Happy 4th of July!!!  Although I’m writing this early because I’m going to be out of town, I’m very much in the 4th mood.  There’s a VA cemetary in the small town I live in and on many holidays, large American flags as set out in the public areas to the tune of hundreds of flags.  A drive through the cemetary (where a dear friend’s 22 year old son is buried) is a moving experience

Holidays tend to put me in touch with the past, but there’s something about the 4th that truly reaches me.  I think its because when I was growing up, the town I lived in went all out in celebration.  I remember, in high school, marching with the band.  I’d chosen the clarinet because I had a long walk after the bus let me off.  One year it was so hot I didn’t think I was going to make it to the end of the parade and am sure it was even worse for the tuba players.  When I was younger, the 4th meant seeing my cousins and running around Nana’s lawn with sparklers stinging our wrists.  We loved setting them off after dark and playing like Tinkerbell.

As an adult, it concerns me that maybe I didn’t instill that reverence for our day of freedom in my sons, but I know they’re appreciative of this country we live in.  These days it seems as if depressing news is all around us: gas and other price increases, the dog days of the political campaign, horrific fires in the state just south of me, etc, etc.  But when all the complaining is done with, IMO this is still the only country I’d ever want to live in.  Freedom is more than a word or even a mindset.  It lives in our hearts, or at least I believe it should. 

I could go on and on and probably get myself in trouble stepping on peoples’ toes.  Instead, I’d like to flip things around and ask readers what the 4th of July means to them.

Vonna

www.vonnaharper.com

Okay, I’m not totally headless because something was there when I combed my hair and brushed my teeth.  I started putting on some makeup only to say, “screw that” and plop back down in front of the computer.

I don’t know where this cold/flu/malaise/whatever came from but I don’t like it, not one bit!  Dragging along for going on two weeks is more than enough thank you very much.  I want to write, darn it.  I’m about 3/4 of the way through the rough draft of my current book for Aphrodisia and have this sneaky suspicion the plot will evaporate if I don’t wrap up the loose ends asap.  In the meantime, my IQ is topping out in the 80s and much of the time is way below that.  Day before yesterday I took my mother out to lunch and a haircut and by the time we were done I felt as if I’d run a marathon.  Took a nap, fixed dinner, and was asleep by 7.  Didn’t wake up until 6 the next morning. 

Yesterday was better and I belted out 3000 words in addition to giving the VA a piece of my mind (long story with no end in sight)  Today however isn’t shaping up to be so hot.  My lips are numb, my fingers ditto.  And lets don’t even get started on my brain.  I have until 3:30 to write and should be limbering up my fingers and chomping at the bit but no, i want to hold down the couch and watch morning TV which I never do.  And now the neighborhood get-together that sounded like so much fun is looking like a mountain to climb.

So enough already with this junk I have. 

Some news to share before I fade off.  A small Slovok publisher wants to buy foreign rights to a romance I wrote years ago.  Nothing like a little found money.  The novella I sold to Ellora’s Cave has been kicked up which means it’ll be published June 20, four days before Going Down comes out from Aphrodisia.  All I have to do is figure out how to work the promotion..  No pub date for the novella Loose ID bought but I’ve completed the first round of edits and put in the cover request.  And I can’t remember if I mentioned that I’m going to be in the next Aphrodisia Cowboy anthology.  That’s #3 for me.  Plan to write that after I get this book I’m working on out of the way–except I kinda promised my EC editor a quickie 

So, getting ready to sign off, how about some suggestions on how to clear my head?  I don’t do antihistamines because they wrap me in cotton.  Lots of fluids I’m already doing.  Rest?  My body’s all for that.

Vonna the pathetic   www.VonnaHarper.com

 The mind is an incredible thing.  I occasionally entertain the possibility that it might wear out the way my body is, but so far it keeps chugging along.  Infrequently, I check the fluid levels and clean the windshield, but I’ve never needed a new transmission or tires.  (note to self, get tires rotated)

A couple examples of this well-running machine (no matter what anyone says to the contrary, this is my story and I’m sticking to it).  Not long ago an unexpected writing opportunity fell in my lap.  I’m in the middle of an 80k story for Aphrodisia so haven’t been mentally searching for new material.  In other words, except for Untamed, the brain is blank which is how it best operates.  Then along came this new gig and with it a need for at least the faintest hint of a plot and characters. (funny how fiction is like that)  Two days after hearing about the opportunity, I was talking to a professional horseman who had just taken on the challenge of training a wild mustang for an upcoming competition.  For an hour we sat in his living room with the sound on his TV muted and my mother snoring while he enriched me with his knowledge of horse psychology.  As I drove home, I rolled down the windows, cranked up my favorite country and western radio station and grinned.  I had it!!!  The core of what I’m going to write about.  Thanks for the shot to the gray matter, Harry.

The other recent example of my faithfully producing brain: I’m writing Untamed by the seat of my pants.  I know and love my characters and absolutely adore the setting.  I believe I’ve nailed the major conflict.  It’s the twists and turns that keep me and hopefully readers turning pages that I haven’t nailed down.  Or rather I hadn’t until this week.  That’s when I turned the plot holes over to my subconscious as I was falling asleep.  The upshot of that process is that I wake in the middle of the night feeling as if I’ve walked into the middle of a conversation.  I’m not sure who is doing the talking, a couple of virtual critique partners for lack of a better explanation.  The latest conversation went something like this: 

     “You must have had a reason for having that dark fog surround your shape-shifting hero.”

     “I just wanted to add a moody-broody quality to the scene.”

     “No you didn’t.  You had something else in mind.”

     “I did?”

    “Of course you did.  How many times do I have to tell you, everything has a reason in fiction.  How about, hey, how about this.  You’ve explained how the shape-shifting takes place so it makes sense that the fog is the catalist for the shift.”

    “You’ve got my interest.”

    “Of course I do.  Don’t I always?  Hey, how about this?  What if the fog also serves as the connection to the past you need?  Your heroine is an archeologist.  You want her to find something incredible.  The fog wants certain historical questions answered so it leads your heroine to a rich historical site, with the hero along for the ride of course.”

   “No one’s going to buy that a chunk of fog can do that.”

   “You’ve already had shape-shifters in other stories and readers haven’t laughed you out of the bookstore.  Get cracking.”

Okay, so maybe I’m paraphrasing but that’s pretty much what happened last night.  Before, I had all these plot pieces sitting there looking like a mass of twine after a bunch of cats had gotten to it and now its pretty much untangled and well on its way to becoming a beautiful sweater.  Now if I can just stay awake.

Question of the day: does your brain ever jump up and do something totally unexpected and exciting?

Vonna     www.VonnaHarper.com  

So as I understand it, Sunday is our kick back, put our feet up, flex fingers and see what comes out day. Hey, beats getting at the revisions I told myself I’d do today while watching the Yankees and Mariners out of the corner of my eye.

Just a short note to say I’m hoping, hoping, hoping our beloved agent Laura will have nailed down a certain something in a few days so I can spread the news. This is one of those, “Neat, didn’t see that one coming” things.

Okay, back to the salt mines–but not for long because it’s a beautiful day.

Vonna

www.VonnaHarper.com

   I feel a deadline breathing down my back so this is going to be short, but dang it, I’m getting excited.  In less than a week, April 29th to be exact, my novella Breeding Season will hit the stands in the Kensington Aphrodisia anthology called Only With A Cowboy.  The cover, ah the cover!  I’m going to try to upload it here but in case that doesn’t work, here’s the important details.  Except for the title which is yellow and our names (P.J. Mellor, Melissa MacNeal, and me, Vonna Harper) in white, it’s all a dusty blue.  What shows–and is the only thing that matters–is this hunky torso of a cowboy.  At least we assume its a cowboy because he’s wearing a cowboy hat and has a length of rope slung across his neck.  The poor man doesn’t have a shirt–maybe the local cowgirls ripped it off him.  His jeans are unsnapped and the zipper at half mast.  The fabric over right knee is torn and ragged, leaving skin exposed, darn it.  Can’t see the left knee but hopefully it’s a matching set.

I have to share how my contribution came about.  My editor asked if I’d like to contribute to the anthology so of course I jumped at the chance.  But the truth is, although I was raised in the country, had a horse (or rather she had me) and belonged to 4-H, I don’t know nuttin about busting no broncs or whatever it is they do on ranches.  But a dear friend is married to a fifth generation beef rancher so I picked Gail’s brain.  No surprise, what grabbed my attention was the breeding part of the operation, specifically those massive bulls that are about twice the size of steers and singleminded.  Hmm, I thought, what if the hero’s bull got loose and stormed ripe for action in the middle of the heroine’s cows?  I’m not going to give away the plot.  Let’s just say that h/h are inspired by the bull’s aggression and the cows’ willingness.  Not a particularly serious tale but one I had a blast writing.

Okay, back to the salt mines but first a question.  On your personal hunk scale, where do cowboys rate? 

Vonna

www.VonnaHarper.com

A spring morning to you all.  It’s been a couple of weeks, I think, since I last posted.  It’d be fun to say all kinds of exciting things have been happening but mostly I’ve given my brain a break.  Say, that’s my explanation for how little I’ve accomplished, at least outwardly, and I’m sticking to it.  I’d finished an 80k story for Kensington Aphrodisia and right after, I wrote a couple of 20k novellas which are now sitting on two different e-editors. (Is there such a thing).  I also did a revision of a romantic suspense proposal I’m hoping Laura can find a home for.  Now there’s another Aphrodisiia deadline staring at me which means time to get cracking. 

But truth be known, my brain was worn out.  I had tiny bits and pieces of stuff rattling around in my skull that I might or might not find useful when it came to writing the sucker.  Such as:  1. setting, remote and stark.  2.  Some paranormal.  3.  Two rough and raw characters.  4.  Noir feeling.  (Okay, I’m not sure what qualifies as noir so maybe I should stick with moody/broody.   5.  A personal writing challenge.

So what’s the problem you might ask.  Given those huge chunks of stuff, why didn’t I write Chapter One and get cracking?  Because I didn’t know the beginning, middle, or end.  Because I have no background on my characters.  Because it takes a plot to supply 80,000 words.  I started where I usually do, by hitting my head against my desk.  No, really, I went online and read RT looking for examples of erotica that got my attention.  I’ve read more sample chapters, blurbs, and reviews than I can possibly keep straight.  I dove into my personal research library and found my setting in a picture book on Canyon de Chelly which is in Arizona.  Stark and beautiful with a rich, rich history and mystique.  Somewhere in there a hero started slinking around the edges of my consciousness.  I deliberately say ’slinking’ because he’s catlike, a cougar shapeshifter.  A female character started whispering of her need for roots and a sense of belonging, a restless soul.  Both characters, I discovered from talking to them, have many of the same holes.  They’re loners.  They don’t trust, sometimes not even themselves.  They aren’t particularly civilized, particularly the man.  And the plot is starting to gel, thanks in part to one of those “where did that brilliant idea come from” moments I had somewhere between 1 and 3 a.m. last night.  I’ve been beating around the plot, trying to take it down one road but not getting far enough.  Then suddenly that part of my brain I have no control over jumped up, yelling, “Turn her motivation around.  Make this, not that, her goal.”  And yeah, now we’re getting somewhere.

I’d love to take credit for that middle of the night lightbulb moment, but I know what, in part, led to it.  A member of my local writers’ group is into screenplays and took a screenwriting class taught by Cynthia Witcomb who makes a damn good living as a screenwriter AND is a top-notch instructor.  She told her class, “Turn your plot on its ears.  Come at it from new directions.”  Fantastic advise!

And I’m outta here because I’m eager to get going on my character sketches and synopsis.

For the other writers out there, has there been one piece of writing advise that resonated the most with you?

Vonna

www.VonnaHarper.com   

This morning my husband and I are going to jump in our son’s 4-wheel drive and head into the mountains–unless the upcoming storm pushes its deadline.  We have a meeting at a lakeside lodge, and even with the weather breathing down our necks, I’m looking forward to the drive.  We have a cabin at the other side of the lake but don’t try to get into it in the winter.  The lodge is just fine, thank you very much.  I love getting out of the valley and being surrounded by evergreens and snow, slowing down and putting civilization behind me.  When I was a child, my mother, sister, and I lived in what had once been a gold mining camp and stayed alive because of the logging and the memories of those trips are still with me.  With my mother driving, I’d stare out the window and imagine all kinds of wonderful adventures: on the run from faceless bad guys, part of a search and rescue team, tracking elk with the rest of my tribe, etc.  In my imagination, I was more at home in the wilderness than any town, could move soundlessly and leave no tracks. 

My writing gene was nourished during those drives, especially my love of adventure, and if I don’t have to keep an eye out for snow plows or idiot drivers tomorrow, I intend to slip back in time and again become that child with the dream of becoming a writer.

For me, there’s something magical about being alone in the car for a long trip, stereo cranked up with my favorite CDs going full blast. A couple of years ago I was making a 12 hour round trip about every month to see my mother, and although my eyes and rear end protested, my mind was a happy camper.

Question: where do you go to court the muse?

Vonna,  www.vonnaharper.com

Hmm. My post made it but not the picture. I’ll give it one more shot.

