Friday, March 1, 2019

Friday Feature: EXCERPT from After Hurricane Nina: Quinn's Resolution

So if you missed it, my latest book released this week - and already garnering some kind reviews - and some that are kinda awesome. One reader compared my rockstar redemption story to A Star is Born in terms of emotional strength  (although I have to admit I may be the only romance writer who has never seen any of the versions of this movie. I thought I'd seen the Barbara Streisand one, but I was confusing it with Bette Midler's The Rose.) (and did you know there are 4 versions? 1937, 1954, 1976 and now 2018. Crazy!)

Anyway, thought I'd share the opening scene from my book, which introduces the reader to Quinn MacDonald and his band, Dead Ball Line, as they film their first music video.... before Hurricane Nina devastates the tropical island...

LONG EXCERPT from After Hurricane Nina: Quinn's Resolution:

Monday, November 28, 2016
Pandawa Beach, Bali

“And…cut! That’s a wrap for the day, people. Can we get those boys some towels?”
Quinn MacDonald shook the salt water out of his hair, listening to the director yell at the crew. He knew he looked like a sheepdog shaking the water from his tangle of shoulder length curls, but at this point he didn’t give a flying fuck.
He was hot. He was tired. And he needed a fucking beer.
Shooting music videos on a tropical beach sounded a helluva lot more fun when their manager pitched it back in London, where November had been miserably wet and cold.
Reality had him and his bandmates knee-deep in turquoise salt water under the relentless sun, banging on fake instruments for hours on end… well, all except Grubber who insisted on bringing his Gibson out into the ocean with him. Quinn’s throat blazed from screaming out lyrics all afternoon. He knew the final video would be overdubbed to cut out the crowd noises from the beach, but it wouldn’t look real unless he was actually singing.
Meanwhile the prima donna actor-turned-director kept taking breaks to flirt with anyone with boobs and sign autographs for gawking tourists, leaving the band standing in the ocean, and slowing the entire fucking process to a snail’s pace.
Not that Quinn knew anything about making a music video. This was the band’s first. They were a punk band, for fuck’s sake. Music videos were for sellouts, right? Except their record company deemed it necessary, and their manager pointed out that Green Day even made a Broadway musical out of one of their albums.
So here they were.
Like anyone in their right mind would complain about being on a tropical island surrounded by hot chicks in bikinis. Quinn’s mind drifted to the woman in his bed the night before. Blonde with big boobs and a luscious German accent. Sabina? Sofia? Whatever the fuck her name was, she was a screamer. That part he remembered.
A giant splash caught Quinn off balance. “Dude, watch it!” He glared at Chuck Bellamy, his best friend since freshman orientation at Boston College, currently using his fake bass guitar like a paddle, splashing the hell out of the rest of them. George Hastings, who they still called “Grubber” from their rugby days, was cursing him out, trying to keep his precious Gibson dry. Chuck cackled at him and turned to attack the drummer, John Hayes, the two of them getting into a full-on water fight like five-year-olds on a sugar high.
Quinn’s annoyance faded as he watched them having fun. Fuck it. We’re in Bali. He joined the melee, leaping onto Grubber’s back and pulling him under the salty water, guitar and all.

The four met on the rugby field when Chuck and Quinn were freshmen and the other two were sophomores. The band’s name, Dead Ball Line, was the rugby term for out-of-bounds. It had been a goof at first, playing Green Day and Blink 182 covers at fraternity parties, pretending at being rock stars to score chicks. It wasn’t until they moved to London after Grubber’s graduation that they started adding Quinn’s original songs into the mix.
And now here they were on a tropical island, surrounded by gorgeous women in bikinis, shooting a music video for the album they’d finished recording last month. Quinn wrote each and every song on the album, relying on Grubber to flesh out the tunes and John to create the fast beat their fans craved.
If the success of the first single, No More Tomorrows, was any indication, the album would do well.
They’d finally made it.
Life was good.
About the Book:
On November 30, 2016, Hurricane Nina hit Bali, Indonesia. In the aftermath of death and destruction, eight strong sexy men will realize it’s time for a change in their lives. A resolution of sorts. A contractor, a personal trainer, a millionaire, a stuntman, a rock star, a thrill-seeker, an army veteran, and a trust fund prodigal will all find a way to conquer their loss and learn to love.

This is Quinn’s story. Resolution: To find his way back to the music.

Quinn MacDonald had it made. With a record label deal and their first single skyrocketing up the charts, his indie punk band is finally getting a taste of rock and roll fame. Bikini-clad women and bottomless bottles of booze fill endless days… until their hotel collapses during a hurricane. He’s still under contract but as far as he’s concerned, the music died along with the rest of his band.

Life has never been easy for Phoebe Snow. Working three minimum wage jobs barely keeps a roof over her head while she and her band struggle to get noticed. But on stage, nothing matters but the music in her heart. When her band plays a cover of one of his hits, Quinn is blown away. Can Phoebe be the inspiration he needs for more than just writing songs?

Grab your copy on AMAZON

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