How did you start your writing career?
I’ve
been writing since I was a kid, although I never finished more than a short
story until about five years ago. My
first original story was a smutty pirate romance (heterosexual) that I wrote to
see if I really could write explicit sex.
It’s an X-rated Harlequin style romance.
Romantic, but explicit. But what
really got me hooked? When a good friend
and fellow author (my Prelude co-author,
the lovely Venona Keyes) suggested we write an MM story together. That was it:
I started writing gay romances exclusively and have never looked back!
Tell us about your favorite character
from your books.
I
have a few, but hands down one of the two main characters in my brand new
release, Prelude,
is my absolute favorite. David Somers is
the fictional conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. He’s the heir to a Wall Street investment
company and is fabulously rich. On the
surface, he’s sophisticated and poised.
A world-class musician.
Underneath it all, though, he’s a total mess. He’s insecure and afraid to take a chance at
a relationship even when he knows violinist Alex Bishop is a “keeper.” It was so much fun writing David’s slightly
stilted way of speaking and the way he navigates fancy donors’ parties, and
then showing the reader what he’s really like underneath the polished veneer. Fortunately, Alex is sharp enough to figure
David out.
Where do you dream of traveling to and
why?
I’ve
traveled all of the United States and Europe.
I lived in France when I was a kid (I write about those experiences
through my Blue Notes Series characters).
I’ve also been to a good portion of the Caribbean (I got my open water
scuba certification last year). But I’ve
never been to the Far East. I find
Japanese and Chinese culture amazing, and I love exotic foods. I would love to spend a few months traveling
around Asia and exploring. Maybe even
take a trip across China, like Rob Gifford describes in his book, China Road.
Does travel play in the writing of your
books?
Yes. Definitely!
My classical music series, Blue Notes, features musicians who travel the
world over in their careers. Each book
is set in a different city. The original
book in the series, Blue
Notes, was inspired by one of my trips to Paris (my favorite
city). It features a former musician
turned lawyer who runs away from his cheating fiancée to find himself in
Paris. The second book in the series, The
Melody Thief, is set in Milan, Italy.
With each story, I try to incorporate what I know about the city so that
the location is a bit like a character of its own.
Tell us about your current release.
Prelude is the fourth book in the Blue Notes
Series of classical music themed gay romances from Dreamspinner
Press. Each of the Blue Notes books
is a standalone novel, and the novels can be read in any order. Secondary characters in one book may become
main characters in another, and all the characters inhabit the same “universe”
of musicians.
Prelude is the story of David Somers, who appears in all the other Blue
Notes novels. David is a superstar
conductor who underneath the smooth exterior is lonely and unhappy. David hears music in everything he
experiences, and always dreamed of being a composer. But he can’t seem to translate the music in
his head onto paper. When David meets
crossover violinist Alex Bishop, David hears amazing music. Alex is warm and outgoing where David is
aloof and insecure. But underneath it
all, the two men have far more in common, and through their music, they connect
in a way David never thought possible.
Prelude was written with my good friend, Venona Keyes, and was published
by Dreamspinner Press on May 6th.
Tell us about your next release.
My
next release is a “and now for something completely different” kind of
story! Stealing the Wind, the first book in the Mermen of Ea series (also
from Dreamspinner Press), will be released in August or September of this year. Unlike the Blue Notes Series, the Mermen
series is a sequel series, meant to be read in order. The books in the series are more
plot-driven/adventure stories than my Blue Notes romances. Fantasy/supernatural genre and set in the Age
of Sail in an Earthlike place.
Stealing the Wind is the story of Taren Laxley, an orphan who
is sold into indentured servitude when he’s a baby. He grows up learning to rig the great sailing
ships that sail into the harbor and dreams of going to sea. When he’s kidnapped by pirates, he finally
realizes his dream. Later, he is taken
captive aboard the Phantom and meets
its captain, Ian Dunaidh. Taren is surprised to discover that Ian and
his crew are not human—they are Ea, mermen shifters who can transform and live
beneath the waves. More surprising is that
Taren learns he, too, is Ea.
Stealing the Wind is a bit sexier than my contemporary
romances. It features a ménage (MMM)
sexual initiation and a bit of dubcon at the beginning, although it is strictly
a MM pairing. It also gave me the chance
to imagine what merman sex might be like.
But that’s a story for another day!
Does your significant other read your stuff?
Sometimes
he does. He’s a pretty busy man, so it’s
been hard for him to keep up with my books.
He is instrumental in helping me with my characterizations, though. He’s got great insight into human behavior
and he’s helped me develop many of my favorite characters.
Do you have critique partners or beta
readers?
I
do! I have a circle of wonderful authors
who also write for Dreamspinner Press who I beta read for and who beta read for
me. They’re tough, but they’re
wonderful. I rely on them for
substantive help, and they do put me through my paces! I also have a wonderful senior editor I work
with at Dreamspinner who is a gem. I
have no doubt my books are successful because of my editor and my beta readers.
Do you have anything specific that you want to
say to your readers?
Just
that I’m so thrilled that my books connect with my readers. I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been to
know that there are readers waiting for the next book in my Blue Notes Series,
and that they have come to love my characters as much as I loved writing
them. I have the best readers! I really do.
Blurb
for Prelude: 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.
***************
Bio: 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’s
Blue Notes Series of classical music themed gay romances was named one of
Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Word’s “Best Series of 2012,” and The Melody
Thief was named one of the “Best Novels in a Series of 2012.” The Melody
Thief also received an honorable mention, “One Perfect Score” at the 2012
Rainbow Awards.
*************
Excerpt
from Prelude
Chapter Two
Chicago, Present Day
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.
