Here are a few things that helped get me excited about writing and finishing BLURRING THE LINES, whose original title was ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC.I'm SO excited to be closing in on re-writing the first book I ever wrote. It feels...MONUMENTAL. Well, I'm not closing in, I'm DONE, but edits will still take a while.

In my original, Corinne was a red head, but when I saw this picture, and it was SO perfectly Christian Meyer , Corinne changed...
The next few pictures are from my Pinterest Board, and you can find the trail to those photos HERE. A woman doing everything she can to forget everything about LA and the music scene.


A man out of rehab, unable to write.


A shared love of music, a man looking for something real, and a woman running from the same thing.
Yes.I had fun with this one...
Here is the VERY UNEDITED first scene:
~ 1 ~
Christian Meyer froze at the bottom of his basement steps; the moment her voice hit his ears. He leaned against a rusty orange wall as he listened, not ready to show his face even in the sound booth of his small Malibu home. Not yet. After two months of rehab, and four months of writer’s block, this woman was supposed to save him.He rested his back against the wall as her song continued. Her voice was full and throaty but feminine. He grinned as he thought about what she’d look like. Two hundred and some pounds with grey teeth from smoking and either in some old rock n’roll tank that no longer fit her figure or another version of the same thing. Or maybe she’d be all business in a way that didn’t suit her voice at all. Either way, lyricists were notoriously weird.He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the words.“...the sorrow that’s behind the pretty face…” the riff lowered into a different key. “...the one that she shows…”It was the kind of sound he wanted after leaving the band. He knew it could kill his career, but he had enough money. He wanted to get back to his roots. To the words. The lyrics. The feel of a big-bodied guitar under his arm instead of the thin strength of electric. Besides, he had Lita James on his side--one of the hottest women in rock, and she was about to attempt a milder version of the same unplugged sound he wanted. Though, hers was more likely to last only one album, and his was a shift in career.As a college junior, the gig as lead guitarist in Kincaid had been a dream opportunity. Thirteen years and who knows how many drug experimentations and addictions later, he needed something new. Though, finding his new groove hadn’t proven as easy as he hoped.Knowing he was shit at meeting new people sober, he wondered how much more time he could kill in the hallway. His blond hair fell over his face as his gaze shifted from the wall to the floor and his worn shoes.Max jogged out of the sound booth and stopped when he saw Christian against the wall.“Holy shit, Chris. How long you been here?” He scratched his head of dark, curly hair.Chris waved Max off. “Just a few minutes. I’m coming in now.”Max licked his lips and shifted his weight. Chris’ manager had never been able to stand still.“I’m assuming you have some kind of warning for me or something?” Chris asked. Max generally had a list of warnings for Chris in new situations. Not just because Chris was terrible at them, but because Max was that good.“So.” Max rubbed his chin. “Corinne is a long time friend of mine. Hands off. Absolutely.”Chris held up his hands, imagining the greying woman. “Not a problem.”“And...don’t bring up her family.”Chris hated that be was being walked through everything. Hated it even worse that it was somewhat needed.“We’re here for music,” Chris said as he pushed around Max and into the sound booth.He was stopped still by the woman on the other side of the shaded glass.Her small frame was almost swallowed whole by his acoustic Guild guitar. Nearly black hair spiraled around her round face and fell over narrow, but muscular shoulders. Her skin was a rich coffee-caramel--gorgeous and soft. A simple white tank, jeans that looked worn from wear rather than from a label, and bare feet. Simple. Perfect. Incredible. Possibly edible.Max was so close he nearly touched Chris’ back. “I said hands off, Chris. I mean it.”Chris leaned forward as if to step into the studio but stopped again, feeling almost as if his tongue was swelling in nerves. He didn’t get nervous in front of pretty girls. At least not since he could remember.This was different. This woman was supposed to maybe save his career. And the best part was that she didn’t want her name on anything. Never did. It’s why Max had selected her in the first place. It felt like cheating, but at that moment, Chris was desperate enough that he didn’t care. Loads of artists did it. Hell, most people didn’t read who the lyrics were written by anyway. Just musicians. He thought.Christian took another deep breath in and stepped into the studio. The music immediately stopped.Rich brown eyes were on him in a second, and the woman who had appeared small only moments before now seemed to fill the room.“I’m Corinne,” she said. “Do you prefer Mr. Meyer or Christian?”So much business and strength from someone so small. He stood still, almost unsure of what he should say. “I’m...um…Chris is fine.”“This is sort of a different deal for me.” Her gaze was unwavering. “I don’t usually come in person.”He stared and willed his brain to read her expression but came up empty-handed. “Max said.”“Do you want to listen as we go through the songs, or would you like to just listen to what we lay down later when you have time?”He wasn’t sure. How did he want to do this? Chris opened his mouth to speak, but had no words. He had to get over this insecure feeling. He was thirty-three. He’d been all over the world playing to sold-out arenas. Some small woman sitting behind his guitar shouldn’t leave him feeling like an incompetent asshole.“I was told that we’d be writing together. That you’d come down with copies of the songs you’d written and that we’d be collaborating, or did I get that mixed up?”Corinne blinked a few times before glancing over Chris’ shoulder toward Max, who stood back in the doorway.“Max?” she asked, her face only then showing the slightest hint of vulnerability.He shrugged. “We did talk about you two writing together.”“Listen.” Chris sighed. “I already feel completely humiliated by this situation. Can we not make it worse?”Corinne’s eyes were on him then and they seemed to soften as she looked him over again. Silence dragged around the room until Chris thought he’d dissolve.“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I can’t imagine not being able to write.”“Me either.” Chris tried to laugh but his voice wobbled as the gravity of his new sober life and the shittiness that had so far come with it hit him again. He had to remind himself often that it was worth it. Sometimes he believed it. Only his stubbornness kept him on track. He refused to let an addiction win.She shifted on her stool and let the guitar slide back onto its stand. Narrow waist, perfect chest...oh, hell, this was going to be hard.“Why don’t we start over.” She took a practiced breath in. “I’m on edge. I don’t like being away from home.”“And I’m still getting used to not being high.” Chris attempted to tease as he shoved his hands in his pockets.A corner of her mouth pulled up. “Why don’t we make use of your very large leather couch and go through the music I brought down. If something strikes you, let me know and I can play my version of it for you, or if you’d like, we can just look over lyrics.” For the first time since catching sight of her, or maybe since he realized he couldn’t write, Chris let his shoulders fall a little and walked to his couch thinking maybe this woman would be a way out of the hell he’d been living in.