Aphrodisia Authors :: Blog

Okay, this isn’t all about Aphrodisia books, but I’m going on the assumption that if you like my Aphordisia titles, you might also maybe kinda sorta like the other stuff I write. So, here’s what’s up with me.

On August 1, I have the second short story in my Wild trilogy from Spice Briefs. And on July 19, I had the final story in my Unbelievable series from Samhain. I’ve been pretty busy lately, and I’m working on more. There’s a few new short story ideas percolating, I’m working on the sequel to Untamed, and the sequel to On the Prowl comes out in late September/early October, and the sequel to Between Lovers comes out in late November/early December. I just finished the last round of edits on that one and sent it in last week. Whee! I love new books!

WANTON

Two years after her lover died, Lynx Jenise finally feels ready to indulge the consuming urge to mate at the shifter gathering known as the Wild. Though her very human heart was broken, her animal instincts can no longer be suppressed.

But even as she finds the rough pleasure she craves with other Lynxes, another instinct haunts Jenise—the feeling that another mate is near….

Find out more!

MAKE ME BELIEVE

She has two words for love. “Make me.” Then love changes the rules…

As far as hairstylist Celia Occam is concerned, she’s struck out at marriage twice, and there will be no “third time’s a charm”. So what if one salon employee and the town gossip seem dead set on fixing her up with Prince Charming. She’s nobody’s princess.

She’s all for scratching the occasional itch with the right man, but flirtatious firefighter Mason Delacroix is all wrong. Besides, with three broken engagements on his romantic rap sheet, even a one-night mattress mambo sounds like a bad idea.

From the first moment Mason encounters Celia’s emotional barriers, he’s determined to turn up the heat as high as it takes to melt the ice. If the whole town wants to back him up by playing Cupid, he’s on board. Track record be damned. He wants Celia, and he’s ready for permanent.

When her self-appointed guardian angels conspire to lock them in the basement, their long-denied chemistry explodes. She finds herself relishing every moment—though her subconscious is already on the run.

Funny thing, though. Every time she zigs, Mason’s already zagged. Making her wonder if this time it’s for real, or if Cupid is just up to its old tricks.

Find out more!

Last year I ended up writing a lot of historical novels both for Aphrodisia and for Signet Eclipse and so I opted to write a contemporary erotic menage for Aphrodisia just for a change of pace. You would think that a contemporary would be easier, right? But for me? Not so. Despite having lived in the U.S. for 14 years I still get the odd word wrong.

For example, I had one character come into a kitchen and notice that the light was on over the hob.
-question from my beta reader-”what exactly is a hob?”
-me-”It’s the thing you cook on-isn’t it?”
Apparently what I meant was a range-who knew?

Also, the book deals with some pretty heavy stuff-you know me, I love the angsty characters. I got three people to read it for me and, to be honest, they didn’t like it much-now that’s the first time I’ve really had that reaction to a book I’ve written, but when everyone you trust says the same thing? You have to listen, which meant I ended up ditching about 15,000 words of the book and rewriting them.

Hopefully the finished book will work for you all. I’m actually quite proud of it.
Here’s the slightly modified blurb:

Ally Kendal knows returning to her hometown to sell her mother’s house isn’t going to be easy. she left in disgrace years ago and hasn’t been back since. bit she’s never forgotten the one man who awakened in her a secret yearning for wildly erotic and submissive erotic pleasure.
Rob Ward is surprised at the surge of desire he feels when he first sees Ally after all this time. He’s gotten over the betrayal he felt when he found her and his best friend Jackson together on the eve of their engagement party, but it seems he’s never given up wanting her. And now that she’s back he’s determined to show her and Jackson what they’ve missed, and how easy it is for him to take control and bring her to the edge of sweet surrender…

If you want to read the whole of the first chapter, go and check it out here on my website

Enjoy!

And for those of you who are missing their Simply fix, Simply Carnal is out in February 2012 and I’m currently writing Simply Voracious, which will also be out next year.

Contest: Comment below to win a chance to win a copy of my contemporary Aphrodisia erotic story “Some Like it Rough” with Susan Lyons and Anne Rainey.

Question;
Do you only read one sub genre or do you read everything in romance like I do?

