The One Shade of Red launch blog tour…

When good friend SCOTT BURY asked me if I would like  to take part in his blog tour I jumped at the chance. I was very excited about his new book “One Shade of Red” a spoof of,  “Fifty shades of Grey.”  I knew Scott was on to something big with his sexy spoof…




Scott Bury is a journalist, editor and novelist based in Ottawa, Canada. His articles have appeared in magazines in Canada, the US, the UK and Australia, including Macworld, the Financial Post, Applied Arts, the Globe and Mail and Graphic Arts Monthly.

His first published novel is The Bones of the Earth, a fantasy set in the real time and place of eastern Europe of the sixth century. He has also published a short story, Sam, the Strawb Part (proceeds of which are donated to an autism charity), and a paranormal story, Dark Clouds. His work in progress is tentatively titled Walking from the Soviet Union, and tells the true story of a Canadian drafted into the Red Army during the Second World War, his escape from a German POW camp and his journey home.

Scott Bury lives in Ottawa with his lovely, supportive and long-suffering wife, two mighty sons and the orangest cat in history.


He can be found online at, on his blog, Written Words [link:], on Twitter @ScottTheWriter, and on Facebook [link:]



Thank you very much, Dawn, for hosting the blog tour for the launch of my second novel, One Shade of Red, a spoof of the baffling bestseller, Fifty Shades of Grey.

One Shade of Red turns the concept inside-out. The narrator is the naive, under-confident university student, Damian Serr. When he tries to make money cleaning pools during Toronto’s hottest summer on record, he ends up getting an education in business from the slightly older, beautiful, smart and rich — in other words, perfect — Alexis Rosse. Alexis also teaches him something about women, men and himself.

This excerpt comes from Chapter 7, where Damian gets into an argument with his long-time girlfriend, the girl next door, Kristen.

One Shade of Red launches April 2 on Amazon, iTunes/iBookstore, Smashwords and other fine e-tailers. For links, visit

The previous stop on the tour was March 29, is CR Hiatt’s McSwain and Beck blog. [link:]

The next stop, March 31, is Bruce Blake’s blog, The Thoughts and Opinions of a Writer on the Rise [link:]







An Excerpt, Chapter Seven:  Argument with Kristen.


“Well, look who’s here. Hello, stranger.” Kristen’s voice had that clipped sneer in it. She folded her arms across her chest.


I put on my best smile and held out the flowers from the grocery store. “I finally got the bank account straightened out. Wanna have something to eat and hang out?”


Kristen couldn’t suppress her smile when I held the flowers under her nose, although she tried to. Finally, she took the bunch and sniffed. “Well, since you brought flowers … Where are we going?” She looked up at me, blue eyes shining through the flowers. Her mouth slowly spread into a smile.


“Why not Mama Toni’s? And my parents are away for the weekend, so I got a DVD.”


Kristen pretended to think about it for about two seconds. “Let me put these in some water.”


I stepped inside her house — her parents’ house — and waited like I had so many times before. Mrs. Petri came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh, hello Damian,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down?”


My breath caught whenever I saw Mrs. Petri — even after all these years. She was the neighbourhood beauty: tall and fit with bright blue eyes that she had passed on to her daughter. Her hair was done up high, exposing her long neck, and she wore a sleeveless t-shirt and short pants. I wondered why she always showed more skin than her teenaged daughter.


I followed her to the kitchen and sat at the table; I knew from experience not to sit on the “good furniture” in the living room. Mrs. Petri poured me a cup of tea from the pot that was always filled. “Would you like a cookie?”


I took one from the plate in the middle of the table. Mrs. Petri baked regularly, and I loved her cookies. That’s how I first made friends with Kristen. When I was five, I was in a bunch of kids who came over to the Petris’ to play. I went back for the cookies. Through school, Kristen and I alternated coming over to each other’s houses for homework and other activities. I preferred being at her place, sitting at her mother’s kitchen table and munching on cookies. Those cookies were all that got me through long division in Grade 3 and A Separate Peace in high school.


I ate three cookies before Kristen returned from upstairs, dressed in her going-out-for-cheap-dinner clothes:  khaki pants, a scoop-neck blouse and sensible shoes. She had tied her long, straight brown hair into a pony-tail. Kristen resembled her mother in her blue eyes and symmetrical, delicate features, but she was smaller, shorter. She was like a pretty doll: perfect and fragile. The prettiest girl in my grade, she was more for looking at than holding.


“Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Petri,” I said as Kristen pulled me to the front door.




Kristen and I could never agree on Mama Toni’s restaurant : I thought it was expensive; she thought it was cheap. Of course, she never paid for the food. She thought it was a quaint little place with mementos and pictures from Italy and New York on the walls; I pointed out that it was part of a chain and was owned by a foodservice corporation in Philadelphia. But we both liked the food and I liked to show off just a little by drinking Italian beer — which cost over seven bucks a bottle.


