Author: annabowling

Draw Shapes

annabowling 2 Comments

We have snow. In April. I am going to have to go outside and shovel the sidewalk. In April. Even though snow is my favorite weather, it had the whole season of winter to show, and it didn’t. I live with two springophiles, and they’re sad at the loss of their favorite season, which makes it hard to enjoy this unexpected dose of mine, so this is an interesting conundrum. I may need to take a snow day.

 

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view from our balcony

 

 

For my fellow Sleepyheads, my recap of Sleepy Hollow‘s latest episode, “Delaware,” is up at Heroes and Heartbreakers. Man, this episode. Two particular Ichabbie scenes could count as love scenes -donuts and boat, for those who have seen- because the connection is that strong, and sure, and understated and all the more obvious for it. If this were a book, I would have sticky notes on those chapters, so I could see how they did it and learn to do it for myself. Still no word on whether the show will be renewed or not, so next week’s season (and hopefully not series) finale should be interesting, not to mention cause for great speculation. It is here, and it looks like this:

ICHABBIE

New member of the (notebook) family came home this weekend, when I saw this gorgeous specimen at Barnes and Noble, in the red dot clearance section:

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new art journal – what can I do to it?

 

I’ve always wanted to try an unlined Picadilly, and one of their larger notebooks, so when I saw this, and it announced it was my new art journal, (because notebooks talk to me; don’t they do that to everybody?) I fell in love with the creamy pages, and spent a rather blissful chunk of time at the kitchen counter, slapping down seemingly random things that were within easy reach, and I’m rather pleased with the results.

Though I don’t remember who actually said this particular gem, I want to say it was in an issue of Art Journaling magazine. In every issue, multiple contributors are asked the same question about their creative process. That’s probably my favorite feature, as I love finding out how different people do the same thing. In one issue, I want to say the question was something like, how to get started when ideas aren’t coming.

One answer stuck with me.  “When you don’t know what to draw, draw shapes.” I am fairly certain I’m paraphrasing here, and probably need to go back and find the actual quote and artist’s name, because that had a big hand in getting me out of a creative funk. Draw shapes. Well, that’s easy. Anybody can draw shapes. So, today, when I sat down with a two page blank spread in front of me, that’s what came to mind. I stuck down a piece of scrapbook paper, tried out some long-neglected stamps, with a longer-neglected ink pad (that pad has earned all the RIPs in the image) and then…nothing. Which is where the shapes came into play.

I grabbed an old stencil that was, apparently, made by IBM, for…IBM-related something, I imagine; my dad probably bought it for art use, and now it’s mine…and started tracing shapes. Then I filled them in with an old #2 pencil, which I’d found in the same box of stuff. I didn’t think, didn’t plan, only let one shape flow into the next one, my mind drifting along with the music, picking out the stories from the songs, the snapshots of emotion captured in sound, and that told me where to go next. When I got to the point of “done” with shapes, I looked at the blank space for a while. It needed a figure. I grabbed a stack of pages torn from old magazines, cut out the first one I saw, glued it down, added some shade, then sat back.

Words. I needed words on that page, but didn’t want to overthink it. What ended up going on the page were the lyrics that played at that exact moment. It worked. Done. I liked the whole process a lot, and will probably do that again, because it gets my creative brain in gear. So, what does that have to do with writing? Other than inspiration, that is, because there was definitely that.

It’s the blank page. It’s the shapes. It’s knowing that I know how to  do this. Once there is a shape on the page, once there is a splash of color, or even a single mark, the page isn’t blank anymore. The first step will invite the next one, which will make the page an entirely different thing from that, and once I get in the groove, it’s easier to keep going than it is to stop. It’s trusting myself and knowing that  what works for me, works for me. It’s feeling the doubt and going ahead anyway, because otherwise, what else is there to do but stare at a bank page? Put something down. Anything. Fix it later. Add to it later. Cover it later. Rip it out later, if you want, but put it down there. Use a template if you need. Go freehand if you want, but start. Make your mark. Draw a shape. Write a word. I dare you.

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Typing With Wet Claws: Posts and Bacon Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty is a little out of sorts this morning, so it is a good thing that I am the one writing today’s blog. She will settle soon (it is only her second cup of tea, after all) and all will be well. Usually, I am the one who gets unsettled before thunderstorms (we are probably going to have some) but this time, it is Anty. A while back, thunderstorms used to be bad for a condition Uncle has, but people vets got that settled, so I do not think there is anything to worry about on that front. I think it is probably that spring and summer make Anty sad, because they are too bright and the temperatures are too high. Thunderstorms, and rain in general, though, make her happy, and so does writing, so I am sure things will even out fairly soon, especially since Uncle made Anty some bacon and toast, without being asked.  He’s that good.

