Inspiration

Typing With Wet Claws: Post-Presentation Edition

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Hello all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday.  A lot has happened this week. I know I always say that, but it is always true. This week is a little different, and I do not know what to make of that. On Sunday, my Mama got a call at work that her mama (her name is Grandma) had to go to the people vet, so my Mama went to be with her. Mama says People Vets are taking good care of Grandma and she should be home soon, which means Mama will be home soon. It is nice being with Anty and Uncle, but I miss my Mama, too. Grandma’s home is far away; we took a long car ride to get from our old home to our new one, and I did not like being in the carrier that long. But that was a long time ago.

Anty's class

Anty’s workshop

This time last week, Anty was getting ready to present her workshop at Capitol Region Romance Writers. She had a really really good time and went home and wrote on her book. For those who told her they wished they could have been there, she is getting something ready for you so that you can have a taste. I do not know what is written on the papers she has been crumpling, but they are very fun to bat around the floor, so if they are as fun for you as they are for me, you will have a very good time.

The view from the meeting room

The view from the meeting room

There was a lot of snow the day Anty gave her workshop, and there is still a lot of snow now. There will be more falling from the sky tomorrow and then again later in the week. As a Maine Coon Cat and descendant of Norwegian Forest Cats, if even I have had enough (and I am an indoor kitty) then I can only imagine what it is like for humans who have to go out in that every day. I will think of you while I nap next to the heater, in my built in fur coat.

Whiteboard = Anty toy

Whiteboard = Anty toy

Anty was very happy that there was a whiteboard in the room where she gave her workshop, because that meant she got to write all over it. She got too excited with the presentation and discussion, and forgot to take pictures of what she actually wrote on the board, so here is a picture of the board as she found it. A very nice librarian cleaned it off for her, and she got to play with a blue marker. Now she wants a whiteboard for our house. I do not know how I feel about that. I cannot bat a crumpled whiteboard around the floor. Those things are huge. Maybe if she gets markers that smell good, that might make a difference.

I think this means more paper...

I think this means more paper…

It is a good thing that Anty and I both like paper, but for different reasons. Most books have only words in them, and Anty likes those very much, but she also likes to put pictures and colors along with the words in other sorts of books. She has not done that a lot recently, but says she would like to get back to doing that on a more regular basis. I am in favor of that, because it probably means more paper for me. Anty says she is not entirely sure how to go about this thing, so she likes to consult magazines like this one that help people figure that out. I want to know where there is a magazine for kitties of people who do that. I bet the pages would crinkle very nicely.

That is about it for now, except for one more thing: Anty has added a new book to her favorite romances shelf on Goodreads. It is  Attachments, by Rainbow Rowell. and you can read about why she liked it here.  Anty needs the computer back so she can work on her book, so I will go sit by my dish and look very fluffy. That usually gets me fed, and it is about lunch time.

Until next week...

Until next week…

Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

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

Color With All The Crayons

annabowling 2 Comments

OnBeyondFanfic

I’d rather pour myself into a world I love and understand
than make something up out of nothing.
–Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl

This past Saturday, I took a leap. I presented a workshop on using the media we already love to create original fiction. I’ve taught this before, in a previous iteration, From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction, usually as a month-long online workshop, and the one time I presented in person to another chapter. a couple of years back, I’d tried to fit the entire course into an hour. Hint: that’s not really possible. It was fun, that first presentation, because I love, love, love speaking in front of a group, especially about a topic that means a lot to me. So much fun, in fact, that I didn’t hesitate when the opportunity came up to do it again, and as long as I was doing so, why not take it one step up and gear things toward writers who already know how to write original fiction?

Not that writers of fan fiction don’t. Far from it. As I say in that class, if you’ve watched a favorite show or movie and thought “that was great, but it would be better if…” then  yes, you can come up with original ideas. From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction is geared toward writers interested in moving from fan fiction to original work, and I love teaching it. I hope to teach it a lot more. Hearing students talk about loving their stories so much and being so determined to get them down that they would dismantle an entire desktop computer system, pack it into the back of their car and drive over a hundred miles to put the whole thing back together and spend the weekend writing with their collaborator, that’s a shot of adrenaline right there. Some of my previous students had asked if there was a second level to this course, some chance to do something with the tools they gained in our time together.

Until now, there wasn’t. It’s still under construction, but once that seed was planted, like the seed of a story, I couldn’t ignore it, and so, when the opportunity to present to my local chapter came up, I took it. What I found was a learning experience for me. Talking to a group that included Golden Heart winners and a RITA nominee, where several members have impressive backlists and the rest are on their way, has a different feel to it, and that’s exciting. When I gave exercises to do during the presentation, pens moved like lightning. I hated to make all that writing stop, but the results were worth it.

I loved that one member asked if they could combine characters from different sources, and another asked if they could use one canon and one original character. My answers were yes and yes. Another asked if these techniques could be used to reverse engineer an original character who wasn’t quite gelling. Yes, again. If a character isn’t coming together, have a look at characters who are like them and see if anything clicks. After the presentation, we had a lively and fascinating discussion on how the media we love inspires the story worlds we build for ourselves, and the exclamations of surprise when members found other members shared some of the same favorite media were a delight.

Today’s quote comes from the fabulous Rainbow Rowell, of whom I am a fangirl, after reading her novel, Fangirl, (and her upcoming novel, Carry On, is the fan fiction her heroine, Cath, wrote about the characters in the fictional Simon Snow fandom in Fangirl. How’s that for meta?) and jumped out at me from the start. Thing is, we can know our own original story worlds and characters that well. It’s not making something out of nothing, because it’s making something out of everything we’ve ever been, seen, done, heard, tasted, smelled, thought, dreamed, feared, wondered, suspected, etc, etc, etc, all blended in a way that is unique to the individual, and I find that fascinating.

