Author: annabowling

Sicko

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For most of the last few days, I have been a lump under the blanket in the recliner. On Thursday night, I felt a suspicious tingle on my bottom lip. I’ve had enough of those to know what that meant: cold sore.

I hate cold sores. They’re painful. They’re  ugly. They sap my energy. They present a lot of complications for a lipstick loving tea drinker who was looking forward to pizza on Friday night. Until the scab drops, it’s goodbye to all of that and hello to ibuprofen and ointment and a brain whose new hobby is flitting off without me. In a word, not fun. Okay, those were two words.

Because I am me, the need to rest took a while to sink in. Friday, I did laundry and then hied myself off to the local CVS because all the ibuprofen in our house had expired last month. Saturday, I decided that I was feeling up to running the weekly errands with Housemate. I found out fairly quickly into that trip that I was not. I take some comfort in knowing I was mildly entertaining, and that I did have the presence of mind to replace toothbrush and two out of three lip products.

The adventure of Saturday errands over, I retreated to my recliner and blankey, played the Sims 4 game time demo until I’d exhausted the time allotted (will probably get the game with the next computer, but it’s a bit much for the current machine, as well as a more cartoony game than I generally like) watched DVDs, napped a lot, and wrote.

Today, I’m venturing out, ahead of the big snowstorm barreling our way, to meet SueAnn Porter for a write-in. I’m going to miss the tea, mightily, and spend my time sucking seltzer or iced tea, if I can make myself order that when it’s eleven degrees out and we will be buried under a blanket of white by nightfall. I have no idea what I’m actually going to be writing today.  Hopefully something Her Last First Kiss related, but if it ends up as freewriting or something else, that’s okay, too. I’m allowed a partial sick day.

Even when I feel like horse poop that’s been crushed by a steamroller, there’s still that part of me that wants to drag out of the energy-free sludge and head off to story world, because that’s my natural environment. So, the HLFK notebook goes into my bag, along with a fountain pen, because writing with those always feels like a special treat, and I’m going to give it a go. Total crash time afterwards, at least until it’s time to recap tonight’s Sleepy Hollow, but tomorrow could be a sick day and a snow day at the same time. Which I will probably spend writing. There could be worse things. Not being able to have hot chocolate while having a sick day and a snow day at the same time may be one of those, but I think I will live. There is something to be said for anticipation.

Typing With Wet Claws: Picadilly Edition (not the circus)

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday.

i1035 FW1.1

It has been an interesting week around here, as usual. Uncle did not feel well at the start of the week, but then we got some medicine and he felt better. Now it is Anty’s turn. She says that having a cold sore is especially bad for a tea drinker who loves lipstick and was looking forward to pizza for dinner. She also mentioned that the bottle of orange pineapple juice in the refrigerator is mocking her. I think that a nap in a sunbeam would do her a lot of good. I will demonstrate by doing exactly that myself and see if she can take the hint.

This week, Anty asked me to talk about notebooks. Not the usual topic for a kitty to tackle, but notebooks are something Anty really loves. She has a lot of them, and keeps getting more, but that is okay because she uses them all at some point. Because there are a lot of notebooks in Anty’s office, we will only look at one kind today; the hardcover Picadilly in the 5×8 size.

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Anty was not sure she would like Picadilly books at first, and thought maybe they were trying too hard to be like Moleskines, though at a much lower price. She actually tried her first one by accident -she cannot remember if that was softcover or hardcover, because it is in storage- without knowing what it was, and then she changed her mind.

The paper is thicker than the paper in Moleskines, but she likes them both, so that is not a problem. It also comes in many different colors. I think she wants them all, because she is like that when it comes to notebooks. She is currently using the black one as her general purpose notebook in her purse. The blue one was supposed to be her general purpose purse notebook, but the blue color bothered her when it got to be fall (and she had been using the wrong pens in it, but that is another story; she has since learned how to find the right pens so that will not happen again) and the red one, as you can see, is new. She will not take it out of its wrapper until she has one of the other two finished.

