my books

Typing With Wet Claws: Retreat Prep 2.0 Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday, coming to you from Camp Grandma. As you may have guessed from this week’s title, by this time, next week, Anty will be in a carrier, coming to see me. I am very much looking forward to that. There has been talk of a laser pointer. If it is anything like my mousie game, I am all over that.

I am also all over Anty’s writing, which she plans to be doing a lot of, during our retreat. First, and I will probably have to Coe back and edit this later, because the remote connection to Anty’s new glory box is still wonky (also, it is thundering, and I am going to stay here under Grandma’s sewing machine (do not worry, it is off) until the storm is over. I would hide under a bed, but there are no beds in my room (I know, seriously, what’s up with that?) If you have been wanting to read new writing by Any (and also some other people) then this is your lucky day.

Preorders for the nonfiction of New York’s Emerging Writers are now, um, doing their thing. That preorder is here.  Anty’s contribution to this book is her essay, “Greetings From Boxville,” which is about the writing life, in the midst of a move. It is a lot like Anty’s blog entries, but it is not in a blog; it is only in this book, and no place else.

Preorders are also here for the fiction edition of New York’s Emerging Writers. If you would like to preorder that one, then you can do that here. This book comes out on August 7th, which is only days away, so there is still time to sneak in under the wire to preorder. Anty’s contribution to this anthology is “Ravenwood,” which is an excerpt of her novel, A Heart Most Errant. If you like “Ravenwood,” and would like to see A Heart Most Errant as a whole book, maybe leave a nice review and mention that. No promises, but mentioning the story and author by name helps the publisher see who readers would like to read more from, in the future. If you want to see more books by Any (and me get better toys and treats) then do the right thing.

As always, Anty was a Buried Under Romance this past Saturday, with her post that asks if favorite books always remain favorites? Can a reader like the same book more or less than they did before, at different times? If you are interested to find out what Anty thinks about that kind of thing, you can find that out here.

This is normally the part where I give you Anty’s Goodreads challenge updates, but Sebastian is still supposedly working on the exact numbers, so I will show you Anty’s favorite book that she read this week. It is called Leah on the Offbeat, by Becky Albertalli, and Anty’s review of that is here. 

Any has now read sixty out of the ninety books she set as her goal for the year, and that puts her at sixty-seven percent of the way there, eight books ahead of schedule. I would be remiss if I did not point out that Anty has been slacking in the historical romance department, in favor of YA, but I am not worried. These things go in cycles, and she will be blazing through historical romance novels again, very soon. Last night, Anty made a lot of notes about video blogs she would like to make, regarding books that she likes, and she needed two pages for historical romance topic ideas. That is encouraging.

Some of you may have noticed that I have not put a lot of pictures in this entry. I am very sorry. Still learning how the remote connection works on a Mac instead of a PC (that stands for Pretty Cat, right?) Maybe Anty will fill me in when she comes for our retreat. Although my chances of getting peanut butter (I regret nothing) are markedly lower on this retreat, now that Anty is on to me,  I think we will still have a good time. Miss H is telling Anty how to load some computer games (people games, but oh well, I can still watch) onto her laptop, so that Anty will not be game-less, even without inter webs. Grandma is not at all interested in inter webs, so Anty may get a little twitchy until Anty Melva comes to take her for lunch.

The reason Anty Melva and Anty will go to lunch is so that they can go over their presentation for Connecticut Fiction Fest, which is only a month away. Anty is not, as of yet, running around in circles screaming, but that may still happen. Anty Melva made a wonderful PowerPoint presentation, and she and Anty even have a fun game for the humans who come to their workshop to play, so they can break the ice. That is a metaphor. They will not really have ice. Though, they might, in the water pitcher, if there is one. There will probably be one. Anty likes to stay hydrated. So there might be ice. Anyway, if you are going to Fiction Fest, and want to hear about how to keep writing through tough times, then their workshop is one you will want to see.

Anty and Anty Melva will also be talking about their current WIP, Drama King, which actually has a cat in it. He is my favorite character. Can I have a book boyfriend, even though I am fixed? I think I can. I will give Anty my big green eyes look. She can never say no to that.

Anty is making her wrap it up noises, so that is about it for this week. Come back next week, and I should have figured out how to add more pictures. Until then, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye2018

Rambling, Beneath The Roses

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Welp, one day behind on the blogging thing, the photo editor I usually use is giving me guff (but on multiple machines, so it’s probably them and not me) and the picture I thought I was going to use for a different sort of header, I did not actually take as a photo, but sent as a direct message to a friend. It’s that kind of day. Right now, I am in my newest writing nook, which probably will not be permanent but it sure is comfy.

