Author: annabowling

Typing With Wet Claws: This Was Uncle’s Idea Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for a slightly later than usual Feline Friday. Anty has had an unusual day, partly because Uncle had the day off. She had laundry to do, and then they went out to lunch together. They did not take me, because I am an indoor kitty, but I got fish jelly and treat, so I do not mind. Also, it is cold and windy out. Despite the fact that I have a super fluffy coat (actually, two of them, because I am a Maine Coon mix) I have no desire to be outside in cold, windy weather. Anty tried to set up at her usual coffee house, but the locals must have figured out that it is her favorite place to work, because all the seats were filled by the time she got there. It is okay, though, because it is only a short walk to her other favorite away-from-home place to write, and that place has refills on tea. Anty likes refills on her tea. She drinks a lot of it.

Anty has three articles she is working on this week, possibly four, depending on how things go on tonight’s Sleepy Hollow. For one of the other articles, she has to…uh, she means gets to…read a bunch of historical romance novels, so she can talk about how they all work together. Anty will talk about that later. She is also working on Her Last First Kiss, which she says seems to be finding its stride.

My blog this week is going to be a little different from the usual fare. This week, Uncle has an idea he wants me to talk about. Earlier this week, Anty looked at her sales figures from one of her publishers. Uncle thinks that was a mistake, because looking at those figures made Anty very grumpy. Then a conversation like this happened:

Uncle: Have you ever used your blog to tell people where they can buy your books?

Anty: Uh…..

Uncle: Like put up a link or something?

Anty: (something about websites and internets and monies and bookshelves and human stuff; nothing about feeding kitties, so I stopped listening.)

Uncle: Right, but none of that means you can’t put a link in a blog entry.

Anty: Uh… (Anty did not really have a good answer for that.)

Uncle is very smart, and I would do anything for Uncle. So, I will put in the links. In case you like Anty’s (or my) blogs, or her articles, then maybe you would like to read the books she has out already.

Here is where you can find the books she has from Awe-Struck E-Books. There are two of them.

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Her first, My Outcast Heart, is set in colonial New York. For this book, Uncle asked Anty what sensuality level the book would get for its rating.  Anty said that, because she does not go into great detail about how humans mate, the book would be classified as “sweet.” Uncle asked if this was the same book where the hero puts his hand in the fire on purpose, to cover the brand that marked him as a thief, and where the heroine sticks her grandfather’s body in the barn for the whole winter, because the ground is too hard to dig a grave. Anty said that it was. Uncle’s response was, “And they’re calling that “sweet?” Boy, are they going to be surprised.” Also, there are kitties in it. The dogs get more attention, but barn cats always make a book better. Just saying.

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Anty’s second book from Awe-Struck is Orphans in the Storm. That book could have used more kitties, but it probably would not have changed what happened to the bad guy, because kitties are good judges of character. The heroine in this book finds out that she is not who she thought she was, and travels from the Isle of Man (note: that does not mean it is an island with only men on it. It is, however, where Manx cats come from. I am not Manx. I have a big, floofy tail.) to Holland, where those loyal to the English king fled during the English Civil War. Her hero works for the crown, and the heroine holds the key to releasing monies that will help the cause, only somebody does not want that to happen. The love story is most important, though, as with all of Anty’s books. The cover is by Kathleen Underwood, who captured one of Anty’s favorite scenes.

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Anty also has two novellas with Uncial Press. Her first one there, Never Too Late, is set in Edwardian England and Italy (aka Downton Abbey times, and she wrote it long before the TV show was on the air. My Anty is a trailblazer.) Her heroine in this book is a fifty-year-old widow, who decides she is finally big enough to go after what she wants, which, in this case, means the love of her life, whom she once let get away. I will give you a hint: this time, she does not let him get away again.

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Her other title there is Queen of the Ocean. I will share a bit of trivia with you; the story was originally called Frances, Queen of the Ocean, but that would not fit on the book cover. This is a reunited lovers story, with smugglers and pirates and a shipwreck (well, technically more than one) and a cave full of treasure. I do not have to tell all of you  how much Anty loves pirates. She had a lot of fun writing this one.

None of Anty’s books are related to each other, so they can be read in any order, or by themselves. Anty did not figure it out until I told her, but Never Too Late and Queen of the Ocean kind of fit together, because they are both reunited lovers stories. Maybe Anty could write more like that and then they could all go together. Anty likes reunited lovers. Purr-sonally (see what I did there? Just kidding. I do not purr. That does not mean I am not a happy kitty, because I am. I show it in other ways.) I recommend them all.

Ravenwood does not have a home yet, but it is a medieval love story, where a heartbroken knight errant must escort a headstrong maiden from a plague-ravaged city, to a haven that may or may not exist. Anty will probably change the title, because it does not say much about the story. Maybe Her Errant Heart would be better? Huh. Maybe she could write other stories with “heart” in the title and put them in a loose grouping.

That is about it for this week, because Anty needs to research her articles and work on Her Last First Kiss. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

Skye OMalley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

 

 

 

 

 

In Here, I Rule The World

annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I am in a rotten mood. I mean really rotten. Things started early. I woke, exhausted, thinking it was about 2AM, so glass of water, trip to the water closet, and I’m good for four more hours. No such luck. 6:45. Well, crud. Tend cat, dispense Real Life Romance Hero’s morning pharmeceuticals, perform ritual albutions. Agree to disagree with hair about its direction for the day. Breakfast…okay, breakfast was uneventful, except for Skye leaving a deposit in Real Life Romance Hero’s office, but Housemate took care of that, so the two things even out.

