Author: annabowling

Typing With Wet Claws: Hairballs and Index Cards Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I am not feeling that great this week, which is why Anty started off this morning by chasing me around the dark apartment with a spoonful of hairball remedy. I tried to hide in Uncle’s office, but she caught me and tilted the spoon near my nose, which is where she is supposed to put the icky gross disgusting stuff. The other humans call it hairball remedy, and the packaging says cats love it. Well, I do not. I have been a pukey girl, and, because I am shedding like a boss, the humans are pretty sure it is because I have a hairball that needs some help getting out of me. At this point, I really do not care which end, but we all hope we can take care of this ourselves and not need to go to the pokey place (aka the vet.)

I am still happy to play with my people and follow them around, and I am drinking my water, which is good, so I will go ahead with this blog entry. Anty says doing normal things helps. This week, Anty’s post at Buried Under Romance is about the other kind of book hangover, and by that, she means the kind that is not fun. That post is here:

http://buriedunderromance.com/2016/09/saturday-discussion-the-other-book-hangover.html

and it looks like this:

bur

 

Anty has also been hard at work this week, on Her Last First Kiss.  Right now, she is making sure she does not have any holes in the story, and, to do that, she needs to touch paper. That means that working on the computer alone is not going to allow her to connect with the mechanics of this phase of the writing. This week, she took a pack of index cards and opened her document. Then she wrote the title of every scene (some of them, she can now see, are actually chapters) on one side of the index card, and then, on some of  them, she put a few notes about what happens on that scene.

Next, she took out her Big Daddy Precious notebook that is only for this story, and started writing down (she is not done yet, because she has been taking care of me) the title of each card, and then what she can remember about the scene, only from memory. Sometimes, that does not match what is in the file, but that is okay. This is why they call them drafts. When Anty does this, she can see where she is repeating herself, and where she might need additional material. She makes notes on the backs of the cards (or maybe it is the front; kitties are not known for their understanding of office supplies) and uses highlighters in the notebook to let her know what is a Hero scene and what is a Heroine scene. That makes her desk look like this:

desktop150916

please note use of filter

 

Anty gets a little nervous at the prospect of putting things that are not perfect down in a special notebook, but that is what the notebook is there for, in the first place. It is okay to learn, and to make mistakes while doing so. Anty’s plan is to go through the whole book this way and then show the result to Miss N, and maybe Critique Partner Vicki, to get some feedback. Then it will be time to flesh out what needs fleshing out, and putting everything together. It will probably also be time for Uncle to make Anty some more coconut pancakes, because Anty loves coconut pancakes. I have never had coconut pancakes, because I am a kitty, but I bet if I gave Anty my big beggy eyes, she might give me some. She is still figuring out what foods are best for me when I don’t feel so good, but she has not tried giving me coconut pancakes yet. They might help. Maybe. When I am sick, I like food with gravy on it. Maple syrup is a kind of gravy, isn’t it?

pancakesandnotebook

Yep, right on top of the special notebook. Anty has priorities.

 

The other thing that is going on over here is that the batteries on the smoke detectors are all dying at the same time. They are very considerate and make a chirping sound to let the humans know it is time to change the batteries. The annoying thing is that they are very, very high on the ceilings and chirp so much that it sounds like a bird sanctuary in here. It is not a bird sanctuary, though. I checked. No actual birds, except the ones outside, and I am an indoor girl. Unless I have to go to the vet, and then I will go outside in my carrier, but I will not be able to get any birds. Unless there are birds at the vet. Hm. I may have to think about this. Maybe there is an upside to everything.

That is about it for this week. There has been some talk about giving me another dose of the hairball remedy, because Anty is not sure if she actually got it into me, since it was dark this morning. The humans say the remedy will help me feel better, but they have not tasted it, so easy for them to say. I’d better find a better hiding place. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

Run to the Distant Shores

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You can write about anything which has been vivid enough to cause you to comment upon it.

–Dorothea Brande

 

Yesterday morning, I got ready for my weekly breakfast with N early, for the express purpose of squeezing in the Parenthood series finale before any other humans were about. That was a wise decision.  After six years of family drama, crammed, for me, the binge watcher who came late to the party, into a couple of months, the story of the Bravermans was done. Time for viewers, as well as characters, to leave the baseball diamond and head to their respective homes. The elder Zeek has quit this mortal coil, Zeek the younger has been born. Camille finally got to see the French B&B, though on her own, dangit. Max is grown. Joel and Julia are back together, eventually parents to four kids, the same number as Zeek, Sr. and Camille had. Crosby saves the Luncheonette, with Jasmine’s support, and allows big brother Adam to leave the business they built together, to pursue his own late-found passion for teaching. Sarah and Hank successfully blend their families. Amber makes the hard decision to raise baby Zeek on her own, because ex-fiancé, Ryan, needs to get himself clean before he can be anybody’s anything, and, in the flash-forward, he does. He arrives at a family function with toddler Zeek, greets Amber and her husband with affection, and everybody seems perfectly fine. It’s that flash-forward that made me cue up the pilot episode of Friday Night Lights, even though I care precisely nothing for football, because Amber eventually marries Jason Street from that show, so it’s part of the same story, so of course I’m there.

None of those names or references are going to mean much of anything to anyone who hasn’t seen Parenthood, but that’s fine, because we’re not talking about that specific TV show here, exactly. There is going to be a certain amount of blabber, because this is my blog and that’s what I do. Because this show has firmly found a spot among my favorites, and its finale is what sparked this post, there’s going to be some direct reference, but what sticks with me most, and where I want to keep my emphasis, is on the feelings. No matter what I’m reading or viewing, it’s the way the characters and story make me feel that takes precedence, which is probably a good thing for a romance writer.

About four episodes or so into season one, I had to frantically check the internet for assurance that Crosby and Jasmine would, despite any obstacles, reach their HEA, before I could proceed any further. If they weren’t endgame, I was out of there, but, fortunately (for me and for their two more subsequent children) they were. Ditto when the first fissures formed in Joel and Julia’s marriage. They couldn’t lose everything over miscommunication. I still wasn’t over their first adoption falling through (Julia sobbing in the hospital room when the birth mother changed her mind broke me, which is exactly what a scene like that is meant to do, so props to writers and to actor Erika Christiansen for selling it the way she did.) I wanted both Peet and Ed to step on a fleet of Legos, and, when that kiss on the ice rink happened, signaling that Joel and Julia had picked love over all, yes, I did pump both fists in the air and scream. There are perks to watching Netflix when one is home alone. That is one of them. Then again, when their kids get an eyeful of that kiss, proving that Mom and Dad are back together, and everything is okay.

A show based on ripping the viewer’s heart out and putting it back together, mended with gold, as the Japanese tradition, to make a broken vessel all the more beautiful in the healing, well, that’s exactly what I’m shooting for, in romance novel form. This does of course mean there will be more in depth studying of the story arcs, paying close attention to what Jason Katims and company did, and how they did it, to effect emotions so strongly that I would have to pause and check before proceeding. Time to go on the journey again, this time knowing how everything is going to turn out, and see where the threads weave in and out of each other along the way.

I liked that it wasn’t perfect-perfect. Zeek Senior is dead, which does color everything, but it’s also the logical end to the story, so I’m fine with that. Ray Romano did an amazing job as Hank, and I do ship him and Sarah, but what if she’d been able to make things work with much younger ex-fiancé, Mark? Jason Ritter also did an amazing job, and, though we don’t see Mark’s eventual wife, or even learn her name, the actor conveys that Mark did find happiness again. Little bit of a knife twist that Mark’s wife is due to give birth to their first child a couple weeks after Sarah’s first grandchild is due, but that’s life, isn’t it?

We don’t always get it right on the first try, and bad things happen to good people. Sometimes, very bad things, and sometimes, those bad things travel in packs, but love (in all its forms) is stronger. Not all that different from the structure of the romance novel there, is it? We see plenty of romance in Parenthood, both successful and otherwise; not only the hearts and flowers, but the heartbreak, and the black moments, and all that comes after. A once up on a time friend once said that all of my stories are about moving on after a loss, and there is some truth to that. What other alternative is there? Feel the pain and the anger and the grief, let them do their jobs, and know that there will be something else on the other side.

At the end of a good story, the characters aren’t the same as they were on page one (or in the pilot, and they can’t be. They’ve been through the fire, lost some things, gained others, and, in a romance, they come through it together. I can’t think of a story I would like to tell more than that one, time and time again.

 

Sweetest Workshop Hangover

annabowling 2 Comments

Happy Monday, all. It’s a lovely seventysomething here in New York’s Capitol Region, and I am in my comfy chair, laptop in my lap (lap desk needs replacing, as the cushion has deflated, the handle is hanging loose, and the coating on the surface of the desk is cracked and peeling; this desk has served me well) and actually have a topic. This all bodes well, so let’s see how it goes.

I spent my Saturday here:
http://cr-rwa.org/2016/09/before-you-hit-send-workshop-with-angela-james-is-this-saturday/

and can very highly recommend Angela James’s workshop, which, oddly enough, I am probably not going to talk about much here, even though that was kind of my entire point. I have masses of notes and some hefty handouts on self-editing, to go over and put into heavy use when I get to the self-editing stage. Right now, I am focused on writing and co-writing these two WIPs, and all the rest comes after I type/co-type The End. What I’m blabbering about instead, is the experience. Also the stuff, because I am all about pens and paper, and hey, they outright give them to you at these things, even if you bring your own.

I love conferences and workshops, because I love writing romance, and I love people, and being in a hotel or part of a hotel, filled with other people who also love writing romance, and are there for the same reason I am, to improve our craft and advance our careers, is about as good as it gets. This was probably the least prepared I have ever been for an actual RWA event, and, surprisingly, I was fine with that. Presenter was Angela James, who is pretty high up the ladder at Carina Press, so she presumably knows her stuff when it comes to editing (she does.) I knew I was riding in with N, conveyed by her lovely husband, Mr. N, and had plans to meet up with Sue Ann Porter, and several of my CRRWA chapter sisters and brothers (yep, we got dudes.) Potential to meet new friends, and did find the lovely surprise of meeting with one of my Last Call Girls, M, (don’t have permission to use her name yet, which, in retrospect,  I probably should have secured beforehand, but then again, maybe I can make being an initial on my blog can become some kind of thing. Yeah. We’ll go with that one. Some pictures of me hanging out with beautiful blondes. That’s Sue Ann Porter in the pink, and the lovely Miss M in the snazzy specs.