There is now a full sized air mattress taking up most of the living room. I have an armrest pillow in place, and the head of the mattress is flush with the wall, so I do have back support. The new futon/bed is in the bedroom, which feels kind of inside-out-y, but I’m going to roll with it. My house, my rules right? The mattress is also directly below the three rosebush plants (mini variety,) York, Tudor, and Lancaster, (white, red and white, and red, respectively) that captured my heart on Saturday morning. Appropriate plant life for a historical romance writer, if there ever was such a thing.

The weather is pretty darned decent (by my standards) today. Light rain, off and on, temperate enough that I can actually cover my flesh without feeling smothered, and, maybe most important of all, cool enough for tea. A sign of autumn to come? I sure hope it is, because I am pretty much (i.e. totally) done with summer. Seeing as how we’re at the end of July, that is not surprising. There is a lot on my mind, these days, so I’m going to put a bunch of it here, and get along with my day.

First off, I have a new item to add to the Coming Soon page. My essay, “Greetings From Boxville,” will appear in the New York’s Emerging Writers nonfiction anthology, from Z Publishing. I angsted a lot about that essay, then finally wrote what basically amounts to a blog entry, and sent that sucker on its way. This may be something to remember; when in doubt, do what comes naturally.

There is Chasing Prince Charming news. Melva and I agreed, on Monday, that we are done-done with this draft, and it is going back out into the wide world at the end of the week. Eep. Been a while since this kind of thing has happened, but it’s exciting, too, this regaining of the metaphorical stride. Melva and I are taking two weeks off to work on individual projects, and write down notes on Drama King, then come back together and get that story back in gear. This time, we know how we write a book together, along with each other’s strengths and not-so-strengths, and the story world is no longer uncharted territory.

Sleep has been, for the past couple of weeks, to use a technical term, poopy. Last night was my first good, full, night’s sleep in a while, and I appreciate the heck out of that. I could use a few more nights like that, aka all of them. Cooler temperatures help, but the fact that I could get up this morning and make tea, without feeling as though I had to drag my own corpse from wherever I was when I figured sleep was not going to happen, so may as well have caffiene, followed by midmorning crash, is enough to put a bounce in my step. Hence the actual blogging.

When I am done with this, there will be fiction writing, which, right now, feels like a rare treat. I had hoped to use July to outline the selkie story, but that’s not what happened, though I still want that story to happen, as well as A Moment Past Midnight. Not sure, right now, I I want to target one of those for November and NaNo, wait until Her Last First Kiss is at the end of its second draft. I’ll figure it out.

Sometimes, a change of perspective can be a good thing. There’s probably something to be said for being closer to the ground when I write, these days. The desk I’ve loved as long as I can remember, with accompanying office chair, is still in storage, and looks like they will remain there until we move to the next place, so finding where my writing space is, in this apartment, is of paramount importance. A lot of us writers are going to have a lot of different writing places in our lives. Yesterday, Housemate asked me if I missed Old Apartment. I said no. I miss having Skye home from camp, and I miss going to my favorite coffee house to write (which I can still do; it’s only a bus ride away) whenever I wanted it, but it was time to make a change.

Sometimes, it’s like that with writing. There are times to strike out and try something new, and then there are times when the best thing to do is go home. Sometimes, those two things can happen at the same time. Funny how that works. I love it when things that shouldn’t fit together, do, and in the very best of ways. Is this a new season of that starting? Hope so.

A Tale of Three Notebooks

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This post is totally about stationery, and it is also totally about writing.  This past weekend, I picked up three notebooks, all dedicated to writing. Here’s the family photo, all three in one place:

ThreeNotebooks.jpg

We’ll start with the unicorn. The morning pages book I started on my friend, EC’s floor, is now full. Three pages, as soon as possible after waking, every day, no exceptions. Whatever is in my head goes onto the page. That’s the rule. Julia Cameron, who first came up with the idea of this discipline might quibble with my version, because my pages are not the exact size specified; for me, it’s all about the pretty paper. If it’s pretty, I’ll want to write on it. That’s how I roll. Seriously, who could resist these inside pages?

rainbowpages

Gorgeous, right? Kind of like a sunrise, if one is so visually inclined. I also love that, unlike my usual choices, this book is wire bound, which means I can fold the cover back and always deal with only one page at a time. I could get used to that.

A more recent addition to my notebook arsenal is the bookend (pun intended) to the morning pages, which I call evening pages. For this one, blame Lin-Manuel Miranda, whose good morning and good night tweets popped up in my head, late one stressy night, when I desperately needed both sleep and reassurance. Evening pages are my pep talks to myself, a quick rundown of the good points of the day, and encouragement for the day to come. I started writing those in a pocket sized hardcover book, that I thought was going to be part of Li’l Pink’s arsenal, but, when I got the new book for morning pages, it felt right to get one for evening pages, as well. Also, the blue book, which I always read as “Trust Your Butt,” was on ridiculously low clearance, so I could not leave it there. No inside pages picture, because these inside pages are plain, lined, white. Nothing to see here. I actually like the idea of very plain pages to close out the day; it feels restful, so I’m going with it.

The newest member of the Pink family does not have a name yet (suggestions welcome, in the comment section) but she is replacing the orange planner, who is taking early retirement. This orange planner and I have been through a lot together. I felt pangs as I put him in his box while packing the old apartment, and was impatient to get him back when we did land in For-Now apartment. Trouble is, dude has, how shall I put this delicately, bad juju. It’s time for a fresh start.

This new, pink, planner has white pages, unusual for me, because I usually require ivory or colored, but, this time, I like the difference. Also different is the fact that the tools I wanted to use for this planner were clear from the first; I’m going minimal. Black pen, one set of pastel highlighters, only a dash of a single color per page. Very much not me, and, yet, very much me, at the same time.

The biggest difference, and by this I mean biggest, biggest, can I really pull this off, difference, is that this planner is focused, not on domestic duties, moving, or other domestic concerns, but writing. Sure, some non-writing appointments will be in there, but mainly as a way to remind me that I have to put the writing time in elsewhere. It’s a new approach for me, and somewhat scary, but exciting, too.

fturelog

Future Log Pages

The first thing I put in the book was a quick calendar for the rest of the year. No spaces to write things down, just numbers in a square, so that I know what day of the week goes with what day of the month. Next is the future log section, a rundown of dates that are already spoken for, on a regular basis: weekly breakfasts with N, blog posts for this blog, and for Buried Under Romance. Plenty of space to add in other things as they arise. Since we’re coasting into the end of July, I don’t have July things on there, like Skype sessions with Melva (but will be including those, going forward) and the upcoming release of the New York’s Emerging Writers fiction anthology, but, putting it out there, Connecticut Fiction Fest is but a handful of heartbeats away. Definitely time to get my ducks in a row, for that particular pond. I have seen Melva’s PouwerPoint, and it is magnificent.

This week, she and I are putting our final-final-final touches on Chasing Prince Charming, and then back out it goes, in search of a good home. When that happens, we are taking a short break for Melva to focus on her super fun humorous nonfiction, and me to focus on Her Last First Kiss. I already hear N’s voice in my head, reminding me to set a target date for the completion of draft two, and potential markets for same. September brings Fiction Fest, and then, whammo- bammo, it’s October, season of my birthday, Halloween, the clocks rolling back to my beloved early sunsets, and then the holiday season will be upon us.

Said holiday season includes November, which has not only Thanksgiving, but regular National Novel Writing Month, and I need to start preparations now, if I want to participate. At this point, I don’t know. Is that the selkie story’s time, or do I want to have A Moment Past Midnight ready for actual Hogmanay? (That would involve me closing a few plot holes, but nothing a couple of good brainstorming sessions wouldn’t handle. Takers, pop your contact info in comments, and I will return the favor. )

It’s not possible to plan for every aspect of the writing life, but, for me, a fresh start, clear expectations, and a calendar are big steps in the right direction. Not sure yet how I am going to track progress, but I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

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It’s (Almost) Heeeeere….

annabowling 2 Comments

“It,” in this case, being the fiction edition of the New York’s Emerging Writers anthology, which includes my novel excerpt, “Ravenwood,” and is now available for preorder. Official release is August seventh, but preorders will be filled about two weeks prior. You do the math. Actual physical paperback, this time, It’s a slim volume, about two hundred pages, a smorgasbord of “young talents.” Plus me. I don’t know about the “young” part, but the book is now (almost) a thing, and that’s pretty cool.

If all goes according to plan, Melva and I will be putting this edit of Chasing Prince Charming to bed, and sending it out again, before we turn our attention to Drama King, and the as-yet-untitled third book of the trilogy. I still have some selkies (and the humans who love them) to name, and I still need to figure out the big why of my heroine’s choice in A Moment Past Midnight. Bern and Ruby, of Her Last First Kiss, are tapping their feet impatiently, and N gave me a much-needed nudge, at our weekly breakfast this morning.

August isn’t that far away, and after August, comes September, which means Connecticut Fiction Fest, which means Melva and I get to sing for our supper (don’t worry, we won’t actually sing) and present our workshop, Writing Through The Tears/Save The Writer, Save The Book. Registration is open, which gives me more than a little bit of a squee. For a long time, I’ve been wishing that this whole writing thing would pick up the pace, and, now, it would appear that it’s doing exactly that. I’m not exactly sure how that works.

In a way, it’s like coming out of the movies, on a day when the sun is strong. Blink. Blink. Is this really the way things look? It is? Oh. Okay. I guess. Well, then. Best get on with things, eh?

