ACEY Entangled

It’s my intention to finish the science fiction novel I’ve been working on for nearly two years exposed to the public eye. There are several reasons for this, but most important, it’s to get feedback from readers of speculative fiction, and if I do well, I hope for their support. ACEY Entangled is a high-concept, space opera set in a 25,000-year-old galactic empire connected by world Gates discovered by early explorers from earth. I’ve finished the first draft and am well-started into the second draft, which I propose to post here in episodes on a regular basis. Bear in mind, this means that all these words are not set in stone. There will be changes and alterations. It won’t be perfect. That will have to wait to a later draft. When I have the mail system set up and as much of the mechanics of the blog that I will need, you can sign up for notices of when the postings will begin. There’ll be a lot more author’s notes as we go along. I am looking forward to reader comments that will help me make this a better book. Thanks for participating!



Cover of Acey Entangled
Acey Entangled

The Terran Union found an unclaimed M-class star poking like an interstellar hernia between two star systems. Kiihacchet a system in Pansil Muwadan space, and Sakos, in the Republic of Arcturus. This exploratory mission could easily have exploded into a dangerous political incident between the Terrans, the Muwadans, and the Arcturans. Three of the six splinter entities of the ancient Terramonah Empire’s million-plus Gate worlds. However, the lone planet wheeling around the aged red dwarf star appeared worthless. Only marginally habitable. Still, the Terran Union laid claim to the new star system, identified simply as 870552 in the Imperial Interworld register. Their request failed to raise a ripple of dissent from anyone. By default, the interworld registrar on the Throneworld of Delagua granted the TU unilateral dominion.

That analysis changed in 24,942 of the current Galactic Era sixteen years later. A planetary assessment team identified a rich vein of Rhomentium in the mountains southeast of the bleak windswept planet’s equator. A Muwadan mining consortium estimated the lode of valuable metal could be lucratively strip-mined to depletion over approximately two hundred years. They seemed to be no other reasonable incentive for human habitation.

This assessment entitled the new system to a name. A TU bureaucrat on Nuwerth with a love of mythic Earth lore declared the star to be called Billabong, labeled its solitary planet Kalgoorlie, and optimistically designated the assessment team’s initial landing site, Neaveau City, as its capital, The duly awarded Muwadan contractors recruited itinerant miners from neighboring Gate worlds settling them in a rough mining camp at Whitehorse Harbor. A convenient site on the windward slopes of the newly dubbed Dunduin Mountains below the Rhomentium deposit. From here, they would mine, load, and ship barges across an inland sea to Adelaide spaceport for off-world shipping. And so, the amorphous settlement began to spread along the rocky eastern coast like an out-of-control patch of spikeweed.

Fifty years passed before Master Scientist Edouard Mondeleros arrived in Whitehorse accompanied by his two young grandchildren, Acey, nine, and Quin only four. Mastersci Mondeleros established himself as an intense, not-to-be-bothered, recluse willing to spend Imperial solars freely. He spared no time or expense in acquiring strictly off-world construction and technical expertise to construct and embed a reinforced blockhouse in the Dunduins foothills above Whitehorse. For seven months, materials, resources, and manpower flowed from through the spaceport in Neaveau City across the landlocked sea to the settlement. The blocky structure rose four stories above ground to house his new Interworld Geological Institute on the bottom two floors. The two floors above became the family’s residence. No mention was made of what might lay below.

ACEY Entangled Post 2

ACEY Entangled


Imperial Year 25026 GE.

Acey Mondeleros, Edouard’s granddaughter sprawled, loose-limbed, across a rose-colored divan in the residence’s study. She tapped long fingers staring daggers at her comm unit willing it to buzz. The large minimally furnished study on the third floor of the Institute was offhandedly luxurious. Crown moldings stair-stepped up into a high ceiling. Outside, beyond wide soundproofed monolayer windows, gale winds off the ocean hounded ragged clouds across the murky sky. Her thoughts were turbulent as the gloomy weather. Acey wrestled with an unsolvable dilemma. Existential, really. The only response she’d come up with was unthinkable. She was shocked she’d even consider it. But she couldn’t dismiss it from her thoughts.

I’ve got to bounce this off somebody. But it’s got to be someone who gets me. I mean, really gets me. So, definitely not Grandpapa Edouard. No, no. Or Mrs. Powell. That lets out Quin, too. Love my little brother, but no way he’d understand. Her mind ran through these options over and over—like a rodent on an exercise wheel—coming up with the same answer every time. She always came back to one person. My best friend. At least she’s supposed to be! Dammit, where is she?—if only that thoughtless girl would comm me back!