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Where did the blue book go? Nowhere.

The blue book took a rest for a very long time, until Anty remembered she had something special. A long time ago, somebody gave her a Celtic leather notebook cover. It had a notebook inside it ,but she did not like that notebook. She gave it to somebody who did like it, and tried to find a notebook that would fit the cover, which she liked and likes a lot, but it took her a long time.  A couple of months ago, she decided to see if the blue Picadilly would fit the leather cover, and it did. Huzzah! That notebook is now her all purpose book for her comfy chair. I am not sure if the red book will replace that one or the purse book. I think it is a race.

Here is a better look at the cover by itself:

Inside...

Inside…

...and outside

…and outside

Anty does not know if the cover will fit a hardcover Moleskine, because she does not have one at present (I should probably not say this, but she does, only it is not  a regular Moleskine, but a special Assassin’s Creed edition she got because she liked the look of the end papers  and it makes her think of pirates. She really likes pirates.) but she will check and see if it fits Markings notebooks, too. She has a few of those.

Anty was very pleasantly surprised to find the red Picadilly at Barnes and Noble, and hopes that they get the other colors in, as well. Keeping notebooks in different colors helps her tell them apart, because she works in several at once. She will definitely be writing in some of them this weekend, but I will do my best to make sure she gets some napping in there, too. Naps always make me feel better. I will show her how that works.

That is about it for now, so, until next week, I remain very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

 

Throwback Thursday: Duluth, Part One

annabowling 2 Comments

I sometimes forget the lessons of my past. We all have them. But don’t worry they come back to remind you that your journey isn’t over.
-Adrian Paul

I normally don’t do Throwback Thursday, but blogging three times per week is one of my goals, and since I am not going to show up at my next CR-RWA meeting (especially because I will be the speaker) on February 14th and say I did not meet my goals (if I make a goal public, I will meet that or die trying; it’s something I do) and because Sue Ann Porter has a way of encouraging me, today, you get to hop in my wayback machine.

The year was 2013, our family newly arrived in Albany, my writer brain in a constant state of shock and caught between projects. I had only recently discovered the joys of Hudson River Coffee House, where I am writing this entry. On this particular day, date lost to the wilds of time, Housemate banished me there after one of my mild freakouts (“What on earth am I doing, thinking I can write anymore?” variety) and said I had to write something. So, there was this:

2012 was one of those years. Family health issues. Planning and carrying out an interstate move when one family member was not physically able to make any of the apartment hunting trips. Carrying out said move in stages, one of them involving sending one family member into a hurricane to carry out said stage solo because another did not want a third anxiety attack that week. A first trip to the hospital from our new home. Changes in important relationships. Buying a second snow shovel because we live in Albany and it’s winter and one shovel is not going to dig us out properly.

2013 is an unknown quantity. I’m letting one ms settle and diving into another. It scares me. What on earth am I getting myself into? Fear. The bad kind. Fear. The good kind.

What’s the difference between the two? Good question. When I find out, I will let you know, but I’ll give it a stab (and stabbing does seem like a good option at times, the object of which can vary.)

Bad fear = what if every bad thing anybody ever said about my writing is true? What if it’s true and I have no other marketable skills? What if I really do suck? What if I suck and there was something I could have done to not suck but I didn’t do it and now it’s too late to fix it because I really do suck and it’s all my fault? What if I have to live with the wanting to write and the needing to write and never being able to write for the rest of my life ? DOOM! DOOM!DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!

Good fear = I have never done X before, but it could be fun. Am I really doing it right?

:pokes X with a stick, then scuttles back a safe distance to observe:

:comes back, presuming the poking of X did not result in personal death or obliteration of all humankind; pokes X again. Repeat until done, then poke something else.:

Do I have all the answers? No. Do I have  my answers? Maybe. Let me look around the bottom of my purse a while longer. Or fumble my way through manuscript B and occasionally poke A with a stick. There is fear, both kinds. There are times I feel like I can’t find my way back to my normal writing self any more than I can find my way to Apartment Four, 738 North Anything Street in Duluth, Minnesota. At night. In a snowstorm. On foot. Wearing earplugs. During a blackout. In the zombie apocalypse. One thing is sure, though; if I never take one step, I’ll never get there.

So. This is a step. Today, I wrote. Is it a completed work of fiction between eighty and one hundred thousand words in my chosen genre? No. Is it real? Yes. Is it true? Yes. Is it finished? Yes. Did it bring me one step closer to that mythical apartment in Duluth? Yes. Are the residents expecting me? Maybe. I’ll find out when I get there. So will you. We all have a Duluth. I firmly believe that, and I firmly beleive that putting one foot in front of the other will eventually get you there. Maybe you’re on the right track now, and maybe you’ll need to circle the world a time or two, but the surest way to make sure you never get there is to not try. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Dress in layers. Stay hydrated. Rest, and then continue. Fill the well. Write something. Ask for directions. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. See you there.

This Time, It’s The N

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It’s not a race. It’s finding your voice. You’re okay. Now get off that ledge, give yourself a day off, feed your soul with something that brings you joy and sit back down from a place of peace. You’re a writer. You’re fine. You have all the time in the world.
-Beth Treadway

Well, I knew it had to happen sometime. We have had the first casualty, or should I say, sign of wear, on the new external keyboard. The bottom part of the N, I noticed as I sat down for the morning’s session, is not as there as it used to be.  I take that as a source of pride. I’ve been pounding keys enough to wear away letters on this new keyboard. As I started typing this entry, I noticed that the L is looking shaky on the bottom as well. Not too shabby, getting those letters, well, um, shabby.

Wearing the letters off keys may be the computer equivalent of emptying pens, which I have also been doing. I’d say filling notebooks as well, but maybe that’s more like using up memory with accumulated files. Maybe? Maybe not? I’m not sure that everything translates like that, but that’s not where I’m putting my mental energy these days.

The first part of this week was consumed by domestic tornadoes of the sort that make one exclaim, “Really, life? Really?” Along with a few other strong words.  Second half of the week looks better, with a new opportunity that may be in the offing, but let’s get back to the first part, which fits very well with today’s quote.  There are going to be times in every writer’s life when the world goes crazy. That’s not an if, that’s a when, and it’s going to happen to everybody. Accepting that makes it easier to handle, I’ve found.

The last few years, the last year, and the last couple of days have made me realize how much a part of me writing actually is. It’s been a dedicated search to find my voice again, and find the process that works for the writer and the person I am now. There’s some wandering around in the woods still, but there are trail markers, and those are all worthy of celebration. It’s not a race (unless there’s a deadline, but that’s a good thing) and it’s okay to take the time to do it right.

Head down, eyes on my own paper. I got this. I know how to write a book. I know how to write a romance novel. I may not have a muse, but I do have a magpie, and she is happily gathering shiny things; books and movies and songs and scents and flashes of scenes and I am getting all of this down. Emptying pens. Filling notebooks. Rubbing the letters off computer keys.  Putting story where there was no story before. That’s progress.

The bottom bar of that L key is going down.

Typing With Wet Claws: At the Movies Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday.

This has been a very full week for all the humans in my house. They say they do not always know what day it is, which I find hard to believe, with all the calendars we have, but humans are complicated creatures. I am glad I am a kitty.

See? Full time fur coat. Toasty.

See? Full time fur coat. Toasty.

I am also glad that my readers are interested in how I am doing. It is true that it has been very cold outside this week, but I am an indoor kitty, and we have heaters built into the walls in every room. Plus I have a full length fur coat that I wear all the time (I was born with it) so I am not cold at all.  If anybody has questions for me, put them in the comments and I will do my best to answer them. Anty may have to help me with some of the big words, but I will do the best I can.

