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I figure if I promise yummy food I can bribe you into reading a bit.

When I first started writing I had to ‘write my way’ into a story. In fact my very first story I dropped SIXTY pages to get to the beginning. And now I’ll drop most of that book except for a few names and basic premise. And the location of course since it’s in the same area as A Question of Honor…it’s Kyle’s story. I’ve added pictures of what you’ll see when you come visit New Mexico.

With Honor, I started in the right place but had to delete massive amounts between then and them arriving at Stormhaven. Most I gleefully removed but a few I really cherished. I really tried to keep them, maybe move them somewhere else. Like this scene.

Set Up: Sydney has been sleeping on the couch, Devin on the bed. He finally convinces her to share the bed, for sleep only. They’re in a rough part of Los Angeles county where gunfire isn’t unknown. Both of them have been under fire in the past, and their memories sometimes intrude on the present:

* * *

Gunfire punctuated the restless night, five or six shots to the east. Sydney tensed, her eyes wedging open as she drifted in the half waking/half sleeping state she had occupied since lying down. Since her neighbor’s son had been arrested, the last few weeks had been peaceful, and she’d been able to rest undisturbed. Now, she automatically began to identify the weapons used as she registered the warmth of another body in the bed with her.
Devin hadn’t joined her immediately and she feigned sleep when he eased down, still wearing his jeans, on top of the covers on the other side of the bed, and pulled a quilt over himself. His remarkably soothing presence in the dark eased her tension just by being there. With this man she felt no threat, no undercurrent of dominance. Suddenly all the years of loneliness began to be to much for her. Of all people, Devin, with the past she knew he had to have, could understand.
She pried her eyes open a trifle more, sensing his wakefulness. “Devin?” She sounded husky, harsh.
“Yo.”
“I’m not coming onto you but,” she hesitated, then finished in a rush, before she lost her nerve. “Can I touch you? Please?”
Devin turned his head more fully on the pillow. Dozing next to Sydney was a delightful form of torture. He knew she had not been fully asleep herself, but she seemed to be resting until the distant gunfire. In the intimate honesty of the night, her voice sounded shaky, her slender body tense under the blankets. “Sure.” He braced himself for anything.
It was a gossamer touch, fingertips just grazing his arm until her hand spread and her palm cupped the bare skin of his shoulder. Warmth radiated from the shy contact, racing along every nerve ending in his body, collecting in his masculine center.
“Thanks. Sounds like late night target practice. Sorry to wake you.”
“It’s perfectly all right to be afraid of gunfire.”
The reassuring voice grated on her nerves, but Sydney didn’t think it would be a good idea to explain it was memories, not fears, that kept her tense. The irritation helped block the strange tingling sensation originating where their bare skin touched. She had never been able to relax with a man in her bed, but this was a new sort of tension.
“I’m used to apartments, where I could just lock the doors and leave the stereo on all night. Now, I have to be able to hear if anything happens to Mosby.”
“Have you always lived in apartments?” The conversation was startlingly personal, with their heads on adjoining pillows. He could feel the brush of her breath against his chest.
“No.” Her voice softened as memories took over. “I lived in a house once, with flower beds and a porch with a swing.”
Devin watched the moonlit silver of her eyes as she wandered through memories both happy and sad. “Was that when you were married?”
“No, this was much later, after Dad retired.”
“What happened, Sydney?” He responded to the pain he could feel radiating from her body, the tension in small fingers that were beginning to dig into his shoulder.
“It’s gone, now. There was an explosion. They said it was a bad gas line.” She swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Sometimes, when things wake me up, I remember.”
“Sometimes,” he admitted, wanting to take over her memories, ease her pain, “I have trouble sleeping, myself.”
Finally, she focused on him, her eyes softening, going hazy with approaching sleep. “I know,” she whispered, before her eyes closed again, and she was asleep.
* * *

I tended to write late at night back then so a lot of scenes ended with going to sleep…back then sleep was my idea of luxury!