 

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yes, it did smell as good as it looks

 

 

Anty has been at the glowy box a lot this week. Her recap of last night’s The Big Bang Theory is up at Heroes and Heartbreakers. Anty was surprised that a sitcom addressed a serious issue like what Sheldon reveals to Amy (she said I cannot spoil this for people who have not yet seen the episode) and that they did it in such a caring, sensitive manner. Anty is very impressed with  this episode. Her recap is here and it looks like this:

 

SHAMY

No shame, all Shamy.

 

Anty is also keeping an eye on tonight’s Sleepy Hollow, in case there are big Ichabbie doings. Anty thinks Abbie kissed the wrong human on last week’s episode, but there is still time to rectify that mistake. She hopes. She also hopes there will be another season, and is keeping eyes and ears open for news of that. In the meantime, she is working on two more posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers. Both of these are about books, and that means she can curl up in her comfy chair, read, and honestly say she is working. I will, of course, be curled up at her feet so that I can lend support. That is one of the duties of a mews. That, and making sure she takes enough cat feeding breaks. Those are important.

 

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Anty’s novella notebook and notes

 

 

This week, Anty had her first video chat, on Skype (which, apparently, is not short for “Skye Pee.” You can imagine my disappointment.) with Anty Melva, so that they could figure out the next part of the novella they are writing together. Anty thinks she may hack the cover of this notebook with maybe some text from the story, but she is not sure yet. During this chat, Anty and Anty Melva had to decide some things about the book one of the characters has to write (well, finish writing, because the first writer passed away before the book was finished) and the best way for them to do that was face to face. Anty thought that was fun, and they will do the same thing again next week, to see how they are doing with what they had planned. Anty sat down immediately afterward, and filled several pages in the notebook, so I think I can say that is going okay.

Anty also talked to Critique Partner Vicki about Her Last First Kiss. It had been a while since Anty gave her any updates on that project, and Critique Partner Vicki was surprised at how much Anty got done. There was a whole character arc that was not there before (Anty thanks N for pointing that out, and suggesting how to connect it.) and Anty feels confident that she is going to make her goal for the bullet point draft. Now that it is April, June feels a lot closer than it did in March, but that is okay, because Anty is not looking at the big picture right now.

That does not mean that Anty does not have the big picture in mind. What it does mean is that she gives her attention to the scene at hand and trusts herself that she knows how to do this writing thing. She’s written and sold books before. She’s moving toward two new books every day, and she has her posts about romance in books and TV to keep her brain busy and her name out there. She’s got this.

Since it is now time for my lunch, that is going to be about it for this week. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

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Until next week…

 

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

 

Allrightyroo

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Two wondrous things happened this morning, in my office. Thing one is that I found out that the snooty nameplate pen on my desk, which ran out of ink ages and ages ago (like back when we lived in a different part of the country ago) actually takes the Pilot G2 refills that I bought for the…um…PapermatepenwhosenameIforgetbutthoughtwasPilotG2, so that pen is now back in business. Thing two was that Real Life Romance Hero knocked on my office door while I was writing my morning pages, and asked if I wanted him to make some French toast for me.

For my new readers, Real Life Romance Hero used to cook professionally, so if he offers to cook something, it is going to be amazing. I utterly love his French toast, so it took me about half a millisecond to accept that offer. French toast, a fresh cup of tea, and, exactly when I thought “the only thing that could make this better is bacon,” RLRH came through with…bacon. That is one of the many reasons I love that man. The only downside to this breakfast bonanza is the amount of dishes left behind, because French toast for me means eggs for him, and dude had to be out the door to work, and I…was already in the door, because I work here. I don’t mind. There are prices we pay for the good things in life, and if a few dishes is what gets me French toast to go with my tea (especially  with bacon) then hand me my rubber duck scrubber and leave me to it.

As you may have guessed, this is another one of those winging it entries, and I got over two hundred words talking about my breakfast, so yay for me. If I give another two hundred each to lunch and dinner, I’m almost all done right there. Downside of that is that lunch was English muffin pizza (common fare when I am sola for lunch) and not terribly interesting, so we will skip to the time I noticed I did not have time to pack up and head to the coffee house if I wanted to make my scheduled chat with Critique Partner Vicki. Critique Partner Vicki has been on fire with her chapters lately, and I have three of them that need my attention. I also owe her an updated outline of Her Last First Kiss, because critique partners need up to date roadmaps.

The last several days have left me feeling like a teddy bear tied to the back of a bullet train. The thing-I-did-not-want happened, and that’s an adjustment, but life works that way sometimes. Doors close, windows open, et cetera and all that other ancient wisdom. Real life plot twist, let’s call it, and move on along. Listen to Ben Folds and Mary Chapin Carpenter, entertain pipe dream of those two making music babies, and uncap aforementioned pen (or others) to make lists of things that have to be done, then do those things. Plug in earbuds, call up appropriate Spotify playlist and find something to hold notebook open on lap desk. Grouse to cat about how all notebooks should open flat, and then make some tea. Check off things as they are done, and, when at bottom of list, kick back and refill creative well.