She popped up to thumb the quick-call button on her comm unit for what must be the hundredth time. When Loni’s voice leave-a-message replied, Acey ripped fingers through her unruly hair and shook it out with an aggravated growl. She drew breath to yell at the comm unit. “Alondra! This is my thousandth call and third message! Get back to me right away girlfriend! I gotta talk to you. It’s monumentally urgent!”

She jumped to her feet, tight with frustration. She’d turned to pace when a flicker from the holovid player across the room caught her attention. She was supposed to be studying a holovid lesson in the History. She thought of it as capitalized. When Edouard referred to the “History,’ he meant the lessons and tutorials he’d personally authored and added to her and her brother’s studies to further torture them with.

All this studying! And for what? She’d graduated from Dayschool with honors three years ago. But that’s not enough for him. Her grandfather demanded it and Mrs. Powell strictly enforced Edouard’s rules. But for the god of tech’s sake, why? None of her other ex-schoolmates had to waste all their free time on this…this archaic bullshit!

Acey slapped the off button on the holovid’s remote in annoyance. Which promptly fell to the floor with a thump before sliding away. Instead of shutting down, the narrator’s voice resumed the lecture. “. . . many years after the ancient object had been discovered.” The commentator continued in a reverent tone, “The Monah civilization bequeathed humanity a treasure of the ages in what we commonly if wrongly, call the Book of the Elder Gods.”

Acey fell to her knees muttering, Damnation! Why is it demonstrably certain that when you drop something, it never fails to fall into the most inaccessible place possible? She swept her hand under an overstuffed wing chair.

The incessant lesson continued. “…which accounts for its ironic name, since it isn’t actually a book at all.”

“Aha!” Acey shoved the offending chair aside to recover the remote.

“And, because its creators, the original builders of the world Gates, used technologies so far beyond ours that many true believers consider the Monah deities—”

Acey hammered the remote’s off button. The player squawked and the holo image fragmented into shivering blobs.

“Blast this… this shitty piece of junk. I’m so sick of … of every bit of this useless crap!” With her final stab, the Holovid expired in a final resentful wail. Acey glowered at the blank platform as if to blame it for Loni’s irresponsible failure to get back to her.

Her emotions were still seething when Edouard Mondeleros shuffled into the room. She glanced over her shoulder. His silvery hair looked like it had been combed with a firecracker. Somehow, though, he still managed to appear distinguished in his more salt than pepper goatee and mustache. He wore a black suit with a long shapeless coat over an immaculate white collarless shirt that sharply contrasted with his coppery skin. The same clothes she’d always seen him in. Whenever she’d seen him. Which was never. Almost never anyway. She imagined his closet with rows and rows of these dismal outfits.

“What!” Her grandfather glared at her. “What in the blue blazes of hell is going on in here!”

Acey’s shoulders and stomach tightened. She whirled on him. The years on Kalgoorlie had not been kind to the renowned master scientist. He seemed shrunken into the husk of the man she’d remembered brought them here. Somewhere along those years Acey had reached his height and passed him. Now she overtopped him by several centimeters.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on! I’m trying to figure out why I am studying this ancient crap on this stupid antique player.” She stared back at him determined not to give an inch.

His expression remained grim and stern. He came closer. She steeled herself. He still thinks I’m that mouse of a girl who won’t stand up to him. If he’d been around to pay any attention, he’d have realized I broke out of that miserable shell eons ago. I’m a full-grown woman now.

“Acey. You never listen. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s critically important that you know and understand our real history when we return to Delagua. Not that basic and often claptrap nonsense you were taught in dayschool.”

She leaned away allowing herself to plummet dramatically into the wingback chair behind her.

“I know you’re anxious to get back to the Inner Worlds. I am too. I don’t have the final details from the Woer-Halins for our departure yet but any day now. But unless you’re the idiot you act like sometimes, you must have noticed. The off-world techs are gone. Our local staff is down to Mrs. Powell, and she’ll be off soon.”

 “I know. That’s the problem.” Acey collapsed deeper into the chair. “I don’t think we should go,” Acey got out in a murmur.

“What?” Edouard stiffened in surprise. “How many times did you break down in tears, begging me to take you home? It wasn’t so long ago that you complained of how terrible everything was here. How much you missed— how did you put it? ’not living in an actual civilization.’”