Morning was meant to be for taking care of some routine errands. Obtain clothing from a favorite, reliable retailer. Obtain pen refills from office supply store. Possibly other errands if the first two went quickly. The first two did not go quickly. Both were abject failures, and most women understand the barren wasteland that is a sale at one’s favorite retailer, when there is not one single thing that will fit one’s body and/or color palette. One of those. Housemate fared better, but I left with a case of the grumps. Repeat fruitless mission at office supply store.

Housemate and I did not know Lunch Option A was not going to work out until we were actually there, so went for Lunch Option B instead. Rest of errands had to be put off for unspecified time in the vague future, because I had to get home in time for A) me to make a chat with a critique partner, and B) Housemate to get RLRH to work. No shot at getting in a certain part of the house where I could perform supplementary albutions and renegotiate with hair, and still make it to chat on time, so did the best I could and raced off. Made it with minutes to spare and…open email from critique partner, who could not make chat.

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accurate depiction of my mood

 

This is, of course, the exact second I have my tea ready, notebook and sticky notes arrayed, so I’m committed now, even though I am technically free. We will now cue an instrumental version of “Song of the Lonely Extrovert” to play softly in the background. There are other people in the coffee house, but nobody I can talk to while working, and that makes a difference. Unless the college student scowling at his own laptop is interested in my Scrivener corkboard. I am going to guess that he is not.

I’ve had worse days. Nobody is bleeding or on fire, we have not needed any first responders, and are fed, housed and employed. Even so, the other irritations build. Gaming is a stress reliever for me, and, since my old laptop is currently refusing to play Sims 3, new laptop cannot support it, and we are still looking into other options, I’m going to have to accept the fact that gaming, right now, is not going to happen. Sure, I have Sims Free Play on my phone, but that’s not the same. Not even close. Bleh.

As I told Housemate, what I would like to do is huddle in a corner (under the covers in bed is also acceptable) and mainline ice cream. What I am going to do is crack open that notebook and Scrivener and transcribe some scenes. That, I can do, and it doesn’t require a lot of my brain. Transfer what’s on the page to what’s on the screen. Spend some time in my story world, and deal with Hero and Heroine’s problems instead of my own. I know what has to happen in the tailor scene, but where does the tailor scene actually go? Do I need to plant that plot point seed earlier in the story than where it actually sprouts? How is the balance between Hero scenes and Heroine scenes? Plus the joy of getting immersed in the story.

The rest of the daily inconveniences will still be there when I’m done. It’s not a permanent break from the practical world -one of the reasons I don’t use the word “escape” when I talk about reading or writing fiction; we do still have to deal with those things when we close the book, notebook or file- but it’s a respite, a place where I can order things the way I want, no matter how much time that might take; here, I control time. Heady stuff, when one stops to think about it. Uncap my new fountain pen, open my notebook, and I step back in time, where Hero and Heroine want to know what on earth I am doing to their lives, because it all looks like one giant catastrophe from where they’re standing.

In the end, it will all be worth the trouble. I’ve assured them this book has a happy ending, because that’s what romance novels do. No matter what I throw at them during the story, they will be safe, happy, and together by the end. At the moment, things look pretty sticky for them both, individually and together (not that they’re even thinking much about “together” at this phase of the game, because it’s early days, still) but they’ll thank me for it later. Right now, I’m thankful to them for giving my day some peace. We’ll have to see how the rest of it goes, but, for right now, I rule the (okay, their) world.

On Missing the Boat and Learning to Swim

annabowling 2 Comments

There’s a lot I want to say today, and I’m still figuring out how to say some of it, so I’m going to throw a bunch down and hope it makes sense. It’s Monday morning, there’s winter weather headed our way here in NY’s capitol region, and my to-do list is scribbled out on my paper mousepad, plum-hued fountain pen ink scrawled atop black gel pen, two round, fuzzy inkstains that show I’m still getting the hang of this fountain pen thing. Husband and Housemate are out of the house, Skye hugging the heater, and time for me to get on with my day. Some of what I want to get out of my head will, no doubt, end up in my free writing notebook. Two pages of that, as early as I can make it in the morning, every weekday, no excuse, no editing. I find that essential to getting my brain into gear.

Blogging is a close second. I want to be real here, and honest, and I want to -well, crud, what’s the word?- keep things suitable for public consumption. Sometimes, that can be a fine line, and as much as I’d like to know what’s going on in the minds of my readers  when they read the day’s offering, that’s not a realistic expectation. Once in a while, (okay, more than that) I am going to put my foot in my mouth. Not the easiest thing to accept, especially on days when I wear heels,  but part of the human, and writerly condition. Which is as good a place as any to make a segue.

I have missed a lot of boats. I am probably going to miss a lot more. Humans do that, and writers, with our teeming hordes of insecurity, are maybe more likely to do that than others. Maybe creative types on a broader spectrum, but I can only speak from where I am at present. I was twenty-three, newly married, and smack in the middle of an undiagnosed depressive episode when my first rejection letter arrived. The sample I sent had issues. Nothing happens, the editor said, as I still remember, all these years later, but it took me years to remember the other part of the letter. The good part. The “send us something else” part. I didn’t send anything else. Maybe today, I would have plopped myself down and written something else (the book where nothing happens was all I had at the time; I’ve written more since) but, barring my mastery of time travel (the art itself, not the time travel romance that I will figure out the right approach for at some point; writing Her Last First Kiss now, so others have to get in line) going back and changing that is not going to be an option.

