Aphrodisia Authors :: Blog

This might not be my morning to blog. For some tech reason I’m unable to upload the cover image for my latest Aphrodisia release Falcon’s Captive. Strange indeed.

Maybe no one has noticed but I’m late getting this done. Here on the west coast it is nearly 11 a.m. If it hadn’t been for an ad in yesterday’s paper, I would have tackled this blog much earlier. Here’s the deal. I live not far from Harry and David headquarters. Their peach orchards are producing at fever pitch, and once a year for one morning lasting no more than two hours until the supply runs out, they sell #2 peaches for 10 cents a pound. Need I say more? My kitchen counter is now filled with ripening peaches and I’m drooling.

Onto the reason for the above title–the other night I was meeting with some of my writer buds when the subject of research came up, specifically erotic research.

Picture this: one day my fellow writer/friend Rosie and I are talking about our ignorance in certain areas. As I remember it, Rosie was the one to suggest a fact-finding trip to Castle’s, the local sex shop. She insists I made the suggestion, but she’s wrong. Before Castle’s came to the area, the only sex shop was in a nearby burg, a tumbling-down little place next to a rundown hotel. No way would I ever go in there. But Castle’s wasn’t that far from Barnes & Noble and several nice restaurants. There’d been moral grumbling when they first opened for business, but things had settled down.

Although Rosie and I contemplated wearing disguises, we opted for honesty when we parked in the parking lot of another business and snuck in the side door still wearing our sunglasses. A couple of female clerks who looked like they were still in high school were unpacking, ah, costumes for a little BDSM play. No way was I going to head in tht direction. A beefy, tatooed man and his tiny girlfriend were looking at videos–another area I decided to put off for later.

No one was near the sex toy aisle so there we snuck. It was more of a corridor than an aisle with row upon row of dildos, a few larger than trees. Wincing, Rosie and I continued. I’d give a list of everything we examined but there were some items beyond my comprehension. Clearly my education had been lacking. Gathering courage, Rosie and I broke ranks, each of us heading for what interested us most. Lets just say that my purchase required batteries. When we hooked up again, we’d grown bold enough that we decided to check out the blow up dolls up close and personal.

That’s when we started giggling. And giggling some more. With tears streaming, we again separated. Somehow I wound up asking one of the underage looking clerks why certain toys were behind glass cases. Those, I was informed, were the Rabbits, popular and expensive and therefore subject to theft. Oh, duh, thanks.

Rosie reappeared with a middle-aged paunchy man in tow. Rosie, what have you done, I thought. Truth was she’d snagged the manager by telling him we were erotica writers. He was fascinated. And fascinating.

The highlight of our conversation with him came when he led us down a long, dark hall. This better be the way to his office, I thought. Then he turned on the light and our attention was immediately drawn to the three massive embroidery works on the walls. All three depicted lush nature scenes that made me think of Hawaii complete with birds, butterflies, deer, and magnificent flowers.

“I did those,” the manager said. “Each one took at least two years, and I’ve been offered $20,000 for them.” Believe me, they were worth it.

When the talkative man finally let us go, Rosie and I exited with our brown paper bags not daring to look at each other for fear of hysterical laughter and awe.

Have we been back to Castle’s? What do you think?
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

The picture uploading thingie doesn’t like me this morning so after two tries, I’ve given up. All you’re going to get is me doing a little confessing.

To set the background, I have a new Aphrodisia book due the middle of October. A month ago I had only the vaguest idea what it would be about. Okay, I knew I wanted to set it in Central Oregon and that’s that. Figured it needed a man and a woman (my erotica has always been m/f and I ain’t about to change) Then as has long happened in that secret part of my brain I can’t explain and sometimes freaks me out, things started coming together. Lots of research, bunch of notes, muttering to myself during my dedicated thinking time otherwise known as walking the dogs time. One day I got home from said dog walk, ran upstairs to my office and pounded out a couple of single spaced pages of plot notes, character motivation, the kind of nonsense that passes for a synopsis.

I started with Chapter One. Things cooked along. Then yesterday at the 11,000 word mark I hit a wall. Tried to tell myself that it was my son’s birthday, I was distracted by evening plans to celebrate, further distracted because both sons and grandson showed up, also a friend of one son. I pounded out 2K words, one sweated one at a time. I had to have my hero do some things that made me uncomfortable (poor soul is being taken over by an supernatural spirit). I told myself the problem was that I’m not yet clear about the supernatural spirit which impacts my hero in many ways.

Then after the dinner party, I turned my mind back to my problem. Slept on it. Thought about it when I woke up at 4 a.m. Thought about it some more in the shower.

As has happened enough times to keep me relatively sane, I done figured it out. The hangup wasn’t tied into the spirit. Instead, I didn’t know enough about my hero’s background. See, I was a social worker in a former life and dealt with a lot of people with disfunctional childhoods. My poor characters are always messed up in one form or another which, I believe, gives them depth and interest.

Ha! I know what brought my hero to this place in his life. Oh, you’d feel sorry for him. His parents were a mess and there was the violence thing and–Double ha! I love him. I’m mucking around in his psyche and putting him through the wringer and excited about having a grand old time.

One last thing. I’d called him Tyson but that never felt right. Now he’s Matt and I can wrap my mind about Matt. The Matt in my world is my youngest son’s best friend, scary smart with two young kids, a career in computers, and a part-time gig as a river fishing guide. Ah, an outdoorsman who loves and understands nature. Rugged. Competent. Independent. All the things both Matts are.

Look out world, I’m ready to write again.

As long as I don’t decide to play shrink with the supernatural spirit.
Vonna

www.VonnaHarper.com

First a disclaimer. Falcon’s Captive won’t be out until late July but I figured no one would mind looking at a hunk–okay so he’s a purple hunk. You got a problem with that?

I’ve been writing erotica almost exclusively for several years, throwing my novels, novellas, and short stories at all publishers that’ll take them. Kensington Aphrodisia has been a great home, especially come royalty time.

But I’m feeling restless these days. The whole wanting to stretch my writing muscles thing. For pleasure reading I turn almost exclusively to romantic suspense/thriller. Nothing like that page turning, pulse popping experience. Okay sometimes the violence goes beyond my comfort zone but that’s my issue.

Yep, I’d like to try my hand at suspense, specifically what I call erotic suspense. I just finished one such and sent it onto one of my epublishers. Now to see what she thinks. IMO its as much suspense as erotica with none of the bondage found in most of my erotica.

Therein lies my quandry. Are readers going to come along with me on my new adventure?

So here’s my question: if a writer you have always gotten one kind of read from takes off in a different direction, are you likely to give the new thing a try or do you feel abandoned?

Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

Falcon’s Captive won’t be out until July but I figure here’s a great way to share what I think is a great cover. The male torso ain’t bad, the color’s IMO eyecatching, and the falcon gives it a spooky quality which I really dig.

Speaking of spooky (notice the smooth transition here) I’m working on something that has taken on a life of its own. That’s happened to me before but not often and not for awhile. Part of that’s because erotica which I’ve been doing exclusively for several years calls for a concentrated focus on the romantic/sexual relationship. Plots must revolve around that anchor.

Not so much with the present project. Its sexy; I’d be crazy to take off in a direction my readers aren’t interested in. But I’ve pasted a sticky note on my monitor that says “erotic suspense” Maybe I should flip that and say suspenseful erotica because the focus is more on the creepy, dangerous element than whether Maco and Shari head into the future together. Nearly every scene furthers the mystery and suspense.

Example: yesterday I was writing a scene in a pizza parlor designed to give Maco the opportunity to talk about why he’s divorced in addition to ramp up the anticipation because they’re heading to his place afterward. As I worked on it, I perceived it as a break from the strange things that are happening at both their workplaces. Then I took my dogs for a walk and the editor at the back of my brain knocked on the gray matter.

Eureka! I ended the scene with Maco noticing that a man is watching them. I know who that man is and hopefully it isn’t who I’ve been setting up as suspects.

This story–and it really needs a decent title–has a mind and direction of its own. It moves fast for me and I’ve turned into a one armed paper hanger trying to juggle two mystery threads. But damn is it fun! I’m not stopping to edit, full steam ahead. Tie off all the loose ends once I hit ‘the end’. Trust the inner editor.

Have I mentioned that I’m having a ball. Energy and excitement follows me to the computer every day.