Woops, how did that happen? When I was in the middle of Life 101, the powers that be behind Kensingtron Aphrodisia were working away insuring that Spirit of the Wolf will indeed hit the stands on July 26 or thereabouts. I wrote it more than a year ago, and as I’m sure everyone can understand, the more time passed, the more the memory faded. The cover is The Bomb (is that still an in term?) and the wolf figure helped jog my memory, but my guess is that if I sat down and read Spirit, a lot about it would surprise me. Did I really write that? Hmm. Wonder where that plot twist and character complication come from? Hmm. That scene rocks, that one not so much.

One thing I’ll hopefully always be clear on is why I wove a spirit wolf into the story. I dig wolves. Have a near obsession with them. I just checked and counted six books on the predators in my bookshelf. Go on, ask me about their complex social structure. I know the answers. Want to see some awesome pictures? In addition to the ones in my nonfiction research books, my calendar is nothing but wolves. Two framed pictures in my office are of the creatures, and the wolf stuffed animal Kate Douglas gave me is perched on top of the stereo speaker. Not long after wolves were first reintroduced to parts of the country where there hadn’t been any for decades, I wrote two articles for outdoor magazines. Setting aside the creatures’ mystique, I wrote about the political arguments that went on for years before the reintroduction was launched. Some ranchers are going to disagree with me, but I’m excited because wolves are spreading out.

I live in rural Oregon and the family has a mountain cabin. Hearing that wolves have been spotted in my state allows me to dream that just maybe one day I’ll step outside in response to my dogs’ frantic barking and spot a fast-moving shape. Just thinking about that thrills me.

In the meantime, I incorporate wolves into some of my writing as a way of honoring what they stand for.
Vonna Harper

I woke up this morning to the sound of blue jays arguing outside the bedroom, for some reason remembering how I used to feel about Mondays. I was lying there in bed, wondering what day it was, and I finally remembered it had to be Monday because I needed to remind the husband to get the garbage cans out on the curb for Tuesday pick up.

Things used to be so different. Back when our children were still at home, Monday meant the weekend was over, the kids off to school, my husband back at work, and the week stretched out in front of me with all the racing around that’s required of a mother and wife. There were a lot more places I had to be, things I had to do–and always for someone else.

Monday meant a whole new week, but it also required a shift in routine. I knew I’d be spending the rest of the week working toward the weekend when it was time once again to take off my multitude of mom uniforms. Weekends I could share the load–I was no longer the full time taxi driver, cook, maid, gardener, therapist, teacher’s aide, nurse (there is ALWAYS a booboo or two to deal with!) dog walker, mommy and wife. Not that I didn’t do those things on the weekend, but at least I got to share the load and know that I could actually sit back and enjoy the kids.

But, as kids usually do, ours grew up, moved away, married and reproduced, (though I always said the “big kid,” — my husband stayed home. ) Once the kids were gone, I got really serious about my writing and life made a drastic change. My books began selling, the husband retired and took over most of the household, and everything made a monumental shift.

The biggest shift, in retrospect, is that I lost the joy of weekends vs. the expectation of Mondays. Now, unless I look at the little calendar in the corner of my computer screen that tells me what day of the week it is, I often don’t even know, and I think I miss that. My days sort of blend, one into the other. I wake up, pour myself a cup of coffee, wander upstairs and turn on my laptop no matter what day of the week it is.

Of course, then it doesn’t matter what day it is, because I lose myself in my fantasy world. I’m no longer Dabba, or Kate or even that weird neighbor who rarely leaves the house. It used to be I’d spend my days as Anton or Keisha or Adam or Liana or any of the other older generation of Chanku, and then I was Alton or maybe Dax, Eddie or Ginny from my DemonSlayers, but those stories are written, and their stories told.

Yesterday I was Addie from Demon Lovers, and for awhile Jett and Locan, and today I know I’ll be MacArthur Dugan, trying to find a way to save my alien lover. I don’t need to know what day of the week it is, because once I slip into my fantasy world, it’s whatever day or year I need for it to be.