Recipe? Low Carb Cheddar Biscuits, guaranteed to fill hungry stomachs. Great with pretty much everything

Here’s the link, which will lead you to one of my favorite low carb sites, and MUCH better pictures than I could ever take  ALL DAY I DREAM ABOUT FOOD

The ingredients, so you can check to be sure you have them all:

This year I took on the responsibility of chairing (managing) the Saluki National, a multiple day

SALUKI!!!

event celebrating our breed. There’s coursing, Agility, Obedience, Rally, Conformation, health lectures and testing, vendors, demonstrations, exhibitions and an opportunity to see more Salukis in one place than you’ll ever see anywhere else. There is also a chance to see people you only meet once a year, and meet people you’ve only heard of or ‘chatted’ with on line.

Most of the time we meet in harmony and fellowship, letting the love of our breed bypass personal issues. Once in a while, people forget we’re here for the Saluki, and they let their personal agendas take over. Unlike years past when I might have let this put me off balance, I did what I needed to do and went on with the show.

Because

NOT MY CIRCUS

NOT MY MONKEY

THIS was MY circus for this week: people getting together with their Salukis.

THIS was MY monkey, my late husband’s childhood sock monkey, in a goofy happy pile with a camel puppet.

In a world where anything can happen, at any moment, I reveled in being with my friends, putting together the best show I could, for us all to enjoy.

Fallen Angel: A Mafia Romance Part 5
A Roman Crime Family Novel
#‎short‬ #‎alphamale‬ #‎light‬ #‎bdsm‬ #‎dominance‬ #‎mafiaromance #‎erotic #romance‬
Alisa Anderson & Cameron Skye

“Fallen Angel is a dark, tasty appetizer with echoes of “The Sopranos.” It’s like picking up a Lindt truffle on your way out of the store. There’s just enough to wake up your taste buds, or in this case, other parts due South.” – Margo’s Red Light District
“Gritty,sexy and with a strong but vulnerable female lead. Fallen Angel is a surprisingly good read.” – Ingrid Hall
“Is Jess going to get sucked into a world with Nick that will destroy her or will she bring Nick to the other side and they find happy ever after? I will be grabbing the next book soon. I need to know more about this story and what the future holds.” – TBird, Crystals Many Reviews
“Fallen Angel is a quick and sexy read. I hope to get the chance to read the next installment. I want to know more about Nick and the dangerous games he’s playing. – Angela, Crystals Many Reviews.”
Some events in this series are based on events from author, Cameron Skye’s life. Where does fiction meet reality? You decide.
Fallen Angel is a mafia romance serial novel released every 4 to 6 weeks, at approximately 8000 to 11000 words each. Due to sexual content, implied and actual scenes of abuse, violence, organized crime, language and frequent illegal drug use, we recommend this to mature audiences, ages 18 and over, who are comfortable with this subject matter.
Join the Family #FamilyAboveEverything
Blurb:
Baby girl’s taking a ride
As past, present and future collide
Riding loose, living rough
Wondering when it’s finally enough
Baby boy wants to rescue her from it all
He loves her hard…doesn’t wanna see her fall
He wants to take her away, from all of the pain
From the nightmares begging to leave their stain
But some nightmares…won’t go away
Some find ways…to make you pay
But through darkness and screams you can find the light
It’s just sometimes you do a little dirt…to make it thru the night.
Excerpt from Fallen Angel Book 5:

Reaching the top of the stairs, he asked the rest of the girls to leave the room. She was sitting in front of the mirror, putting on blood red lipstick. Catching his reflection in the mirror, her eyes filled. She got up to hug him.

“How you been, bambino?”

Jess giggled. She always giggled when he called her bambino.

“I’ve been perfect.”

“Perfect, my ass. Have you eaten anything since we left Miami?”

“I’ve eaten.”

“Liar. Jess, you need to stop the coke, this is out of control. You’re getting too fucking thin.”

“Oh, Angel.” She sighed. “One can never be too thin. Model, walking hanger, remember?”

“Fuck being a hanger. I could give a rat’s ass less if you’re a model or not. Come on, you’re going to eat something.”

“I’m honestly not hungry. Besides, Nick’s here isn’t he?”