There was the opportunity to write an American Revolution historical romance, and that is still something I want to do, but I got to a certain point, and I couldn’t. I’m not going to try and do a differential diagnosis here on that one, but I couldn’t, not that way, and not then. The book wasn’t true anymore (writers of fiction, you know what I mean here) and I was too ashamed to say anything. What was wrong with me? The waters closed over my head. Blub, blub, blub. No more bubbles on the surface.

The time travel, too, diluted by so many other voices that I could no longer hear the hero and heroine who had once been so clear that they flat out quit the story I’d originally planned for them and demanded to be in this one. Collaborations that didn’t pan out, but still have their places in my heart, but may or may not ever come to be, in any form. Miscarried stories by the dozens, and I love them all, still. There are times when “just keep swimming” (sorry, Dory) isn’t going to be enough. There are times when the arms are tired, legs feel like lead, there’s no sight of shore, and that life preserver? Actually a cannonball. These things will happen. Even so, we keep on going.

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ink in the water….

The title for this entry came to me this past Saturday, while I was at the Capitol Region Romance Writers meeting, watching the documentary, Love Between the Covers, which I highly recommend, no matter what your experience with the romance genre might be. I have never been so proud to  be associated with the women and men of this genre and this industry, all different and diverse, and yet united beneath the same umbrella.

The next day, hunkered inside due to insane wind chill, I cleaned and inked the vintage Mont Blanc I’d found in a box of my dad’s stuff a while back. I hadn’t known I’d need to clean out the old, dried ink before I could fill it with new (metaphor much?) but, thanks to N, I got the chance to do exactly that. Watching decades-old ink, activated by warm water, flow out, mesmerized me. Here were the remnants of my dad’s writing. Notes, most likely, businessy things, maybe some of his philosophical ramblings on yellow legal pads, interoffice memos, maybe a letter or greeting card or two. I didn’t expect the quiet wonder of that, the feeling that it is a changing of the guard for this pen.

It’s mine now. The ink inside is plum instead of black. I think this ink wants to go into those purple notebooks from my last video blog. but still not sure what the focus of those books will be. Or maybe that’s for my purple Pilot Varsity. Or maybe I need to stop being so precious about what ink goes where (but it bothers me to use the wrong ink, so that’s probably a tall order for right now.) but that’s okay, because I have time.

Tying this all together now, the jumbled mind, boats missed, inspiring movie and meeting, ink spiraling into water, hitting my stride for this phase of this book – it’s alchemy, sometimes. All I know to say right now is that yes, sometimes we will miss the boat. Yes, sometimes life will knock us down. Yes, sometimes it will then kick us in the gut (guys, feel free to substitute “n” for “g” before the “ut”) but this is when I haul out my favorite Japanese proverb: fall down five times, get up six.

Get up. As soon as you can, get up. Take a rest if you need it, and ask for help up if you need that, but get up. Pick up the pen. Sit down at the keyboard. Put something on the page or the screen. Because there will be another boat. If it doesn’t come to the dock, swim out to it. Do it tired. Do it scared. Do it hurt. Do it confused. Do it uninspired. Do it, and the rest will come.

Typing With Wet Claws: Not a Doggie Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Since Anty says I have to talk about her writing first, I will do that before we do anything else. This week, Anty recapped an interesting episode of Sleepy Hollow. It was all about Ichabod looking for Abbie, who is someplace else. This was different for Anty, because it was all about the feelings, even though one of the people was not really in the episode at all. It is here and looks like this:

 

ICHABBIE

 

Anty had a really good writing day yesterday, and hopes that continues today. She has two more articles to write for Heroes and Heartbreakers, and they are about books, not TV shows this time. Anty is very excited to write more about books

She would also like to be reading a lot more books, but life  has had other ideas. That is okay, because the library will still have those books, even if Anty has to give them back for a little while. This week has been a mixed bag for Anty, which means that she could probably use some time dedicated purely to amusement. Usually, that is a good thing, but, yesterday evening, she found a site called what-dog.net, and then she did this:

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Anty, that is not funny. I am a kitty, not a doggie. I am a very smart girl, though. It took me less than three days to learn my name, I have a big vocabulary (that means I know a lot of words) and I can follow hand signals. Although my favorite toy is paper (and I need to re-learn how to play every once in a while) sometimes, I get my own toys, that are not really toys. If you see some of Mama’s yarn where it is not supposed to be, that was probably me. I like to watch my people, and sometimes TV. I would watch out the windows, but they are all very high, and I am a floor girl who does not like being picked up, so I can only see outside if I look up. I do not bark, but I do talk. I make chirpy sounds and trills and I chitter when I see birdies, or my humans take too long in getting my food ready.

Well, Anty is not the only one who can use that website. I can use it, too.

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I do not think Anty will be angry with me. First, I am cute. Second, I love her. Third, they are not wrong. Anty does like to talk, a lot. She talks to me all the time, which is how I learned how I could make sounds, too. As for the herding others part, Anty tells me that the term I mean is that she has leadership skills. “Bossy” is not a nice word, though being the boss can be a good thing, and doing a thing like a boss is also good. Stephen “tWitch” Boss is a very good dancer. Anty says that if she can write as well as he can dance, then she would be very happy. So, I do not see where “bossy” is a bad word.