:rub hands together:

:awkward pause:

:put on tea kettle, because that is always appropriate:

:clear throat:

So this :gesture to expanse of blue sky, parking lot, circling seagulls in search of surplus French fries: is called “out-side,” is it? Oh. One word. Outside. Outside? Are you sure it’s one word, because that sounds wrong. Out. Side. No, that doesn’t make sense. It really is “outside,” then? Huh. Learn something new every day.

:rub eyes:

Granted, I am normally one who prefers the darkness of a movie theater to summer sun, but go with the metaphor. That’s what I’ve got right now, and the clock is ticking on my (hopefully) laaaaaast Chasing Prince Charming scene. Once that’s done, and Melva-approved, I need to give my final verdict on the ms as-is, make any needed changes, and then…then back into circulation it goes. As in other eyes on our book baby.

A book baby, Melva and I agree is not so much of a baby anymore. By book’s end, Meg and Dominic are clearly on their way to their own real-life happily ever after, and won’t be needing us as much as the other books will. We get to put the big kid on the bus, so we can play with the baby, aka Drama King. If I stick with the raising kids analogy (I do not have kids, but I was a nanny, so that counts) I suppose that would make book number three…umm, both of us story-pregnant? Not going to look too deeply into the mechanics of that one.

This morning, over tea and coffee, bagel and quiche, N and I talked about setting concrete goals for the coming (rest of the) year. Her Last First Kiss has to get on that bus, along with Chasing Prince Charming, and I need to figure out what comes next, historical-romance-wise.

That’s when I have to ask the big question: what would be fun? For a full length novel, I am going to be spending at the bare minimum, a year with the people who live in that story world, so I may as well have a good time while I’m doing it. Not that only one book a year is the ultimate goal, because  today’s market likes production to be speedier than that, but, right now, it’s a good place to start. Well, re-start, really.

There is the matter of those four other titles that seem, at the same time, like they only came out yesterday, and like  a different person wrote them, in another life. I want to say both of those things can be true at the same time, because that’s how it works with these book babies, or at least it is for me. I’ve done this before (but not in hardcopy, and not in an anthology, unless one counts the fanzines from my Star Trek: The Next Generation fanfic days) but I’ve done it, and I suspect there is some form of writerly muscle memory that will kick in sometime between now and the start of August.

It’s like public speaking, in a way. I’ll be nervous, but once I’m in front of the people, and I’m looking at them, and they’re looking at me, and there is that special sort of energy between us -these people want to hear what we are here to blabber about; they picked this over other options, and wow, that is a thrill- and talkative extrovert instinct pushes nerves to the side and copious amounts of caffeine do their thing.

TLDR: Anthology is up for pre-order, will be out in August. Melva and I will be talking at people in September. N is twisting my arm about starting a second blog, devoted to paper and pens.

Good thing fall is coming soon. I’m going to need those super powers.

 

 

My Mind Is A Messy Place

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Welp, it’s Monday. The heat wave is, thankfully, over, and I have, finally, found out how to zoom the screen so that I can see the words I’m typing without eyestrain. This was a good weekend just past. I spent the better part of Saturday, hanging out with Housemate, our friend, J, and J’s kitties, one of whom wore herself out chasing the red dot from J’s laser pointer. We talked about important things and unimportant things. There was ice cream. I faked out a cat, by not actually turning on the laser pointer, but acting as though I had. The afternoon ended all too soon. Sunday was mostly me napping, once lunch was over. I went to bed early.

I would say that I didn’t think/talk about writing much, but that’s not true. I am always thinking about writing. I should be writing, I should be writing more, I should be writing better, I should be writing something more marketable (that’s a big one) etc. That sort of stuff. There’s also the other side of the coin. I love writing, I wish I were writing, would anybody notice if I whipped out my notebook and started writing right now? What if my characters are doing something without me? What if they’re plotting? (Note: I mean amongst themselves, possibly against me, not actualy helping out with the plotting of the story, because that would be awesome if they did. Some of them do.)  My mind is a messy place.

Now, as I am seated here at the tv tray desk, keyboard on lap desk on my lap, with seasonally appropriate beverage at hand, it’s time to get down to the business of writing, which is mainly comprised, right now, of the work I meant to do last week, before the heat tsunami knocked me flat.

This morning, I set up at the kitchen counter, with my planner, washi tape, and an array of colored pens, to plan out my week. What gets done, and when? Anxiety says “all of it, and right now, but never mind. It is both urgent, and too late, bwahahaha.”  Anxiety is a jerk. That’s where planning comes into play. If I can see the big looming NEED broken down into manageable steps, that makes it not as intimidating. Realistically, I can get through all the Chasing Prince Charming stuff by the end of the week, and be ready for the “resubmit” portion of “revise and resubmit,” which will then allow Melva and I to turn our attention back to Drama King, and our own individual projects.

