Dancing Emily's Way: Book One of The Unbroken Shore Series.

Erik is a fairly well off progressive widower from a solid union upbringing on his way to self imposed exile when one smile throws all his plans cockywampus. All of a sudden, chopping wood, listening to well thought out music and swilling scotch sounds less appealing than driving down to cheese country to see Emily. What happens next is life: A serious comedy, a love story that also includes plenty of sex, long talks about anything that comes up, occasional glimpses of the past, a level of trust worthy of fantasy and a few twists when Erik and Emily's plans, crackpot theories and kooky ideas get all jumbled together and reach a sort of symbiosis. If you've ever wondered what happens when a man gladly gives control of his life to a bright, loving and precocious woman instead of heroin, the stock market, depression, work demands, erectile dysfunction meds, religion, high blood pressure or the unabated lust that follows us from puberty to the grave, then spend less than the price of one skinny latte and find out. I promise candid glimpses into the lizard brain, some confessions about our fragile male minds and a decent recipe for Alfredo sauce. Heck, there are even some lovely heartfelt moments. Wait, I don't want this to sound like an ad for a chick-flick. I'm sure there's plenty inside to make non-evangelical men happy. Just learn to make the Alfredo sauce and rub feet, dude--plenty of bang for the buck. If that doesn't get you on board, how about a couple war stories, a blonde lesbian with a Glock and a socio-philosophical discussion of oral sex which is capped off by a wholly fabricated female viewpoint? As for all you south of Dixie conservatives, I hear e-readers burn better than guitar picks. If you ban my book, you'll get guaranteed encores because this is just part one. Book two is nearly done and really long, humongous, in fact. It had to be huge--it deals with air travel, buying gifts for the women you love, relatives, green living, children, what went wrong after we stupidly elected Reagan, the proper method for making smores, splitting hardwood, how to clean a damn toilet, mop a floor and all the other crap you really ought to do if you want to be a decent man, a human being. Hang on, my marketing team is scratching at the door. They think I should stick to talking about book one and clean their litter.
So, 'Dancing Emily's Way' is a comedy, not a frat-house, bathroom humor movie kind of comedy, more traditional, so there are plenty of serious moments. Besides, many things that happen in bathrooms are not funny. Once, while standing at a urinal just outside of Columbus, Indiana, a Mountain Dew colored spider bit me on the scrotum. That crap was not funny, swelled up like a melon the next day. However, my date thought me swearing and beating a spider to death with a loafer with my pants around my ankles while the waitress fell off her stool was hilarious. It's all about perspective. So is this book. A brilliant prof once told me a writer's biggest mistake is assuming a shared perspective. I do not have that problem. I'm certain no one sees the world the way I do, but I do have hope. I'm even a Lions fan and truly believe the House will pass meaningful legislation before I kiss my first grandchild. Suspend disbelief for a few hours, folks. Come inside. Other than a few flashes of the past, an obvious conceit to this being part of a series and Erik's dreams, all events portrayed within take place over the course of a few short weeks. Call it a Summer read and grab the credit card. I swear, the only talk of physics in Book One is a short paragraph that has little to do with orbital velocities. Even better, think of this as a realistic romance, where men know how to dance, do laundry, hold hands, kiss and have conversations longer than a Viagra ad. Honestly, some men like to talk. Grab your e-reader, a bottle of tasty yet affordable Chilean red, at least two pillows, that comfy pair of sweats no one has seen since you moved out of the dorm and let the mundane world fall away for a few hours. Hell, you deserve a break, a medal and a week in Cancun with some oily cabana boys whose only English is 'Yes, Miss'.
WARNING: this book contains language most suited to mid-westerners, not to mention a few strange views of morality. If you take offense at the idea someone may not pray to the God found right around the corner, are a fan of Chicago sports teams, voted for that cackling twit from Texas even once, think talking about Supreme Court justices in any tone not overly reverential is blasphemous, believe climate change is a myth or just plain don't like the idea of a free and open exchange of ideas even in a fictional world, save your pennies.
No animals were harmed making this book. Wait, I did step on Sugar heading to the john the other night, but he's nearly invisible on that green rug. He forgave me, just as he always does. Ruby holds grudges.