Anty is still in her magpie phase, which means lots of pens and notebooks, and movies. She is watching a lot of movies now. There are not a lot of cats in them, so I do not know what the appeal is. She says it is things like plots and character arcs and actors and cinematography. Story stuff. I still think cats would make everything better, but only if nothing bad happens to the cats in the movies. I would not like movies where bad things happen to cats. So no cats is better than that.  But I digress.

Watching movies with a writer is different than watching movies with regular people. Regular people watch the movie, and that is it. Writers, at least writers like Anty, don’t only watch the movie, they analyze it. Anty likes to watch the bar at the bottom of the screen move forward, so she can tell how far into the story the movie is. When the bar reaches the halfway point, she says that is always when the big problem that changes everything happens. She seems to really like watching for that part. I do not know why that part makes her so happy, no matter the movie, but it does. She says it helps her learn how to tell stories better, so I guess that is a good thing.

I have stopped trying to figure out what makes Anty pick a particular movie. This week, she saw Starship Troopers, The Spectacular Now, What If and Delivery Man.  That last one, she found out, is an American remake of a Canadian movie called Starbuck, and she wants to see that one, too. It is in French, and though she does not speak French, there are subtitles, and she can figure things out from a few words that she knows. She is pretty good with languages, I think, because she knows what all my sounds mean.  Eck-eck, for example, means “Please put that cat food in my dish. I am hungry.”

The Christmas decorations are finally all down, but Anty is not sure what she wants to put up in their place. She has mentioned maybe getting a catnip plant. I have not been interested in catnip so far, but Anty reminded me that I have only been given dried catnip and the live plant may be a whole different story. Anty is usually pretty good with stories, so I guess we will see if she is right once she actually gets the plant.

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That is about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Floral Notebook Trio and Fountain Pens

annabowling 1 Comment

I think with pen and paper.
–Jude Deveraux

One of the things I’ve come to accept about my writing process in this past year is that I work best getting my initial ideas down in longhand.  This has always been the case, and it’s not going to go away.  I can stare at a blank screen and blinking cursor for hours, feel like a total failure as a writer and hate myself, but give me a pen and paper and zoom, off I go. Maybe I start off by freewriting, but that almost always shapes itself into something useful within a couple of pages.

What works best-best for me is when the right paper and the right pen for the right story all connect in my brain. This is not some artsy-fartsy time waster; it’s how my brain works, and I am done apologizing for it. In fact, for a writer of historical romance, it makes a lot of sense. My characters, most of them, would have done a lot of writing in longhand (barring those who are not literate, but we’ll get to them in another post.) The hero of Her Last First Kiss, for example, writes and receives letters, so that scratch of nib against paper is something he’d find very familiar.

Future bookmark, as soon as I make a tassel for it.

Even more gorgeous when in focus.

This past weekend, I had the chance to redeem a Staples gift card, a very thoughtful gift from a dear writer friend. I knew right off that I wanted to get backups for my Pilot Varsity fountain pens (recent fountain pen convert here) and so headed straight for the pen section. Three pack, black, blue and purple, the exact colors I wanted. Still need to visit the art supply store for red and turquoise, but that’s for another day.

Since no trip to Staples is complete without a full check of the perimeter, I headed for the back of the store and boom goes the dynamite. Paperchase display. Ohhhhhhhh. Insert favorite starry-eyed, drooling gif here. Stationery triage ensued, and lobster and seahorse themed fabric covered hardcover notebooks are on the agenda for next time (red and blue alternating lines inside, oh be still my heart.) What left with me, though, was a set of three cahier-style 5×8 notebooks, with plain, lined and patterened pages. Patterned.

See? Patterned!

See? Patterned!

The plain book is, of course, plain inside, but even the lined pages have me drooling, because we have images on every page. Every. One.

Shadow not included

Shadow not included

I cannot wait to start writing in this one. All three of them, really. Not sure what they will be for, though the most pressing need is Her Last First Kiss, though I already have notebooks started for that, but I can make these fit, dangabit. One can never have too many notebooks. One of my goals for the year is to get more into visual elements in my notebooks, so we will see if the patterned and/or plain pages can be useful for that purpose.

A friend asked me if I was going to use these pens in these notebooks, because they look like they go together. Still not sure on that, as I need to test the inks on the papers. Fountain pens can sometimes bleed through, and I haven’t used them on Paperchase before, so that remains to be seen.

One last shot before we go today, all three covers side by side.

My preciouses

My preciouses

Typing With Wet Claws: Explaining the Writer Brain Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday.

The humans say the new year is now underway, but it has been for the last week or so, so I think they need to pay better attention to their calendars. Anyway, this week has been cold. Thankfully, I have a built in full length fur coat, and I am an indoor kitty, so I did not have to go outside. My humans did, every day, and they were not always happy about it, but they are happy to come home to a warm apartment, and, of course, to me.

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One good thing about  the weather being this cold and sometimes snowy is that it inspires Anty to hunker down and get some writing done.  This is what her current desktop screen looks like. She picked this picture because it is very similiar to the cover of the calendar on the wall of her office, but will probably change the desktop a few times before she finds something that feels really right. The important thing here was to put the Christmas desktop away until it is Christmas again. She is always a little sad to see her favorite time of the year come to an end, but it is my job to remind her that this means the start of a new year, and Valentine’s Day is coming very soon. Valentine’s day is a very important day for romance writers.

Also important is when Anty has a new post at Heroes and Heartbreakers, and this Monday, she did. She is very glad this was her week to recap Sleepy Hollow, because a lot happened, for three different ships (I am still not sure how ships fit into this kind of show, but they do not tell kitties these things.) Her post is here and looks like this:

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There have been a lot of domestic tornadoes this week, but Anty is not letting that distract her from getting ready for the new book. I can tell she is working hard at this because sometimes, she does not seem to be all there. Writers’ pets, you know what I mean. If you are not a writer’s pet (or a writer’s human) then I will explain.

Sometimes, your writer may get so deep into their book, especially when they are getting ready to make their first draft, that part of their brain will stay there, even when they are doing other things. Even when they are doing important other things, like ordering tea or making human food. Ask them a question that they should be able to answer easily, but all the answer that gets is a confused look, something that sounds like “huh?” and maybe a quick mumble before they start getting antsy (like I do before I have to, um, defend my family against the Green Chair of Evil.) At that point, it is best to accept the inevitable. Your writer has a new book brewing, and they are going to be spending a good deal of their time talking to the people who live in their heads. Anty says it is more a case of making sure the people in her head talk to her. Either way, the people in Anty’s head live several  hundred years in the past, so it makes sense that it takes her some time to get back to the rest of us. As long as she can still open the bag of treats, I am okay with that.

Anty's typical view

Anty’s typical view

That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

The Magpie Phase

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When you feel you are on a wrong-headed path, the quickest way to get where you want to go is to turn around, head back, and start again from the point you went askew.
—William Fitzsimmons

Wise words for the start of the new year, from my newest musical crush.  Music and I tend to find each other, lately through the browse option on Spotify, which I love, and as soon as I heard “From the Water,” I knew I had found something to add to my magpie hoard for Her Last First Kiss.  I could go on about the intoxicating melodies, the raw emotion conveyed in poetic prhasing (how could I not love a singer/songwriter who can correctly and effectively use “soylent” and “picayune” in the same song?)

It’s a brand new year, this 2015, time to forge ahead and trust that I know how to do this writing-a-book thing. I’ve done it before. I can do it again, and the other stuff of life is going to have to get in line. I’m still not talking much about Her Last First Kiss (aka HLFK) at this point, because I am, contrary to my expectations (a favorite Dutch proverb states, “Man plans, God laughs.” Another favorite in that category says, “Pray to God and row toward shore,” which is also appropriate.) There are times when a story will look the writer square in the eye and say “I am more than what you think I am.” To which the writer often responds with something along the lines of nervous laughter, shifty eyes, and frantically sifting through notes because this thing was going to be all planned out, and…oh, very well.