“I’m not playing whatever the fuck game is going on between you two. I’m so over the both of you. Come with me now, or I will pick your skinny ass up and carry you directly to him.”

She knew she wasn’t going to win this round, following him to the bar. Going behind, he pulled up a bag. Taking out a bowl of strawberries.

“How did you know I love strawberries?”

“It’s part of my job to know you, Jess.”

“Scary job, huh?” She sighed heavily.

“Nah. I’ve grown to love your crazy ass.” He softly touched her cheek, smiling at her with so much care and affection. He truly was her knight in shining armor.

She smiled back at him, but her smile was short lived.

“Angel?” Nicks voice bellowed from the background.

“At the bar. You need to see this.”

“Don’t you fucking dare call him.” She pleaded, almost becoming hysterical.

“Not playing the game remember, dearest?”

Nick came around the corner. Stopping when he saw her.

She was nothing but skin and bones. You could count her ribs and see her spine running down her back. His throat squeezed shut, not only because of how she looked, but at the fact she was no longer his.

He missed her, craved her….loved her.

And wanted to beat her ass for how she had let herself get this way.

“Jess.”

“Nick.”

“Look at me.”

She refused.

“I said look at me.”

She turned, her eyes fixed on his face. Crossing her arms over her chest defensively. She tried to hide them under make-up, but he could see the dark purple circles under her eyes. Her face gaunt from the amount of weight she’d lost.

“Jesus, Jess.” Nick’s voice a hoarse whisper. Filled with hurt and concern.

Every emotion she tried to kill for the past four weeks, came back in at once. Hitting her so quickly she felt she couldn’t breathe from her lungs seizing up.

Her heart physically hurt, breaking at the sight of him.

She started trembling, trying her damndest not to cry.

“You aren’t working. Carry her to my office.”

“You don’t get to order me around anymore remember?”

“How could I forget that fact, Jess. But the fact this is my club and I’m your boss, overrules any boyfriend, girlfriend bullshit. You’ll do as I say, and I said you aren’t working. There’s no debate on the subject. Angel, pick her up.”
Authors Bios:

Alisa Anderson
well…alisa did stuff and is still doing stuff. only now she has two boys crazy enuff to want her as their mommy. hey, at least she tried to warn them, so her job is done. she doesn’t like to capitalize, partially because she likes how lower case letters look visually, but mostly out of laziness. please don’t judge. it could be you. and she would say, hey. you’re alright, buddy. you’re ok in my book. now c’mere for a hug. the hug might be pushing it. air kiss? you are strangers, after all, with only a mutual love of poor grammar.
she lives for a world full of controllable anatomically correct, android men programmed to meet her specific feminine needs (wink, wink, nudge, nudge with a big waggle of the eyebrows). who look like the rock. and ian somerhalder. and idris elba. and that’s it she promises. variety. gotta have variety, right?
but alas…apparently that exists only in johanna lindsey’s genius mind. so until then, she enjoys her incredibly warped sense of humor. she reads tons of erotica and romantic, drippy goo that makes her heart go pitter patter. then she thought, hey. what, she said to herself. (softly, of course, so no one finds out she is indeed, 2 nuts short of a fruitcake) maybe you should write this stuff too. maybe someone will like it and maybe buy it. so she said, huh, you think? then she said, well…yeah, i wouldn’t have suggested it…(inserts sarcastic tone) and then she was like lose the attitude, ok? then she was all, would you just shut up and write, already? sheesh! and she did. 🙂
Cameron Skye
When Cameron is not in the lab working toward a Ph.D., in Neuropsychopharmacology, which in laymen’s terms is basically finding the effects drugs have on mood and behavior, she is writing stories, crating vivid, intense characters you will never forget.
She believes while life can take you down every path but the right one, eventually everyone will find their happily ever after.
Author Links:
Thank you so much for reading Fallen Angel and for supporting independent authors, like us. We love getting reader feedback, so please be sure to leave a review at Amazon or Goodreads.
Parts 1-4 of the series is #‎Free‬ with #‎KindleUnlimited‬
Part 1 http://amzn.to/1Fv30sG
Part 2 http://amzn.to/1FKJtYv
Part 3 http://amzn.to/1StknAV
Part 4 http://amzn.to/1Fv3fnt

Book 6 in the series is in editing and will be released very shortly. It’s the last book in the Fallen Angel series but for those that love Nick and Jess, we are in talks of continuing their journey.
Other books by Alisa Anderson: Give and Receive
Find Alisa online: Official Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook
Join Alisa’s mailing list to be kept up to date on her newest releases, sales and giveaways.