Changing topics again and not so smoothly this time, how about some comments on the cover? Oh and if anyone has a spare title hanging around, please share it.
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

I write erotica. Yeah, well you wouldn’t be blogging for Aphrodisia if you weren’t. Big deal

Okay, the deal is I’m in a confessing mood this morning. Way back when my only connection to the then new world of erotica came from reading ‘those’ books. Well, to be honest, my reaction was a far cry from a shrug and a, “Yeah, so?” Reading erotica turned me on. Hey, I really didn’t expect that. After all, I’ve written romance, suspense, and historicals and none of those genres kicked me. Category romance didn’t get me all hot and bothered, I didn’t go around locking the doors while working on suspense, and I didn’t dress in period costume as I pounded out my historicals.

But reading about in-your-face sex, holy cow! Now you’ve got my attention and interest to say nothing of my blood pressure which is kind of surprising considering I’ve been married to the same man for about a million years.

“This is what I want to try,” I declared before I’d finished reading my first erotica—which happened to have been written by my friend Kate Douglas. “Hmm. Fine,” I yammered at myself. “So go for it.”
How, the practical side of my nature challenged as I fanned my flaming cheeks. How does an old married broad go about penning words I hope my mother never reads?

The light bulb flashed. Research. After all, research got me into and through those seven historicals. Next question: what kind of research? Not the personal kind, thank you very much. Not only didn’t I want to wind up in divorce court, it can be a dangerous world out there. I don’t know the rules. Heck, I don’t even know where the games are played. Besides, I’m pretty sure the good stuff starts after my bedtime.

That’s when I started to let my fingers do the walking, on the Internet. I prowled Amazon. I discovered books about Kama Sutra. (Yes, I live a pretty isolated life) I devoured Nancy Friday’s My Secret Garden. I downloaded a fifty-page tutorial about the ways and wherefores of the female climax and wound up highlighting darn near the whole thing. The Kama Sutra books (if you don’t know) are unabashedly illustrated and demonstrate more sexual positions than my body could accomplish back when I was lean and mean. I rejected some for the simple reason I couldn’t describe the necessary gyrations but others, oh my!

But erotica is a lot more than Part A fits in Slot A. Like all other successful fiction, it hinges on emotion. Feelings. The heart. The mind. What’s happening between the ears of my characters became the vital question.

Shortly after I stated writing erotica, I half stumbled and half marched into bondage, BDSM, and capture. Some editor let it out that bondage was a top seller and that got my wheels turning. I confess: my first sexual fantasies were about becoming some pirate’s hostage. (Or was it Tarzan’s captive?) I loved the idea of being tied up and reining as a macho hunk’s prize possession. Why not take those fantasies out of the closet or wherever I’d stashed them and have fun and make money writing about damsels in distress who just happen to be having the sexual adventure of their lives?

Research time once more since I’ve never been a BDSM player, and in the real world, bondage would scare the you know what out of me. Back to the Internet and stumbling into a pile of sites that were so amateurishly produced I couldn’t get past the bad acting, and/or infected my computer. Was I ever going to get honest and open insight into bondage-loving women and the men eager to accommodate them? Where to go to tap into my own libido so I could authentically produce the kind of stories I wanted to?

Kink. Specifically www.Kink.com. Even more specifically www.Hogtied.com and www.SexAndSubmission.com. There are other sites within Kink devoted to one fetish or another, but my pump is primed at those two places. Hogtied is the granddaddy of the whole enterprise (and that’s exactly what this multi-million dollar business is). Sex And Submission banks on a number of fantasy scenarios. At both sites, nubile young women are stripped naked and tied into positions I didn’t know the human body was capable of assuming by master riggers.

I’ll leave it to your imagination what takes place. Suffice to say, at the end of a shoot, both the women and men are happy and satisfied customers. I can’t relate to the more extreme scenes and knowing everyone’s being paid for their performances gets a tad of a bit in the way of the fantasy. But I listen closely to what’s being said, the look in the eye, the body language, the sights and sounds of a climax.

Oh yes, my imagination has taken flight, bolstered by vivid visuals. Just because this old broad walks the straight and narrow doesn’t mean she can’t have her kinks. Or write about those kinks.
Now, where are those handcuffs?

And a question: where, if anywhere, do you go online to prime your pump?

Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

I’m starting with the cover for my latest Ellora’s Cave release because, no matter how we writers feel about self-promotion, its a fact of life. Its akin to the “publish or perish” college educators are well-aware of. I’m proud of my writing, always have and hopefully always will be, but my brain doesn’t naturally make the switch to selling what I write. So if I stumble and bumble along that way, I’m not surprised.

