About the Book:
Christine Dadey’s family uprooted their lives and moved to Houston for her to attend the prestigious Rousseau Academy of Dance. Now, two years later, Christine struggles to compete among the Academy’s finest dancers, her parents are on the brink of divorce, and she’s told no one about her debilitating performance anxiety and what she’s willing to do to cope with it.
Erik was a ballet prodigy, a savant, destined to be a star on the world’s stage, but a suspicious fire left Erik’s face horribly disfigured. Now, a lonely phantom forced to keep his scars hidden, he spends his nights haunting the theater halls, mourning all he’s lost. Then, from behind the curtain he sees the lovely Christine. The moldable, malleable Christine.
Drawn in by Erik’s unwavering confidence, Christine allows h
erself to believe Erik’s declarations that he can transform her into the dancer she longs to be. But Christine’s hope of achieving her dreams may be her undoing when she learns Erik is not everything he claims. And before long, Erik’s shadowy past jeopardizes Christine’s unstable present as his obsession with her becomes hopelessly entangled with his plans for revenge.
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Guest Post #1:
Here are several cover mock-ups, with a pen name (I chose a pen name because this book was much darker than the ones I write for younger audiences.) that we played around with before choosing the current one. Ultimately, I used my first name with Howard, my grandfather, for the last. Also, I considered calling the book DANCING BLIND, omitting the reference to the phantom. But my awesome critique group convinced me otherwise.
This one is absolutely beautiful, but it didn't convey the darkness we were going for.
This one has the black tutu, but after a vote from the fabulous staff and Chambers County Library in Anahuac, TX (had to do the shout-out) I scrapped it, too, and went with the red. And of course, it's now called PHANTOM'S DANCE.
Guest Post #2
Since I've been a huge fan of Andrew Lloyd Weber's PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, having gone to the theater alone to watch the 2004 movie with Gerard Butler as the phantom--helloooo hotty--attended a live presentation at the Hobby Center in Houston, bought the audio for the car and the DVD for the house, well it would stand to reason that it was what I listen to for inspiration while writing PHANTOM'S DANCE. And even I thought I would. But this piece, Dance of the Knights from Romeo and Juliet, turned out to be the inspiration for Erik, the phantom. It's also the piece Christine is listening to when she senses she's being watched while attending Romeo and Juliet. The heavily metered rhythm was almost intimidating to me. At the same time, it has these softer more tender elements that speak to Erik's character, too.
Thank you, "I'm sorry I was writing dialogue in my head," for continuing to do the job when using you as an excuse for ignoring my husband.
Thank you, Microsoft Word, for pointing out when I misspell vaccuumm but completely ignoring mall when I meant maul.
Thank you, e-books, for making it possible to share my book with more readers while pulling my hair out learning your endless choice of formats.
Thank you, blogs, for your SEO, trackbacks, and meta crap that give me a lovely migraine.
Thank you, social media, for never acknowledging my existence.
Thank you, television writers, movie directors, and actors in general, for your cool last names that roll with the credits, yet I can never remember a single one when trying to come up with a good character name.
Thank you, Goodreads, for reminding me that I don't read fast enough.
Thank you, Amazon, for putting my best review at the bottom of the list—where no one ever goes.
Thank you, best sellers list, for reminding me I have not yet arrived.
Finally, thank you, Jimmy Fallon, for another sarcastic way to express myself.
Phantom's Dance Excerpt:
“You scared the crap out of me—again!” I wailed, and a low chuckle rumbled from behind the heavy, velvet drapes.
With my hand pressed to my overexerted lungs, I breathed deeply. “I see you’re still behind the curtain. But I suppose that’s where a stagehand would be, wouldn’t he? Behind the curtain?”
“Ouch. And here I thought you were a nice girl—not like the Academy snobs looking down their noses at the hired help.”
“Ah-ha! So you are a stagehand.”
“I never said that. What I said was you’re a snob.”
“I am not!”
He half laughed half snorted.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“I came to see the ballet. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Of course, but that’s not what I meant. The ballet has been over for an hour. Why are you still here?”
“I might ask you the same thing.”
The pink flower chose that moment to fall from my hair and float to the stage floor.
“You were playing the ballerina, weren’t you?” He teased.
His voice had moved from where it started at my right to the curtains behind me.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll keep your secret.”
My face heated and I bent to recover the flower then stood to face his voice.
“You won’t tell Mr. Darby or the theater manager?”
“I said I wouldn’t tell.”
Spinning the flower between my fingers, I asked, “Why do you stay behind the curtain?”
“I don’t like the stage.”
“But you said you’re a dancer. What kind of dancer doesn’t like to be on the stage?”
He’d been yanking my chain long enough. Two could play this game.
“So, are you handicapped or what?”
An unpleasant silence stretched between us and I realized I’d stumbled onto something.
“Oh, God, you are.”
About the Author: