In past posts, I've shared many of my interests: my family, gardening, pets (past, present), my nomadic childhood, and my "careers". However, I seldom mention my background in perfuming.
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Of course, sensory details (all of the senses) are important--a critical key in the "realisum" of your story.
I am not a chemist. However, I am a trained fragrance consultant.
This is a science. A client's pH level is determined, and fragrances are selected based on this (and, of course, personal preferences).
An author (including a fiction writer) is heavily involved in research and personal experiences. Some good; some negative.
In Gumbo Ya Ya (anthology), my story is set in New Orleans, Louisiana.
My first story involves a newly created perfume — an unexpectedly developed "Love Potion". 😉💖
While I love the premise and the characters in my story, love potions (thankfully) are not real.
Taste, touch, and smell are grounding elements of any good story. A reader is familiar with the taste/scent of a cup of coffee or tea. The scent of freshly cut hay, the sound of a dog barking. The scent of a sea breeze.
Or, the fragrances wafting from a rose garden.
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| Connie's garden photo, 2023 |
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| Connie's garden roses 2023 |
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| Connie's Rose Garden 2023 |
Roses are my favorite flowers in my garden.
The fragrance of a rose is a complex symphony of volatile organic compounds, a blend of a sweet, floral base accented by notes of fruit, spice, and even earthy undertones.
Long ago, men of rank had their mattresses filled with dried rose petals.
Rose notes may vary considerably from one to another, depending on where the rose was grown and who extracted its essence.
To quote, Sawyer, Odorgraphia, 1892
It has been noticed that previous to a storm, or atmospheric disturbance, the odor of the rose seems strangely increased; this may be by reason of the oxidizing influence of the ozone in the atmosphere, or it may be that our perception faculties are sharpened at such a moment.
Around the world, rose essence has been used to flavor both sweet and savory dishes, and it was an important ingredient in early ginger ale recipes.
Simple Recipe for Rose Hip Tea:
4 (8 g) Rose Hubuscuis tea bags.
4 cups hot water
4 cups cranberry juice, chilled
1 lemon, sliced.
Add tea bags to hot water; steep for 10 mins. Add remaining ingredients and chill. Add ice to chilled glasses.
Excerpt |Teaser "Love Potion #9" Gumbo Ya Ya by Connie Vines
“Don’t shake your finger at me, Simone Basso. I know what I’m doing.” Persia Richmond said, filling a half-ounce bottle with perfume. The warm scent of spice, magnolia, mimosa, and a hint of something unnamed and mysterious wafted across the narrow processing room.
The fragrance was New Orleans; culture at its most upscale moments and Mardi Gras at its naughtiest! A smile of supreme joy curved her mouth, and success warmed her soul.
Persia had dreamt of creating a signature fragrance since her grandpapa began her tutelage in perfuming.
“I’ve done warned you and warned you about messing with love potions!”
“You worry too much, Simone,” she replied, rearranging her test tubes. “This is a perfume. Nothing more, nothing less.“
Simone’s brightly turbaned head caught Louisiana sunlight streaming through the perfumery’s large display window as she rested her hands on her ample hips. “Menterie. It’s a love potion.”
“I’ve extracted essences from bayou plants before, and you didn’t object.”
“You be using flowers then. Not that root! That root be from a voodoo love-plant!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Simone. There’s no such thing as a voodoo love-plant!” Persia glanced at the shavings of the rust-colored root she’d placed in a circular dish for processing. “This root is almost identical to cinnamon bark.”
“Then why you not be using cinnamon bark?”
Persia cast a cautionary look toward the showroom doorway. Mindful of the clients, Persia lowered her voice. “You know as well as I that every major perfuming house used cinnamon bark or vanilla as a fragrance base last year. Do you want me branded as a knock-off perfumer? If that happens, not only will we lose the shop, but I won’t even be able to land a job developing scented toilet paper.”
Simone shivered when Persia pressed on. “’This is our breakout fragrance. “That’s why it’s so important that this perfume be unique, beyond comparison. Love Potion #9 is going to blow away the competition.”
“Sugar-cakes,” Simone said, eyeing the glass bottle and its shimmering contents with misgivings. “It’s gonna do more than that! You have no idea what that root can do to folks.”
Dabbing a piece of cotton with perfume, Persia slipped it inside her bra and tucked the fragrance sample into her purse. “The ad campaign breaks next month. We can argue about this tomorrow. Tonight I plan to get a head start on our local promo.”
“Bayou country means nothing but trouble for you. If your grandpapa was still alive—“
“I don’t want to talk about grandpapa or the bayou right now,” she snapped, “Chardonnay sets trends in this city,” she reminded Simone. “What better way to showcase our product than for me to model it at her party?”
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After being escorted into the Dubois’s foyer by the butler, her host turned from a cluster of his guests to greet her.
“Persia,” Jean-Paul exclaimed, kissing her briefly on each cheek in old Creole fashion. “So good of you to come. Ummm, you smell delightful, my dear.”
She smiled. “Grandpapa always said perfume is like a rousing concerto. The bouquet is made up of notes: the top note, the first impression, the mid note piques one’s curiosity, and finally, the base note. The final note is the fragrance’s lasting impression.”
“It’s good to see that you are carrying on his work,” Jean-Paul said, cupping her elbow and leading her toward the ballroom. “He would be so proud of you.”
“I’ve tried hard to fulfill his dreams, Jean-Paul.”
“I know you have. And you will. Your grandpapa always said you were a natural for the industry. I believe he said you have the nose for the fragrance.”
“I should. He spent a lifetime tutoring me. I could probably identify more fragrances than there are plants in the bayou.”
Jean-Paul stopped as they wandered into the grand ballroom filled with New Orleans polite society. He drew her fingertips to his lips. “I must remain here to greet the guests, so I’ll turn you over to my wonderful wife,” he added. “I know how much you hate being away from the city. Even so, Persia, don’t stay away so long.”
“I promise.” Jean-Paul was her grandfather’s dearest friend, and for a moment, as the warmth of his love surrounded her, it was as if her grandfather was near. The disquiet she felt at being so close to the bayou faded away as she turned toward Chardonnay.
Chardonnay gave Persia a friendly hug and looped her arm in hers. Persia always admired Chardonnay’s thick black hair and expressive green eyes. It wasn’t envy, but rather an appreciation of the woman’s ability to cause a ripple of excitement without ever saying a word. “I was so worried after you and that Cajun broke up,” she said, “but it’s so good to see you’ve recovered. And now, look at you! Your shop is all the talk of New Orleans. Tell me what magic you have worked with those flowers of yours this time?”
Before Persia could get past describing the perfume’s signature bottle, the melodious bells chimed, signaling dinner.
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To purchase Gumbo Ya Ya and my other novels, visit the links below.
"Lynx" Rodeo Romance, Book 1, is also available in audiobook via Amazon.com
Happy Reading!
Connie Vines
Please post your favorite flower and perfume in the comments section.
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