Being independent-minded can also be a very good thing. Some people say “stubborn.” (Anty and Uncle saw a cooking show on TV once, set in Norway, where there was a motorcycle gang whose name translated to “Stubborn.” They thought that was funny.) Anyway, thinking for oneself can be a tricky thing sometimes, but a useful tool for those who want to write. It’s easy to get caught up in “should” and expectations, but thinking differently is a big part of making new things. It also helped Anty think that being called a collie was funny, and not bad. I do not think collies are bad. Bailey is very nice and he is a pretty boy. Maybe Anty really is part collie, and they are related? Anty is adopted, so we cannot say that she is not. Hm. This could explain some things.

Anty tells me that people cannot be part doggie (except in some stories, but that is only make-believe) so that means she is not related to Bailey. I can only imagine how she must be taking that news. Apparently well (though it is disappointing) because she is getting ready to start her writing session for the day, 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)

What Do You Want Right Now?

annabowling Leave a comment

I started this blog entry multiple times, with multiple approaches, and none of them worked, though all of them were true. This morning  had an exceptionally good three-hour writing stretch, when Hero and Heroine met me for breakfast, and we chatted, the three of us, at the kitchen counter, me perched on my stool, pen in one hand and phone with Pinterest board open in the other. Spotify playlist played through my earbuds, but it was their voices I heard, their heads poking over my shoulder, real and alive and chomping at the bit.

Surprised the heck out of me, that flow hitting when it did, but, when I came up for air three hours later, the pages filled with my chicken scratch going every which way (writing otherwise than with the subtly printed lines of a Paperblanks book? Shock horror!) and littered with pink and blue Post-Its, there was a good chunk of story in bullet point draft. No angsting, no agonizing, merely story.

How did that happen? I can’t point to one thing, but I will put a highlight on two things. Okay, three, as discussions with critique partners always jog some sticky stuff loose, though that ties directly into the two things:

  1. What does (character) want right now?
  2. Make a decision.

Super easy, those two. Instead of angsting about everything, take a step back and observe. Character X was doing one thing. Then they were done doing that thing. What thing did they do next? Odds are, they’re going to fulfill a want. In the first scene in question for me today, Heroine wanted Hero to not die in her study. To have him not die in her study, that meant he had to 1) stay alive, and 2) not be in her study. Both easily accomplished by getting Hero out of her study.

Okay, cross the threshold, and he’s technically out. Where to put him, though? Well, what rooms are available? Can’t get lost in too many options (one of my biggest bugaboos) if there is only one option.  So, we have only Room Y? Put him there.

POV shifts to Hero, once he is in room Y. So, he’s there. Now, what does he want, right now? When in doubt, refer to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Since Hero is soaked to the bone wet and freezing, a pretty safe bet is that he wants a) out of those wet clothes, and b) to be warm. Remove wet clothes, wrap in blanket and wait for hot water to be brought up to him. Eighteenth  century here, so it’s going to be a while. What does he want next? This particular hero is an artist, and he had his things with him, so check on the inks, check on the pens, check on the papers that are not drying in Heroine’s study. Phew, that thing is okay. Drat, that one isn’t. Can’t…find…the…other…thing. Calm down, it’s probably drying out downstairs. Etcetera and so on.

The movie in my head flitted between Hero’s scenes and Heroine’s, inserted the right servant who can tell Hero the thing he needs to know but can’t see. Hero has some feelings about this new information, and feelings about those feelings, Heroine sees something she wasn’t supposed to see, and has some feelings about that. Each learns something new about the other, and want to know more about that, but Mutual Friend Character, you ruin everything. (He really does.)

I learned things, like how Hero -an artist, duh- thinks better when doodling, a perfectly natural way to insert Heroine’s predilection for firearms, and  how to get Hero and Mutual Friend Character to a place where Hero does something good (but not good enough, though he’s working on that) and Mutual Friend Character does something dumb that will bite him in the behind later in the story.

Three hours later, I set the pen down. Did a wee bit of notebook hacking (need to do a wee bit  more, at that) and jotted a couple of notes so I’d know where I left off when I came back to this, which I promised myself -and Hero and  Heroine- (Mutual Friend Character can go suck rocks because he is being a doodyhead here) would be as soon as humanly possible. There’s a little ache to leaving the characters when it’s time to take care of other things, but we do not  have a self feeding cat, and domestic management skills were in demand, and I am the designated domestic warrior queen, so had to take a break there.

Even so, the movie in my head kept playing. Totally random life advice, not based off anything that ever happened to me, especially not today, no matter how good the book thing is that you just that second figured out while plunging the bathroom bowl, do not raise the plunger above your head in victory. It cannot end well. Don’t ask me how I know this. I just do.

I’m not saying the rest of the book is going to be the writing equivalent of skipping barefoot through a field of daisies (I’d probably step in cow poop or something, anyway) but those two bits above are a good place to start. What does my character want, right now? Make a decision. Maybe it’s the wrong decision, but that’s what first drafts are for, innit? (See? Dialect. That was a decision.) If it doesn’t work, then do something else.

I suggest locking hypercritical gremlins in a closet. I think Hero and Heroine might have done that for me while I was rooting around the pantry for tea.

 

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Strange Bedfellows

annabowling Leave a comment

I’m sitting in my second coffee house of the day, volume on my headphones cranked up to maximum, to block out sound around me. This morning, I walked through a snow-covered park, and met with N, to set long and short term goals for our work. I love these once a week meetings, and have taken to staying after N leaves, to get some extra time in, working on the book or free writing, to dump junk out of my brain. The bottomless tea doesn’t hurt, either, even if there wasn’t any caffeinated tea on hand, period, today.

At the moment, I’m listening to a mix of songs from Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Hamilton. There’s some connection there, beyond the fact that I listened to both original cast albums on the same day. My mind does that sometimes, marries things to each other, even when I don’t know why it’s doing that. Sometimes, I find out later, and sometimes, I still don’t know, several years down the line.

If I had to guess right now, I would say it’s strong storytelling, standout characters, and really good music. Super talented casts don’t hurt, either. An East German glam rocker with identity issues and one of the founding fathers may not have much in common on the surface, but beneath that, there is something that connects the two. My brain doesn’t see all that much difference between the birth of a nation and a would-have-been-empty Broadway theater that spans from a divided Germany to a trailer park in Kansas, because it’s more than that. The emotional connection is there in each, raw and visceral, and real.

Neither central character is perfect, each caught up in circumstances beyond their own making. Neither ending can be strictly classified as “happy.” Hamilton dies. Hedwig is…no longer Hedwig, though I think that is a conscious choice. Both suffer devastating losses. Hedwig, born Hansel, loses her identity more than once, on top of being an internationally ignored song stylist (her own words.) Alexander Hamilton, well, history fills us in on most of those particulars, but for the sake of moving things along here, let’s focus on the sex scandal that did things to not only his political career, but his marriage to his beloved Eliza, not to mention losing their son, Philip, in a duel.  In the end, Hedwig strips down from her over the top attire and walks out of the theater. Hamilton’s legacy lives on, and I am not ashamed to admit I tear up every danged time Eliza sings about the orphanage, doing what she can for children who are where her beloved Alexander once was.

With both shows, it’s easy to climb inside the title character’s skin and see the world from their eyes. For Hedwig, there’s always that lost little kid beneath all the glamour, the yearning for something great, even despite being beaten down, used, abandoned. I think Alexander Hamilton would have understood a lot of that. Poor romantic choices? Both shows have that covered. Hedwig has a series of poor romantic choices, Alexander only one impulsive one, that we’re shown his attempts to resist, but, as Hedwig would likely understand, even the great ones fall. We’re none of us perfect, and it’s in those imperfections where the stories grow.

If a character already has what they want, there’s no story there. Both Hedwig and Alexander want freedom, purpose, and love. Alexander’s Eliza loves him to his death and beyond, while Hedwig has three dysfunctional relationships that end badly, and departs the stage, alone. I’ve read that, in the movie version, Hedwig’s exit is au naturel. On Broadway, there is an undergarment. Hamilton has a huge, diverse cast, and pretty much everybody gets to sing (and rap,) while in Hedwig, the music is almost entirely Hedwig, except that one song where she’s Tommy. Which pretty much fits Hedwig. It’s her world, and we’re only living in it for a little while. From a certain point of view, so is she.

Even though neither show can be classed as a romance, my romance writer brain inhaled both of these soundtracks, and there’s something churning. What? Not a clue, but I’ll know what I need to know, when I need to know it. That’s generally how it works. Still working out what I’m getting from each of these, and both together. My brain ties them both to Rent, which isn’t an entirely unrelated connection, as an original concept was to perform the Broadway revival of Hedwig on Rent‘s closed set. That didn’t happen, and a fictional musical version of The Hurt Locker, which Hedwig tells us closed during intermission, provides Hedwig’s venue instead. Rent takes place in New York, which would have been the capitol of the country Alexander Hamilton helped to build, so there’s that, and it’s a modern-day retelling of La Vie Boheme, which gives both historical and contemporary vibes, which combine to make something entirely new.

In all three cases, there’s an indefinable thing. I want that thing. To create characters like that, give that level of emotional investment and connection to my readers, that’s the goal. Since I write romance, my people are alive and together at the end, but before then, throwing the unimaginable at them and seeing how they get through, how that changes them into who they need to be, seems to be the order of the day.

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Mostly Writing Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Lots of stuff going on this week, so I will get right down to business. No pawing it for me on this one, which is good, because I was running out of ideas.

First, Anty is very excited for February sweeps on TV. That means she will have more recapping to do, as more shippy moments happen, to pay homage to the month dedicated to romance and attract more viewers to the various shows. Last night’s The Big Bang Theory was one of those episodes. Anty recapped big romantic doings for Sheldon and Amy, and Raj could  be the point of a love triangle? That is food for discussion, for sure. Anty’s recap is  at Heroes and Heartbreakers here, and looks like this:

 

SHAMY

When Amy Met Meemaw…

 

Tonight, Anty also gets to recap the new episode of Sleepy Hollow. I cannot put a link to it here, because it has not happened yet. Anty will share the link on Facebook and Twitter when the post is up tomorrow. Anty hopes Ichabod and Abbie can find each other again, because that is kind of the whole point of the show. The rest is really framework.

Speaking of framework, Anty is wrestling with her Scrivener. Miss N spent all of Tuesday morning showing Anty how to use Scrivener more efficiently, which Anty greatly appreciates. I also appreciate Miss N very much, because she has four kitties in her house. Well, her and Mr. N. He lives there, too. But this is not about the kitties. This is about Anty and Scrivener. Those who know Anty very well joke that she needs a tech manual to operate a butter churn, and that is not too far off. Her Scrivener setup had become a big fuzzy mess (and not the kind I make, either) so she needed some help. I think Anty needs to talk to Miss N again, because, while Anty likes the idea of starting a fresh document with only the files she will actually be using, she somehow found a way to botch the setup of what she sees on her glowy box screen.

Here is what Anty would like  her screen to look like, and what all her other documents look like already:

ScrivenerRIGHTRIGHT

 

See the index card at the top of one side of the screen, and the nice pink box at the bottom? That is what Anty wants the new document to look like. That is not what the new document looks like. The new document looks like this:

ScrivenerWRONG

See the big white box at the side of the screen? Anty does not like the big white box. First, it is a big white box. That makes her nervous. Second, she does not remember how it got there, or how she can make the index card and smaller box (she knows she will have to make it pink; it will not be pink all on its own. She is okay with that.) go away. This is why Anty prefers to write longhand, but she needs to use the glowy box because that is how things work in the writing business, so she is going to have to figure this out. I would help, but there is a reason there are no computer manuals written by cats. I do not think I need to explain that, so we will leave that there.

Anty did not know, until Tuesday, all that she could do with Scrivener, so, since Miss N helped her, it is like she has a new toy. Knowing where all her files are makes Anty a lot more confident, and she will not be distracted by lots of things that she does not need any longer. This will also make it more fun to write, and that is very good for everybody. I do not need to tell regular readers of this blog what having Grumpy Anty means. Nobody wants to have Grumpy Anty. Happy Anty is much, much better.

If setting up files this way works out, Anty will move some of her other manuscripts to this new format, and then maybe have an easier time dealing with those. She is excited about that prospect. Since it is time for Anty to get the computer packed to go write at the coffee house (probably with some real index cards, color coded, along for backup) 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)

 

 

This is What You Get

annabowling 2 Comments

Originally, I’d meant to bang out a quick video blog and get on with my day. The fact that you’re reading this is proof that didn’t happen. Well, the video part happened. Over twenty takes, as a matter of fact, ranging from eight seconds to six minutes, but each one ended with me scowling at the screen, muttering some variation of “I’m not doing this” and hitting the button to stop the recording. A few roundsI don’t think you missed much. Skye insisted on staying out of camera range, no matter how I tried to entice her to join me, and, no matter the list I’d made on what topics to cover with my blather, my brain went blank. Took me a while to get the message that this was not a video blog day, but I finally did.

No typical shot of my workspace, either, because I left my phone on the kitchen counter when I left the house, despite my reminder to not repeat yesterday’s blunder of not bringing the computer cord, which was why there was no entry yesterday. I did bring the cord today, so there’s that. As to what this entry will actually contain, at the moment, I have no idea.

WIN_20160127_145237

This is what my workspace sees.

There are days when I start out with the best of intentions, to-do list made, and then – wham. I hit the wall. Some days, that’s earlier than others. Is this one of them? I’d like to think I would know something like that by now, but I can’t say one way or the other. What I can say is that I am doing the most essential thing; I am showing up for the writing. There will be a blog entry today. I will write my Buried Under Romance post for Saturday. I will work on Her Last First Kiss. I will probably have to hit the supermarket afterwards, because :shifty eyes: aliens broke into our freezer and ate the last of the strawberry ice cream while I was doing take elebenty bajillion of the video blog, but that is not an entirely bad thing. I can listen to selections from Hamilton and Hedwig on my walk, which definitely counts as creative well-filling.

Here’s the deal I made with myself today: I babble here for about seven hundred words, minimum, and whatever I have at the end of that is what goes up. Then on to the Buried Under Romance entry and I get a break. Novel work may happen in longhand, because I will likely have had enough of the screen by that time, but it does have to happen. Not sure, at this point, if I’m going move all my novel stuff to a new Scrivener document or ruthlessly slash the one I have down to the bare bones, but things are going to get moving. I am sick to death of not having  a new book out, and there is only one way to fix that particular problem. I have to write the book.

That’s scary. That’s daunting. What if I get it wrong? Who’s reading me anyway? Not Regency, not series, not wallpaper, no dukes, no wallflowers, so does that mean no readers? Eh, possibly. It’s entirely possible that nobody will read any given book. It’s also true that I don’t have to please every reader; only my readers. :beat: Both of them. Okay, all three. Realistically, it’s probably more than that, but I am in the midst of one end of year earning statement funk. This is a competitive game, and these are older titles I have out. In publishing terms, I’m basically starting from scratch, which can be exciting in its own way, but right now, it’s aggravating.

I’m motivated, though. Common wisdom has it that one needs five books to break out and get attention. Five books is also one of the milestones CRRWA has for recognizing notable achievements by members, and nets said member a padfolio as a reward. I am enough of a stationery junkie to need that padfolio. Sell or publish a book merely to get stationery? Challenge accepted! We all have our motivations. Mine happens to smell like paper.

Monday Morning Coming Down

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“The really good idea is always traceable back quite a long way, often to a not very good idea which sparked off another idea that was only slightly better, which somebody else misunderstood in such a way that they then said something which was really rather interesting.”
–John Cleese

 

No idea what to blog about today, but I’ve hit that point on my to do list, this is the time I have for blogging, so I am going to jump in and ramble. No plan, no agenda, merely brain droppings, which will  hopefully stave off the hypercritical gremilns.