I hoped not any storm! in fact last week was amazingly weather neutral, not even too warm until the last day. Okay, there was that day when I tromped through the heavy ‘mist’…okay it was freaking raining!…to take my ‘lukis to their heart tests. But last Monday was pleasant while I scurried around pulling together last minute details. And while I watch the Purina crew transform their messy after the large show building into our national specialty.

getting ready to polish the floor

I watched Monday evening as the Agility floor was brought up from a remote location.

By noon on Tuesday we had the ring up, vendor booths up, we were ready for business

I’ll be stepping away from last weeks show for a couple of days. Don’t worry, I’ll recap on Friday. In the meantime I’m having a wonderful writer guest tomorrow, then a bit of book and dog stuff. Hang around, it’s all good!

We all love our dogs (at least I think we do.) Sometimes we love them even more for the things we can do together. When you’re part of the organized dog events world, what you can do is limited only by your time and energy. Well, and disposable income in a world where disposables are more likely to be diapers or paper towels.

One of those events is something I fondly call “The Left Turn Game,” or Conformation showing. In this venue our dogs are compared to a written standard and the judge for that day chooses the

so much potential in such a small package

dog which, in their mind, most closely resembles that standard. We might or might not agree with the importance of that CH in front of our dog’s name but from the moment we first look at a litter we hold that dream of adding initials in front of an behind the name.  Quick note, this title is achieved by gaining points in a semi complex system, defeating other dogs to win one to five points.

For this trip I was showing Fire Dragon (the Agility goof) and his sister Biddy, AKA Faerie Queene. Biddy has gone through a difficult time, losing her special person and working to find her own identity. Playing on the Agility equipment has given her a world of confidence, as well as realizing how much value she holds in our world.

We woke that morning to the anticipation of seeing friends and canines, not to mention revisiting the great Purina Event Center. But it is odd for this high plains person to wake up to SO MANY TREES. The ‘lukis tend to adjust better than I do. I think for them it’s just part of the adventure of traveling with Mom.

Fortunately Purina runs shuttles during the shows, so I could dash over for a long hot shower, then back to change and gather the kids. Then the fun of getting them onto a golf cart…oh for a camera then! The eclectic training sessions paid off, both of them were comfortable and relaxed ringside around strangers, and let themselves be held as long as they could see me. Spoiled? Nah?

Okay, I guess I’ve dragged this out long enough. Here’s that little imp in the sleepy baby photo winning a five point major.  She stayed cool and confident throughout multiple times in the ring around unknown dogs…all in the day’s work/fun

photo by Julie Darling…THANKS Julie

Still the Queen

Here she is with her half brother, Kidd. Again thanks to Julie Darling!

After this, we went to work setting up the show.

Just need a little more sleep

Have you ever gotten to the point of just too darned tired to worry?

I’m like that at the end of a long day driving. I still have enough energy to drive safely or at least I think I do. Until a patrol car comes alongside me with an angry officer gesturing for me to PULL OVER.

The original plan was for me to drive 7-8 hours on Thursday, the same on Friday, and arrive at Purina in plenty of time for the all breed shows. For my non doggy readers, shows can be for one breed of dogs, a few related breeds of dogs, or all breeds…at least those breeds recognized by the governing body, in this case the American Kennel Club (AKC). On a whim, and at the last possible second, I had entered the Saturday and Sunday all breed shows for my own pleasure before I had to start work on the National.

I woke Saturday morning fairly refreshed if somewhat mosquito marked, and at least ten hours from my destination. Arriving at Purina before ring time at one PM was out of the question. My new goal was reaching Gray Summit before 8PM, so I could at least join in on the barbecue.

