didn’t stop with my task at hand.

Noah, being Noah, either didn't understand the silent treatment or ignored it. If I would bet, I'd put my money on the second option. He walked around me until he stood in front of me and, since I didn't trust my voice, I chose to glower at him.

“Hey, Caveman, are you mad at me?”

“Me?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You are mad.” He wrinkled his nose as his searching gaze flitted over my face. He was clearly puzzled by my behavior. “Why?”

“Why? Why? Seriously? You’re seriously asking why I’m mad at you?”

“Yes, dear almighty Caveman, I’m seriously asking why you’re mad at me! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Utterly baffled, I forgot all about what I was doing or what I had intended to do. I stared down at Noah, my lover, the man I’ve loved for almost a year now. Incredulous, I croaked, “You didn’t do anything wrong today? Is that right?”

The light bulb slowly went on for Noah. Of course, he immediately lunged into defense mode. “I just wanted to get the cubs out of there!”

“You went into Kiara’s compartment without waiting for the inner door to be locked! She had just killed two of her cubs and was in the process of killing the other two!”

“She had walked into the other compartment!” Noah protested.

“But the separating door wasn’t closed yet!” I shouted, eventually losing the fight with my emotions.

“He locked the door right after I was inside.”

“Yes, and she came back and jumped against it, roaring. What if Trent hadn’t managed to lure her away?”

“But he did. Don’t be such a nitpicker all the time.”

I could hardly breathe. The memory of Noah crouching in Kiara’s compartment, cooing at the two surviving cubs in the middle of a bloodbath, raised the hairs on my arms again. Nausea rolled through me, sweeping me up. It could have been over today.

Chris T. Kat

Chris T. Kat lives in the middle of Europe, where she shares a house with her husband of many years and their two children. She stumbled upon the M/M genre by luck and was swiftly drawn into it. She divides her time between work, her family—which includes chasing after escaping horses and lugging around huge instruments such as a harp—and writing. She enjoys a variety of genres, such as mystery/suspense, paranormal, and romance. If there's any spare time, she happily reads for hours, listens to audiobooks or does cross stitch.

Links:

Blog: http://christikat.blogspot.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/christi_kat

GoodReads:http://www.goodreads.com/ChrisTKat

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ChrisTKat

DSP author page: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=605

Guest Blogger Shira Anthony

Happy Sunday! To those in the US, Happy Mother's Day!

 Welcome please my friend and fellow author, Shira  Anthony, who's going to talk about music, in relation to her newest release, Prelude, which is already on the bestseller list at Dreamspinner. Shira, make yourself at home, why don't you, while I find us something sweet to nosh on. Go ahead and start.

Stranger in translation?  Shira Anthony talks about translating music into words.

Thanks, Julie, for hosting me and letting me gush about the intersection of my two favorite things:  music and writing.  Thanks also for letting me share a bit about the fourth book in my Blue Notes Series of classical music-themed gay romances, Prelude, which was just released by Dreamspinner Press on May 6^th.  Prelude is Book 4 in the Blue Notes Series.  Each book is a standalone story and the series books can be read in any order.  Prelude is chronologically the first, even though it’s the fourth book in the series.

I’m a former professional musician (violinist and opera singer).  Music is in my blood, in my bones, and my gut.  I hear music and I get an ear worm.  You know, like when you hear “It’s a Small World” at Disney and the stupid song repeats over and over ad infinitum in your mind?  Yep.  That’s me.  The protagonist in Prelude is me times a thousand.  David Somers, the fictional conductor of the Chicago Symphony, hears music in every person he meets and in every deep emotional reaction he has.  David’s connection to music is the focus of the story, because it’s what allows him to connect with violinist Alex Bishop.

So how does a writer translate music—an auditory experience—into words?  How do I express David’s deep emotional connection to music with only words on paper?  The answer is:  it isn’t easy.

Of all the Blue Notes Series books so far, Prelude probably has the deepest connection to the music itself.  Being able to convey how David thinks about music was integral to the story.  To figure out how to do that, I had to dig within myself and think about how I process music in my brain.

For me, music is so much a part of my everyday life that I almost forget it’s there.  I told you about my little earworm problem.  There are days I literally wake up hearing music in my mind.  When I’m writing the Blue Notes books, it’s usually a piece of music that’s connected to the story (in the case of Prelude, it was the Sibelius violin concerto).  Readers often ask if I listen to music when I write.  The answer is that I can’t.  If I listen to music, my brain focuses on the music, and I get nothing written.  Maybe it’s the years of musical training, maybe it’s just the way my brain is wired.  I’ll probably never know.  When I listen to music, I automatically analyze the piece:  key, harmony, rhythm, history (I’ll place it in the era it was written, be it classical, romantic, modern, or baroque periods).  Total distraction.

That’s where I started when I was writing David: looking inside of myself.  But for David, I went a bit further than just my own experiences.  I gave David a sixth sense: music.  David hears music in what he sees.  He looks out at Lake Michigan and it has a certain music to it, in how the waves move and how the sunlight dances on the water.  He hears music in the sounds of traffic from his apartment.  He dreams about music (and about Alex and the music he hears when he thinks of Alex).