The crayons in today’s picture, a rainbow in themselves, were on one of the tables when I arrived, and yes, I did have to play with them in my all purpose notebook. It’s like blood in the water to a shark or waving a red flag at a bull. I see the crayons, I color with the crayons, and I do notice if they are Crayola or not. Kind of like getting into a fandom. There’s looking at what’s already there, and then there’s taking something from it and making it mine.

Throwback Thursday: Daddy’s Girl?

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I don’t have a date for this book cover, Dad is no longer with us, so I can’t ask, but Amazon says the book was published in 1962. That’s definitely in the pre-Anna days, when I was not yet a glint in my biological father’s eye.

Since I’m adopted, I don’t share any DNA with my father,  Rudolph J. Carrasco, but one place where we always had a shared interest was art. Dad was always a working artist through my entire life, both in the commercial field (family friends say he did several book covers around the same time he did Party of Dreamers) and his own original art.  As a very small child, I remember seeing him paint over a family portrait of our neighbors (the parents had emigrated from Scotland, which may have been an early contributor to my love of the UK) and not understanding what he was doing, but fast forward a few decades, and we call that mixed media art now. I’ve slapped paint over more than a few pictures myself in my day.

Since the statute of limitations is likely over by now, I can freely confess to sneaking into his studio as a wee sprog and making off with his supplies, always careful to put them back exactly where I found them (paper excepted, and I always remembered where the good stuff was.) I asked him for art instruction. He declined. That may have been for the best, as my taste and his didn’t have a lot of common ground, but, in his later years, he loved when I brought him art magazines while he had hid dialysis treatments, and asked to keep a special issue of Somerset Studio devoted to color theory.  Though we had our differences, some of them large, I’m glad we had art in common.

 

 

The Magpie Phase

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plannering

annabowling 2 Comments

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

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

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

i1035 FW1.1

 

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

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

i1035 FW1.1

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

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

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

i1035 FW1.1

 

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

i1035 FW1.1

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

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

aoon, we will know...

aoon, we will know…

What planners/notebooks are starting out your new year?

 

Time, Place, and Billy Joel

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‎If you are not doing what you love, you are wasting your time.
– Billy Joel

Welp, ten days until Christmas, and I am nowhere near ready.  This surprises me. Christmas has been my favorite holiday since I was but a wee sprog, even more as an adult than as a kid, and, normally, I am in a constant Christmas frenzy from the moment I get up from Thanksgiving dinner.  This year, well, it’s snuck up on me. I’m not sure how that happened.

I’m not sure, for that matter, if it matters how it happened. Fact is that it did, I have ten days until The Day and all I can do is make the best out of what i have. Today’s quote is from Billy Joel, one of my all time favorite musicians, and I’m going to count him as a favorite writer as well, because “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant” is a whole story of everyday genius, and there’s “Captain Jack” and he managed to evoke emotion in “We Didn’t Start The Fire,” which is comprised entirely of name dropping 20th century names, events and places. So yes, one of my favorite writers right there, as writers come in all flavors.

One of the reasons I love Billy Joel’s writing (and music) is that it is intrinsically tied to his voice. First few notes of “Piano Man,” and you’re there, in the bar, breathing the stale smoke and watching the regular crowd shuffle in and do their thing, again and again, day after day, while simultaneously inside the piano player who knows this can’t be his end point. It has to be only a stop along the way. (Pause here a moment to appreciate the storytelling mastery of “Stop in Nevada.“)  It’s a very specific place, and  yet a very universal feeling, and I think that’s why it resonates as much as it does with me.

I’m all about the emotional connection, which is probably a good thing since I write romance, and since I write historical romance, the connection to a time and place is also important. There’s a world of difference between Georgian England and modern day NY, but the same desire, to be known and accepted for the person one already is, that’s timeless. So, all in all, I’m in the right genre, and that’s a good thing to know.

This past Saturday, I sat in a room full of other romance writers and listened to the fabulous Marie Lark share her method of plotting via character motivation (which also works for pantsers. I think I’m somewhere in the middle, but not doing labels at this time.)  Where I’d come into the meeting wondering if I wasn’t off the mark with something regarding the new historical that I oh so greatly love but still didn’t quite grasp yet, by the time we were only a few minutes into the workshop, my characters, once reticent, were blabbering at me faster than I could write.

One of the things I found I tended to do during my wandering around in the woods years was focus so much on the plot that the characters faded. That’s not what I love. What I love is the characters driving the whole story, their needs and wants (especially when the needs and wants are two different things) taking me where we all need to go. This workshop was a great reminder of that, and exactly on time.

Which will be the same with my favorite season of the year. Play some Christmas music. Play some Billy. Write some story. Bake some cookies. Let the lights shine. Prepare the traditional Christmas zombie hand and dangle an ornament from its fingers. My mother used to say, “the more you do, the more you’ll want to do,” and she’s right. The Monday blog post is already up on Monday, I baked brownies, and story things are going to happen. Tree is decorated, gifts are in their process of being created and distributed, and far better to embrace the season with ten days left to The Day than turn Grinchy and let it slip by me completely. Besides, in our family, the twelve days of Christmas start on the 25th, so adding that all in, I’ve got oodles of time. Now where did I put those candy canes?