Sue Ann Porter, and me
Me and the delightful MIss M

 

Most important thing I learned about taking all day workshops came at the registration desk, when I realized there was only one place to put my name tag. Clip on name tags and V-necked shirts provide a unique challenge. I will remember this for next time and bring an actual jacket with me, for name tag purposes, and in case the venue’s air conditioning is set to Polar Bear. I appreciate that it was ninety-three degrees outside and so humid that I am fairly certain I saw air fish. We will not discuss the weather on Saturday night, but I am extremely thankful for the cooler weather that came after.

One of the best parts of any conference or workshop is getting a good group at one’s table at meals, and this was no exception. Me, Sue Ann, M, and N, one tiny table in this room:

diningroom

Snazzy, huh?

When we got back from stuffing ourselves with the bounty of a respectable sandwich bar and dessert buffet, we found a nice surprise waiting at our seats.

After lunch surprise
Notepad front
Notepad back

 

Carina Press brochure, some fun reading-themed stickers, Carina Press pen, and vintage Harlequin cover themed notepads. Do they know me or what? There were different titles for the notepads, but The Widow Gay seemed to be the hot property of the day. I am highly in favor of book covers on notebooks. Heck, I am highly in favor of notebooks, period. The notebook I brought, and filled nineteen of its pages, I’ve had for a while. The pages are horizontally striped, one line blue, the next white, so a lot easier for my eyes to focus on and find where I am when I look away and then back. I used the same gel pens I keep on  hand for my commonplace notebook, and found that rotating through the colors, one per subject, should make finding pertinent sections easier when I go back to study them.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, all well and good, and you’ve  hit your precious magic seven hundreds, Miss Talky Talk Writer Person, but what did you learn? Well, several things. Writer things. A good, comprehensive review of the basics of self editing, which I will definitely put into play once these two books are done, because I’m looking forward to that phase. For right now, what’s most important is to get from Once Upon a Time, to Happily Ever After. What I got from this workshop the most is that I am on the right track. If I’m not all the way back on the horse (how on earth do we measure that, anyway?) I’ve got at least one foot in the stirrup. I’ll take that, and gladly.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Falling Into Place Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I did not want my picture taken today, because I was more interested in watching Uncle get ready for work than in taking pictures, so Anty has to use a picture from a different day. I am a kitty, after all. It is in my job description to be mercurial, but I am normally a very good girl.

To show what a good girl I am, I will start by talking about Anty’s writing this week. Her post at Buried Under Romance talks about some ways we learn things about our own reading habits. Anty has found that tracking not only what she is reading, but how far along in that reading she is, helps her see patterns in the way she reads. Her post looks like this:

bur

and you can find it here:
http://buriedunderromance.com/2016/09/saturday-discussion-what-have-we-learned-about-reading.html

Anty is also working on some posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers, which I will tell you more about when they are live, and also on Her Last First Kiss. That one had some excitement this week. At first, Anty thought she had lost outlines for a couple of new scenes, so she looked everywhere for them. One of them she found, exactly where it was supposed to be, and she is still not sure how she missed it, so that is good. The other one, she needs to reconstruct, but it will not be that hard. She has had it in her head for a long time, so getting it into place is pretty easy. That is a good feeling. Moving Hero and Heroine along the road to their Happily Ever After makes Anty very happy, even if Hero and Heroine are not, at this stage of the story. It is all right, though. Anty writes romance, and that means all will be well in the end. Until then, though. she makes no promises, and may be known to let out an evil cackle or two. At one point, Miss N told Anty that Anty needs to give Hero and Heroine some small successes at this stage of the game, because, otherwise, that part of the book will be very depressing. Anty sees no problem with that, but she also sees Miss N’s point. Small successes, it is. Very small.

ROBINDAGGERS - WIN_20150811_110539

Vintage photo of Grumpy Anty, torturing her characters. I tried to make it smaller, but I could not. That is the downside to having paws instead of hands. My apologies.

 

Even though there are still a few hot days to come, Anty has a surprise for Saturday; it cannot get her with its sun and  heat, because she will be in an air conditioned hotel all day, at a workshop for writers. You can read more about that here:

http://cr-rwa.org/2016/09/before-you-hit-send-workshop-with-angela-james-is-this-saturday/

Anty loves going to workshops for writers, because it lets her combine her love of writing with her love of being around people, especially people who love the same thing she does. Those two things are great on their own (and Anty loves being around people, in general; social interaction gives her energy that she can then spend on writing) but when they are put together, it is like catnip for her. Or so I am told. I do not care about catnip. I have heard that is unusual for a kitty, but, then again, I am an unusual kitty. I am also in full shed, which means I leave gifts of my summer coat fur basically everywhere. Anty calls running the Swiffer, while I am in shed, “the tumbleweed harvest.” I cannot say she is wrong. I shed a lot of fur, but do not worry. I will grow a very thick winter coat. Two of them, actually, because I am a Maine Coon. Having a built in two layer coat comes in handy on these New York winters, but it is not the most fun for humans who have to keep the floors tumbleweed-free.