The magpie stage is like preparing the nursery for a new baby. We’re going to need to babyproof everything, get a crib with sides that will both stay up and come down easily when needed, string up the mobile to keep baby occupied, because that rapidly growing brain is not  “doing nothing” while the kid is so young that it looks like all they are doing is lying there.  They’re doing tons, but since they don’t have language yet, they can’t tell us.  With books-in-the-making, this is the time for gathering all the stuff the writer is going to need to make this thing happen.

Notebooks and pens, yes. New file, sure. Scrivener and I basically stare at each other, as I’m still figuring that out, but one of the things I have learned from my NaNot this year is that I need to put the mechanics aside for a while. Feel the story. Know the story. Know how it feels, because I write romance. This is all about the heart, the broken, bleeding, barely beating hearts of two people who are absolutley convinced that love is not for them, because they’re too far gone. They are wrong, of course, and I can promise them a happily ever after at the end of the book. Between Once Upon a Time, and Happily Ever After, though, anything can happen. I do know what happens, but what happens isn’t enough.

How does it feel for each of them as they go through their lives? These aren’t plot points to them; to my story people (it doesn’t seem right to call them characters) this is their lives. My  hero, who really, truly, honestly believes there is nothing about  him that matters besides amusing others with his failures. My heroine, who really, truly, honestly believes there is no room in her life for joy, because she must give all to duty. They’re wrong, of course, and I can prove that, not only with the culmination of their story, which I know already, but with all the steps that lead up to it.

In this, my magpie stage, I flit about, collecting all the bright and sparkly things for this story’s nest. Historical background, yes, but here’s the thing – they don’t know they’re historical characters. The late eighteenth century is their now.  As for me, I’m here, so I have a few centuries more of resources, and even if they don’t know who Mary Chapin Carpenter or Rainbow Rowell  or William Fitzsimmons are, those creators have had a hand in stirring this pudding.

I’m reading like crazy, more outside historical romance than I had thought I would for this book, though HLFK is definitely that genre, but that deep-down heart trauma, I am going to take that wherever I can find it and let it soak into my marrow.  Dangit, this hero and heroine deserve that. They deserve everything I can give them and more. I am honored that they picked me, that they are letting me feel them, not merely acknowledge that they exist.  I am watching movies as diverse as The Smurfs (1 and 2) and Diner and Shutter Island and episodes of TV shows I’ve loved for years, and those I’ve never seen before, because there is a spark of something I can pluck from that and add to my toolbox.  There will be a Pinterest board, which will be secret, because I need current project boards to be secret; I’m surprised at that, but it’s one of the things I’ve learned about my own process, and that’s okay.

Chattering, too, as magpies do, when time and context are right.  Still learning the right balance on that one, but I do know that talking is a part of my process, which is a living thing. I’m looking forward to this new adventure 2015 will bring.

Typing With Wet Claws: Happy New Year Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for the first Feline Friday of 2015.

First of all, thank you to all who read my entries. Today’s picture is me, getting ready to blog. I give these posts a lot of thought because I want to do a good job. I am glad that my readers think that I do.

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The big news today is that Anty can confirm she has destinked my notebook.  She is very happy about that. Even Uncle, who has a super sniffer (for humans; cats are still better at smelling than he is. Nothing personal. It is a fact.) cannot smell my contribution. It is good to be off the hook for this one. Anty has learned she really cannot leave any of her notebooks on the floor, so even she has learned something from this experience.

Two things, really. One, not to leave books near my pee spot, no matter how tired she is, and two, how to destink a notebook doused in cat piddle. In case you want to know how, it is easy.

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  1. Put the stinky book in a big Ziploc bag; it must be the kind that zips closed. Ties or flaps will not work, because this must be airtight. Anty says it’s worth going for the brand name on this.
  2. Pour baking soda into the bag. Use a lot. You should be able to see a couple inches of it in the bottom of the bag.
  3. Squeeze all the air out and zip the bag all the way shut.
  4. Keep it shut for about a week.
  5. Every day during that week, shake the bag about twice a day, so the baking soda gets all over the notebook, in between all the pages.
  6. At the end of the week, open the bag. Take the book out and shake it over the trash, to get any excess baking soda out.
  7. Smell the book. Does it still smell like kitty piddle? If it does not, your book is saved. If not, you may want to put it back in the bag and throw it out. Then buy a new book.

Anty also tried this on the notebook that got soaked by her water bottle, and this trick got rid of that smell, too.

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She says that saving two notebooks she thought were lost for sure starts the year off on a good note. I think she is right. Now we will know what to do if this ever happens again. I do not think that it will (at least not the part about my pee place) but at least there is a protocol in place.

Happy 2015

Happy 2015

i think that is it for now, so happy new year to everybody. See you next week.

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Plannering

annabowling 2 Comments

Monday’s entry on Wednesday, that’s not too bad. Last time this year I’ll be off schedule, I promise. Since today is New Year’s Eve, I am fairly certain I can keep that promise. As for the year ahead, well, that’s still an open -and unwritten- book. Actually, a few of them.

2014 was one of the interesting years, and I am not sorry to see it go. 2015 is full of opportunity. I intend to make the best of it. Not making resolutions this year. Goals, yes. Making those, and keeping track of things in notebooks and planners is definitely part of that.

Though 2014 had its surprises, one of the good ones was me falling in love with Paperblanks notebooks, via my 2014 planner. That’s the green one above, reproduced from a 19th century French silk textile design (I would so get the regular notebook in that design, but I’m picky about closures, and the closure on the pocket size makes no sesnse) It’s paired with my 2015 planner, in my new Paperblanks design crush, the silver filigree, aka “The Precious.”

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That’s the entire Precious family to date – planner is in onyx, aka Badass Precious because it’s the tough one. Baby Boy Precious is the blue one, and the first one to come  home; I knew right away that was to be the pocket notebook for the new historical, and started it as such. That is going to get a small adjustment as his sister (yes, some of my notebooks have genders) Baby Girl Precious was my Christmas gift to me. I wasn’t sure what to do with her at first, but getting the whole family together, it became clear; Baby Boy gets hero notes and Baby Girl gets heroine notes. Appropriate, because one of my goals (see, goals, not resolutions) is to know the hero and heroine of this book inside out so I do not flounder and we do not end up blinking at each other halfway through the book and wander off in our separate directions. That is so last year. Last several, actually, but moving right along…

The ultimate goal is to nab the desk sized version of Baby Boy, aka Big Daddy Precious. If there is a Big Mama Precious, she is, of course, welcome. Still needed a desk sized notebook because writing in pocket sized all the time makes my hands cramp, so in the meantime, I am drafting this lovely notebook that was a birthday present from my lovely housemate:

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This book -oh heck, the working title is Her Last First Kiss– is not an inspirational romance (it’s historical) but when the right notebook calls out, I am going to use that notebook. Colors coordinate with Baby Boy (and someday Big Daddy) so the association is easy to make.

But those are notebooks, not planners, even if what they mostly contain right now is plans for the 2015 book. Whatever works, right? Right now, I want to write in these with fountain pens, to which I am fairly certain I can become addicted to in short order. Appropriate for a historical writer, I say. Microns will do if I find myself without a fountain pen, but first choice right now is the Pilot Varsity.

As for calendars, this one will be adorning my office wall for the next twelve months:

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I knew I had to have it as soon as I saw it on the rack at Barnes and Noble, as it fit oh so well with the notebooks below:

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Different manufacturers, but same feel, and my brain says they all smell like baby powder, even though they do not. That would be the images smell like baby powder, not the notebooks.

For those wondering if I ever managed to destink Skye’s notebook, I am letting the baking soda sit for one extra day to be extra extra sure, and then finding out.

aoon, we will know...

aoon, we will know…

What planners/notebooks are starting out your new year?