If we’d had a parrot with us during the moving process, and the in-between-homes phase, the first phrase he would have learned is “do the thing in front of you.”  “Pack the entire house,” for example, is far more overwhelming than “assemble this box.” Sure, “assemble this box” may be repeated elebenty billion times, but focusing on each individual box means that things do, eventually, get done.

It’s like that with writing. My idea hamster is more of a idea horse when it comes to Her Last First Kiss, and is doing the whole pawing at the ground, chomping at the bit thing, because “wow, it’s been a while” bumps right up against “about dang time,” and time and distance can, in the best of cases, provide perspective. I like perspective. I find it useful.

This month, there are no RWA meetings, because the national conference takes place in July. I am not going, but I like knowing it’s there. CT Fiction Fest is almost close enough to measure in weeks, rather than months, and the anthology release is only an eyeblink away. The August meeting of my local RWA chapter will be here before I know it, and I want my shot at winning the goals pool. I’m competitive like that.

Part of me is still salty that I didn’t sign up for Camp NaNo, because I do like the daily page goals (yes, I know I can do it on my own, but refer to competitive comment above.) We’ll see how Actual NaNo looks when we get closer to November.

For now, I have my weiner-dog-printed-shorts-clad bottom in chair, fingers on keyboard, taking care of one thing at a time. First up, look at the last new-new scene for Chasing Prince Charming, then polish my last scene for this draft. If the draft as a whole looks good (which I am sure it will) then back the book goes, for another look. That’s a little scary, and a little exciting. Sometimes, scary and exciting take turns, but, mostly, they hang out at the same time. I can deal with that.

020418deskscape2

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Heat Wave Has Broken Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday, straight from Camp Grandma. This past week was a hot one, even for those of us without built-in fur coats. For humans like Anty and Uncle, both who are extra-sensitive to the heat (Anty more than Uncle, but it’s not a contest,) that makes getting things done extra challenging, so this will be another different sort of post. Weather permitting, things should be back to normal (or as normal as they get around here) by next week.

One thing that has not changed is that I have to talk about Anty’s writing first, before I am allowed to talk about anything else. To be fair, that anything else is usually Anty’s writing anyway (that is what a mews does) but it is my job to tell people where they can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs, besides here. As usual, Anty was at Buried Under Romance this past Saturday. That post is here, and it looks like this:

Huh. My apologies. We are having some technical difficulties with the remote connection today. I love Grandma, but she is not that great as an IT person, so you will have to click on the link above to see what Anty’s post looks like. Anty is also under a time crunch today, so I am going to charge through the rest of this post. It is summer vacation, after all.

What did not take a vacation is Anty’s Goodreads challenge. Anty has been crushing this challenge. That is partly because she did not have a lot of energy during the heat wave, and reading was, on some days, all she could handle. That is not a bad way to pass a hot day, plopped in front of the fan, with a cold sport drink, and a few good books. Sebastian is still crunching the numbers (he is kind of lazy) but, at current count, Anty has read fifty-five out of ninety books, putting her at sixty-one percent of the way to her goal. That is impressive.

Since Sebastian is still crunching the numbers (or kibble; probably kibble. I know what kibble sounds like) I will put one picture here, of one of the books Anty most especially liked this week:

Normal book review pictures and lists should return next week. Suffice it to say that Anty is doing a lot of reading, and Is very eager to talk about that reading. If you want to follow her on Goodreads, you can do that here.

Now that the heat wave is over (Sebastian tells me that there was a BIG thunderstorm yesterday, which scared the heat away) Anty is also ready to do a whole lot of writing. She is mostly over her angst regarding t he selkie naming issue, and working on the outline. This did not turn out to be a Camp NaNo month after all, but that is okay; there is still a lot of work for Anty to do.  Especially so, since she did not get a lot done during the heat wave. I do not blame her on that one, honestly.

Anyway, Anty is excited to have a few writing balls to juggle, and it is only two more months until CT Fiction Fest. If you are going to be there, so is Anty, so find her and say hello. I can see Anty making “move it along” motions over the interface, so I will type faster. That is not the easiest thing in the world, with special paws, I should mention. I should also mention that I know Anty petted other cats last week, and that she is going to see those other cats again tomorrow. Cats always know. That is okay, though, because, yesterday, the humans had a meeting about when we can expect to move to Forever Apartment, and they think we can probably do that by September. That is when Anty’s super powers come back, so I think that would be perfect timing. Until then, I will take best advantage of Grandma Rules, while here at camp. (#peanutbutterisdelicious)

This week, Anty will be going over the last edits of the revised edition of Chasing Prince Charming, working on the outline of the selkie story, and getting all her Her Last First Kiss ducks in a row. This book does not, as far as I know, contain any actual ducks, but please do not hold that against Anty. Anything can happen in a second draft.