That did not have much to do about Anty’s writing, except for the part where I mention she likes to use mundane activities such as tumbleweed harvesting to work out story things in her head. Most humans like spring cleaning, but, for Anty, it is fall cleaning that she likes, getting the house ready for cool days and long nights. She is actually excited that Mama will be bringing  home some of the good cleaning supplies, because she has plans for them. Some of these plans, I am told, involve putting me in a different room so that I cannot get things on my paws that are not good for kitties. I do not like being away from her -part of being a mews means following my Anty around as much as possible (or until Uncle comes home, and then I switch to him, because he is my favorite)- but I do appreciate her looking out for my welfare. The vet is nice, as vets go, but that does not mean I want to see her any  more than is strictly necessary. I prefer to stay at home. That is my happy place.

For Anty, the whole fall season is her happy place. Her super powers come back, she can be outside more, pumpkin flavored everything is everywhere, the same with apple cider, she can wear comfy sweaters and jackets, it is more comfortable to sleep at night, and things feel, in general, right. It is also the time of her birthday in October, and then Haloween, and then Thanksgiving. After Thanksgiving is the start of Christmas season, and, well, that is a whole other thing in itself. We will see how this one goes. Anty wants to start planning now. Anty says it is never too soon to plan.

It is also never too soon for Anty to get back to work on Her Last First Kiss, so that is about it for this week. Anty would like to wish a happy 50th anniversary to all Star Trek fans; live long and prosper. She may write about that later on, but I am not throwing away my shot. (Yes, Anty is still listening to Hamilton a lot. Maybe it is time for an all-cat production. We could call it Catmilton. I’ll see myself out.) Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

 

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

Head in the Curtains and Heart Like the Fourth of July

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Title cribbed from “Carry On” by Fun., (not a typo; the period is part of their name) because H has drilled it into me that, if I can’t come up with a blog title easily, the title is a line from whatever song I am listening to at the moment. No overthinkings. Writings, instead, thankyouplease. Official video here, because it is awesome:

I’ve started this blog three different times already, with three different approaches, and nearly fell asleep from boredom, so I am going to wing it. Seriously no idea where I am going with this, except maybe down for a nap, after I get the notes for the Her Last First Kiss scenes I mentioned yesterday, because they really do seem to have vanished. Either that, or I saved them somewhere I shouldn’t have, and I will find them after the book is done, possibly even published. That’s how it works sometimes.

Summer is hanging on here. Two more hot days, and then temperatures will start to go down. My brain is doing its drifty-offy thing that it does when I have had too much summer, because I really and truly have. Real Life Romance Hero suggested taking the next couple of days as flop days, let the heat pass, and then the superpowers will return in full force, and I can more than make up for the lack. Which is all well and good, except for the fact that I am me. I’m stubborn. Which is why this blabbery blog is happening today instead of getting pushed off until tomorrow. Still no topic, though, so we’ll see where our final destination lies when I hit the magic seven hundred. Until I hit that, I have to keep talking. Er, typing. :waves hand: You know what I mean.

Yesterday held an unusually good library run. Two Beatriz Williams books, two by Kerrigan Byrne, two issues of The Walking Dead, and All The Feels, by Danika Stone. In that bunch alone, we have: historical fiction (though I have shelved both Williams books I have read under historical romance; will put these two there as well, if they conclude in the same manner. Also, YMMV if early twentieth century settings count as “historical” or not. I say they do, and it’s my blog, so there.) and historical romance, graphic novel (does TWD count as horror? I class it as drama.) and YA.

None of these choices are playing it safe. The Williams books contain dual timelines, and deep period immersion; the first Byrne book I read had the hero and heroine meet as abused children in dire circumstances, re-meeting as adults when the heroine is living a the hero’s widow (spoiler alert: he’s not dead) and The Walking Dead is, well, The Walking Dead. Zombies are a fact of (and metaphor for) life in that universe; bad stuff can and does happen to good people, and the survivors have to keep on going. All The Feels has a teen heroine who enlists the aid of her male BFF, an actor for whom cosplay is life, in a plan that could change the course of her favorite fandom.

The fact that The Walking Dead is my go-to comfort read says something. Getting invested in a hero and heroine very clearly meant for each other and nobody else in 1931, then flash forward to 1938, hero is married to heroine’s former best friend, and there is now a seven year old girl hanging around? Two orphans in the middle of Victorian hell have a fake wedding because they’re the only ones who understand each other, have confusing feelings, are torn tragically apart,  then thrust back together under very non-optimal circumstances? The very real struggles of life when the dead still have a lot of get-up-and-go? Gimme. :makes grabby hands: Yes. Give me that. All of that. Let me seep it in through my skin until it sinks into every pore, breathe it like air, eat it and drink it and make it part of me, and then put it back out into work of my own.

That’s what drives me when I plunk myself down in the too-warm-in-the-heat-of-the-day recliner and pop open the laptop. That’s what makes my blood go skippity-skip when I settle into the camp chair plumped with squished-to-death pillow at the secretary desk I have drooled over since I was a toddler (before then, I probably drooled on it, but nobody wants to hear about that.) and let pen and paper take me back to the eighteenth century. That’s what makes me want to not only tell the story, but tell it right, to shut out the inner editor and cram the Hypercritical Gremlins back in their closet (thankfully, they’ve been quiet, of late) and tell the story. Once it’s all down there, then I can go back and polish things, but, first, it does need to get down there. By any means necessary. Sometimes, it’s messy. Sometimes, it’s not even within spitting distance of easy. Sometimes, it’s not at all what I had expected, but, if I keep my well filled, head down and eyes on my own paper, things tend to work out fine.

