Our World By the Numbers by Vonnie Davis

I've shared my plight with you in previous posts. An editor who wanted me to dummy down my writing for the millennials. Is it that I don't know my market or she doesn't? Stick with me ladies, there's more to my tale.

Perhaps too much attention is being paid to the numbers. Publishers want books that are overnight best sellers. You know, the ones that hit the USA Today Best Seller list the first week after they're released. Dream on, I tell myself. I'm lucky if I break the top one-hundred on Amazon.

I'll never be a best seller out of the gate or after a long stroll. My books take awhile to build a following. But eventually, they do. I just got a gift card in the email for a restaurant from a reader who says she's read my books several times. I cried. My sales might not be fabulous, but my readers are. My publisher, however, wants instant success, a mercurial rise to the top of the ratings. With me, that's not happening.

For example, take my Black Eagle Ops series. Based on pre-orders of just over 120 for book one, my publisher had decided the series wouldn't do well. Book two had already been turned in, so they told me they wouldn't want book three unless they were surprised by sales. Shortly after that, I got an email from my editor that over 500 reviewers/readers had requested book one, HER SURVIVOR, on NetGalley and wasn't that awesome? I'd have close to 500 reviews. I just scoffed. What world does she live in? These people were looking for a free read, what reviews they do post are super low and downright nasty. My book released with 26 reviews. Where were the other 474? Sales have been poor and have just topped a thousand copies (would they be higher if 500 copies hadn't been given away on NetGalley?). Whatever. In my publisher's eyes, this series is a failure.

I need a book to fulfill my three-book contract. As I told you before, our flight home from granddaughter's wedding provided me with a story idea. I submitted it to the publisher. I was told to keep the plot thin. I did.

I was told to keep my humor down. I tried.

I was told to submit every chapter to my editor so she could see I was keeping on track. I bristled. Oh, ladies, I was mad as hades! I'm not some errant child to be constantly checked on.

After I'd sent in my sixth chapter, my editor called me. She and her superior didn't think I could write this book per their guidelines. What I'd written in her superior's words was "a parody of every erotic book out there with a hero that was a hoot!" NOW, I was in bitch mode. My jaws ached from keeping them closed. I wanted to voice my opinion so much, I'd kicked off my flip-flops, ready to do battle.

She continued, "We're doing you a dis-service by making you write in a different way. Your humor is your voice. But your humor doesn't work well in contemporaries where readers expect reality." I thought of my Wild Heat series with another publisher that's doing fairly well, even with my off-the-wall sense of humor...and kept my big mouth shut.

"We'd like you to write more bear shifters. We checked your numbers and were shocked. You've sold over twenty thousand of each book in the series. Your sales are slow, but steady. You've got a following there. Besides, in paranormal romance you don't have rules to follow. Your humor fits that sub-genre."

I was thrilled! I could keep Effie alive, my readers' favorite character. I'd always planned for Highlanders Beloved to be a longer series. I had my heroes already in place. My ear may have been pressed to the phone, but my mind was racing ahead with plotting and planning.

"This will be a spin-off, you can use the romantic couple you'd set up in book three of the original series, but place them in another location. You won't be able to use Effie," my editor continued. I could hear the hissing of air escaping my red balloon of excitement. "I know how you love to create secondary characters, but keep the plot focused on the heroine and hero. Okay?" More hissing of air. "Oh, and no magical elements. Only bear shifters." Empty, floppy balloon fluttered to the floor.

I submitted my vision for the series and four paragraphs about each book as requested. It was approved, although the titles were changed. So, I'm working on chapter one of SHIFTERS OF SONAS ISLE: Kendric. Now Kendric was a police detective in the original series and will be a law enforcement officer in this series, as well--a sheriff. So, knowing I can't use Effie or many side characters...hehehe....well an idea occurred. A sheriff needs a deputy. Right? Right! Enter Arlo Rogers, the Highland version of Barney Fife. Have I got a lot planned for this American character with an eye for any sway of a skirt.

If you'd like to read how my humor doesn't work in contemporary romance, FOR THE LOVE OF A FIREMAN is only 99cents. http://a.co/0qAhfNn 

"But I Don't Write Erotic!" I Gasped.

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from Long and Short Reviews (LASR) that they'd reviewed one of my books, For the Love of a Fireman. They ranked this romantic comedy four and a half stars and wrote a lovely review. I was pleased because I knew the rating would make it eligible for voting as book of the month. Yay me!

Part of the review read:

"This book has it all – humor, excitement, a bit if heavy hitting drama, romance, some eccentric but adorable characters, rambunctious dogs and last but not least, sexy shenanigans. For the Love of a Fireman is complete entertainment.