As you read Prelude, you’ll see all these musical connections.  You’ll also notice that I incorporate musical terms into the narrative when the story is told from David’s point of view.  You’ll hear color and texture used to describe music.  One of the most wonderful comments I’ve received from a reader about the series was how the reader wasn’t a musician and had no musical background, but she understood the music in the story and felt that it enriched the story.  Made me smile.

The Blue Notes books are about more than just music, but it’s music that forms their emotional “heart.”  Music as pain.  Music as joy.  Music as promise.  Music, as the bridge between human beings.

PS:  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!  I’ll be drawing winners at the end of the blog tour.

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Summary:  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:

Chicago

Seventeen Years Ago

ALEX BISHOP huddled under the stairs that led up to the ancient Chicago graystone as snow danced and drifted about the deserted street. Even in good weather, there were never many people around this neighborhood. That’s how he liked it. More people around meant more adults wondering what he was doing by himself, more adults who might ask questions.

He’d been running for weeks, trying to hide from the police who patrolled the streets. He’d done nothing wrong, but he knew that if they found him they’d take him back into protective custody. He wouldn’t go back again. He couldn’t go back—the bruises from the last beating from the older boys at the group home had just begun to fade. He’d always been a strong fighter, with broad shoulders and powerful arms, but he’d been surprised and outnumbered.

“Fag!” one of the kids had called him before the first blow struck him on the chin. Two other kids had grabbed his arms and restrained him as the largest of the gang punched him in the gut. Over and over.

He didn’t care what the other kids called him. He was pretty sure they didn’t know he really was gay. They called all the misfits at the home that. He also didn’t care about the bruises. Bruises healed, given time. But the boys had taken his violin from him, and he’d barely gotten it back in one piece. A small crack now ran from the f-hole on the left side of the instrument toward the fingerboard—a constant reminder of the close call. He wouldn’t let them take it from him again. He’d rather freeze to death than risk it.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d been the subject of other kids’ taunts. He’d been moved from his last foster care placement to the home because he’d been jumped by some of his classmates on his way to school. That particular fight had landed him in the hospital with knife wounds to the chest, and he’d nearly died.

“We’ll find a placement for you,” his social worker, Tori Flynn, told him when he woke up in intensive care a few days later. But he’d seen it in her eyes—she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Nobody was interested in taking in a fifteen-year-old boy, especially one who got into fights as often as he did.

Six months later, he was still in the same group home. So with school out for the Christmas holidays, he’d spent most days at the local public library. Nights, however, were far more challenging and a lot colder.

Just six more months. That’s all he needed before he might be able to qualify to live as an emancipated teen. He could find an apartment, go to school, and nobody would hunt him down.

A strong gust of wind blew, nearly knocking him off-balance. He shivered and looked down at his frozen feet, his threadbare socks visible through the holes in his ancient basketball shoes. Even here, under the relative shelter of the stairs, Alex knew he wouldn’t survive the night. He needed to find somewhere warm to sleep.

He peered out into the blizzard, looking for any sign of movement. The streets were too snow-covered for anyone to venture out in cars, and the neighborhood beat cop was nowhere in sight. Alex stepped out from under the stairs and onto the sidewalk and, slipping and sliding on the icy concrete, ran down the street toward the warehouses that lined the train yard. It would be safe inside one of the vacant warehouses.

Ten minutes later, he was dizzy and frozen to the bone, his torn sweatshirt nearly soaked. Still, he kept going. It wasn’t much farther now. Crates lined the sidewalks near the abandoned storage buildings, and he hopped up onto one of the smaller ones, ignoring his numb feet. He reached for the ledge underneath the cracked window.

I have to get inside, he thought with growing desperation as he pushed on the window. It was frozen shut. His head felt thick. His brain refused to cooperate. I have to get inside.

With renewed determination, he reached once more for the window and set his foot against the edge of the crate. There were no treads left on his soles; his foot slipped. As he fell, he clutched his backpack in an effort to keep it from flying out of his hands. He landed on his side in the snow. Sharp pain lanced his head as he hit the unyielding metal of a fire hydrant.

The world went dark.

NOTE: Each Blue Notes novel is a standalone story and books in the series can be read in any order.

Want to buy the Blue Notes Series books? You can find them all here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=54_673  

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In her last incarnation, Shira Anthony 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 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

Thanks so much for stopping by, Shira! Always a pleasure! I look forward to reading Prelude. You have such a beautiful way with words, and I love classical music! Come back soon!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #1

Welcome to Wednesday - the work week is half through! And it's time for your weekly dose of flash fiction. This week, the prompts were: "Dream a little dream of me" or use: molasses, wine, mist or try a trope you've never used before or "Don't stop until I tell you to..." or use: roof, adjust, philanthropist or "Tie me up, big boy..." or write about book burning.

As you'll recall, last week was the final episode of Stan and Ollie - for now - and I promised I'd start something new. Well, I did, and it's actually something rather different for me. I hope you enjoy it. I've given it a working title of No Way Out, which is subject to change, of course. Let me know what you think! And don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to, whose links follow my tale.  Enjoy!