TLDR version: carry on.

 

One Guard Had Red Hair, or, File Hide and Go Seek

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Confession time. I still have not reinstalled Spotify on my laptop. This is not because I don’t use it. I do. Rather a lot, actually. That’s part of my maximalist tendency. I want a lot of stimulation, and I want as much of what I love around  me as possible. So, there is usually music playing while I work. Sometimes, I listen-listen, sometimes, I let the feel of the music seep into me and couldn’t tell where one song ends and the other begins. Sometimes, my brain is on autopilot, but silence-silence can often make me edgy. So, music, or, sometimes, ambient sound, is a must, but actually reinstall the music program I use every single day? Eh, there are workarounds.

Note that I did not say terribly convenient workarounds. I’ve had somewhat spotty luck with the web player, which irks me, because that would be easy. Instead, I usually use my phone, which is fine, but, right now, the battery is charging, and phone itself is picky about what chargers it likes and what ones it doesn’t. My tablet is not speaking to anything today, because it’s busy downloading speech to text (or the other way round?) utility that it is only now letting me know it has. Will have to investigate that later, because if there is one thing I can do, it’s talk. Also write, which is like talking on paper. Or pixels. Whichever works at the moment.

One would imagine (for those who are curious, I am listening on the web player, while writing on the laptop. Today’s picture is of my secretary desk, because there is too much light in the living room, where laptop and I currently are. This is what I see when I sit down to write my morning pages, complete with morning pages book.) that it would be easier to download Spotify on the laptop, so it would be there, and I wouldn’t have to go through two other devices and opening another browser, but that is not what is happening today. Today, I am searching files for the pages of Her Last First Kiss scene stuff that I know I wrote at some point on the long weekend, but then promptly put somewhere they should not be, and thus am spending the time looking for them.

This is not the worst I have ever done. Back when life was caregiveapalooza, I lost the manuscript for an entire book,  which I only found out when I got an email from my then-editor, reminding me when they needed the final copy. Ulp. I called in hardcopies from my critique partners, and reconstructed the entire book, save for one scene that had not made it to critique group. That one, I had to build from the ground up. After a fifteen minute panic session, an email to a writer friend, and a moment of silence, I plopped myself back in the desk chair and summoned a memory –any memory– of the missing scene.

Only one thing came to mind. One of the guards had red hair. Okay. I could work with that. I typed it onto the screen. “One of the guards had red hair.” Which meant there was more than one guard, if I needed to make the distinction, and I knew where that book’s hero was going, since I had the scenes before and after it to give me my start and end points. So I threw things onto the screen in a big firry glop, all out of order and mushed around. Then I mushed them into place, amid much grousing and determination, and, eventually,  the scene came together. That book, for those who are curious, was Orphans in the Storm, and the scene, well, some secrets, I am going to keep, but it’s not hard to figure out.

It’s been some time since Jonnet and Simon’s story was the new kid in town, and I’m glad we had each other when we did. Though the books are not in any way related, Hero and Heroine would not be here without those two crazy kids and their supporting cast, because every step in the journey is one step closer to the destination. This morning, while I was going through my files, looking for the now-missing scene stuff for HLFK, so I could show it to N, and couldn’t find it, my first reaction was not panic. Instead, it was “huh, can’t find that right now,” as a matter of course, and my instinct was to take out my all purpose (also called commonplace) notebook and start making a bullet point list of everything I remembered from the missing sections. That, I took to breakfast with N, ran it past her, and, even if I don’t find the original document (I suspect the Scrivener trash file) Plan B, and a rather painless one, at that, is to transfer my bullet point list to a new document and continue on from there.

Train of thought is rapidly derailing here, because I am now counting down the time to when Housemate and I make a library run. Also because I would really rather get back in there and mess with Hero’s and Heroine’s lives, figure out if Place was built to be Place, or if it was something else first, because that is going to affect where Room is, and all that other good stuff. Mostly torturing Hero and Heroine at this point, but it’s okay, because I write romance, and we know everything will turn out all right in the end. Better than all right. Happily ever after. As long as we know the two lovers in a romance novel are going to come out on top, and together, we can handle the author throwing pretty much anything in their way along that journey, so it really isn’t that much of a stretch to see it the same way during the actual writing process. All of which is my big fuzzy way of saying see you all tomorrow; time to go play with my imaginary friends.

Typing With Wet Claws: Hello September Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Although the calendar says fall does not begin until the twenty-second of September, and this is only the second, by Anty’s measure, fall begins on the first of September, so happy fall. Anty is very happy it is fall. She had tea this morning, and even debated taking a sweatshirt with her when she did laundry (for warmth; it was not dirty, and she did not end up taking it, anyway, because it was not that cold out) so that is a pretty good indicator. She knows there are still some  hot days coming, but it is fall in her head, and that means that her super powers are back. Also, I am in full shed. That is the real sign of fall around here; the changing of my floof.