All right, onto the reason for this title: I’ve written fiction nonstop since I first dove into the business, but earlier this month, I set that aside and worked on something that’s been simmering in me for years–a memoir.

How self-important! How self-absorbed! Who gives a darn about my life’s story? Truth to tell, even I’m not that engaged with it because its no different from millions of other people.

Except, I believe, in one way and that’s what I’m focusing on in Grandfather Lost. Actually, I started writing about my grandfather who died at age 38 when my mother was six years ago, tackling it as a biography. I put together a nonfiction book proposal and knocked on more publishing company doors than I want to admit–without success. Okay, I came close a few times but no cigar. Wiser and sader, I put Grandpa aside–or rather I tried to, but the man I never met refused to let go. Finally I came face to face with reality. The only way to do justice by his life and tragic death was by documenting its impact on me.

So there’s where the memoir took hold. Five emotional chapters later plus all the other proposal have-tos such as a marketing plan later, I’m nearly ready to knock on doors again. My grandfather was a writer. His genes are strong in me. His short life impacted me in ways I now accept. I grew up without a father. As I’ve said numerous times, when I was five, my father divorced my mother, sister, and myself. Exit stage left. I have almost nothing of him. At the same time I have a closet full of my grandfather’s writing, both what made its way into magazines and books and the precious, precious letters he wrote to his wife and children when economic necessity separated them during the last year of his life. I also have a half dozen newspaper clippings of the articles written about the investigation into his violent death. Maybe most important, because I grew up in his widow’s home, I understand how his death impacted the family for generations. The family knew a loving, intelligent, fiscally impulsive man while as the result of a single night, the public was left believing Grandpa had been a criminal.

I feel emotionally fragile. At the same time, I know I’ve finally done the best I’m capable of and that’s both freeing and satisfying. For a writer who has laughed and cried with her characters, this latest project has gone deeper than I believed I was capable of.
And such is the joy and responsibility of being a writer.

On that note, I’m off.
Vonna Harper

Watching the Olympics has me awed. These young men and women are among the best athletes in the world. Their work ethics, sacrifices, and confidence leaves me in awe. Each one has a story of putting excelling at their sport above everything else. I don’t know what they’re going to do with their lives once their years of competing are behind them and hope they draw on their can-do attitudes to succeed. What is it like to stand on the winner’s podium and know their committment has been worth it?

And what is it like to wake up two months later?

Comparing writing to athletic excellence might be a stretch, but I’m trying to make a point, to myself if no one else. I’ve been writing literally all my life. Granted, my early attempts are laughable, but although I didn’t know it, I was laying the groundwork for my career. I did well in English and loved journalism (and the sports editor/quarterback had only some to do with it) Restlessness was a way of life. I wanted to reach something; I just didn’t know what it was. I’m still not sure I do but writing manages that restlessness. There’s my creative outlet, my way of celebrating the human spirit, the satisfaction of making my fictional world come out right–unlike the real world. In fiction my characters seriously kick ass. They don’t have dirty windows, a sick husband, aged mother, flat feet, etc.

Is what I’m writing today the best I can do? Have I reached the limit of my incompetence as they say in the corporate world? Have I learned everything I need to learn or, as I suspect, will the curve continue? I start each story with a goal, a mountain top, a prayer that this character and plot and setting will speak to readers. This heroine will leap off the pages. This hero will bare his soul. This plot will break new grounds for me.

But will they? Do they? There’s always that moment (more than one of them) when I’m disappointed in myself. I’m not getting to the top of the mountain. I won’t stand on the winner’s platform. True, I reached the finish line but could I have run faster?

So, for me, being a career writer is a never-ending Olympics. I compete against other writers but mostly I’ll always strive to be better than before.
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

First, up for your drooling pleasure, the cover for my latest Ellora’s Cave release. Lordy but I love brooding heroes and does this ever qualify. Intriguing and spooky eyes. And the rest of him ain’t bad.

Yesterday I was pawing through my bookshelf for one on Crater Lake for something I’m working on. My attention was drawn to how many ‘location’ books I have, The Grand Canyon, Denali Park, The Lava Beds of northern California, redwoods, Sanibel Island of Florida, etc. The pile shouldn’t surprise me because a sense of place is vital to me as a writer. Unless I have a strong visual image of where my people (not characters, people) are, they remain somewhat shadowy to me. In short, my people connect with their surroundings, and those surroundings impact their personalities.