When I got this book, I had no idea there was BDSM in it, but the premise sounded so good, I took a chance. I’m happy to say that it’s light BDSM, and the heroine was the one being introduced to it. I actually liked how the author presented it, explored it between her characters and made it about emotions, trust and other positives that helped Barclay and Molly’s relationship grow. Because the lifestyle is a tad unconventional, the author used it as part of the internal plot conflict. It worked.

For the Love of a Fireman is truly delightful. It’s sexy, funny and warmhearted with just the right amount of external conflict to keep a reader engaged and fascinated. I had an awesome time reading this novel and have no problem recommending it to other romance readers. The story is that good."

Most of you realize I'm known for writing with the bedroom door wide open, if the characters even make it to the bedroom. To me, this is real life. I'd wanted to try a bit of Domination and submission, or D/s in my story. So I did. I didn't go into it heavily. I approached it more philosophically and with strong doses of humor. Most readers liked it. A few reviewers said they didn't. Such is life.

This was also a book that was never edited. I emailed it to my editor at HarperImpulse and she sent it on through the pipeline. Two weeks before release, I was frantic waiting for my edits to arrive, so I emailed her. "Where are my edits?"

"Your books are always so lovely, I didn't feel the need to edit, I just sent it on through." GASP! Lovely? Nothing I write is lovely or grammatically correct or plot hole free. Dear Lord, help me, I'm going to have an unedited book floating around out there. The final book of the series was never edited either! *bangs head on desk*

All that aside, I got an email from LASR on June 30th. For the Love of a Fireman  is up for Erotic Book of the Month. Erotic! But I don't write erotic! All I did was sprinkle in some references to Domination and submission. Okay, so they may have been some hot sprinkles, but we don't need to go there.

Won't I be pleased as punch to promote the upcoming vote? The winner of Erotic Book of the Month will be announced tomorrow. Honestly, I don't know how I get myself into these messes. I'm not fit to be left alone.

Take the past couple of weeks, for example. My editor at Random House and I have been going round and round about a single title she wants me to write based on Calvin's and my experience traveling home from our granddaughter's wedding. Our flight was delayed, then changed to another gate in a difference concourse, and finally cancelled. My mind got to working...two strangers in an airport, eager to get home...their flight gets cancelled...they start talking...and then. By the time Calvin and I got to our hotel room provided by the airline, I'd had chapter one roughed out in my mind. Chapter two was formed by the time I'd showered and collapsed between the sheets. The story was flowing out. A great sign, right?

I sent my editor the first three chapters. She "said" she loved it and passed it onto her boss who said she had some concerns. My over-the-top descriptions, for one. My humor, secondly. My use of polysyllabic words. Couldn't I "dummy it down"?

My humor and over-the-top descriptions are part of my voice. As for using polysyllabic words, how many times have we all looked up a word in the dictionary? Our vocabulary levels are enriched by the experience. But I know not all readers have a dictionary, much less one nearby or on their eReaders.

So I toned down my descriptions. I removed most of my humor. I used simple sentences, avoiding compound and complex ones. I used words I felt everyone should know. I sent the dummied version back.

It was returned.

They didn't like my title. No problem. I've had nearly every title I've chosen changed. It's not my strong suit. I accept that. They didn't like my characters' names down to the dentist the heroine worked for and told me what to use. I could feel my undies bunch and twist. Choosing names does not come easily for an author. My description of the heroine's hair frizzing like Marge Simpson's had to go. I loved the visual. I still had too much humor. Then they changed my plot. Grrrr! They wanted the abusive ex-boyfriend to approach the heroine, give his smarmy apologies and promises, and for her to vacillate between the hero, who's treated her well and the jerk. I couldn't see writing about a smart, sassy woman for three-fourths of the book only to have her turn into an easily conflicted, indecisive woman. Surely the reader wouldn't buy it.

I was livid.

I wrote an email stating what I would change and what I wouldn't. I told them what my characters' names would be AND my plotline. I left it percolate for two days, taking a little of the venom out each day. Meanwhile, the publisher had evidently put the book on their release calendar. I sent a calmer version of my original email. My editor replied that all was good, giving me the date I'd need to have the manuscript to her and it's release date. "Oh," she wrote, "Make sure it's erotic."

Erotic Dead Faint

For the Love of a Fireman is on sale for .99 -- https://amzn.com/B00PV4YCXG

Throw me a great Hook and reel me in! by Vonnie Davis

I love a great opening hook. The quirkier the opening line or first couple of paragraphs, the better.