Rules are rules, even in fall, so, before I do anything else,  I have to talk about Anty’s writing (which is pretty much the whole reason I got this gig in the first place, and by that, I mean the blogging gig. I got the pet thing because the humans needed a kitty and I needed a home. Worked out pretty well, but I digress.) Her Buried Under Romance post this past week was about how humans who read more than one book at one time juggle having multiple reads at once. It is here and it looks like this:

BUR

If the link above did not work, this one should: http://buriedunderromance.com/2016/08/saturday-discussion-juggling-act.html

 

Then, since it is a new month, the humans at Heroes and Heartbreakers like to ask their bloggers what their favorite reads of the month were. Since Anty has been working on making reading a priority, it is not a surprise that, this month, she had to split her vote between two. One of them surprised even her. To find out what they are, and what other bloggers liked best this month, it is here:

http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/08/hah-bloggers-recommend-best-reads-august-2016

and it looks like this:

HandHBestOf

I should probably mention that the picture is not one of Anty’s favorite reads for August. Anty did not read the book in the picture above; she read different books. It is still a nice picture, though.

Speaking of pictures, Anty  has been taking rather a lot of them. As Miss H said, when she found Anty’s Instagram, “So, basically laptops and cats.” Really, it is only one cat (me) and only one laptop, but there are also other things. Like this one, which is, as of this writing, Anty’s laptop background (it is still Ichabod and Abbie on the desktop; she refuses to change that one):

editingoutlineAug292016

 

Part of the reason Anty likes this picture as much as she does (if some of you think this picture looks familiar, you are probably right) is because she has found apps that let her make old timey effects on the pictures she takes, but another part of it is because of the subject. These are the outline pages Miss N printed out after Anty sent them to her, for the real, true ending of Her Last First Kiss. All of the handwriting you see on those pages is Anty’s, and it is in different colors, to indicate different things. If the ink is blue, it is about Hero. If the ink is Pink, it is about Heroine. If the ink is green, then it is about a supporting character or place. If the ink is black, it is a more general sort of note.

All of this will help Anty flesh out the story and smooth the outline (Anty’s outlines can get very detailed) into the next stage. This week, she will be fitting all the pieces together, and sending the whole deal to Miss N, to make sure she has not left anything out. I do not think it is a coincidence that this has coincided with the return of Anty’s autumn super powers. Anty will need a lot of energy and concentration to get this done, but she is excited to tackle the job. That is a big difference from how she has approached some of the other projects that she prefers not to talk about. I could talk about those, because I am the one writing this particular entry, but Anty reminded me who is in charge of how much treat I get (hint: it is Anty) so we will not be going there today.

Today, Anty will be using  most of her time to get all of her puzzle pieces in one place and make notes of things she will need to research, as well as check to see that recurring things do in fact recur, and are not a big surprise when it is not meant to be that way. This is where her love of story telling and organizing coincide. It will probably involve a lot of sticky notes and index cards. Anty actually does have sticky index cards, but only in one color (yellow, which is her least-favorite) but she has sticky notes that are not index cards and index cards that are not sticky notes, in a lot of colors, so she will be fine. I am pretty sure the plot board is going to come out of the closet. It is a big board and it folds. Sometimes, it falls over. It has not fallen over on me yet, but it might, if I get too close. That is one of the occupational hazards of being a mews.

That is also about it for this week, because the holiday weekend is coming, and Anty has plans with Uncle, once Mama goes off to visit Grandma, so Anty wants to make all the writing time count. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

 

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

 

Rust, Clear Water, and Finding the Corners

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…and you write until the rust comes out of the faucet, and it’s clear water. Then you write down the clear water.

–Lin-Manuel Miranda

Furious writing in the margins is a good thing. Furious writing in the margins, that wraps around said margins, across the top, and down the other side of the page, is even better. After yesterday’s breakfast with N, and her critique of the revised outline for the last leg of Her Last First Kiss, (there is a unique sound made by a writer when the writer’s critique partner announces they have a few notes on the pages the writer sent them the night before, and then takes out six handwritten pages. Ulp is not quite it, but probably the closest approximation, only more whimper-y.) and possibly the longest detour I have taken yet on my way home (on the plus side, there are some gorgeous brownstones in this city) I arrived home, thankfully not overheated, which is rare for this summer, and ready to work. Bold and italics both needed here, because brain was firing on all cylinders and I needed to get home and make some serious notes.

There’s a special feeling for us puzzler writers when it clicks that, yes, we have all the pieces now, and we can move on to the  next stage of the game. I’d tossed the outline N’s way, to make sure there were no dangling threads (there were a couple, but a bit of chatter over tea/coffee and bagel/Danish) sorted that out right proper, and…yeah. This stage is done. I’m one of those writers who has to know where I’m going, and if that means splashing around in the shallows for a while, I am, at this stage in my life, fine with that. I’m not writing anybody’s book but my own, so I need to do what works for me. It’s like finding all the corner pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, because once one has the corners, one knows the boundaries of the image. Top and bottom and side pieces are also clear, and, once that happens, then the mess in the middle isn’t quite so…messy.

It’s actually kind of fun, fitting things where they ought to go, especially helpful when the characters do the heavy lifting. Going from “Hero has to find out Heroine is pregnant somehow, but I don’t know what he’s doing while she’s doing her stuff over here, blah, blah, self-flagellate, cry, etc, ” to “well, this time when she blurts it out to Other Character would be the worst possible way for him to get this information, so that has to happen, so that fits,” is pretty heady stuff. Since characters aren’t waiting in the wings, tapping their feet and waiting for their cues, that means Hero was doing something else, and since things have to come to a head with Supporting Character and Hero, oh, well, it makes perfect sense they were over here, doing that other thing, and then they saw/heard the thing and came to see what it was, and then, dun dun dun… Not fun for them, but good for the story.