She made an exasperated noise. “That’s not fair. That was forever ago. When I was a kid. It’s different now. I really don’t understand why you can’t get this. I’d be so out of place … I’d just… oh, bugs in the Holy Code! I don’t know what in the hell I’d do. Just die. Probably… I would know what to wear. I wouldn’t know anybody!” She dipped her head in sullen misery. “I’d hate it. Who’d want to be friends with some ignoramus from a backwater planet inhabited by a buncha scruffy knockabouts?

(to be continued)

The book ENCHANTED and a Hawaiian girl walking away on a lonely beach in Hawaii.

Enchanted, Book 2 5-Star Review

ENCHANTED, the concluding second volume of Things We Lost in The Night by Larry J. Dunlap was awarded this seal for a 5-Star Review from the review site READERS FAVORITE. Available now on AMAZON in eBook and Print.

FIVE STARS! Enchanted: Things We Lost in the Night (A Memoir of Love and Music in the 60s with Stark Naked and the Car Thievesis the second book in a breathtaking memoir by Larry Dunlap, a veritable tour de force for readers who enjoy real-life adventures and what the life of a band feels like. Larry takes readers on a ride with the band as they continue to rise in popularity, exploring intense moments of performance, relationships, and disappointments. [In Hawaii,] Larry will face a life-threatening experience against the backdrop of the Vietnam War; and [Larry’s return with his band to]… his hometown… is not what he expected.  

The story is written in an engrossing, first-person narrative voice and the author captures very interesting dialogues and memorable moments in prose that is excellent, pulling readers into his worldview and compelling them to experience the hype surrounding a working band. [When they star in a major Las Vegas hotel,] we encounter legendary musicians like Elvis Presley, but what caught my attention most was the author’s romantic journey… and the surprising thrills of an endearing romance. It is filled with historical references and places readers would like to be.

Enchanted: Things We Lost in the Night is exciting, a narrative that holds a lot of surprises for readers who love exploring nightlife. From the writing to the panache of the narrative, from the interesting characters to the exciting romance, Larry Dunlap scores wonderful points in a work that both informs and inspires readers.
—Divine Zape for Reader’s Favorite

Night People at Amoeba Music

Just recently heard that you can find Night People stocked at Amoeba Music on Sunset Boulevard. The iconic music and record store is located between Ivar and Cahuenga in Hollywood. It’s a fantastic place and not far from many other places on Sunset Boulevard where the story takes place: the Hullabaloo Afterhours, where we played with many of the most popular acts of the early 1960s; Gazzari’s Nightclub; where I had a crisis of faith about our music, just one week before we opened at Caesars Palace; the Sunset Las Brea Travelodge where it crosses Sunset – we had to sneak most of the guys in Stark Naked and the Car Thieves in at night we were so broke, the Red Velvet club where we switched clubs with Ike and Tina Turner so we would be close to the studio, and Producer’s Workshop where we recorded most of our records.

Quick reminder, the concluding volume of Things We Lost in the Night, Enchanted, Book 2, will be available for early review soon. Sign up for the mail list if you’d like your review copy. Also not from Gower Street, where City Recorders, my recording studio used to be.

NP – Annotation 2 – California Tripping

This post is part of a series of annotations from the pages of Night People, Book 1 of Things We Lost in the Night, A Memoir of Love and Music.

From: Ch1, ORPHAN, P7

Beginning of first paragraph on page 7:
“As Dave’s ragtop shrank into the sharp-edged morning, another big part of my life calved off like an iceberg. I imagined them heading west toward Plainfield, gathering speed as they picked up Highway 40 toward Saint Louis.”


Larry, Dave, Les, Mac

As mentioned in Night People, Les Silvey was determined to leave for California as close to his 21st birthday as he could. What nobody else seemed to realize was Les wasn’t exactly sure where he was going in California. He had a friend who played guitar there named Jerry and he knew the name of the town and I think he had a phone number. I wasn’t in the car that left for California that April morning in 1968 so I’m going by what I was told. The plan, if we can call it that, was to drive to Hollywood, and then ask for directions. Now that might work in Indiana, nothing was too far away. California, on the other hand, is vast. Another limitation, they only had enough money to buy gas for the trip. There was no staying in motels, they drove straight through with everyone taking a turn at the wheel. When told that the town that was their destination was something like 8 hours further north, near San Francisco, Les was forced to hock his guitar amplifier. When I asked them later what the first thing they did in southern California, they told me Les used part of the pawn shop money to buy them all matching bathing suits so they could go to the beach. They must have had an angel on their shoulder just to survive until I got there with my $40.