Vonna

Morning all.  This is my first post on our improved site so if three are goofs, its because I’m slow on the uptake.  Looks simple enough but I have a tendency to miss steps when it comes to directions.

First up, last week I talked about the hours my mother and I spent in the emergency room getting her some much-needed attention.  As an update, she spent three days (and nights which is necessary to qualify for Medicare payments) in the hospital and is now in a nursing home.  Sorry but I really, really hate those places.  From what I’m seeing, she’s getting good care, particularly physical therapy, and is emerging from the fog she disappeared into while in the hospital.  But this is her second stint in a home and memories of the first one when she completely lost her mind remain vivid.  Granted, back then she was on major pain meds which she isn’t now, but I’m still nervous.  Poor dear.  She has a broken ankle, thus making it obvious that she can’t go back to assisted living until she can stand unaided.  My sister is coming to see her next week, so much for our plans to finally take the responsibility for Mother’s care off her.

So, onto a few comments on an email I received somewhere around two weeks ago.  I’d submitted something to Loose-ID oh maybe a month ago, then lost track of it because of everything else that was going on.  The email congratulated me on my third sale to them!  Yeah!  It also included several editorial comments for suggested changes which made me hit myself upside my head because once again my editor’s right.  All the nagging concerns I tried to push under the rug in my desire to get Cougar’s Captive out of my computer and into hers are exactly what she zeroed in on.  Okay, okay, I admit it.  I ended CC too abruptly.  The opening dragged.  I need some male pov.  I don’t wanna do those things.  I want CC to be perfect the way it stands.  I want to think about what I want to do next for them, etc, etc.  At the same time, I’m jazzed because I know the revisions won’t take long and will result in a stronger book and I flat out love to write.  What a weird, weird business I’m firmly locked into.  The best part of writing is having written.  I can stall with the best of them.  But sometimes magic happens and I turn into this writing machine wherein the words pour out of me and I know they’re GOOD.  That’s going to happen when I carve out the time to do the CC revisions.  That needs to be my goal–focusing on the pure, primitive joy of creating something I’m proud of even if it means writing one damn word after another.

Vonna, off to see my mother and take one of my old romances to her sweetheart of a roommate who wants all my books to be about ‘girls’ marrying rich, handsome men.

At the moment of this writing (does that sound pretentious or what?), I’m working on my laptop while at our mountain cabin. Hopefully I’ll be able to figure out how to transfer the blog to my desktop and keep in pending or whatever its called until Saturday, my usual day to post here. I confess: every time I have to tackle a new technology trick, I get nervous. I acknowledge the challenge but don’t trust my ability to follow the directions. Does that make any kind of sense? Earlier this week I hammered together a new web site that looks as if it was done by a moderately bright eight-year-old and yet am inordinately proud of myself because it actually uploaded and is on the Internet.

So why am I mentioning this? Because there’s more to me than Vonna Harper, erotica writer. My mind goes off into all kinds of directions I have scant control over and that’s a challenge I absolutely adore. Case in point: if you have nothing better to do, check out www.VellaMunn.net for an example of those other directions. I was in the right place at the right time when a brave woman decided to launch Calderwood Publishing.

When she mentioned that she was looking for completed manuscripts, I dusted off an old romantic adventure I’d years ago thought Harlequin would buy. Wrong. I never lost faith in the story, it was just up against a lot of competition. It’s also about as far from erotic as a romance can be and not what readers expect from Vonna Harper.

But Summer Flames is going to see the light of day before the end of Sept when Calderwood launches. That’s a kick, to be in on the ground floor of a new venture. I’m not the one taking risks, I’m simply exploring whether what I believe is a decent story will find an audience.

Summer Flames has huge chunks of the real me in it, the country hick who would be happy if she never again stepped foot inside a city, who loves mountains and evergreens, who would risk her life protecting the wilderness. Both of my characters share the same commitment to trees and wildlife which gives them something vital in common. But my hero (who owns a chunk of private forest land) has legitimate reasons for not trusting the heroine’s family and therein lies the conflict. Well, one of the conflicts. There’s also the matter of timber thieves willing to kill to defend their illegal activities. And finally there’s the hint the title provides. Part of the flames connection comes from the budding relationship but not all. It’s late summer, the forest is dry. ‘Nough said.

I’d love it if once Calderwood is live, folks would take a gander around the site and let me know what they think. It’s all about a small business trying to make it, a dream coming true.

Vonna Harper