Speaking of which, Anty also did something this week, that she has not done for a while. She okayed a proof for a new release. Anty did not write the whole book for this one; it is an anthology, but she is still excited to be able to share her part. If you have been curious about Anty’s peostapocalyptic medieval, A Heart Most Errant, you will be in luck, because her contribution to this anthology is an excerpt from that. Here is a fun fact: Anty meant to change the name of the town the heroine wants to find, but she (Anty, not the heroine) had not found a better name by the time of the submission deadline, so the town is still Ravenwood, which is also the title of the excerpt. I should probably mention that Anty only now realized that the name of the town does not actually appear in the scenes of the excerpt, but too late to fix that now.

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

skyebye2018

 

 

 

Why Did It Have to Be Selkies?

annabowling 2 Comments

When I was but a wee princess, my parents, or some well meaning family friend, gave me a book of folk tales of the British Isles. I. Loved. That. Book. I still have it, though it’s in storage right now, so I can’t refer to it, but, when I needed to pick a project to work on for July’s Camp NaNo, I landed on selkies.

Not literally. They probably wouldn’t like that very much, but, once the idea was there, it put down roots, so okay. At first, it was mermaids. There I was, on retreat with Skye, and I had my Jane Davenport Whimsical Girls book out, turned to a page with two female figures. I surveyed my color choices. The faces looked similar, so maybe two versions of the same woman? Realistic and fantasy, maybe? Human and mermaid? Ooh. What if they were half sisters?

I whipped out the appropriate medium, and let my brain do its own thing while I swooped color across the page. By itself, the story formed. It’s a historical romance, first and foremost, (not between the sisters) with some familial conflict, and it doesn’t feel so much “paranormal” as one side of the family happens to be selkies. I was thinking mermaids at first, but there is the mermaid problem, Namely, how to put this gracefully, have intimate mermaid/human relations. This would be essential, so a quick bit of searching on aforementioned folklore of the British Isles was in order.

Which brings me to the selkie problem. Not the same as the mermaid problem, because selkies seem to have it easier in the human relations department. Shed seal skin, have human form. Sorted. Selkies, in many stories, become involved with humans, reproduce, and sometimes go back to the sea. Whether or not they can take their special friend with them varies, and I’m good with that. Works out rather well for what my story people want to do, and gave me a moment of clarity on why sting named one of his albums Soul Cages.

What, exactly, you might ask, is the selkie problem? For this gal, it’s names. Naming a character is an important part of the process, and, frequently, for me, it’s more a matter of them telling me what their names are. They won’t answer to anything else. I still have an outline draft with a hero who didn’t even know his own name until the very last chapter. (I am definitely going back to that one, someday,.) What the heck does one name a selkie? What do selkies, or, in a more broader scope, mythical/legendary creatures call themselves?

Thankfully, I neglected to officially sign up for July’s Camp NaNo, so I am doing it unofficially, with my goal to figure out this whole story, and what the heck I am doing even thinking about it, because I am not a paranormal writer, and the last time I ventured into that realm, my life fell apart, and I ended up ugly crying during a critique group (that had only positive comments, by the way) in the middle of a coffee house. The ugly crying incident had nothing to do with  me moving to a different state, but it does give me a sense of security that I never have to face that barista again.

This is the part of the process where I start writing down what I know about the story, telling it to myself. Kind of folktale-y, definitely historical romance, flying into the mist sort of thing. At the same time, Melva and I are thisclose to getting Chasing Prince Charming back to the editor who invited us to revise and resubmit, then will turn our attention back to Drama King. On my own, N is not letting me squiggle out of getting back in the saddle for Her Last First Kiss  so there is no lack of things to do. So, why toss another project into the mix? \

Good question. The best answer I have at this moment is “because I can.” Consider it the writing equivalent of physical/occupational therapy. I’m glad I did my May Camp Nano the way I did, and it is still simmering, goal met, so I can figure out exactly how my couple solves their problem. What is it that makes my heroine know what she has to do? I don’t know that yet, but it will come, and likely when I am slipping into a sealskin and taking it out for a spin.

In the meantime, hit me with selkie names. I’ll take anything.

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Packing In Reverse

annabowling Leave a comment

Yesterday, I submitted two pieces of writing. Though it hasn’t been that long since my last gig, hitting that “submit” button felt a lot like I was doing so for the very first time. It wasn’t, of course. Four books, a whole lot of blog posts for various sites, both my own and otherwise, and, still, the stomach butterfly ballet was in fine form.

First submission in the new apartment, though, which is certainly something. Tonight, I will have my first Skype meeting from the new apartment, to talk with my contemporary co-writer, and co-presenter of our Save the Writer, Save the Book, Melva Michaelian, about how we’re going to handle the presentation to Charter Oak Romance Writers, and, beyond that, how we want to approach the same workshop at Connecticut Fiction Fest, this fall. We’ll probably touch on Chasing Prince Charming and Drama King, as well, because A) we are us, and B) as with the whole submission thing, coming back after a time away is both exciting, and a little scary.