Five hundred and fifty-nine words, huh? Almost there. Almost there. Keep on going. Once blog entry is up, I can spend time with Hero and Heroine, and those people in the novella, which I have not yet decided terminology for, when it comes to blog talking. Collaborator and I have not yet named the darned story, except to refer to it as our “beach ball,” because we throw it back and forth to have fun. Maybe I’ll call it Beach Ball until we find a proper name. Fun fact: we refer to it, when talking with each other, by the name of a supporting character, though it is definitely the story of its hero and heroine. Some stories end up naming themselves, and this may well be one of them.

Six hundred and eighty-nine words, or, as a math teacher whose name I can’t remember (nor can I remember much math, for that matter; I think I traded in the math part of my brain for more story space, and I regret nothing) would insist, the proper name of the number is six hundred, eight-nine. Putting the “and” in the name of the number makes it addition. Hah. I’m over the minimum right now, so I could technically stop, but I’ve fallen into one of my blabbers and I could also keep on going. Only problem there is that I lost my train of thought and am now talking merely to talk. This is what happens when I am not around enough people, people.

So, that’s an entry. I’m in my comfy chair, I need more tea, and I have to get up and get my HLFK notebook anyway, so I can multitask. Time to visit eighteenth century England and mess with Hero and Heroine’s lives.

 

 

Respite

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I don’t feel like blogging today. I really don’t. What I want to do is nap. A nap would be lovely, under my duck blankey, in my comfy chair, a cup of tea at the ready, maybe the TV on, though I can’t think of what I’d want to watch, so maybe we can switch that to music. I don’t like silence-silence right now. I have a headache, my brain is full, and yet, it is also trained that this is writing time, so I’m  here, butt in chair and fingers on keyboard.

Breakfast with N was lovely as always, getting each other up to date on what we’re working on, how it’s going, and our shared irritation with movies we hate. After that, I took out one of my HLFK notebooks and worked on a scene that needs fleshing out. I walked home through the park, into a cold, gusting wind the entire time. That was not my favorite. Lunch, cat tending, and now, I’m here. Novella work happened last night, which sent me to bed in a productive mood, if later than I had hoped.

 

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Skye says less dithering, more blogging.

 

Okay, okay, cat goading always works. I can get something out of this. I’m already over two hundred words, which is a pretty decent inroad. This is one of those days when I’m tempted to let the blogging slip for another day, but then there would be the blogging equivalent of a multicar pileup. Tomorrow is Wednesday’s post, and #1linewed, then Thursday, I write my Buried Under Romance post. Friday has Skye’s post, and it’s the Sleepy Hollow season finale, which I will be recapping. Domestic tornadoes took yesterday, and that leaves today, so I’m here.

So,  what am  I talking about? I have no idea. I’m sure something will happen, and days like this are part of the normal scheme of things. I’m in a stinky mood at the moment, but I know it will pass. Once I get this entry crossed off my list, then I’ve earned some downtime, which will very likely include reading, or maybe that nap. My brain keeps going back to that nap thing, which I am taking as a sign. Soon, brain. Soon. Blog first.

 

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care for a random mint picture?

Yesterday, my confidence took a hit. Something didn’t go the way I wanted it to go. That’s life sometimes. We get knocked off our metaphorical horse now and again; I don’t think anybody is immune to that. There are a few minutes of lying on our back in the dirt, blinking up at blue sky and white clouds,  and, well, dang. That wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did and now, the choice is, stay there, or get up.

I got up. Set the thing-I-didn’t-want aside and opened my novella notebook. A bullet point draft of the scene my collaborator and I had agreed I would tackle spilled out. The next scene that would be mine suggested itself in the end of this one, and a quick email to said collaborator got her thumbs up, so now I know where my next scene (she’ll write the one in between) for that story begins.

 

This morning, after N left to meet Mr. N, my brain still had some funk, but it also had the germ of the scene I needed to tackle for HLFK. Heroine has to encounter Other Character,, and I knew the when and the where, but not the how. Apart, that is, from making things as difficult as possible for her. The old chasing character up a tree and then throwing rocks at them school of thought. It’s a meeting she very much does not want, but she knows is possible, and she’d love nothing more than to slip out of the venue so it doesn’t have to happen. Which means that, not only can she not slip out, but there will be multiple eyes on her, so she can’t react the way she wants to react. A few pages of that, and my brain was still funky, but I had a loose outline of the scene, and that’s more than I started the day with, so I’ll take it.

I’ve always had a quibble with those who say fiction is an escape. I would rather say that it’s respite. Dive into reading or writing a good book, and the rest of the world will still be there, but there is one important difference. That’s us. We got a break from the everyday. We got to travel to a different time and place, walk around inside somebody else’s skin, lived another life, and, somehow, it’s made us better equipped to handle our own. I’m going to call that good.

Typing With Wet Claws: Rainy Day Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is rainy here today, so Anty is very happy about that. Rain gives her energy that too-bright days take away, and she is looking forward to getting things done. That is why she wanted me to get my blog out nice and early. I do not mind, because I would not have sunbeam time anyway, because of the rain.

This week, Anty had to say goodbye to one of her favorite characters, Derek Morgan,  on one of her favorite shows, Criminal Minds. Then she got to write about it for Heroes and Heartbreakers. That is a little tricky, because this character was part of a shipped pair, and that ship is now in drydock because Morgan married somebody else and left the job, and the show. It is here, and it looks like this:

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goodbyes are never easy

 

Anty is not sure if she will keep watching the show, but she will give it a few episodes, at least, to find out. She is interested to see the shift in the group dynamics of the rest of the team, and what sort of character will come along to fill the vacant spot. Anty is very aware that Criminal Minds is a crime drama, so the relationships are not the focus of the show, but that is still one of the main reasons that she watches. (Uncle refers to this show as “Soothing Serial Killers,” because Anty finds the show calming. For the most part, that is. There is an older episode where bad things happen to kitties, and she will not watch that one. I fully support her in that regard.)

Besides the relationships, Anty likes the psychological aspect of the show. She likes to see the profilers figure out why the bad guys are doing what they do, and what is the best way to stop them. Getting inside the characters’ heads is one of the things Anty loves best about writing, and that works very well with figuring out how relationships work, because romance novels are all about relationships. Every couple is comprised of two people who have psychological and emotional baggage of their own, and that is not magically solved when they fall in love. If anything, falling in love makes it worse, because that brings a whole new set of problems.

This kind of thing makes Anty very happy. Anty loves solving these sorts of problems and getting her heroes and heroines through their difficulties and on the right road to their hhappy endings at the end of the book. That gets her about as excited as waking up and finding our that the day will be rainy (the only thing better than a rainy day is a snowy day. We did not really have any of those this year. That did not please Anty, but she is over that now and happy to have rain.) When both of those happen at the same time, then that is a perfect storm. Today, Anty  has to go out with Mama and get some things done, but she is taking along her story notebook (and her all purpose notebook, and probably another notebook, in case she needs that one. She may also buy a new notebook, because she is Anty and requires multiple notebooks to survive.) because she does not want to shut off the movie in her head while doing other things, like getting cat food.

When Anty is on the right track with a story, it plays in her head all the time, even when she is doing other things, and, sometimes, she will follow it off to wherever it goes. This is all right when it is writing time, but when it is grocery time, that can have some interesting results. Mama knows Anty’s story world face (I am not allowed to post a picture of it) and can tell when Anty’s body is in the regular world, but  her brain and her heart are somewhere else. That is either a time to let Anty do what she needs to do, or very gently steer her back to the mundane task at had. She will usually be crabby if that is done too quickly, so Mama has to be very careful about when and how to do that. If all else fails, gummi bears can usually do the trick.

Sometimes, though, the only thing to be done is to leave Anty to it and try to keep up if she decides she needs to talk. For Anty, talking and thinking sometimes happen at the same time, and she will not know she knows something until she can talk about it. Then the idea unlocks and she needs to put pen to paper. This is why she has this many notebooks. On rainy days, especially rainy days when Anty is out and around a lot of people, the likelihood of this is a lot higher. I think this is going to be one of those.

It is about time for the humans to leave the house, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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

 

Head Down, Eyes On My Own Paper

annabowling 6 Comments

Welp. I’m sitting here in Panera, rather than the coffee house one block from my house, because we needed at item from a store near Panera, work area photo (the above is not it) taken but phone is being persnickety about sending it to other devices, so this will have to do. No idea what I’m going to talk about right now, because, right now, my brain is quite firmly lodged in story world (actually more than one of them, but I can compartmentalize things like that fairly easily) so we’ll go with the picture for inspiration.

Technically, I do not need any new notebooks. Ideally, I need them all. Reality is somewhere in between. This set of three cahiers screamed out that it wanted to come home with me, and I didn’t even have the shrink wrap off before I knew exactly how I wanted to hack this trio. I almost always hack notebooks, except for those that are already a perfect fit, as with my current daily pages book.

These are by Picadilly, one hundred pages each, a nice, round number, and have cream-colored, lined pages. I love Picadilly paper, but need more structure on my pages, so I draw a frame around each, add some color (in this case, suggested by the covers of each) et voila, new purse notebooks. I’ve used my Pilot Varsity and Micron pens in the “Make Today Great” book and will probably use my Bic Cristals in them at some point, but am leaning ever more strongly toward fountain pens as my favorites. I already have my eye on two more Pilot Varsity pens at our local art supply store, green and turquoise, and I’m going to need to replace the black one soon. I’ve read tutorials on how to refill the Varsity pens, which are sold as disposable. Half of me wants to try it, and half of me remembers I am me, and this will require pliers and an open bottle of ink. . I may have to recruit Housemate or Real Life Romance Hero on that one, or actually buy a real fountain pen, because that’s what I really want. We’ll see what happens.

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Picture break while I change the subject.

In the meantime, I’m writing. Current projects include Her Last First Kiss, as well as co-writing a novella I can best describe as ‘historical romance adjacent,’ and am diving into more book-related posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers. I can fangirl about historical romance novels all day long (no, seriously, I can. Ask Housemate or Real Life Romance Hero. They know.) and, as much as I love some of the older titles, this is an exciting time to be currently in the genre, as well.

This means I’m doing more reading. A lot more reading. Library books give me baleful looks from my TBR shelf as I peer intently at the screen of my phone, because either A) I have somehow missed how to increase the font size on Adobe Digital Editions, or B) their option to increase font size is only a cruel joke, and/or a test to see how badly I want to read the EARC (electronic advance reading copy) I have for an upcoming post. Blocking out time to read (and using a planner to do so) has meant a big boost, not only in how much I’m getting read, but the amount of time I devote to it.

Reading more keeps my brain closely aligned to story, and reading within my genre (though still keeping an eye out for realistic YA that catches my interest – I literally squealed when I saw the release of a new David Levithan is imminent. I’d read his grocery list, seriously.) gives me a firmer footing there. I hadn’t known that was missing. Well, no, I had, but I didn’t know that I didn’t know, if that makes any sense.

What it comes down to, for me, is head down, eyes on my own paper. It’s not a contest. While I’m sure there are people who read books by only one author, ever, that’s the exception rather than the rule. X’s success does not mean Y’s failure. It’s up to the individual. As long as I know what I’m doing, where I’m going, and what I need to get there, keep moving in that direction every day, it’s going to happen.

 

I can’t control the market. I can’t control the readership. I can’t control current events or other writers or the internet. What I can control is this: what I write. That’s it, and that’s probably a good thing. My job is to write my stories, my way. That means knowing what tools I need to get the job done, making sure that I have them, and that they are in good repair and ready to use. That means shutting out things that are going to get in the way of getting from “once upon a time” to “happily ever after.” That means studying my craft by reading the work of historical romance writers who came before me, and the work being produced by my contemporaries. That means filling my creative well and exposing myself to new experiences, to put new tools in my toolbox. That means knowing my voice, and knowing how to protect, nurture and develop it. That means saying “no” to things that are going to take me farther from my goal and “yes” to those that will bring me closer to it. That means making mistakes and falling down and getting back up to try again. That means  butt in chair, pen on paper and fingers on keyboard, by any means necessary.

TLDR:  Head down, eyes on my own paper. I got this.

 

The Middle

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I don’t want to blog today. I really don’t. It’s Tuesday again, and, again, I am on Monday’s entry. Session with N got me pumped to write…but on the book, not on the blog. I’ve started this I stopped counting how many times, and probably as many times, switched over to camera mode so I can blabber in video, but then switch it back off again.

So, do I know what I’m doing today? Seriously no. I don’t. That’s okay. I’m doing it anyway. I can figure it out as I go. Parts of it, I have figured. I am working on HLFK. I am writing this blog entry (obviously.) I am reading for pieces that will be posted on Heroes and Heartbreakers. That should take up most of the day. I am chatting via Skype with a writer friend who dragged me, kicking and screaming, onto that platform, because we needed to chatter at each other. I have come, quickly, to love Skype. So far, I’ve only used it for text chatting, not video, but that will probably happen at some point.

The companionship helps. Writing can be a lonely business. Some writers need to be completely alone. If I’m alone too long, I start to loop my thoughts, and I go round and round and round and can’t find the off ramp. This is dangerous, oh so very, very dangerous. This is where miscarried stories lose it, mired in the sea of possibilities and questions over what I should do. There’s that word, should. I don’t like that word.

Seriously, should what? Should why? Who decides on all these shoulds, anyway? Probably them. We all know them, or rather, we don’t. The Hypercritical Gremlins do, I am quite sure. They get us second guessing ourselves, until the list of things we should do, the list of things we believe we can do, gets smaller and smaller until there isn’t anything left but rocking back and forth in a fetal position under the dining room table, clutching a stuffed animal and muttering something about gummi bears. Or not gummi bears. I couldn’t think of anything to put in there, and plugged in gummi bears as a placeholder. Plus I also really like gummi bears. I have gummi bears. Gummi bears, gummi bears, gummi bears.