So, in some ways I’ve lost my sense of expectation that Mondays used to bring, and weekends no longer hold the same lure, but I’m definitely okay with the trade off, because every day has become an adventure. Mondays? Not so big a deal–that day only exists in the real world. I think I’ll choose my fantasy world over the real one. It’s a lot more fun, not nearly as dark and dangerous, and I can be whomever I want to be. Here’s a taste of my novella from the NightShift anthology that will introduce my newest Aphrodisia series, Dream Catchers. Meet MacArthur Dugan, a man who is waking up to the fact his sexual fantasies have given a woman life:

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

There it was again, that sweet scent that made him think of warm vanilla wafers. Crawling out of a sublimely sexual dream featuring his latest fantasy female—a dream that faded away as consciousness returned—Mac sniffed the air. Had the smell of cookies awakened him?

He really wanted to get back to that dream.

The room was still dark, but the same tantalizing sweetness he’d noticed earlier filled his nostrils. Stronger now. Closer.

He reached for the lamp on the bedside table. A soft hand stroked his chest. Mac sucked in a gasp of air.

Scrabbling for the switch, he flicked on the light and shoved himself back against the headboard.

Blinking beneath the bright light, he stared into the face of a woman too perfect to be real—eyes so purple they sparkled like amethysts beneath thick, sooty lashes, and hair as black as night. Her skin was fair, her lips full and lush. If he’d dreamed her into existence, she couldn’t have been more perfect, and that was the only way she could have gotten here, because he sure as hell hadn’t invited anyone in tonight.

“Who the hell are you?”

She frowned. Her dark brows knotted, and two tiny lines appeared between them. “I’m Zianne,” she said, as if he should know. “Don’t you remember? And you are Mac.”

She spoke with a soft accent he didn’t recognize, in a voice that was low and sort of raspy. Hinting of sex and secrets, it raised shivers along his spine.

He shook his head. He’d been so damned drunk when he left Dinkemann’s place—had he met her somewhere tonight? He’d never had an alcoholic blackout in his life, but if this was the result, he’d definitely been wasting his time.

He flashed on the fantasy he’d had in the shower. The same woman beside him in bed? No. That wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. He’d imagined that. Hadn’t he? Was he imagining her here, now?

Impossible to imagine her scent, the weight of her warm body against his. Her touch. He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. “Where’d you come from?”

She shrugged as if he were a complete fool for asking, and for a minute he thought he must be, because there was no way in hell he’d ever forget bringing someone like Zianne home to his apartment. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make him forget a woman like her.

A memory flashed through his mind, of Zianne kneeling before him in the shower, her mouth…dear God. Her mouth!

She smiled with those perfect, lush lips and stroked his cheek with her fingertips. Her touch was soft and warm. Perfect

“You brought me here.” Her scent enveloped him, stealing his thoughts from the question.

There it was again, that sweet scent that made him think of warm vanilla wafers. Crawling out of a sublimely sexual dream featuring his latest fantasy female—a dream that faded away as consciousness returned—Mac sniffed the air. Had the smell of cookies awakened him?

He really wanted to get back to that dream.

The room was still dark, but the same tantalizing sweetness he’d noticed earlier filled his nostrils. Stronger now. Closer.

He reached for the lamp on the bedside table. A soft hand stroked his chest. Mac sucked in a gasp of air.

Scrabbling for the switch, he flicked on the light and shoved himself back against the headboard.

Blinking beneath the bright light, he stared into the face of a woman too perfect to be real—eyes so purple they sparkled like amethysts beneath thick, sooty lashes, and hair as black as night. Her skin was fair, her lips full and lush. If he’d dreamed her into existence, she couldn’t have been more perfect, and that was the only way she could have gotten here, because he sure as hell hadn’t invited anyone in tonight.

“Who the hell are you?”

She frowned. Her dark brows knotted, and two tiny lines appeared between them. “I’m Zianne,” she said, as if he should know. “Don’t you remember? And you are Mac.”

She spoke with a soft accent he didn’t recognize, in a voice that was low and sort of raspy. Hinting of sex and secrets, it raised shivers along his spine.

He shook his head. He’d been so damned drunk when he left Dinkemann’s place—had he met her somewhere tonight? He’d never had an alcoholic blackout in his life, but if this was the result, he’d definitely been wasting his time.

He flashed on the fantasy he’d had in the shower. The same woman beside him in bed? No. That wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. He’d imagined that. Hadn’t he? Was he imagining her here, now?

Impossible to imagine her scent, the weight of her warm body against his. Her touch. He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. “Where’d you come from?”

