Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Liron's Melody by Brieanna Robertson
Brieanna Robertson ISBN 978-1-936165-76-6
Word Count: 64,620
PDF Page Count: 195
Heat Index: Sensual
Does this book contain violence? No
Genre(s): Mainstream Romance, Fantasy
http://purplesword.com/
Release Date: 2-16-2011
Price: 5.99
Art heals, and one woman learns the true power of music.
A Julliard graduate and former member of the Philharmonic Orchestra, Melody hasn't played anything since her parents were killed in a tragic car accident. But when her friend buys her an old, weathered music score that seems to call to her, she is intrigued.
She knew that playing again would be a freeing feeling, but she never expected the action to open up a gateway to a world where creation and the arts are dominant and emotions are not frowned upon, but embraced. And she definitely never expected to be tossed into the living room of a muse--a man who lives and breathes music, who can calm her with a touch and make her hear symphonies.
As Melody learns of Liron, his world, and his own loss, she begins to heal, feel whole, and find herself again. But when the connection to Melody's world and the muse world is severed, will the music Liron inspired, as well as the power of her love, be enough to reunite them? More importantly, can Melody find the strength within herself to face the past she has been running from and do what needs to be done for the future she longs to have?
Excerpt:
It was a mournful song, slow and dark, Gothic almost. She had planned to stop after the first few measures, but once she started, two things happened. Wondrous ecstasy coursed throughout her entire body as the music filled her soul once again, and her fingers moved over the keys with grace and ease, like she had never stopped playing. For one beautiful second, she felt like she'd come home. That reason alone was enough to keep her there, but something else happened. Something strange and all consuming.
While the sorrowful notes echoed through her empty house, her mind conjured up the image of a man sitting at a piano, alone in a candlelit room. She was looking at him from behind as he hunched over the keys, lost within the same notes she was currently playing. Long, shining, chestnut-colored hair spilled down his back and around broad shoulders that seemed burdened, as if they carried weight. That particular thing struck her because she noted that his shoulders looked the way hers felt. Heavy, tired, sad…
She focused on the image in her mind, more than happy to devote her attention to whatever her imagination conjured instead of the grief of missing her parents. The music filled her, swirled around her, along with the unbearable loneliness that emanated from the man at the piano. It was almost as tangible as hers, and her heart connected to him, whoever he was. An embodiment of her own pain and sadness, she imagined.
A chill ran the course of her body and the temperature in the room seemed to drop, which she thought was strange considering it was the middle of the summer. She ignored it as she continued to play, driven on by the gorgeous music and the enigmatic image in her mind. She found she wanted to know more about the person in her subconscious, the man brought to life by this aged score. It seemed he had a story to tell, and the only way to know it was to continue playing.
So, she did. She gave herself over to the notes and chords, lost herself within the vision in her mind until it seemed almost real. The temperature in the room continued to cool and the hair on her arms bristled. She felt a strange, tugging sensation around her heart, as if it wanted her to reach out to the man at the piano, touch him, soothe him, let him know he was not as alone as he felt, and maybe assure herself that she wasn't either.
As the music coursed through her and around her, she played with abandon. It was only when she shivered that she realized her eyes were closed, had been closed for quite awhile. With a start, her fingers fumbled on the keys, causing the pristine notes she had been playing to falter. How could she be playing the music in front of her without looking at it? Had she just improvised the last few minutes? She stilled her fingers, but the melody of the music continued on in her mind, echoing as if through a long tunnel. If she didn't know better, she would have thought it wasn't in her mind at all, but close by, and real.
Dampness touched her bare arms, and she swore she could smell the ocean, which made absolutely no sense considering she lived in Colorado, and nowhere near the sea. She looked toward her front door, wondering if she'd left it open and some kind of strange storm had rolled in.
She gasped and jumped so hard she almost fell straight off her piano bench. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with the heels of her palms. When she opened them again, everything was as it should have been, and the temperature in the room went back to normal. She stared at her empty living room, trying to figure out what she had seen. For a second, the half of the room she wasn't in had looked like some kind of stone structure, like a room in a castle. It had felt cold and foggy, dimly lit with flickering candles, and in the corner where the door should have been, sat the man her imagination had conjured while playing the music. Only, she'd stopped playing, and he had continued.
“What in the world?” she whispered. Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry. She glanced at the score of music and eyeballed it. She had never been an exceptionally creative person. Not visually anyway, in the way of dreaming up strange visions. Even if she had daydreamed now and again, they had never been so vivid that they had taken up residence in the room she was in.
Maybe she'd finally lost her mind. Or maybe she was so exhausted from Rob's hike of death that her brain was playing tricks on her. That had to be it.
But even as she convinced herself that was the only logical explanation, her heart still ached at the sorrow she had felt while gazing upon that man. She glanced at the keys, part of her longing to play again, to see if she could glimpse him a second time. Part of her was afraid to. What if she really was losing her mind? Had grief and isolation finally caused her to crack? If so, it probably wasn't healthy to continue entertaining the fantasy.
But…
The desire to play again was overwhelming, no matter how irrational it was. No matter if he was a complete hallucination of her deluded mind. She just wanted to see him again. She wanted to see him because, in their shared sorrow, for one brief moment, she had not felt completely alone.
Exhaling slowly, she placed her shaking fingers back over the keys.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Second-Rate Groupies by Brieanna Robertson
Brieanna Robertson
ISBN 978-1-936165-78-0
Word Count: 71,832
PDF Page Count: 210
Heat Index: Sweet
Does this book contain violence? Nah
Genre(s): Mainstream Romance
Buy Link: http://purplesword.com/
Price: 6.99
Tagline: “Some dreams aren't impossible, some stars aren't untouchable, and sometimes real life can rival what is only imagined.”
Blurb:
"I suppose, in the end, it really comes down to a choice you have to make, yourself: Live in the shadows because it's much easier, or chase the small glimmers of gold, choosing to believe that, if you follow them, they will lead you to oceans of it…"
That's what we were doing, chasing the glimmers of gold. We needed something to believe in again, my two best friends and I. After disastrous relationships and a dead-end, grunt labor job, we were burnt out on life and even more burnt out on men. The only thing that made us happy, that we all had in common, was a metal band we adored. So, on a whim, we had decided we would follow them on their tour across the West Coast. We needed some adventure, some fun, a step out of normalcy.
What we got was mayhem. And what I got was a cocky, sexy security guard who was determined to pursue me despite my less than encouraging attitude.
I had expected an adventure. What I'd received was a lesson in life, and a lesson in love. Some untouchable stars are not always out of reach, and sometimes real life can be better than fiction.
Excerpt: (Help me think of a funny scene. I'm not sure which one to use. Lol)
“'My soul was his, though he knew not my name.' What a line. You writing a love poem to a rock star?”
I cringed and my spine stiffened. I turned my gaze of black hatred up to stare into the very pair of gray eyes that I wanted to gouge out. He was holding a beer, looking cocky, driving my irritation past the point of what was healthy. “It's called a metaphor,” I snapped. “Look it up.” I folded my napkin up and stood, shoving the piece of paper into my pocket.
“I know what a metaphor is,” he stated. “I don't need an English lesson. I just think it's amusing, that's all.”
I was pretty sure that if my glower got any fiercer, fire would have shot out of my eyes. “And what is so amusing, exactly?”
The smug smile never left his gorgeous lips. “I find it funny that you're over here writing love poetry to men you don't even know when there's a man right in front of you who has been bending over backwards to try and get you to talk to him, and you won't give him the time of day.”
I made that growling noise I was beginning to master. “I am not writing love poetry! That line meant 'my soul was his' in the sense that we have the same soul, as in creatively speaking, we think the same. I didn't mean 'my soul was his' like I was handing it to him on a platter. Gimme a freaking break. Why am I even defending myself? I don't have to explain a dang thing to you.” I put my hand on my hip and stared him down. “And another thing, usually when women don't give you the time of day, it means they're not interested!” I tried to shove past him, but he grabbed a hold of my arm.
“Whoa, wait a second!” He chuckled. “Come on, lady, I was trying to make you laugh.”
“No you weren't,” I sneered, jerking my arm out of his grasp. “You were trying to bait me.”
He snorted. “Yeah, and it worked much better than I'd anticipated.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I was only giving you a hard time. I wasn't trying to be insulting, I swear. You're just so...”
My eyes narrowed as he searched for the words. “Fun to annoy?” I interrupted. “Thanks.” I turned again; he stopped me, again.
“Hey, come on!” he cried. “I'm sorry, okay?”
I continued to glare at him while I simmered.
He heaved an exasperated-sounding sigh. “I'm sorry I fooled you guys into coming here. I just thought, since your friend said you were all on this crazy girls' trip, that you might have some fun coming out with us. I knew if I'd asked, you would have spat out a hundred kinds of no before either one of your friends could even think about it. Maybe it was underhanded, but it was the only way I could think of to get you guys to come out. And look, your friends are having fun!” He pointed over to where DeeDee was grinding against one of the roadies while Heather downed a really tall something that looked extremely strong.
I rolled my eyes. Traitors. “They're wasted,” I grumbled in a half-hearted attempt at an argument.
“Well, the one with the black hair is,” he chuckled. “That girl can put away the booze.”
I gave a short, stiff laugh and crossed my arms. “You have no idea.”
He slid his gaze back to me, regarded me for a silent moment, then sighed with a soft smile. “Look, can you at least let me buy you a drink? To say I'm sorry for lying to you about the after party, and for insulting your poem?”
I scowled, but didn't immediately bolt for the door. I sized him up, trying to figure out if he was placating me, or if he was for real.
He must have noticed the small chink in my armor because he cocked his head to one side and smiled wider. “Come on,” he urged. “You're in Las Vegas. You can't come to Vegas and write poetry in a bar. That's wrong on the highest level!”
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