All right, enough free association. We have come to the part of the post where I give up all pretenses of trying to impart any wisdom and concentrate instead on babbling until I reach magic word 700 and then I can post this entry and get back to the writing of actual fiction.  That stuff, I can do. It’s a glorious thing, to have stuck with the characters and their story and puzzle it out until, hey, there’s an outline. This thing happens and that thing happens and I don’t know what has to happen before this other thing, but I get down what I do know and then…and then, things happen.

The friend I’m chatting with today likened stories to houseplants. If you don’t tend to them frequently enough, they’re going to commit suicide. My friend put it more colorfully, but there’s some truth there. With the dubious distinction of as many miscarried novels under my belt as I personally have, I have been there. I have a key to there. There was a time when I was getting my mail there. I won’t say that, occasionally, a piece or two will route through there, but, by and large, I think I am very most likely on the other side.

How do I know this? Is it even possible to know this sort of thing? Am I calling my shot too soon and not watching for the black claw of despair to grab my ankle and pull me back into the pit? Is that being a tad melodramatic right there? I don’t know, maybe, possibly, and likely so. The brain of a writer is a scary place, on a good day. All those people milling about in there, all with their own minds, wills and emotions, and it’s our job to make them play nice, or at least work toward the same goal – a finished book.

Lovely as it would be if those finished books could spring fully formed from our writerly brains, then we’d miss the strength that comes from the journey. It’s babbling over instant message and playing Mad Libs, asking the person on the other end for a location and type of character. It’s throwing songs onto a playlist by instinct and mushing them around until they fall into the right order. It’s reading and thinking what if – and following it through. It’s finding a couple dozen ways that don’t work, before the one that does. It’s cracking open a notebook and putting pen to paper, and/or typing into a file. It’s theory and practice. Concept and execution. It’s coming back to the page again and again and again, even on the days when that doesn’t seem possible (and some days, it isn’t, and that’s okay; try again the next one) and putting something down, until, at last, the words that flow from finger to page are The End.

Until then, it’s The Middle. The middle can be murky. It can be sticky. It can be confusing and tricky and hard and discouraging, but it is, and we have to go through it to get to The End. Up and down those three steps in the theoretical PT room of our writing minds. Put something on the page. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It won’t be perfect, but it does need to be written. Like this. Look right here; I had to keep going for 700 words, and this is 960 by the count on the bottom of my screen. This is why the discipline works for me.

Three blog entries per week. Two handwritten pages each morning. Weekday afternoons at the coffee house. Writer chats that include “if I have to write, you have to write,” and showing each other what we did. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, we’ll get there, as long as we keep going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

–

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: New Notebook Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

 

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday.  Today is a very special day for Anty. Not only did she finish her very first daily pages book, but is ready to start a new one. There will be a lot of pictures in this post, because the notebook is very pretty, and she wants to show her readers all of it. Here is the front cover:

 

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Another Paris book, but still no Paris stories. Interesting.

 

Anty is really not that surprised that she picked another Paris-themed book for her next daily pages book. In working with her last book, she learned that having a two page spread with a distinct design keeps her focused on filling only those pages and then getting on with work elsewhere, so that immediately told her what she needed to find in the next daily pages book. She still has some others that fit that category, but she will share those at another time, and stick to this one today.

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This is by a different maker. Anty has not had any of their books before.

 

One of the things that is different about this book is that it has six uniqe spreads, rather than four. That works very well, since Anty was thinking about adding another day to her daily pages, anyway. If she does that now, each week will fit nicely in there, with a break on Sundays. The spreads look like this:

 

The colors in this book are much quieter, and the designs more subtle. Anty thinks she might want to use fountain pens in this book, but she does not want to sacrifice a page for an ink test, so this may be a surprise when she starts the new book tomorrow. Ballpoints might be all right, but the fountain pens feel more elegant, and the ink Miss Jenna gave her would fit very well with the plum color that occurs throughout the book. Colors are important to Anty. She thinks part of that is her own natural inclination and part of it is growing up as an artist’s kid. Having colors that agree in depth and value help get her brain into its happy place.

Another thing that gets Anty into a happy place is interior pockets in a notebook. This one has a special shaped pocket. It is inside the front cover, not the back one, which Anty finds unusual and interesting. She does not know if there is something special that is meant to go in there. For now, she will call it an ephemera pocket and figure out what to put in there later. Normally, she puts some business cards in notebook pockets first thing, but her daily pages book won’t be leaving the apartment, so that will not be needed. Hm. Maybe a CD can fit in there, although Anty listens to most music digitally now.

 

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Inside front cover

 

 

Because Anty forgot to bring her lobster into the good light for these pictures, she had to have Mama help her hold the back cover open, so she could take a picture of that spread.

 

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This would have been a two-lobster job, anyway, from the look of things.

 

Since this book did not come with a ribbon marker, Anty will need to decide what sort of bookmark she wants to use. Right now, she is not sure, but will have to check her collection. Maybe something distinctly English, to keep things interesting. All Anty knows right now is that this book is super pretty, and she is looking forward to starting a brand new bunch of daily pages, since the habit has worked well for her so far.

