I've known Liv Rancourt since 2011 when we were first starting out as authors and had the same publisher. We hit it off immediately and became fast online friends - until I headed out west one summer and we had the opportunity to meet, take a haunted tour and have dinner. What a blast!
I'm so happy Liv stopped by here today to talk about her new book, LOST AND FOUND. She's added a cool feature, Soundcloud, so you can hear her sultry voice read an excerpt. (I'll print the same excerpt at the end, but give it a listen, it's really good).
And...there's more. Enter the rafflecopter at the end to win a $25 gift card!!
Thanks so much, Debbie, for the chance to visit your blog again. I really appreciate it!!
Today’s musings have to do with music.
Getting your head in the right place helps a bunch when you’re trying to get words on the page, and music is great for setting a mood. Some authors will even go so far as to
create playlists, selecting songs that fit whatever it is they’re working on.
Hey, every little helps, right?
I play things a little differently. For example, this morning I’m in a huge twirl because
Lost & Found came out October 4 and I’m not sure I’m READY. Jeebus. I’m streaming my medieval music station on Pandora, hoping chant and polyphony will sooth me. Not quite sure it’s working, but I’m doing my best.
(For an example of what I’m listening to, check out this beautiful version of Ravenello’s Veni Creator Spiritus, sung by the Benedictines of Mary ensemble.)
I may not create song lists, but my last two solo projects were linked with specific musicians. I wrote much of Aqua Follies, my gay romance set in 1955 Seattle, while listening to Chet Baker. Here’s a link to his version of My Funny Valentine. There’s a sad/sweet quality to his work that really fit with what I was trying to put on the page.
For my newest book, Lost & Found, I listened to a whole lot of Eric Satie. He was a
French composer, and while most of his work was published before the story takes place in 1920, he was part of the avant-garde and so I felt like he connected with the vibe I wanted. Here’s a link the Gymnopédies, his most famous work. He has a way of using silence, making almost as important as the notes he plays, and I’m glad I discovered him.
I listened to A LOT of Eric Satie while writing Lost & Found!
Since this post is so focused on sound, I was inspired to do something a little different.
In addition to a written excerpt from Lost & Found, I recorded myself reading it, bad French accent and all! Check out this link from Soundcloud to hear my efforts.
Lost & Foundis a 1920 gay romance about a US army doc who served in France during the war and who returns to Paris to find his best friend. He meets a French dance master and over the course of their acquaintance, they find…well, I can’t tell you because that would give the story away. ?
(Although it is a romance, so...
I’ve got a release day sale going on, so Lost & Found will be $2.99 from now until after the GayRomLit conference 10/20/19…and I put Aqua Follies on sale for only $0.99 to celebrate! I’m also running a rafflecopter giveaway for a $25 gift card which you should totally enter.
Thanks so much, and happy reading!!
Excerpt from Lost & Found by Liv Rancourt:
"From the time I was a child, I wanted to dance. My older brothers were fighters and sportsmen, but I had no interest in those things."
He paused for long enough I began to debate prompting him with a question. So guarded. What had happened to make him that way?
"Ma mèredidn’t understand dancing, but she understood passion. Papa thought I should take up boxing." He caught my eye. "Boxing," he laughed.
I only smiled, because honestly, I wouldn’t want to face him in a ring, cane or not.
"But then the Ballets Russes came, and everyone on the street was talking about Nijinsky." Another pause, this one heavier. "They were brave, and wild, and when he danced, it was as if the spirit of the earth itself took form." He stopped and cleared his throat. "Pardonnez-moi. I only saw him once, but" His voice faded away.
The crowded street, the traffic, all the people passing on the sidewalk became indistinct, distant. Instead, I saw a man on stage, his limbs strong and supple, dancing with inhuman strength and beauty. Though in my mind, the man’s shoulders were broad, his hair dark and sleek, and his face
that of Louis Donadieu.
We reached Le Bon Bock, and I pushed open the door. Louis smiled on his way by, eyes still caught
p in his memories. Gaslights warmed the wood paneling, art covered the wall, and each table was draped in white linen. When we were seated, Louis continued his story.
"Then the war began." His murmur drew me closer, the scent of his pomade a heady undercurrent to the more robust smell of garlic and roasted beef. "Both of my older brothers signed up. I said I would go, but ma mère insisted I continue my studies. By then, my teacher was Mlle. Nijinska. She was very stern, and nearly as gifted as her brother.
"So I danced, and made my debut with the Ballets Russes. That was…astonishing" He smiled at me, his face transformed by an inner light. “But then”—he looked away, the light extinguished—“I fell ill. There was an outbreak of influenza in the city, but when I recovered, my leg was very weak. The doctors said I had polio.”
Of course. "I thought maybe you’d damaged the knee joint."
His smile was back, sad and sweet. “Non, mon ami. I’m fortunate it didn’t affect my breathing.”