Once my eyes float over the words Chapter One, widen them with something unexpected. Grab me by the throat and show me I'm going to be in for a great read. Oh, not something frightful...but unexpectedly delightful. Humorous. Passionate. Heartrending. Sigh-worthy. And, baby, I'm yours!

Remember, when we were taught in public school to incorporate who, what, when, where, and why into our openings? Or am I dating myself? Why bog down our opening prose with details that could be sprinkled in later like those pretty multi-colored sprinkles on a cupcake?

I like to think of my opening scene. Play it out in my mind. Hear the dialog or feel the emotion. Watch the character or characters and begin the story mid-scene--at the best part. The part I hope will hook the reader and won't allow them to stop reading. For example, For the Love of a Fireman begins like this:

“Quick! What aisle are the douches in? I’ve got three bitches at the beach cottage and they all stink to high heaven.”

The male customer is talking about his dogs and the female sales clerk thinks he's a dog, talking about his girlfriends. The misunderstanding goes on for pages. This comes from page two. 

The customer lifted his blue ball cap with some kind of marine rescue emblem on it, forked his long fingers through straight hair—bleached nearly pale blond by the sun—and resettled the hat. “You do carry Massengill, don’t you? That’s the best brand, according to my research.”

“Ah…” My God, what kind of man researches douches? A man who goes to bed with three women, Molly. Now concentrate.
 
Sometimes, it takes two or three paragraphs like it did in A Highlander’s Passion.

Kenzie Denune pedaled the bicycle harder, her thighs burning from the exertion. Thanks to a car that refused to start, she was going to be late fer her job interview at Iverson Loch Manor. Grunting and pounding from the shrubs ahead, near the road’s edge, snagged her attention.

Naked shoulders glistened in the afternoon sun. Back muscles bulged and undulated with every thrust. “Bloody hell. Come fer me. Come.”

In all of Mathe Bay in the Scottish Highlands, only one deep masculine voice had the power to raise the hair on her arms like this. A man with braided russet-colored hair that brushed broad shoulders inked with a bear’s claw marks, woven into an intricate tribal design—Bryce Matheson. Damn him to hell. Who’s he shagging in broad daylight? Out in the open, no less. Has he no shame?

I can’t tell you the number of times I rewrote the following opening hook to get it just right. It’s the first paragraph of Storm’s Interlude, part of a multi-genre romance bundle, benefitting the Wounded Warrior Project. For 99 cents, these five full-length books are a great deal. Here’s my hook:

Someone swaggered out of the moonlit night toward Rachel Dennison. Exhausted from a long day of driving, she braked and blinked. Either she was hallucinating or her sugar levels had plummeted. Maybe that accounted for the male mirage, albeit a very magnificent male mirage, trekking toward her. She peered once more into the hot July night at the image illuminated by her headlights and the full moon. Sure enough, there he was, cresting the hill on foot—a naked man wearing nothing but a tan cowboy hat, a pair of boots and a go-to-hell sneer.

 BUY LINK: http://amzn.com/B0181NC92E

I Prefer My Black Moments Grey or Blue by Vonnie Davis

Writing a believable and emotionally stirring black moment takes skill. Try as I might, I don't have it. Maybe because I don't enjoy ripping apart a couple I've worked so hard to bring together.

I prefer what I call grey moments, where an outside influence tears the lovers apart. Let's say a criminal or mentally unstable abductor, or a conniving ex-spouse, or even a health issue. Simply put: external influences.

Sometimes couples realize their goals in life are just too different, their likes too dissimilar or their life-long habits too grating on the other person's nerves. It's a slow realization that this relationship, no matter how much they care for each other or how strong the physical chemistry, just won't work for the long haul. To me, these are blue moments because the couple involved are emotionally suffering over the potential end of their togetherness.

They're not explosive black moments. I've read a zillion of those and I think for God's sake, talk to each other. Be honest. Be sincere. Be mature.

So a well-written argument or situation that drives the two apart has to be strong. For me, instant relationship killers are infidelity, abuse or stealing. But editors want us to shy away from those things. Romance, we're told involves that black moment. And I'm so poor at it. In some stories, it almost flows into place and settles, like the last piece of a puzzle. Unfortunately, I can count those times on three fingers.

Yet, we all know the path of true love is never smooth--or colorless. It's black, grey, blue--or rosy pink. Take book two of my "Wild Heat" series for HarperImpulse. This couple has a lot of big and little things playing against them. They've both been hurt by the things life can throw at you and are afraid to truly love. Yet love charges in the door along with the hero's three rescue dogs.

BUY LINK: http://amzn.com/B00PV4YCXG