On Wednesday, I will meet with N, and we will look at what it takes to get to The End. Draft two of Her Last First Kiss for me, and a new draft of a paramormal YA for her. Maybe other projects as well, but we have each declared our focus, and will hold each other to that.

When I first started packing the old office, I put all of the paper I needed for HLFK in one box. This past Saturday, I busted it out of storage and brought it home. Right now, my “desk” is a TV tray, my office chair, a folding chair. I can get the whole stripped down aesthetic, and I even appreciate that I have, on the desk/table front, come full circle, back to writing on a TV tray, in a quiet house, when the rest of the family is out.

Now that we are in the home stretch to the end of our first month here, it’s time to recalibrate and find the new normal. That’s easier said than done, and pretty much the writing version of taking the first step into a new apartment on moving-in day. By itself, the statement a blank slate makes is not a strong one, but it can be intimidating. Where to start is an important consideration, but it’s too easy to become overwhelmed by what goes where.

In this apartment, I don’t have a dedicated office, unless I claim the postage stamp sized “storage” room that also holds the water heater. That’s going to require some changing around of longstanding habits. While I will be rescuing my desktop computer (and printer) from storage  hopefully this week, it will still ( probably) be set up on the TV tray, I am currently doing most computing on my phone. New writing works best in longhand, which has not changed one bit, from one home to the next. The transition from one way of doing things, to a new way of doing things isn’t always smooth.

Right now, the books I have in this apartment are either e-books, or belong to the library. No spinning the chair around, to  brush fingers over old favorites. No RT magazine back issues (or RT, period, alas) to pet, or flip through for inspiration. It kind of feels like moving into a college dorm. It’s temporary, as we are looking dor a pet-friendly forever home, but, while we’re here, we need to focus, not on what has always been, or how things are, or how things are going to be in the fututre. Time to, as with the rest of the moving process, do the thing that is in front of me. Write the blog post.  Go over notes for the Skype chat, and put the HLFK materials in the right order. Read through the manuscripts to date, and make notes on what needs more attention.

Falling in love with the stories again, that part is easy, and it’s also hard. It’s hard because it means acknowledging that there has been time away, and the books and I do need to get reacquainted. This means mornings over endless cups of tea, reading through handwritten pages, taking apart the binder I constructed, because I constructed it in the wrong way, the way it “should” go, instead of the way that works for me.

I may be a while before everything is back on an even keel, but that’s to be expected. This is packing, in reverse. Taking the stuff, both literal and figurative, out of where I’ve stashed it, and see where it belongs now

Sheeeeee’s Baaaaack

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Or close enough to it. One week and two days ago, we landed in our new apartment, but there is still another move ahead of us. Though the ad that led us to our current apartment said this was a pet friendly location, that was a mistake, so Skye is staying with Housemate’s mother, while we wait for a place that will fit all four of us. We do not expect that to be long, but there is still the question of what to bring into our current abode, and what we want to leave in storage until we are settled-settled, and the adventure continues.

Right now, my desk is my lap desk, my chair is the floor, with an armrest pillow behind me, and a fluffy throw tossed in for good measure. My computer is my phone, desktop to follow, when A) I can find it in the packed to the gills storage unit, and B) I can also find my desk, or a reasonable substitute, in the same unit. What is not under lock and key, however, is the desire, and the need, to write.

Because my life would not be my life without Unexpected! Drama! I am ensconced in my writing corner, waiting for pest control to return and drop off their item, and, at the same time, keeping one eye, and one ear, on a recovering Real Life Romance Hero, sprung from the hospital the day before yesterday, after a four day stay to treat an unfortunate incident. He is responding well and already wants to get back to work. Same with me.

Yesterday, I had my first breakfast with N, since moving out of the old apartment. Most of that time, I spent staring in deer in the headlights mode, due to stress and exhaustion, interpersed with sucking down possibly the largest iced tea I have seen in real life. There was also a bagel involved, but the real meat of the matter was writing, and where we each wanted our focus to be, in this coming season.

We talked of unfinished manuscripts, what makes them that way, and the experience of looking at things we had written in our respective way-back-whens. Sometimes, it’s “hey, this is pretty good.” Sometimes, it’s, “what was I thinking?” Sometimes, it’s “I can do this better/differently now.” Sometimes, there are no words, and the sentiment can be ezpressed only by pulling a sweatshirt hood over one’s head, and puling the drawstring,so that one’s face is comletely consumed by said hood, with possibly only the nose tip even visual to the casual observer.

We talked of how, sometimes, it isn’t possible to go back to a particular project, because we aren’t that person anymore, or we are no longer that writer. We did not speak of projects we mourn, but I have some, and I am sure she has some. I am even surer we are not alone in that, and that adds some substance to the feeling that we are in this together. (Inclusive we, for those keepng track of this sort of thing.)