NIGHT PEOPLE Annotation 1 – The Four Of Us

This post is part of a series of annotations from the pages of Night People, Book 1 of Things We Lost in the Night, A Memoir of Love and Music.

From: Ch1, ORPHAN, P5

“Dave’s familiar grin forced me to smile as he unfolded his lanky frame out from behind the wheel.
Mac peered out at me from the passenger seat. Les, male-model handsome, wound down the rear window. A moon-faced guy he introduced as Mickey Smith, a guitar player friend, sat next to him. I didn’t know Mickey, but Dave, Mac, and Les were the rest of my disintegrating vocal group, the Reflections.”


This excerpt from the second paragraph of the beginning chapter introduces (from left to right in the photo) me, Dave, Les, and Mac, the three members of my vocal group. I struggled with finding the right place to begin this memoir since this wasn’t the beginning of the story for me. For me, it all began in September of 1957 while I was a junior in high school. So, in one sense, I’ve started in the middle of the story, though interesting bits of what came before this will gradually be uncovered in the pages of Night People and Enchanted. The reason I chose this moment to begin the memoir was because the four of us, who I sometimes refer to as the Four Musketeers, will also appear together at the end of the story. And though it isn’t the beginning, it is where our journey begins. As for Micky Smith, that will be in a later annotation.


The Can Can Room – 1965 St. Louis, Missouri

REFLECTIONS: Larry, Dave, Les, & Mac

[This is from a collection of scenes, stories and little chapters that were left on the cutting floor now that Things We Lost In The Night is complete.]

In early 1965, before the guys in my vocal group, the Reflections, left for California in April, we’d tried to develop a little floor show to play in clubs around Indianapolis at Mac’s suggestion. Dave and I had been singing together since high school, but Mac, who had joined us a few months earlier, was already a professional performer. He’d been in the Casinos, a show band from Cincinnati when we met him. They later had a hit with the ballad “Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye.” A few weeks earlier, at our New Year’s Eve party, he told us he was sure we could make some extra money that way. He told us he knew how to perform on stage and could construct little shows for us to do. And though the rest of us shared one single left foot and a clumsy one at that, he swore he could show the rest of us how to do choreography to the songs we already knew. I had serious reservations about that. We’d rarely performed publicly, we didn’t play instruments, and my wife, Pat wasn’t thrilled about the idea… and I tended to freeze up in front of audiences. But for many of the guys, it made sense, especially when Mac called the agent for his ex-band, the Casinos, who later had a big hit with “Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye,” told him she could book the band if we would do a few out-of-town gigs to tighten up the band.

Les, who’d expected to be our guitar player, became our last-minute replacement bass singer a couple of weeks before our first booking in Birmingham, Alabama at some place called the Boom Boom Room. Since Les was going to sing with us and not play guitar, we needed musicians to back us up. Les found a little outfit called the Zeb Miley Trio playing in a downtown Indianapolis bar called Susie’s Twist Club. They agreed to go on the road with us for a few weeks to tighten up our show. We renamed the combined band and singers, the Checkmates, and ill-fated choice as it turned out, but that is a different story.

At some point I’ll post something about our adventures at the Boom Boom Room right in the middle of the civil rights marches going on at the time, about how dangerous it had been including threats from the audience for not playing the right music and accusing one or another of us of sleeping with somebody we shouldn’t have, and a bomb threat — but I thought I’d like to post this little bit from the Can Can Room, the next club we played in St. Louis, Missouri, first.

The Checkmates – The Can Can Room
Monday, March 1, 1965, St. Louis, Missouri

We walked out into the cold Missouri night to find Zeb Miley and Johnnie Lamb in a heated discussion with a portly older man in a navy blue suit with an open-collared white dress shirt. The heavyset man was poking Zeb in the chest while Johnnie was walking around in little circles looking at the ground. When I walked up the man was saying in a cloud of frosty breath, “. . . what were you thinking, that you could walk into this club on Union paper with non-union musicians in your band? What kind of idiot are you?”

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“Musician’s Union bullshit,” Zeb said. “The usual union crap. As usual, they do more to stop you and then help you get work.”

“You know,” the man said to Zeb, “you should be thanking me. I could yank all of you off the stand right now. Yes I could. Club operator would never have another union band in this joint if they didn’t comply.

“Half your band,” he went on, waving his hand around, “is behind in their dues and the other half,” waving his other hand, “don’t have any union cards at all.”

Zeb turned to me, frowning and said, “He’s the local union rep and he’s saying you guys ain’t union so you can’t go back on stage.”

“You,” the man said, turning to make me his center of attention. “Whatinhell do you think you are doing up there without a union card?” While belligerent, he also seemed a little perplexed.

“Why would I need a union card,” I said, even more perplexed. “Why would singers need to belong to a musician’s union? We don’t play instruments.” I looked at Zeb trying to comprehend what was going on.

“If you sonsabitches are on that stage, you gotta have a card, period.” Mr. blue suit insisted.

“We just played in Birmingham, Alabama last week, before we came here. No one said anything about union cards to us.”

“Do you know where you are, sonny? Do you now?”

“Yes sir. This is St. Louis, Missouri. And it’s a beautiful city,” I added.

“And, does that mean anything to you, music-wise? Ring any bells?” he continued smugly.

I looked around for a lifeline but no one else seemed to have a clue, either. “Nosir I don’t.

“Well, you ignorant SOB, this is Local #2 of the Musician’s Union of America. Now I suppose you’ll have to tell me that you don’t know what that signifies, won’t you?”

I shook my head no. I had failed so many classes in school and now here I was again, failing Musician’s Union 101 this time, dammit.

“No?” he said, continuing to rub it in. “No, you still don’t know? Well, I’ll tell you. We were the second local union formed, right after New York City. This is probably the strongest local in the United States. You do not fuck with St. Louis Union Local #2. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, but I don’t see …”

“No pissant city like Birmy-fucking-ham, Aly-fucking-bama decides whether you need a union card in St.-fucking-Louis. Is that clear?”

“Okay. Okay,” Mac said, “We get it.” By this time, Dave had joined us on the street. Drivers and passengers in the cars passing us by were looking at us. It was freezing out here. “But,” Mac continued, “We don’t play instruments. I don’t get how we have to belong to a union?”

“So you don’t play an instrument, you say, even though I say, if you step on the goddamn stage in there you got to be union. Well, let me ask you something sonny boy. What was that funny metal thing you was tootling around on while ago marching around that club like a loon? What was that anyway? Looked suspiciously like a saxophone, of course, I could be mistaken. Maybe you was playing the radio,” the Union rep grinned.

“Aw that was nothin’. I don’t really play sax. I just tote that thing around when we’re doing this dancin’ thing. Can’t play but two notes. You can’t count that,” Mac protested.

“And where’s that tall boy,” the rep continued. “Oh, here he is right here. I don’t suppose you play that trombone though you was pushing that slide back and forth like you knew what you was doing. You just another mummer, too?”

“Hell, I just got here,” Dave said, “I got no clue what’s going on. I play a little trombone. I’ll tell you how much though, damn little.”

“Damn little is plenty enough,” said the man as he turned to me. “And then there is you. Yes, you were banging two pieces of wood together so I expect you’re going to tell me you weren’t playing an instrument either. That so?”

“Yeah, I mean no, I don’t think so …” I said, wondering a bit.

“Claves,” he said. “those pieces of wood are called claves, they’re South American musical instruments my fine young friend so you and all the other guys without union cards, including the last guy who had a guitar strap on last time I saw him are not in compliance with union rules and regs. I can fine your asses up to $500 apiece.”

I went white. “Why that would end it for us. We’re just trying to get started. This is only our second job. That’s not fair. That can’t be what the union is for,”

“Fair, did you say. Well, fair is as fair does, and Zeb Miley here, well he’s the leader of this group. He knows the rules and he’s the one that broke ‘em. I’ll likely be pulling his card tonight and he’ll have to attend a hearing in a couple of weeks to find out how much it will cost to get it back. If he can get it back,” the rep said with finality.

We were all well and truly cowed and intimidated. “Is there some way we can make this right?” I asked. Zeb threw his hands down in disgust and turned away. “We weren’t trying to avoid anything. Really, we just didn’t know.”

“I dunno,” he said, looking around at us. “Some of you don’t seem so willing to see the error of your ways.”

“C’mon guys,” I said to everyone on the street. Scott and Les were still inside somewhere. “Please, Mr ….” I started. I didn’t even know his name.

“I am Jonas Lawndale,” he said, “and here is my card. ‘Bout time somebody asked if I was legit.”