No Way Out #1

The silver rims gleamed pristinely. The afternoon sun bounced off the highly polished surface, directly into Shylor’s eyes. But he never flinched, never showed his discomfort in any way. The muscles in his arms ached, and his shoulders threatened to spasm if they didn’t receive a little relief from the relentless effort he’d been expending all morning.

But Shylor refused to give up. Failure was not an option. Failure came with its own consequences, and not of the pleasant variety. Was there a pleasant variety anymore? If so, that was so long ago he’d forgotten how good it might have felt. Right now, all he could focus on was the potential for pain. The possibility of being reprimanded. And damned if he was going to let that happen. Especially over something as trivial as how he washed Randy’s expensive set of wheels.

He wasn’t aware he’d stopped moving until a cold voice behind him prompted him. “Don’t stop until I tell you to...” Icy fingers traveled down Shylor’s spine—or what passed for one. He would have been hard put to find that anymore. Zoologically speaking, he could probably be classified as an invertebrate, something belonging to the order of cowards. Was there a special species known as weaklings? If so, he ranked somewhere pretty high among them, he figured.

He never turned, never acknowledged the rebuke. He knew it wasn’t expected of him. He also knew what he would see, should he do so. Randy Grant. Six foot, silver hair that matched his expensive luxury sedan. Eyes of a changeable grey that reflected his mood and his pleasure. Sometimes they were tranquil seas that seemed almost an icy blue, and at those times Shylor could almost...but not quite... believe that Randy cared about him.

It was the other times, when the grey turned dark and turbulent, that Shylor knew he was in for a world of pain, and at those times there was nothing he could do to ameliorate the situation. All he could do was grit his teeth and bear it, wait for the storm to pass.

Randy was forty years old, twice Shylor’s age. To the business world, he presented the image of a successful entrepreneur as the driving force behind one of the city’s most creative marketing agencies: Granting Your Wishes. They called him the Silver Fox, because of his prematurely grey hair, but on Randy it looked good. He had a smile that charmed the pants off everyone he met—figuratively and literally. And he had a body to die for. Well, he should, he worked very hard at maintaining it. Having the money for an expensive personal gym couldn’t hurt anyone, and neither did having a personal trainer who supervised his exercise regime, and a dietician/cook who made sure he ate very well and very healthy. Shylor wasn’t fooled, though. Randy controlled every move; he knew exactly what he was doing every step of the way, and he reveled in his control.

Inside the bedroom and out.

Shylor’s labors were exacerbated in no small way by the presence of a foreign object nestled inside of him. He felt it whenever he moved, pressed against his channel, a constant reminder of Randy’s dominance. Purple and ridged, the butt plug was designed to remind Shylor just who he belonged to, and what purpose he served in the scheme of things, even as it prepared him to be plowed later, at Randy’s whim.

He supposed it could have been worse. At least Randy hadn’t demanded he wear the one with the wolf tail. That one was a specialty item, particularly popular with fetishists and furries. Randy was among the latter. He’d had costumes specially made for both of them, and had devised elaborate scenarios for their use. Cosplay at its kinkiest.

Shylor had never met anyone like Randy. He had mesmerized him from the beginning, drawn Shy into his world, and into his bed. And now he was locked there, for all eternity.

After the things he’d done, who else could possibly want Shylor? Randy had made him untouchable, as far as other men were concerned. Shy no longer had a choice in the matter.

If Randy was pleased with the way Shylor washed his car, then later he would reap a reward. Namely, by being fucked with some modicum of consideration for his own pleasure. But if not, then it would be the kowtow-to-Randy show all the way, with no regard to Shylor’s well-being or safety.

Although Shylor had a safe word, there were times when it was simply disregarded. And sometime he forgot to use it, thinking why bother? There was no safety, there was only Randy and what he wanted. Nothing else mattered.

The sound of an engine drew his inadvertent attention to the street. Without thinking, Shy turned his head. They lived on a high-end cul-de-sac, and passing traffic was rare. A police car? Shy’s heart began to beat faster. For just a moment, he felt his liberation was at hand. Perhaps someone had noticed... someone had made a call... someone cared...

He searched for a sign that the officer behind the wheel was seeking him, Shylor. The policeman never turned his head, remaining in profile as he passed. Was he going to stop, pull into the driveway, Shy wondered.

But no, the car reached the end of the street, traversed the circular turnaround, and headed back in the other direction, quickly disappearing from view.

Only then did Shy realize what he’d done. He stiffened, bracing himself for the inevitable. He didn’t know what form it would take—retribution came in many forms, and Shy knew them all.

His heart pounded, his breath coming in short gasps in anticipation.

Just do it. Get it over with. Please...

He felt Randy move closer to him, waited for the pain.

An unexpected shadow fell across the sedan, from the wrong direction. From the street, not behind him.

Shy looked up in confusion.

“Is something wrong?”

To be continued

Now go see what the rest of the Briefers are doing:

Nephylim  

Lily Sawyer   

MA Church    

Cia Nordwell     

J.A. Harmon 

Michael Mandrake    

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie