One beats and bleeds
And cries at night
It burns with passion
And yearns to fight

The other steadies
And bides its time
Unfeeling maybe
But never unkind

As one side contracts
And gushes blood
Its lifeforce spent
In waves of love

The other reigns in
Logic and air
Sustaining the beat
With rhythm and care

Both sides make up
One chambered whole
For one gives purpose
And the other soul

In times of peace
It’s fine to dream
To allow one’s heart
To yearn or scheme

But when crisis hits
You put it away
Switch off the flow
Let reason hold sway

For without both sides
One could never last
Either stoic as stone
Or burnt out too fast 


<sigh> Ok, so in addition to the sorting problem I mentioned in my previous post (I gave up and just went F/M/M) now I have ANOTHER issue of fit: my book is not a romantic comedy.

It has humor, yes. It is a parody, yes. It encourages self-deprecation and even includes thought-provoking discussion questions at the end of the book to talk about common romance tropes and how they might reflect our views on gender and the world.

Yet now that I read that last sentence, I guess I didn’t write romantic comedy after all? I wrote…um…humorously philosophical/self-reflective smut?

But there’s still sex in it, which apparently baffles folks because you can’t have sweet romance, pornographic scenes, humorous dialogue, AND self-deprecating self reflection of a silly genre all in one book. That’s not romance.

Right. So what did I write? I’d set myself up thinking “Yeah! I can finally admit I love romance novels and pursue my passions! Chart my course! Express myself!” I finished my book, thought I liked its message, and figured out how to self publish it. Then I started my romantic-minded blog, where I could also stow my ever-growing collection of lovesick poetry. I thought I had embraced romance, but now I see apparently I was only making fun of it and not embracing it at all.

Well, I suppose I’ll just have to self-reflect some more then. Gosh, if I had known romance were this hard I might have stuck to philosophy or something (is there sex in philosophy? I do kind of still want the sex).

Anyway – if you are reading this blog purely for the poetry fret not, you may always have it as I enjoy writing it and will continue to post it until I run out of inspiration to do so. I will not foist my silly, self-deprecating, philosophical smut upon your poor romantic souls, I promise.

Just don’t click the “Harper’s Works” button – I may have hit the nose on my book cover too much.

Challah Back Girl

I see you.
Oh, you tie me up in knots.
Your egg-yolk yellow braids beckon me.
so sweet
Your round, soft edges comfort me
The feeling of you in my hands
In my mouth
I would ravish you
Consume you in one night
In one sitting
Leaving not one crumb of you untouched
You don’t understand how much I desire you
How you make my mouth water
And my stomach growl
I long to rip you out of your covering
And just dig into you
Sinking my teeth into your tenderness
Until you fill my mouth
My tongue aches
I want you so badly
You don’t understand
The pain I feel
The hunger
As I turn my head away
And walk firmly past you
Pretending not to notice you beckoning
For my doctor has told me
I must not eat carbs
And I cannot cheat
With you
just yet


A mirror standing darkly
reflecting what I see
the best and worst of you
the dark and light in me

An anchor in the chaos
weighing me down with love
holding me against the current
while my bouyancy floats above

A foil, a fence, a partner
pushing against my hold
pulling me across the dance floor
urging me to be more bold

A magnet –polar opposite
yet intimately connected
two sides of one coin flipped
two roads turned intersected

A duelist who embraces
A cad who always cares
A fellow who makes faces
and doesn’t care who stares

My friend you may be a soulmate
Should we ever chance to meet
For I fear the reason no one finds them
is they forget to stop and simply greet

Sorting Dilemmas

Alright, I used to think labels were too restrictive and it was best to be simplistic, but now I’m trying to figure out whether or not I’ve sorted my own book right and honestly? No clue.

My heart wanted to sort it as F/M/M because I saw the book as one where the “fem” takes the lead. Period. Because I believe we don’t allow fem’s to take the lead as often so I felt that’s where I wanted it to go.

The problem I’m noticing with the sorting of romance in general though is we’re still associating these “F” & “M” letters with anatomy, I think. Because when I check out F/M/M book listings I always seem to end up in Lesbian Land – and while I love my Sapphic sisters and desperately wish to support them, that’s just not my thing. I like girls that peg boys, and I like boys that lean fem. That’s kinda just my jam? But everyone seems to think this is wrong in some way or that if a woman pegs a man it must file under “femdom” because obviously it’s a kink for her and not just making love (I would disagree but I respect femdoms as providing a needed service to the world, I just don’t feel my pegging scenes qualify).

I also read some discourse stating that a woman who “tops” (or “doms”, as apparently this is the only option for a cisgender woman pegging a cisgender male) threatens to cross the line of being too “mothering” if the man isn’t crazy for her in return? I feel like if you’re “topping” anyone who isn’t interested in you, you’re more in danger of crossing the line of “rape”? That is not the purpose of the BDSM community I know, either. These people are professionals – they get consent right.