“Mr. Lawndale, we are a young band, just trying to get a foothold. If you could see your way to give us some leniency and help us find a way through the mess we’ve made here, we’d appreciate it.” I said.

“Well sir, Mr. Miley,” Mr. Lawndale gestured in Zeb’s direction. “Does this fellow here have the right of it or do you continue to take exception to my pointing out your failings here? You are the rightful leader, signed onto this contract, and it is in your hands.” He stuck his chin out toward Zeb.

Our looks at Zeb must have conveyed enough fervor for him to get the message.

“Yeah, yeah, I know we’re in the wrong,” said Zeb with difficulty. He thought about it a bit and then said, “I didn’t rightly think these singer guys would have to be in the union especially as they don’t sing but 10 songs a night. But it’s so that a couple of us are late on our dues, so yeah, we need your help if you’d be offering.”

“Hmmm,” hummed Mr. Lawndale, seeming to figure what he would say to us. “First off those ‘singer guys’ as you call them, they ain’t going back on that stage tonight and not again ‘til they got union cards.

We didn’t say anything. Thank God, we’d finished our second show. There was one more set to go but we were finished for the night.

“Now I’m willing to forget about the fines for ya’ll since you’ve explained so nicely about where your confusions was, and I’ll forget about them late fees as well, but all you union guys got to have your cards up to date starting tomorrow night. And I am firm about that.

“By the way, it does seem that one Mr. Lamb does seem to be up to date so he can play it seems.”

“Mr. Lawndale,” I asked as gently as possible, “What does it cost to join Local #2 of the Musician’s Union of America?”

“Well son, I believe we can make you a member for $150 tomorrow down at the union house.” Jonas Lawndale beamed.

“Wow!” I said, stunned. “Wow!” I repeated since I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“We belong to a different Local, Mr. Rep,” Zeb said, a bit sourly, so do we have to pay our fees on  Local #2’s schedule?” I think Zeb had already forgotten the union rep’s name.

“Well, Mr. Zeb Miley, we at Local #2 have a great fondness for our brothers across this great land and so, in token of that respect, we honor paying fees that we forward to those locals. So, in short, you must pay, down at the union house, the fees appropriate to your schedule at your home local.” Mr Lawndale added, “If you decided that you wanted to change your affiliation to the best and strongest union in this United States, while I’m sure we could get you a significant discount, however.”

“Well, then, Mr. Rep, we will get us into compliance first thing tomorrow. But I also reckon we better get ourselves into that club and finish our last set or we won’t have no job to save.” Seeing Mr. Lawndale’s look he added, “And that means without them singers. I know.”

“You will be seeing me tomorrow night, Mr. Miley. I give you fair warning, though, should you fail in any respect to meet the stipulations I have given you, I will not be so easily swayed as I have been tonight.” Mr. Lawndale turned without another word and walked into the night.

“Damn, where are we going to get $150 each?” I said to Dave and Mac despondently?

Before Zeb headed into the door, he said, “That’s not the hard part. You guys can run back to Indy tonight and get union cards for $35 in the morning and be back in time for your first show. The big problem is your guitar player. Boy is underage and I don’t know if he can figure a way to get hisself a union card. You better check with him about that.”


On Thursday, May 11, the Third Street Writers of Laguna Beach are set to celebrate the release of their anthology “Beach Reads: Here Comes the Sun,” at 5:30 p.m. , at Laguna Beach Books, 1200 S. Coast Highway. Join us for snacks and light refreshments and excellent writer’s reading their work from the new book. Would love to see fans and friends there!

The anthology of 30 short stories, poetry, and personal essays explores the sun as an agent of transformation, and includes my short story “Island Girl.” an excerpt from my concluding, soon to be released, Enchanted, Book 2 from THINGS WE LOST IN THE NIGHT, A Memoir of Love and Music in the 60s with Stark Naked and the Car Thieves.

Enchanted covers the final three years of my experiences with love and music in during the late 1960s set primarily in Hawai’i, Indianapolis, Las Vegas, and Southern California. It is a rich and complex adventure balancing the emotional power of music and the search for success and happiness in a turbulent era. As the decade of change is eroding into the early 1970s so are changes that effect the band and people at the center of this journey are challenged in ways they’d never imagined.

Night People, Book 1 of THINGS WE LOST IN THE NIGHT, was published in June of 2015 and is an Amazon Best Seller in Biographies and Memoirs > Arts and Literature > Composers & Musicians > Pop.