“True.” Polio extracted a heavy toll, and Louis was lucky to be alive. I didn’t know of any good treatments for the effects of that horrible disease, but surely there must be something.
“One of my friends found a brace at the Saint-Ouen market. With it, I can walk.” He gave a careless shrug. “I cannot dance, but I can walk.”
By now, I recognized the loss he tried to cover with an indifferent attitude. I’d seen it, raw and naked, at the Théâtre de l’Opéra. This was not the time to coddle him with trite statements about his good fortune. Instead, I sat with him, offering comfort with my presence rather than words. A waiter brought beer and cheese, and in time, our gazes met, clashed.
Neither of us looked away.
My lungs grew tight and my pulse pounded in my ears. He shifted closer, or maybe I did, so close his breath brushed against my cheek.
“Tell me more about your friend.”
I inhaled deeply, breaking the spell. “Elias?”
“You said you helped him court the woman he wanted.”
“Margaret Anne?” Could that rough sound be my voice? I hardly knew.
“Oui.” He smiled. “But has there ever been anyone for you?”
Yes? No? “I’m not like that.”
“Like what, Benji?”
I gulped at my beer, desperate to change the course of the conversation. We needed the waiter to bring us another round, or Elias himself to wander in off the street, or the ceiling to cave in on our heads. “I don’t seem to be as interested in affairs of the heart as other men are, certainly not as interested as Elias is. It’s a failing of mine.”
“Failing? I wouldn’t call it that. You could be extremely selective.” The precision of his speech felt like fingertips on my skin. “Besides, men like us seldom take things seriously.” He shifted in his seat, and I jumped, startled by the sensation of his knee bumping mine. I should have moved, scooted my chair away, but instead, I pressed harder.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and I found I could not answer. The waiter chose this moment to arrive, and soon we had large platters of sausage with crispy fried potatoes to distract us. Still, my knee rested against his under the table, sending electric shocks through my veins with every move.
Louis’s question echoed. What was I doing? This flirtation was dangerous, potentially catastrophic. I had no time for such a distraction. Hell, I’d spent the last two days drowning in fear, and I was only a few weeks from my departure.
But like Eve who craved the taste of apple, I could not stop. Every bite of sausage had more flavor because of Louis’s gaze. The beer was made livelier by his smile. The perilous nature of this conversation woke my soul to a painful degree.
“I have an idea.” Louis tossed his napkin on his empty plate. “Tonight, we should go to the Cabaret de Printemps.”
By now, I had insinuated my foot so it rested against his ankle. When I didn’t answer, he raised his brows.
“Unless you’d rather go home.”
Home? What would that mean? My imagination was not up to the task. “Perhaps the cabaret.” I raised my glass, nearly empty of beer. “You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
His smile grew sly, as if he’d guessed the direction of my thoughts. “Of course, Benji. One thing at a time.”
Momentarily overwhelmed by his unspoken promise, I cleared my throat and rose from the table. “Come on.” I held out my hand. “Show me Paris.”
2 from Lost & Found by Liv Rancourt:
Lost & Found Blurb
A dancer who cannot dance and a doctor who cannot heal must find in each other the strength to love.
History books will call it The Great War, but for Benjamin Holm, that is a misnomer. The war is a disaster, a calamity, and it leaves Benjamin profoundly wounded, his mind and memory shattered. A year after Armistice, still struggling to regain his mental faculties, he returns to Paris in search of his closest friend, Elias.
Benjamin meets Louis Donadieu, a striking and mysterious dance master. Though Louis is a difficult man to know, he offers to help Benjamin. Together they search the cabarets, salons, and art exhibits in the newly revitalized city on the brink of les années folles (the Crazy Years). Almost despite himself, Benjamin breaches Louis’s defenses, and the two men discover an unexpected passion.
As his memory slowly returns, Benjamin will need every ounce of courage he possesses to recover Elias’s story. He and Louis will need even more than that to lay claim to the love and the future they deserve.
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About Liv Rancourt
Liv Rancourt writes romance of all kinds. Because love is love, even with fangs.
Liv is a huge fan of paranormal romance and urban fantasy and loves history just as much, so her stories often feature vampires or magic or they’re set in the past…or all of the above. When Liv isn’t writing she takes care of tiny premature babies or teenagers, depending on whether she’s at work or at home. Her husband is a soul of patience, her kids are her pride and joy, and her dogs – Trash Panda and The Boy Genius – are endlessly entertaining.
Liv can be found on-line at all hours of the day and night at her website (www.livrancourt.com), on Facebook (www.facebook.com/liv.rancourt), or on Twitter (www.twitter.com/LivRancourt). She also blogs monthly over at Spellbound Scribes (https://spellboundscribes.wordpress.com/). For sneak peeks and previews and other assorted freebies, go HEREto sign up for her mailing list or join the Facebook page she shares with her writing partner Irene Preston, After Hours with Liv & Irene. Fun stuff!
Below is the rafflecopter html for a $25 gift card. Giveaway ends 10/31/19.