Now it’s a matter of going back to the start and make sure everything that comes full bloom in the end is planted in the beginning, and that I properly tend it along the way. That is about as much as I know about gardening, so I will leave the analogy there. What I do know is writing historical romance. Now that I know Location is actually going to get some screen time, as it were, there’s research to do on that, and, now that it has a name, I have to go back and change references to “that place over there” to Location’s proper name. Still keeping names close to the vest on this one, because that’s what feels right for this story, at this time. It’s not big enough to play outside on its own, without holding onto Mama’s hand at this stage but, at the end of the next pass, I think it will be.

With the framework in place, now it’s time to start making it pretty. There’s still the whole matter of connecting the back part to the front part and that’s going to take some work and some loose leaf paper and some sticky notes (Plot board in my closet, I am looking at you.) and looking up from the keyboard to see the metaphorical story contractors standing there, in their hard hats and overalls, clutching metaphorical blueprints and wanting a minute of my time, because we’ve come up against a zoning ordinance or the  new guy brought the wrong lug nuts and has to go back to the hardware store, or unicorns are nesting in the hole dug for the reflecting pool, but those are occupational hazards. What’s important is that I know where the corners are, and the water coming out of my faucet is clear again. Next evolution.

 

 

Into The Arms of The Undiscovered

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But know everything lost will be recovered
When you drift into the arms of the undiscovered.

–Ben Gibbard, “Me and Magdalena”

 

Run for your lives, she’s gone artsy. Which means, in this case, that she found a vintage effects photo app (actually, a lot of them) for her phone, has begun referring to herself in the third person, and was curious to see if she could make the usual deskscape look slightly more interesting. Jury is still out on that one, because A) a writer’s desk is always interesting, and B) I have no plans to change my desktop wallpaper any time soon, and C) even though I am writing this blog entry on my trusty pink laptop, I don’t particularly like taking pictures from the lap desk in the living room. Too much light, and now that I have my office looking more like an office and less like the wake of a hurricane, not to mention that the weather, while not autumnal by any stretch of the imagination, is cool enough for me to actually want tea this morning, so that’s what I have. I have also gone back to using first person, so there is that, as well.

Apparently, the vintage app thinks I am always in Instagram, and automatically crops square. Not sure how on board I am with that, but, for today, since I am sticking to my schedule, and actually really excited to get back to ruining Hero and Heroine’s lives (it will be okay in the end, I promise; I write romance, so the endings are always happy) so there is no time for the overthinkings. What there is time for is this blog entry, and then popping appropriate files onto my nifty pink (I do not know how it started, but my electronics are pink now, whenever possible) flash drive, so that I can do the actual work in my office, until/unless I decide it’s coffee house time. Then, the laptop gets to be the star. Unless I decide it’s a paper day, but pink laptop makes me happy, so we will see.

This past weekend can be summed up with “summer is trying to kill me.” Too much time out in the sun, running errands, left me with zero energy, so, once I poured myself into my comfy chair, in front of the fan, and hugged the ice pack of the hour, I basically did two things: I read and I napped. Seriously, I was a reading machine, and now that I’ve found how to track progress for what I’m reading on Goodreads, I have proof. Interestingly enough, I’ve also found that the point where I am most likely to wander off from a book is right before the midpoint. That’s when I’m pedaling my metaphorical bike up the metaphorical hill, get a leg cramp, hop off and call a metaphorical cab. Push a little bit farther, though, and I’m over the hump, and can take my feet off the pedals, stick my legs straight out and yell “wheeeee!” while I coast down the hill, wind in my hair and joy in my veins. This all gets me thinking if the same holds true to some of the partial manuscripts lingering in various drives. Not talking about the miscarried stories; a writer knows what stories are dead and which ones are merely resting.

Backing up a tad to clarify that one could count me as doing three things when not running errands, because, half the time I napped,  I had my earbuds in and there was technically music playing. I can’t say that I was always listening-listening to it, but I was taking it in, because this was some serious well filling. I highly recommend serious well filling. Earworm of the moment is “Me and Magdalena,” by the Monkees, written by Ben Gibbard of Death Cab For Cutie. The mere concept of The Monkees after the passing of Davy Jones was something I didn’t want to think about, for a long time. I fell in love with The Monkees, watching reruns on TV when I was but  wee little princess, bonded with college friends over same (:waves to Heather and Carolin:) and have done more than a few virtual fistpumps when a once upon a time friend wrote about how badass the Monkees actually were, because, dang, they really could make their own music, and fought for it, and won, and, even after Davy’s passing, here they still are. Plus, there was the lyric video right there on my Facebook page when the album first came out, and, reader, I clicked on it.

Oh, my heart. Yes. That. So completely, totally that. Nothing big, and yet, and yet, bam, there was a complete, vivid, image, of that one perfect moment in the narrator’s world. I felt the wind, and the sun (without it draining me, miracle of miracles) and that long drive along the coast, when life is infinite and love rules over all. Yes. I want to do that. I want to make that. I want to be that. I want to put that in my stories and give others that moment.