She shrugged as if he were a complete fool for asking, and for a minute he thought he must be, because there was no way in hell he’d ever forget bringing someone like Zianne home to his apartment. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make him forget a woman like her.

A memory flashed through his mind, of Zianne kneeling before him in the shower, her mouth…dear God. Her mouth!

She smiled with those perfect, lush lips and stroked his cheek with her fingertips. Her touch was soft and warm. Perfect

“You brought me here.” Her scent enveloped him, stealing his thoughts from the question.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

So…what have you got planned for the week ahead? Leave a comment, and you’ll be entered into a drawing for a copy of Wolf Tales 12. (or another of my books if you already have that one)

There was a time when I equated being a professionally published author with making a great deal of money. That was before I became a professionally published author and learned that only a handful of authors are able to make a comfortable living from their work. All the same, I love writing and don’t intend to stop doing it. Nor do I intend to be someone who envies the big bucks the lucky few manage to achieve with their own work. Jealousy never accomplishes anything positive; unless one actually seeks a life filled with restless nights, ulcers and nagging resentment as a constant companion. So I continue to write what I enjoy and to pray and to work to obtain the fruits of labor I have dreamed of. Its really not a difficult thing to do,  for I’ve discovered along the way that rejoicing for peers who have obtained these things makes for my own sense of prospect, hope and incentive.

I will confess, that in part from someone who has worked years in achieving the small and not very financially boastful slice of the pie, I do resent the “success” of a two types of author. These two types are authors who have simply lucked up on a writing career due to 1. being a whim-of-the-moment celebrity or (and more so) 2. from cashing in on the misfortune of others. In the first category I refer to people like say Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi and her book, Shore Thing. Its not that I think Snooki doesn’t have a lot to say, its just that I can’t think of anything worth saying she’d have to offer. And I admit further that when it comes to the whim-of-the-moment celebrity author I’m probably a bit snobbish.

But then there’s the #2 type. In this category are people like OJ Simpson. I don’t mean OJ the athlete or OJ the actor, but OJ the convicted kidnapper and armed robber. Yeah, the same guy that was found not guilty in the death of two people but who went on to cash in on the story of the murders and trial with a book titled, If I Did It. Now I can appreciate anyone who has been involved in a tragic event wanting to share their story as a kind of psychological or spiritual carthartic. But I don’t like exploitation of the event, which Simpson’s book -in my strict reader’s opinion- is nothing but. And the fact that the family of one of the victims had to take Mr. Simpson to court in order to get what he promised as their fair share of royalties exemplifies my problem with these kind of “authors”. Acquitted, found not guilty, whatever; if this kind of person gets off a conviction with a prevailing cloud of suspicion over their head and then turns around and tries to screw victims’ families, I’m immediately soured on them.

Unfortunately, a similar event has made me fear this scenario just might repeat itself. It comes on the heels of the verdict for accused child killer, Casey Anthony. Anthony was found not guilty on charges of murder, manslaughter and aggravated child abuse in the death of her daughter, but found guilty of lying to police officials during the investigation. While the jurors could not be convinced this woman was guilty of a premeditated killing, at the same time the prosecution failed to give jurors the option of finding her guilty of reckless or negligent homicide. She was also the last individual who knew -or  who should have known- where her young daughter was. Despite these facts, even as Anthony prepares to walk out of jail a free woman next week the media is speculating wildly of her forthcoming “book”, her forthcoming “film”,  her forthcoming “reality show”, her already-made career as a “star”.

Casey Anthony was convicted of lying to police

One can wonder who the heck would ever hire this woman, let alone help her build fame and fortune in the shadow of her daughter’s senseless and horrible death.

So, if Anthony is indeed offered a juicy book deal I will resent her. Its the kind of resentment you don’t see plastered over Amazon discussion boards or scrutinized and snarked about at reader blogs. It will be the resentment of one hardworking mother toward another mother who was too self-absorbed to care about the whereabouts of the child she was blessed to have. I resent murder. I resent innocent people being snatched away before their time. I resent lives ruined by violence and stupidity and lies. And I pray with all my heart that the industry that I worked hard to become a part of will keep the door of opportunity closed on any individual who  -intentionally or by narcissistic preoccupation- has helped tragedy happen.

~Anya

http://anyahoward.com