Just enough rain fell to keep the ‘lukis comfortable. They’ve been on enough long trips to know to take it easy until I start the round of walks. It would be nice to think they could be walked in sets of two. Unfortunately Fire Dragon and Moochie don’t much care for each other…and Boo decided coming into heat would just make the trip that much more fun. I got in a lot of walking.

good company

Why, you wonder, did I bring four dogs when I was only showing two, plus it meant more work for me? The Saluki Club had arranged for a cardiologist to do dopplers…echoes of the hearts, as part of an ongoing study, as well as at a great price. Health testing is extremely important to responsible breeders.

We rolled along, making good time and within ten miles of the exit, when someone pulled up alongside me. That patrol car, with what seemed to be an angry person gesturing me over. What could I possibly have been doing? I pulled over as far as I could, reaching for the paperwork.

As far as I could wasn’t much, especially when the person coming alongside the motor home was, well…large. And I’m sure he didn’t mean to be funny. At least I didn’t say what I was thinking.

“You know I’ve been trying to pull you over for five miles? Can’t you see behind you?”

‘Of course, I always try to avoid being pulled over’ I think, but I say “No sir I did not know that,” while looking at all my mirrors and out the back window…demonstrating that I can see behind me.

“You’re not drunk are you? Or have mechanical problems?”

Of course I would tell him if I was drunk, it’s my civic duty.

“You know you’ve been wandering all over the road and you keep driving on the side bumps?”

“I like the sound they make.” Fortunately I don’t think he heard me.

He’s holding my driver’s license, and asks “Where are you from Ms Stoner?”

Is this a test? You’re holding my license, what does it say? “New Mexico.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

Would I really tell him if I had been? Maybe reveal the high speed chases? “No Sir.”  I realize he was trying to evaluate my fitness to drive, which was for my own good. But at this point my sense of the absurd was starting to leak out. For pity’s sake, I’m in Eileen Dreyer country. At any moment I expect to see Cooter One and his sons Cooter Two, Three and Four come ambling out of the entirely too thick brush along the side of the road.

After a bit more pondering, not to mention a way too close encounter with a semi, he hands back my license with an admonition to be more careful.

Nice man, and I appreciate his caring. It’s not his fault at the best of times my mind wanders into strange and dangerous places.  It keeps me entertained on long drives. One of these days I’ll get that radio fixed.

Not long after comes the reward for the trip: good friends, good food, huge hugs. Soon we’re pulled in, plugged in, and asleep, getting ready for the next day’s big adventure.

Overhead in the motor home…cozy!

Purina entrance, by Aneta Lopes Graca

Once a year Saluki people from across the country (and sometimes around the world) meet to greet long time friends, meet new friends, and compete with their hounds. The last few years it has been at the Purina Event Center in Gray Summit Missouri, and this year I agreed to manage it.

This means packing myself and some of the hounds into my trusty if not lovely motor home for a trip Google Maps insists on calling 976 miles; 14 hours and 35 minutes. Maybe. If you don’t have dogs and you’re not driving alone.

trusty motor home

For we who do travel in that fashion it gets perilously close to twenty hours. At least it’s all on main roads…as long as you don’t get lost.

I had envisioned writing a quick blog every night to share my travels. To this end I stayed at parks with WiFi but by the end of a day driving, tending the dogs, then grabbing something for human fuel, there was not a lot of energy available. So I thought I’d get back into the blogging (and writing!) habit by reporting a week late…kind of like war correspondents who never actually see the front lines

Amarillo Sunset

My intention was to leave on Thursday, late morning, and get to El Reno Oklahoma where the KOA site is really nice. My intermittent OCD took over and I ended up clearing out half the garage (don’t ask, I can’t figure it out myself!) Friday, then. I could leave early Friday. More like Friday afternoon, and I made it to Amarillo.KOA.

Lovely site, until the mosquitoes tried to drag me out of the motor home. OMG those Texas people must be TOUGH. I saw this decoration on the side of a building as I left the site…what do you think? Doesn’t it look kind of Arabian???