NOPE, WE’RE STILL HERE!

Le sigh. Okay, well, at least I’m not alone, then. Hi, guys.

WE READ YOUR YEARLY EARNING STATEMENTS. OLD NAVY IS HIRING.

We’ve talked about that.

ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU SUCK? WE HAD TO GET A MICROSCOPE OUT TO READ SOME OF THOSE NUMBERS. WHICH IS PROBABLY THE MOST YOU’VE BEEN READ IN A WHILE.

That’s not what we’re talking about here.

YES, IT IS. IF YOU WERE ANY GOOD, YOU’D BE RAKING IN THE DOUGH, HAVE YOUR COVERS PLASTERED ALL OVER SOCIAL MEDIA, AND OUTSELL HARRY POTTER.

Harry Potter is YA fantasy. I write historical romance. That’s not even the same genre.

OK, TWILIGHT, THEN. WE ALSO READ THE START OF YOUR VAMPIRE STORY. GOOD CALL TRASHING THAT ONE.

This is the one time I am going to agree with you.

YOU AGREE THAT YOU SUCK? WE RULE! WOO HOO!

No, I agree that the vampire story wasn’t a story I wanted to tell. It also had nothing to do with Twilight.

OH REALLY?  VAMPIRE YA ROMANCE IS HOT. IT SELLS. TWILIGHT IS THE ONLY ROMANCE NOVEL A BUNCH OF PEOPLE KNOW. YOU WRITE ROMANCE? LIKE TWILIGHT?

Really. I don’t think my books are like Twilight, but I’ve never read it, so I really can’t say. Why are we talking about Twilight, anyway?

YOU’D RATHER TALK ABOUT HARRY POTTER?

No.

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE CAN ONLY NAME THOSE TWO BOOKS WHEN ASKED TO NAME NOVELS?

:sigh: Sadly, yes, but that’s not my problem.

DON’T WORRY…UH, NO, DO. YOU HAVE LOTS MORE PROBLEMS. DO YOU WANT THEM ALPHABETIACLLY, CHRONOLOGICALLY, OR IN THE ORDER THE BAILIFF READS THE CHARGES?

:stares crossly over rims of glasses: I am not facing any charges.

FROM US, YOU ARE. YOU’RE A NOBODY, YOU HAVEN’T HAD A NEW RELEASE IN A LONG TIME, YOU’VE MISCARRIED ENOUGH STORIES WE CAN COUNT ON BOTH HANDS, AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN THINK OF SOMETHING TO BLOG ABOUT TODAY.

But I’m blogging right now.

YOU MEAN WE’RE BLOGGING RIGHT NOW. INCLUSIVE WE.

Still counts.

HMPH. FINE. WE’LL GIVE YOU THAT ONE. THIS MEANS WE’RE EVEN. UH, WAIT, EVEN IS NOT GOOD. WE HAVE TO BRING UP SOME DEEP SEATED INSECURITIES. CAN WE HAVE A MINUTE?

Sure. :sorts Post-Its collection:

OKAY, OKAY, WE HAVE SOMETHING. YOU MADE YOUR GOAL LIST FOR THE MEETING WITH N AT THE MEETING WITH N, AND YOU’RE PLANNING ON DOING ALL THAT WORK TODAY.

That is correct.

GOOD LUCK WITH THAT. JUST SO YOU KNOW, WE’RE BETTING AGAINST YOU.

Okay. You do you. I have some outlining to do, and then take a crack at a scene.

YOU’VE TAKEN SEVERAL CRACKS AT THAT SCENE.

Getting closer to the right version every time.

SUUUURE. IT’S A WELL KNOWN FACT THAT REAL WRITERS BANG OUT THE ENTIRE MANUSCRIPT IN ONE GO, OR AT LEAST SEVERAL THOUSAND WORDS PER DAY -AND COUNTING THOSE WORD IS SUPER IMPORTANT- AND IF YOU DON’T DO EITHER OF THOSE THINGS, YOU HAVE FAILED FOREVER.

Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.

SAYS WHO?

Experience, for one thing. Romance Writers of America, for another, and any number of writer friends. Everybody has their own method, and their own journey. Finding out what doesn’t work is as much a part of that as typing The End.

WHAT PART IS LISTENING TO BROADWAY SHOW TUNES?

That’s part of the magpie stage.

MAGPIE STAGE? WHAT IS THAT? THE LEAST SUCCESSFUL FORM OF TRANSPORTATION IN THE OLD WEST? BY THE WAY, YOU’VE NEVER WRITTEN A WESTERN.

That’s not by accident, and to answer your question about the magpie stage, that’s when I gather shiny things that catch my attention and dump them all in my creative pot, to make idea soup.

WHICH PART OF YOUR HISTORICAL ROMANCE NOVEL INVOLVES EAST GERMAN GLAM ROCKERS WITH IDENTITY ISSUES AND PHILANDERING AMERICAN POLITICIANS?

No East Germans or Americans in this book, but I do touch on issues of identity, the difference between what’s seen on the surface and exists beneath, and lots of romantic complications. Inspiration comes in a lot of forms, and it’s a writer’s job to dig for the gems. Sometimes, it’s a tiny glimmer from here, an interesting idea from there, flip a concept or two, mix with everything the writer has ever experienced in their own life, and it all turns into something entirely new. It’s an ongoing process.