There are days left, now, until the deadline for an anthology that asked me to submit to them, and, as I told N, at this point, I have no idea what I am going to send. The word count is low — a little more than flash fiction- and the fact that they found me bodes in my favor, so it’s as good a place as any to climb back on the metaphorical horse.

I have been writing, in the interim. Morning pages first thing (or as near to first as I can manage,) Camp NaNo pages, for the win that I needed that badly, and many, many btain dumps in between. A couple of nights ago, I started a bedside brain dump book; evening pages, if you will, as “bed,” right now, is an air mattress. So far, it mostly has notes on my experience of reading two different Laura Kinsale novels at the same time (no complaints) and what this kind of reading does to me (only good thngs) and how I want writing to go in this new phase of life.

I have a new neighborhood to explore, and, in the not too distant future, another one still. I have not been to the park across the way yet, or the corner bodega, but I know two ways to get to the Rite-Aid, and have already got on the wrong bus once, which led me to the right bus, so maybe it was not wrong after all.

While the desk and desktop and related accoutrements may still be in a holding pattern, the essentials are, at last, in place. Something to write with, something to write on, and smeone to write it, aka me. Feels good to be home.

Four Days and Counting

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Things I am never allowed to buy more of, ever again, ever:

  • Mini staplers and/or staple removers
  • staples for mini staplers and/or staple removers
  • Pencils
  • Sticky notes (except for the really big ones)
  • Paper clips (except for rose gold ones)

These restrictions come from my current packapalooza. All of the above have popped out at me from unexpected places, even, and maybe especially when I have already packed the office supplies, but wouldn’t you know it, there they are. This is where the plasticware I insisted on keeping comes in handy. Random small stuff busting out of nowhere? Pop that sucker into a container with those of its kind, slap a lid on it, label that lid (silver Sharpies are my friends) and we’re good to go.  Put smaller things in bigger things, find creative ways to lift the edge of packing tape when it falls back onto the roll, and keep on going.

Yesterday, Housemate reserved a storage unit. Today, we find out how soon we can start stuffing things into it. This move is leveling up, and, at the same time, a small village is taking shape. Not in a sit it down and plan it idea (though I do love planning) but more of a looking around and seeing who’s there approach.

I’ve always been character driven, and the stories almost always start with the characters for me. From the start, I knew A Moment Past Midnight would have a heroine, the two men she loved, and the choice she has to make. The first draft is kind of white-room-y, because I am pantsing this story a lot more than I usually do, but I am okay with that. As long as I get to hunker down in my remote village, and put my imaginary friends through their paces, I’m fine.

Today is the day for packing notebooks that I am actually using, and, effectively, putting my office (or this iteration of my office) to bed. In the next couple of days, we will be putting things in storage, and moving things to different destinations. I am firmly of the conviction that we don’t know exactly what material things we have, until we have to move them. At some point, I will be unboxing the vast majority of this stuff, and setting up a new office, then getting back to novel work.

Working on something shorter makes sense right now, and I like getting into the flow of opening a notebook, putting pen to paper, and letting the story take me where it will. I’m aiming for novella length, because the story problem is a relatively small one (my characters may disagree on the size of the problem, because it’s happening to them, and they were fine before I came along and messed with their status quo. Okay, two of them were doing fine. For the other, their current situation is somewhat of an improvement, though to what degree, is debatable.) I know where this story is going, but  how it gets there, that still has a few surprises.

I don’t have a Pinterest board for AMPM, though I do have properly sized page protectors for when/if I do print out any images of people, places, or things, but, right now, the village, and its inhabitants, live only in my head, and on the pink pages I fill every night. I’ve cleared the thirty page mark, which impresses me, because this is one wild ride on the domestic monsoon, but maybe the chaos is part of the process.

There’s a certain amount of free-floating of the story brain while doing uncreative things, like packing (though deciding what goes where, and how things can arrive at their next destination in the same amount in the same number of pieces with which they departed their last one, certainly takes  a special sort of creativity.) I wrap things, secure them, put them where they’re going to go, make labels for inside and outside the box, so we know what goes where, and what to expect when we slide the tape and lift out the items we want.

There will probably be some brain free-floating on that end of the move, as well. Since I’ve been reading more e-books lately, there aren’t as many physical books to deal with as there were for the last move, but there’s still a good number of them to place into the little free libraries within walking distance. Donation bins are waiting for clothing items we can no longer use, and other items will be dispersed other ways. I don’t want to blog only about the move, because I would rather talk about other things, but, on the other hand, it’s kind of hard to ignore.

Right now, time for blogging is done for this session, and time to put on Spotify and stick things in boxes is back. We’ll see which imaginary friends drop by to wander around my brainpan while I pack.