TOMORROW: My encounter with a nice Missouri patrolman. Poor fellow

When I contemplated talking about Memorial Day, my mind went several different directions (no surprise there) I thought about my uncle Dick who died in Korea…I once read a letter he wrote home explaining why he believed he needed to be there. I thought about the young sailors I met while living in Japan. When they were in port I’d meet them at the roller skating rink in Yokosuka, or visit them in the hospitals…at least those lucky enough to come back. I thought about wars extending back through time. Then as now, young people fought against each other to fulfill the wishes of others. Always, The Charge of the Light Brigade plays through my head. A tragic loss of brave young men, following misunderstood orders potentially tainted by personal animosity. The truth of historical events does not always live up to the stories we’ve been told.

Tennyson eulogized those who had followed orders and would never return home:

During the research for this blog, I came across another poem, written by another favorite poet. Apparently this poem never received the attention of Tennyson’s stirring words, addressing as it does the all too frequent failure of society to recognize those who fought in their defense. Sadly, this lack is not just a modern problem.

The Last of the Light Brigade
Sir Rudyard Kipling 4/28/1890
There were thirty million English who talked of England’s might,
There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night.
They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade;
They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade.

They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was long,
That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song.
They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door;
And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four!

They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey;
Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they;
And an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, “Let us go to the man who writes
The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites.”

They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong,
To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song;
And, waiting his servant’s order, by the garden gate they stayed,
A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade.

They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil-bowed back;
They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack;
With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed,
They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade.

The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and “Beggin’ your pardon,” he said,
“You wrote o’ the Light Brigade, sir. Here’s all that isn’t dead.
An’ it’s all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin’ the mouth of hell;
For we’re all of us nigh to the workhouse, an’ we thought we’d call an’ tell.

“No, thank you, we don’t want food, sir; but couldn’t you take an’ write
A sort of ‘to be continued’ and ‘see next page’ o’ the fight?
We think that someone has blundered, an’ couldn’t you tell ’em how?
You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are starving now.”

The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn.
And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with “the scorn of scorn.”
And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame,
Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame.

They sent a cheque to the felon that sprang from an Irish bog;
They healed the spavined cab-horse; they housed the homeless dog;
And they sent (you may call me a liar), when felon and beast were paid,
A cheque, for enough to live on, to the last of the Light Brigade.*

O thirty million English that babble of England’s might,
Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night;
Our children’s children are lisping to “honour the charge they made – ”
And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of the Light Brigade!

Back to moody melodies on Sunday, and Johnny Mathis. I haven’t kept up on more modern singers…does anyone sing this way today?

I’ve been reading a surfeit of articles advising us “Do what you love; love what you do” This concept is either praised or reviled. How can you always do what you love when it might not be practical? If a job keeps the roof over your head how can you walk away even if it does suck your soul? Sometimes we do need to make compromises and those compromises need to be our own decision.

After all, there are so many levels of love. Love for our family, our partner, our friends, our country, our pets. Don’t forget love for yourself. In fact I have learned not loving myself is the worst thing I’ve ever done. When we do love ourselves, when we accept ourselves, warts and all, we find peace within ourselves and more love for the rest of the world.

That’s not a bad thing. Wishing you bright sunshine and happy memories.

On Saturdays I like to Pay it Forward with other artists. The concept is not “I promote you, you promote me.” Instead “I promote you, you promote someone else,” so there is an ever widening web of support for each other. Erin and Racheline’s Midsummer looks like a great read, don’t you think? Let’s see what they have to say about their book

*****

Midsummer is an M/M May/December gay-for-you summer romance, set at a summer stock production of deep in the Virginia woods. Racheline and I often write stories about how stuff works behind the scenes, so we’re particularly excited about this backstage story.

Summer stock companies more or less like Theater in the Woods — the fictional theater troupe Midsummer — exist all over the U.S. And as in our other backstage stories, in Midsummer we’ve tried to hew the line between the dictates of drama and story, and how stuff really works, in the real world.