Hell with it: I felt the pool-cleaning cash burning a hole in my pocket.


Kristen ate about a quarter of her plate of pasta; she refused wine on principle and sneered at me every time I took a sip of my Moretti.


“So where are your parents tonight?” she asked while we waited for the bill.


“Up at the cottage for the weekend.”


“Why didn’t you go with them?”


“I don’t live with them anymore, Kristen. I’m a grown-up now. So are you. Besides, this way we have their whole house to ourselves.”


She narrowed her eyes at me. “I thought you said you didn’t live with them anymore.” She sipped her water delicately. Even though she could be judgemental and annoying, she was very pretty in a delicate, little-girl way. A little too thin, maybe. She’d like it if I said that. She worked hard to keep her weight down.


“I do have a key to the front door. So we can watch the 50-inch plasma in full theatre-surround sound.”


She dabbed her lips with her napkin, then folded it carefully to cover the food left on her plate, as if she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. “What DVD did you get?”


Fight Club.


“What? Why?”


“Hey, it’s the perfect couples movie.” I had been waiting all day to say this. “For the ladies, Brad Pitt gets naked. For the men, big, fat, ugly guys beat him up. What more could you ask for?”


I thought it was pretty funny. I still do.


Kristen said “That’s disgusting! Watching men beating each other up entertains you?”


I had seen the movie and loved it. “Just kidding,” I said. “I got The Vow. You know, with that actor you like.”


“Channing Tatum.” She smiled again. “You had me worried for a second.” Did I mention that Kristen is beautiful when she smiles? And that it’s easy to make her smile? All it takes is everything she wants, when she wants it.


At my parents’ house, Kristen put popcorn into the microwave while I set the home theatre perfectly: dimming lights, setting the balance on the sound system. Kristen stopped me when I started to pour some of my parents’ vodka into glasses. “You still have to take me home,” she said.


“Kristen, you live next door. We can walk.”


“My dad won’t like it if he smells alcohol on your breath.”


“I hadn’t planned on kissing him.”


“Why do you think he always kisses you on both cheeks?”


“I thought it was a tradition for your people.”


“‘My people’ have been in Canada for four generations, now. We’re not quaint villagers. Daddy’s an accountant, for Pete’s sake!” She was getting worked up. “No, he always kisses you on the cheek to see whether you’ve been drinking. I thought you would have figured that out by now!”


“But I’ve already had a beer.”


“Papa understands a beer with dinner.”


“You and I both know that he has a drink, himself, occasionally.”


“But he doesn’t want my boyfriends to be drunks! And neither do I.”


Okay, no booze, my brain and I agreed. At least not for now.


We settled onto the couch and I hit Play on the remote. Kristen loved romances, but I thought the movie was painful. The only good thing about Kristen’s movie tastes were the way she would cuddle under my arm, taking popcorn from the bowl I held in my lap. Her body was warm against mine. I caressed the skin of her neck and breathed in the smell of her hair. The smell came from her shampoo, but it was still nice.


When the movie got especially boring, I went for a kiss. We smooched long and deep, and when we came up for air, I looked into her big blue eyes, hoping to see desire.


She looked right back at me, lips parted, so I went in for another kiss, then trailed little smooches along her jaw and started on her neck, like I had with Alexis. Kristen sighed and put her arms around me, so I kissed her neck harder and she rewarded me with more sighs.


Kristen’s reaction, combined with the thoughts of Alexis I couldn’t help but have, gave me an erection that was almost painful. I put the popcorn bowl down on the floor and went back to intense kissing.

“Damian, we’re missing the movie,” Kristen moaned. I paused it and kissed her neck some more. She was starting to squirm a little, and I thought I saw an opportunity.

I bit her throat gently, then went back up to her lips. Then back to her neck, up to the lips, back and forth. I hoped to really turn her on. When Kristen moaned ever so quietly and ran her fingers through my hair, I thought I had my chance.

I kissed down her neck until my lips touched the neckline of her white blouse. I kissed along it and, very gently, ran my fingertips under the hem. I pulled up as slowly and gently as I could, but Kristen pulled away and put her hands on mine, stopping them. “Naughty, naughty,” she warned.

“Yes, I fully intend to be very naughty,” I said and tried to kiss that spot between her collarbones.

“Damian, stop,” she said, sliding across the couch. “No more than kissing before we’re married.”

“But why, Kristen? This is the 21st century. And we love each other.”

“Damian, we’ve been through this. I don’t think it’s moral or proper for unmarried couples to have sex.”




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