WE HAVE SEEN YOU CHAIR DANCING.

I have never denied chair dancing.

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN YOURSELF CHAIR DANCING, EITHER. ALSO, ARE YOU EVEN PUTTING ON MAKEUP TODAY? LOOKING KIND OF PALE THERE.

That’s because I am pale. I’ve been pale my whole life. What’s your point?

THAT YOU ARE A PALE IMITATION OF WHAT YOU WANT TO BE. JUST SAYING.

So, I’m supposed to do what, give up because I’m not at my ultimate goal right this very second?

BY JOVE, WE THINK SHE’S GOT IT. BY THAT, WE MEAN OUR POINT, NOT, YOU KNOW, TALENT OR DEDICATION OR DRIVE OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

Well, look at that, we’ve come to the end of time we have for this entry today. I’m opening my file.

BUT WE’RE NOT DONE YET. UNLIKE YOUR CAREER.

:opens file:

:puts in headphones:

:turns to fresh page, uncaps pen:

I can’t hear you gremlins over the sound of my writing. Later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Creative Differences Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty and I are having some creative differences this week. There was a topic Anty had suggested for me to write about, but I had to exercise my duties as a mews, and let her know (gently, because this insomnia thing makes her grumpy) that her idea was not very interesting, which it was not. Fridays are my day to blog, and Anty needs to trust me to do the job she asked me to do. At the moment, she is too busy chair dancing to “You’ll Be Back,” from the Broadway musical, Hamilton, to put up much of an argument anyway.

One of the things Anty has come to realize about days when it is difficult to focus is that she probably needs more stimuli. New music is always a good thing, and when it comes highly recommended by people whose opinion Anty values, that is a good sign she may want to have a listen. Anty has not seen Hamilton, but she loves when things people may not think go together -the American Revolution, Broadway, and rapping? What?- do go together, and not only work, but work far better than one would expect.

So far, Anty is only a few songs into Hamilton, but she has already listened to this song five times. No, wait, it is six now. When Anty finds a song that clicks with her, she is going to listen to that a LOT of times in a row, and she does get something new from each listen. I think it has something to do with that whole more layers thing.  I probably should remind Anty that she has her DVD of Idlewild sitting on the DVD shelf in her office, and the combination of Prohibition and hip hop probably is going to jog something loose in her brain. Movies and art journal time are very good for things like that.

Anty has also never seen A Knight’s Tale, but that is on her list, too. She did not see it when it first came out, because it had too much of a modern slant – fighting for the honor of the queen, sure, but to the music of Queen? Uh, no, they did not have Queen in the middle ages, thankyouverymuch. Anty’s  outlook has changed some since then. Now, she is more concerned with the feel of the story world, verisimilitude instead of strict accuracy.  People who lived in other centuries wanted the same things as we do today, but the ways they got them were different.

Now that Anty thinks on it, some of these creative mismatches are the truest of all. Anty loves Elton John and Tim Rice’s version of Aida. Did I mention how one of Anty’s favorite-favorite tropes is star-crossed lovers? Well, it is. It is probably her favorite of all. Anty’s best definition of historical romance, the way she writes it and likes to read it, is a love story worthy of history. She thinks “Written in the Stars” has to be one of the greatest star-crossed lovers songs of all  time. I will give you a spoiler here: Aida and Radames do not get a happy ending (well, not in this life) but in a historical romance novel, they absolutely would. I should amend Anty’s favorite trope as “star-crossed lovers who make it work.” She cannot get enough of that stuff, so she has to make more, of her own.

When Anty finds it difficult to put out story, then it is time for her to take some in, to fill her well. What well needs to be filled can vary from time to time. Sometimes, she needs an infusion of emotion. Other times, it is a grounding in the world of the time of the story. That does not mean facts and dates, which may surprise some. For Anty, it is the way the world felt.

Anty’s favorite research session ever, she thought was going to be a very boring one. She had gone to Old Mystic Seaport, with two other writer friends, who were excited to use the research library, and the people who could help them find the books they needed. When Anty got to the library, she felt like the walls were closing in, and didn’t know how to answer the person who asked how he could help  her find what she needed. She didn’t know what she needed from all those books, so she told her friends she had to take a walk. It was cold and very, very windy, and Anty soaked it all in for hours.

She stood at the shore and watched the tide come in, walked through the completely deserted shipyard and inhaled its scents, picked up shells from the tide pools, and picked the brains of every costumed interpreter she encountered. There were not many of them, because it was really cold and really windy, but Anty did not mind. When she read, in her pamphlet, that an  to talk about what life was like for a house slave in that era, she ran to the right building, so that she would not miss anything. By the time her friends met her for lunch, Anty was full of ideas and stimuli, and couldn’t wait to get all of it into her story. The story she was working on at the time -and hopes to again, in the future- was not set in the time or place of the museum, but that did not matter. What mattered was that they were near the sea, and there were the skeletons of ships, and that was the same centuries and an ocean away.  Getting the feel right, knowing why a certain character loved ships more than anything else, that was what Anty had come for, and she got it.

That all feels vaguely subversive, but Anty likes it that way. It has been said that well behaved women never made history. Maybe the same thing applies to writing historical romance, as well. What is it some humans say, play by the rules, miss all the fun? I am not sure Anty is not having a little too much fun, listening to Hamilton. “Helpless” is playing, and this degree of chair dancing cannot be safe on that kind of chair. That had better be about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

 

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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