To some extent summerstock really is, as various characters describe it in the book, theater camp for grownups. Productions are usually Equity shows that provide opportunities for emerging artists to earn a salary and recently turned professional artists to earn their Equity cards. Often, well-known actors will participate in summerstock productions at big-name theaters in order to improve their reputation as a serious actor or just get back on the stage. Their presence can be a big draw for these small theaters.

Ultimately, a summerstock company consists of a few dozen people — the exact number depends on the size of the production and relevant support staff — semi-trapped together for a season, often in very close and, at times, unideal accommodations. They live in theater housing, eat together, work together and, when the rehearsal and set-building is over for the day, play together.

There are a lot of union rules involved with summerstock, as in all theater productions: who can do what work (and often, what work union members aren’t obligated to do); who gets what kind of rooms, etc. For the most part, we’ve tried to stick to the broad outline of those rules without bogging ourselves or our readers down in details; Racheline is a union actor, and we spent some time going back and forth with our editor over whether our readers would understand a reference to a particular Equity status (EMC). But we also let these rules slide in places where it served our story better. Let’s face it, we wanted John, our protagonist, shirtless and covered in paint at one point, and we hope you will too.

Blurb:

John Lyonel, a long-time theater professional and teacher, heads to Virginia to play Oberon in the Theater in the Woods’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, intending to focus on his work. John is recovering from the tragic loss of his family and needs a break. The last thing he expects is to become captivated by Michael Hilliard, the professional actor playing Puck, especially since John has never been attracted to men, let alone one so much younger.

They rush headlong into an affair which falls apart dramatically over secrets that John and Michael are keeping from each other. A steep learning curve, the gossipy cast of the show, and the sometimes sinister magic of the woods conspire to keep them apart. But stage lights and stars might work their magic and help them define a new future.

Bio:

Erin McRae is a queer writer and blogger based in Washington, D.C. She has a master’s degree in International Affairs from American University, and delights in applying her knowledge of international relations theory to her fiction and screen-based projects, because conflict drives narrative.

Racheline Maltese lives a big life from a small space. She flies planes, sails boats, and rides horses, but as a native New Yorker, has no idea how to drive a car. A long-time entertainment and media industry professional, she lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their two cats.

Together, they are co-authors of the gay romance series Love in Los Angeles, set in the film and television industry — Starling (September 10, 2014), Doves (January 21, 2015), and Phoenix (June 10, 2015) — from Torquere Press. Their gay romance novella series Love’s Labours, set in the theater world — Midsummer (May 2015), and Twelfth Night (Fall 2015), is from Dreamspinner Press. They also have a story in Best Gay Romance 2015 from Cleis Press and edited by Felice Picano. You can find them on the web at http://www.Avian30.com.

Connect with Erin & Racheline online:

Blog | Facebook Page | Erin’s Twitter | Racheline’s Twitter | Erin’s Goodreads | Racheline’s Goodreads | Erin’s Amazon Author Page | Racheline’s Amazon Author Page

Buy Links:

Amazon | AllRomance | B&N | Dreamspinner

Excerpt:

Costume fittings and dress rehearsals means that John finally gets to see Michael costumed as Puck. The human characters are dressed contemporarily, in suits and cocktail dresses that become increasingly disheveled as the show goes on. The fairies, though, are dressed in greens and browns with crowns of strange wildness — thistles, cornsilk, and Queen Ann’s lace. Michael as Puck looks deeply inhuman, covered in leaves as if dragged in from the wooded grounds. For their first dress rehearsal, it takes all of John’s considerable experience and willpower to actually focus on the play and not Michael. As taken as Oberon is meant to be with Puck, he should actually be able to remember and deliver his lines.

“Whose idea was this?” he asks Michael afterward, catching him before he can change. Michael blinks at him with eyes done up in silver and green. John wants to devour him.

“Do you like it?” Michael asks, more distant and coy than usual, sliding his hands up John’s chest which, like his own, is bare.

All John can do is groan when Michael looks up at him from under his lashes. He stands on his tiptoes to kiss John briefly, and then vanishes. When he reappears he’s Michael again, in t-shirt and shorts, but John can’t forget the image of him transformed.