I also inhaled, among other things, One Hundred Summers, by Beatriz Williams. Oh my stars. Oh my gravy.Yes. That is historical romance, people. Technically, there may be some wiggle room on the historical aspect, as the 1930s are still within living memory, and my personal definition of historical romance is loosely prior to that, but my review, so I’m going with what feels right. I won’t repeat my Goodreads gushing here, but you can read it on your own:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1741156270?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1

Both of those things twined around the latest episode of Fear The Walking Dead, which I liked okay before, but am totally on board with now, because they, too, did things I didn’t expect, took me places I didn’t think I was going to go, or wanted to go, but the gasping and the jumping and the “Oh man, I cannot wait to get to HLFK in the morning,” that’s my barometer of getting into something good. Cue Herman’s Hermits.

Okay, far past the magic 700 -do I need to give myself a cap for maximum length?- so I will close with this: both of my current commercial fiction projects are taking me places I didn’t know I was going to go. Ask me a year ago, and I’d have kicked and screamed and laughed at the idea (derisively, not from amusement) AND YET, here I am, and I’m not bashing my head against a brick wall, sobbing about how much I suck, etc. Instead, yeah, make that tea, pop those files on that drive, and let’s take that leap. You with me?

Typing With Wet Claws: Precautionary Cone of Shame Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This has been a week full of adventures, as you can see by this week’s picture. Normally, I have to talk about Anty’s writing before I say anything else, but Anty says that, this time, I am allowed to talk about my butt first, because some people might worry when they see I am wearing the cone of shame.

Normally, I am a very good girl, but this morning, Anty saw some red next to my puddle, and asked Uncle to look at my butt while she picked me up (I do not like being picked up, but I loooove Uncle.) Uncle said he did see a very tiny pink spot. Busted. Now they know I was going at my bottom when the humans were not looking. That is why I have the cone of shame on, so that I cannot do that again. Uncle said it was only a very small spot, but Anty is cautious. She had Uncle hold me while she put the cone on me. Then they fed me, because I really love my food, and they wanted to make sure I can do all the normal kitty things with the cone on me. As it turns out, I can. It also helps me gain pathetic points when I give them hungry eyes, so this may actually work in my favor. This may also mean the return of the butt compress, but I am not sure. We will see. If the humans have any doubts, back to the pokey place we go.

Okay, enough of that. Time to talk about Anty’s writing, because we have a lot of ground to cover this week. Anty’s latest Buried Under Romance post is about how to handle a book hangover. If you have read a book that stays with you after you are done, and it is hard to get into a different book afterwards, that is what it is. If it has not happened to you yet, Anty says you need to read more books. I suggest hers. The post is here and looks like this:

BUR

I think feeding kitties also helps book hangovers. I suggest feeding me.

In case the computer is picky and the link does not work, you can read the post here:

http://buriedunderromance.com/2016/08/saturday-discussion-the-sweetest-book-hangover.html

Anty will get to the bottom of what is making the links go all picky later, because she is busy writing right now. She and Anty Melva outlined the rest of the Beach Ball this week, and Anty Melva says they are almost halfway through. That is very exciting. Still no cats in that story, though. I am disappointed in both of them. Anty is also making good progress on Her Last First Kiss, and hopes that there are no more big adventures in this upcoming week, so she can make up for time that last week’s adventures took.

Even before I got busted on the butt thing, it was an exciting week. First, while Anty was getting the house ready for Aunt Mary and Uncle Brian’s visit, Mama came home and asked if Anty had seen the notice from Gas Company on the door. Anty had not. What happened was that, while Gas Company humans were turning on the gas for our new neighbor, Miss S, they found something that needed fixing. They had to turn the gas off so that the right human could come and fix it. That meant that we could not cook for our guests. That was all right, because Anty Mary loves Crave, the burger place very close to our house, so the humans had their lunch there. I stayed home and had fish jelly . I regret nothing. Except getting caught with the butt thing. That, I regret.

CraveFoodCollage

What the humans ate. Things in the basket are birdie wings.

If the link does not work, I will put it here:

http://cravealbany.com/

 

 

Since Anty Mary knows Anty loves pirates, she brought her one. Now Anty has Will Turner from Pirates of the Caribbean to watch over her writing. I do not know if I have the heart to tell him there are no pirates in Her Last First Kiss. Maybe next book.

20160826_094945

Newest member of Anty’s crew..

 

 

All the humans went to the New York State Museum of Natural History. The link to that is here: http://www.nysm.nysed.gov/

Anty’s favorite exhibit was Hudson Valley Ruins, because she loves pictures of abandoned places. They make her think about stories right away, about who might have lived there, and why they left, and what they took and left behind, and other story questions like that. She did not get to see her favorite permanent exhibit, forensic reconstructions of skulls taken from colonial graves, but she will go see it another time. There is also a carousel there, that she likes to ride, but tehre was not time to ride it. Another time, again. It is a very big museum, with a lot of things to see. There is a whole exhibit on birdies that live in this part of the country. I think that would be my favorite exhibit if I were to go there, but that would require leaving the house, and I do not like leaving the house.

For those of you who were wondering about the gas part of this entry, yes, the gas is back on, which means Anty can cook and take hot baths again. A lack of baths makes Anty cranky, and nobody wants that. Especially not me. Anty is the one in charge of when I cant take off the cone of shame. She says its proper name is “Elizabethan collar.” Maybe she  needs to read more Elizabethan romance novels, instead of dressing up her cat in period costume. I think that might help.

Anty is making her need-the-computer noises, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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