I’ve said it before but I don’t do cities. Have only rarely and briefly lived in the suckers. Their aura is foreign to them whereas I’ve always strongly connected with the wilderness. In my opinion, giving my people personal space both allows and forces them to get in touch with themselves. Away from the distractions of civilization, they connect with their souls.

Anywho, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

In that vein, does setting play a role in the fiction you buy and read?
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

Well duh, obviously I’m grateful for my association with Kensington Aphrodisia and if someone would tell me where the model for Taming a Cougar hangs out, I’d be doubly grateful. How come there ain’t no hunks in my neighborhood? Well there’s one buffed dude but he lives with his parents, has been in and out of mental facilities, and growls more than talks. (poor parents. poor dude)

At the moment I’m insanely grateful for the view out my window. After living in a canyon for many years, I’ll never take the sky and mountains view for granted. No matter what’s going on in the sky, I love watching nature. Nature has always factored predominantly in my world. I welcome sun, wind, rain, snow, the whole package. And don’t get me started on my love affair with the mountains and nearby river.

I’m grateful for my sons and grandchildren. They’ve broadened my scope of what life’s about beyond measure. Even when my sons were teens and I threatened to drop them off at a gypsy camp, their hold on my heart never let up. I’d die for my grandchildren; I’d probably kill for them. Its that basic.

I’m grateful for my parents’ impact on my life, both of them although they touched me in very different ways. My mother was my rock, the planter of my love of reading and from there writing. A teacher, she made books a core part of my and my sister’s childhood. We didn’t have TV (useless in the remote areas we lived in) so when my sister and I couldn’t be outside, we curled up with books. We still share and trade. Mother always encouraged my early attempts at writing (and my poor younger sister had no choice but to applaud the comic books I created with the Lone Ranger’s horse as hero). As for my father who divorced the three of us when I was 5, in ways I’m still discovering, he shaped my view of men. Although I’ve been married forever to the same man, they remain mysterious creatures and much of what I write about revolves around trying to reach their hearts and souls.

Parts of my childhood were rocky, including a period of homelessness. I hope I’ll never take a roof over my head for granted. The size and style of house under that roof doesn’t matter. I don’t see myself as materialistic and am grateful for that as well.

In other words, I believe that gratitude is all about the people we share our lives with and appreciation of nature.
And books to read and write.
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com

Have I mentioned, Kensington rocks. I’ve known this for years, long before I started writing erotica for the Aphrodisia line. In another life I wrote category romance for the publisher and met several of the fab editors including the late and beloved Kate Duffy.

But today’s blog isn’t about the past. Its what Kensington is doing right now in a tough financial climate. Just this week, Nov. 16 to be specific, Publisher’s Weekly ran a piece called Kensington Has a Winning 2009 by Jim Milliot. The whole article is at http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6707070.html_
Here, IMO are the highlights.

1. At the end of their fiscal year K was ahead of budget and sales were up about 7%
2. Although mass market paperback accounts for more than 50% of revenue, trade paperback (that’s Aphrodisia) is the fastest selling segment.
3. K does about 20 trade paperbacks a month (focus on literary commercial fiction) which means the list remains small enough to develop individual marketing plans. This has resulted in attention from independent booksellers and more reviews.
4. Romance and thrillers drove the mass market paperbacks but there’s been improved western sales, particularly William Johnstone’s books. (hmm. I do love a good western)
5. Leading the way to increased sales are different kinds of in-store displays and online promotions, including e-blasts. K sales are up 10% at Borders and overall sell-through was up and returns down.
6. K uses free e-book promotions to help sales of e-books. Granted, e-books are expected to be only 2.5% of revenue in 2010 but this is a still-developing arm of the industry. So far all e-releases have been derived from print titles but that will change when the right project comes along.
7. K’s first film, The Company We Keep based on a book by Mary Monroe is in postproduction and looking for a distributor.
8. And last before your eyes blur, K is in its 35th year and considered the largest independent trade publisher based in NY. Adam Zacharius (grandson of founder Walter Zacharius) “remains bullish on the book market, targeting a 10% incease in sales in fiscal 2010.

And I’m damn proud to be part of this energy.
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com