This is not quite seven hundred words yet, so I need to keep going. Anty  will be watching Sleepy Hollow tonight, in case anything shippy happens. She will still watch it if it is a mostly monstery episode, but then there would not be much to write about, which would be okay. She is still in the middle of reading a lot of books for another post that will be on Heroes and Heartbreakers later, and there is still work on her own books.

Those who have been reading this blog for a long time know that Anty sometimes gets discouraged. Writing these daily pages, that are for her and her alone, have been a big help in dealing with that. They are a time to focus on her work and her voice, and help her remember she does not have to compare or compete with anybody. A little bit every day, and look, after  while, there is a whole book. I think that is pretty special, and it works for novels as well as daily pages. Anty will definitely be keeping with this habit.

If it is true that a picture speaks a thousand words, then I have been talking a very long time today.  That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

 

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Until next week…

 

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

Blarney

annabowling Leave a comment

I got nothing today. Seriously nothing, blogwise.  As in zip, zilch, nada, empty, dry, tumbling tumbleweeds through the echoing expanse of my head when it comes to blog topics for this midweek post. Only the thought of Skye making excuses for my lag (not a kind thing to do to a kitty) keeps me moving forward here. If there’s such a thing as blogger’s block, the only way through it is through it, and so here we are. Which is all a fancy way of saying I’m winging it today, at the end of the day, instead of yesterday, at the start of it.

Yesterday was one of  those domestic tornadoes that would have their own special on the weather channel, but things are settling now. I have heard there is a thing called “sleep” that I might like to try, but it is still daylight, and so not yet time.  Yesterday, I did manage to get out of the house despite the tornado, but the entirety of my blogging experience was staring at the screen, making a noise  best described as “ummmmhhhh…” Okay, I didn’t really make an audible noise. I made a mental noise, but that’s what it sounded like in my head. I think. I’m punchy, so it’s all pretty much a fog.

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Look, ducks, to distract from lack of wordage. Inversely as many ducks as productive blog ideas today. The fact that these ducks are from yesterday shames me. :hangs head:

 

I started today with the best of intentions. To do list made (mentally, that is, which was probably a mistake, in retrospect, because I forgot a big chunk of it) and self hustled out the door only an hour or two (ish?) later than intended, due to aforementioned punchiness. This brought me to Panera around (very early) lunchtime. I ordered a cup of tomato soup. They gave me a bowl. This may have thrown me. That is a big bowl. Like, a really big bowl, but I knew I was camping, so the longer I had food in front of me, the less obvious my camping would be.

 

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A lot of tomato soup. Also a lot of bread. Next time, I’m bringing a friend. Who likes soup. And bread.

 

My plan was to bang out a blog entry, which, in my notebook, I’d made some stabs at acknowledging the holiday. I might be part Irish. Maybe. Or possibly English. Potentially both. My birth mother’s last name (I don’t know her first name)  has both Irish and English roots. The part of Virginia where I was born, where there are a lot of people with that last name, is also where the Crown used to drop off convict labor back in the day, so speculate at will as to how my biological ancestors first crossed the pond, at least on birth mother’s side. Which is exactly where my brain petered out on that idea.

:cue cricket sounds here:

:cricket sounds echo:

:tumbleweed blows past:

:more crickets:

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Okay, no blog entry? Let’s try book. Book works. Yay, book.

 

 

Some days, it’s not going to happen. This was one of those mornings, blogwise. Couldn’t force it, couldn’t command it, couldn’t push through. Prompts left me cold, quotes left me doubting my ability to understand English, and my Hypercritical Gremlins’ ears perked. So, okay, we’ll put the blog entry off for later. Instead, I opened Scrivener and worked on the draft of the scene I’d been working on later. That clicked. Blue font, to let me know what phase of this thing I was on, and Hero and Heroine got chatty, writing the dialogue for me. Except for that one part where I forgot where they were and thought they were in the middle of the previous scene (I figured it out within a couple of paragraphs, so easily fixed) I’d say that went rather well. :pats self on back:

That unlocked one of the things I need to know for the next scene, so I’m confident in picking up there again tomorrow. I’ll make some notes tonight and then back to work tomorrow. Which is all great for the book, but…blog. Blogging three times a week is a discipline I need to keep, to strengthen the writing muscles, keep them supple, and remind myself that yes, I can do it, even if all I can do on a given day is babble.

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Mas ducks. Ducks of distraction. 

 

 

Whee, magic seven hundred words have been reached. This calls for Canada geese, because I think the big male may be reading this blog. At the very least, he’s keeping tabs on me in some form (seriously, he has some potent stink-eye; trust me on this. I assume the other boy geese know to stay well away from him and his woman.)