So not quite sure where this mothering bit comes into play. Also it feels like the whole dom/sub relationship already has elements of caretaking that could easily seem odd. I mean, if there are “Daddies” in sex roleplay, but no one runs around screaming “pedophile” at them, are Sugar Mama’s really not a thing? Has no one met cougars?

Furthermore I honestly don’t think you have to peg/penetrate to top (*gasp* I know, I’m truly, truly twisted and sick) – I think by definition a “top” is the person focused on “giving” during the act of sex. They are the one ensuring their partner is taken care of, since honestly speaking achieving mutual orgasm at the same time is no easy feat. The “bottom” is then the one being taken care of, so that they can find release and let go of their tension/stress. If we’re presuming that in Straight Land the position of “top” is always the man…then why do so many straight women fail to achieve orgasm? Are we truly teaching men to “top” or are we telling them they’re “top” and allowing them to just take all the pleasure for themselves? That feels wrong to me, especially when I know many men are gentle lovers who honestly wish to give their lady pleasure they just need more direction as to how to do so (and many women simply need to learn how to give said directions a bit better, perhaps).

So I will continue to sort my book in F/M/M for now. Others may challenge me, or maybe it will not find the best audience, but until we can figure out this whole lettering system maybe we should all pause and figure out whether we really require souls/energy or anatomy for our romantic endeavors?

Who is Harper Daily?

Excellent question – I’m still asking that myself!

A long time ago on a little website called OkCupid I met a boy. Not just any boy, however – a beautiful, thoughtful, considerate, giggling boy who when asked admitted he had no interest in my lovely décolletage but instead felt attracted by my personality – like really? Who says that?

After a few months we moved in together and spent a blissful year in absolute hell.

We shared a small apartment too tiny for our tempers (and my cats) in a rough neighborhood where the sounds of mugging could be heard as we opened the window for natural A/C at night. Both of us struggled to work/find work and make ends meet. We felt awful, we fought, and for one dreadful moment I thought, “This might be the end.”

Then this brilliant, sensitive, kind soul marched back into the room and asked, “I love you. How do we make this work?”

(again – where do these words come from?)

We sat, worked it out, and decided the problems in our lives had nothing to do with each other and everything to do with the shitty city we lived in. After venting our frustrations we hatched a plot to move far, far away to someplace less crowded that allowed dogs (cats are overrated, I have been told – especially for apartment living).

The rest, as they say, is history. We found jobs, worked those for awhile, adopted our first dog together, eventually managed to settle into our own home, and after five years of realizing this quiet soul had no intention of pushing my own stupid fear of commitment too far I made a decision.

I proposed. At our favorite bar. Over a board game. Like a boss.

We wed in a fabulous, low budget affair that barely anyone attended and have lived mostly happily ever after.

Except now I struggle with my deep, exponentially growing love for this man who continues to surprise and delight me every day of our lives. I can’t possibly show him how desperately I adore him, because that might scare him away – and I now realize he is my soulmate I cannot possibly live without.

Hence I started writing – poems, love notes, whimsical conversations, and eventually three full romance novels which I decided to publish in the hopes maybe some other lovesick fool might find them and feel inspired.

For I find romance very inspiring. It reminds me each day what I have to be grateful for – and it soothes me when the rest of the world may drive me mad.


Mine is a shotgun


Only a couple barrels of ammo

Packed with the birdshot

Of a thousand pecks and jabs

Holding it in

Until finally the trigger pulls

and BAM!

@#!$ you

Yours is a submachine

Constant, steady

An endless supply of small frustrations

Spitting out anger

Into anything that crosses your path

Never ceasing

Until finally the clip empties

and click


I couldn’t love an unarmed person

Your temper keeps it fair

Makes us stronger

Because expectations make us angry

And so long as I expect

And you expect


Then all we have to do my love

is learn to


Books & Bottomless Pits

As a new author I was directed towards this website:

I honestly hadn’t heard of it before (again, not the most tech savvy girl) however it intrigued me – hordes of books on shelves? Displayed like badges of honor amongst fellow bookworms? Ooooh, that sounds delightful.

However it has honestly been so long for me since I sat down and really thought about what books I’ve read that I wasn’t sure what to do about it. As an author I realized that book reviews give one a sense of accomplishment like little love notes from fans. Yet it had been ages since I had read most of my favorite titles, and I had SO MANY – what to do?

So I sticky-noted my way through it.

Bit lazy of me, I’ll admit. But I tried. You’ll notice if you review my shelves (which I am still playing with the sorting of, sorting is very fun) I’ve jotted down a few thoughts/feelings here and there as best I can while still trying to manage the large horde of books which likely represent only a tiny fraction of things I have actually read.

Anyway – shameless plug time, if you go check out the site please do remember to leave your favorite author’s little love notes. Writing can be a lonely business with no water cooler or break room to chat with folks and hence sometimes this may be the only interaction a poor scribe ever gets.