 

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Nothing to see here. Move along. No pictures. Keep walking, human.

 

 

Normally, this is where I’d make some sort of closing statement, but, once again, I got nothing. (Hey, repeat of my opening. At least this entry is structurally sound. That’s something, right?) Time to kick back and focus on taking in, rather than putting out. Time for tea and blankey and books and Sims and TV with the hubby and cat stares and what’s-for-dinner and online chatting. There may or may not be dancing in the kitchen.

Adieu, Daily Pages (Book)

annabowling 4 Comments

On October 26th this year, I decided to start writing my own version of daily pages. One two page spread, every weekday, no matter what. If I was late, or missed, I had to make it up. No skipping. No censoring. Whatever was in my head went on the page. Domestic tornadoes, family stuff, existential angst, my Hewig and Hamilton obsessions, books I’ve been reading, thoughts on books I’ve been writing. Sims. Tea. Random thoughts. Writer things. Domestic warrior queen things. Me things. Yesterday, I started on the last signature of this volume. It’s taken me seven months. So, what did I learn?

A few things. One, setting aside time to record my thoughts is essential for anchoring myself in the work of writing. Nobody is going to see this, except for whoever goes through my stuff when I have completed my life cycle (not planning on that anytime soon, so there will be many more of these volumes) so Hypercritical Gremlins are not allowed. This is for me, and me alone. This is putting on my own oxygen mask before tending others. I remember dragging my Martian-death-flu-riddled body into my office because I needed to fill pages, dagnabit. I’m not going to guess how much sense those pages made (probably not a lot) but getting the discipline in there was and is key.

When I realized I was on the last signature, I remembered that I hadn’t taken any pictures of the blank pages, in what is, hands down, my favorite notebook I’ve ever used for this purpose. I’ve attempted others, but this is the first one I’ve come this close to filling, and, as the habit is now entrenched, I don’t see anything coming between me and that.

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Since yesterday was a domestic tornado day, I didn’t get to my pages until after 5PM, but even with groceries to be put away, all family members arriving home at the same time, and Skye needing to collect on back food and scritches for the time we were away, my first priority was – pages. Also pictures, because I wanted to save some record of what the book looked like before I got my hands on it. My lobster friend, Dashing John, (thanks, Mary) wanted to help out, because this book does not open flat.

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I still don’t have any ideas for Paris-set stories, but as soon as I saw this gorgeous Punch Studio specimen, I knew this one was special. It became my morning pages book, and I’m going to miss it. I have candidates for its successor, and at least one of them is also Paris-themed, but it won’t be the same, and that has me feeling nostalgic.

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This particular book has seen me through a lot. New relationships come into my life, and old ones gone out of it. The ups and downs of Real Life Romance Hero’s health and his move to a new job. The aggravation of my Sims 3 installation going wonky, and ripping the whole thing out and putting basegame back in, because yes, I do need gaming. Physical things. Spiritual things. Writing things. It’s a time capsule, and now that Friday will mean it’s time to close that capsule, and put it on the shelf of completed notebooks, I don’t want to let it go. I work a lot of stuff out on these pages. Some of it, I’m still working.

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But back to things I’ve learned. The visuals on the page anchor me. Even when I don’t know what I’m going to write on a given morning, there’s an image right there. I can write about that. Do I like the colors? The art? Do I know what that landmark is? What ink do I want to use on this page? What kind of pen? The visual connection matters, and, since the designs cycle through the four shown, I’m not tempted to keep on going when I reach the end of my “assignment.” Different picture, different ideas, different day. Close the book, put it back on the shelf and get thee to some novel work.

Some days, novel things do find their way into my morning pages, and that’s okay, too.  Whatever is in my head is what goes down here, and I can move things to my novel books later and/or continue them there. There are days when Hero and/or Heroine poke their heads over my shoulder and want to talk, and there are days when I write a bullet point list of what’s in the refrigerator. Most days are somewhere in between.

I’ve loved watching the bookmark (a piece of paper from a Punch Studio notepad) move from the front of the book, to the back. I’ve loved the harmony of the art not being the same, but page and marker agreeing with each other, and I will probably tuck that notepad page into the back cover of this book when I’m done. They’ve bonded by now. The next book will have something else as its marker. I don’t know if any of the candidates have built in ribbon bookmarks, or I should say, I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that I’m excited about starting the new book, deciding what pen(s) I will use, what color(s) of ink, probably intuitively when it’s time to plunk myself down on Monday morning and begin the new adventure. This new book will know Her Last First Kiss as the current project, not a pile of angsty possibilities. This new book will know the me that I am now, evidence of the me who lived in the past seven months tucked away with the sheet from the notepad. Some months from this coming Monday, I will tuck that book away, too, and start on another. Circle of stationery? Maybe so, but what I do know is that I’ve found something that works for me, and isn’t that the whole reason we try new disciplines in the first place?

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