my books

Somewhere Between No and Yes

annabowling 2 Comments

Lovely grey day here in New York’s capitol region. Lots of clouds, but no rain in the immediate forecast. Laundry is done, candle is lit, tea is made, and I am settled into my office chair, blanket in my lap and pillow I the small of my back. The new pens that came home over the weekend are close at hand, for when I turn off the computer and put pen to paper. Real Life Romance Hero is wrangling domestic tornado tasks, and it’s me, the blog, and my imaginary friends. It’s Monday, the start of a new week.

Right now, the office is quiet. No music yet, but there is the sound of traffic outside, the occasional squeak of door hinges and floorboards as RLRH goes about his business, and miscellaneous kitty sounds from my  office buddy, pictured below.

220118SkyeOMalleyCat

Skye O’Malley, the kitty, not the book

I’m writing this entry later in the day than I’d originally planned, and even thought about saving it for tomorrow, when I’d maybe have a more concrete idea of what I wanted to write about than I do today, but carrying two back entries at one time is more than this particular writer is willing to carry, so this is what you get. Later tonight, Melva and I will talk via Skype, to discuss the proposed changes to Chasing Prince Charming, for the resubmission to The Wild Rose Press. I’ll have a better bead, tomorrow, on what we’re doing, but this is Monday, and not writing the Monday post would bother me.

Long ago, in what seems like another life, I submitted my first ever partial manuscript. It was not good. I soon received my first ever rejection letter, which was, in retrospect, good, as rejection letters go. Though the editor did let me know, in a gentle but straightforward fashion, that nothing actually happened in my first three chapters, she did also ask me to send something else. At the time, I skipped right over that send something else part and focused, instead, on the nothing actually happened part. Would thing have been any different if I’d shifted my focus and written something else, instead of believing this was proof positive that no was it for me?

Probably so. There have been more rejections since. My favorite is the first page of my manuscript sent back to me,  in my SASE (self addressed stamped envelope) with the word, “no,” scrawled on it in pencil. I don’t think I have the actual paper anymore, but the memory remains. Also in that category are the small magazines that bought or said they would like to buy my stories and them promptly shut their doors. A once upon a time friend and I used to joke about how I could probably start a side business taking out hits on such publications (this never came to fruition, but did provide some good natured entertainment.) There have been pitch sessions that went down in flames (never pitch after being up  for seventy-two hours straight, and never, never pitch a book that is not actually finished. Seriously. Don’t.)

There have also been sales, one of which I do not remember making, because of the domestic tornadoes that whipped through my life at the time, but I am going to go out on a limb and say that things like that are the exception. The not remembering, not the actual selling of books; new books do come out with great frequency, which is a very good thing for us writer types, and for reader types as well. Somewhere in the middle lies the request to revise and resubmit. It may not be as common as the other two, more definitive outcomes of a submission, but it’s an exciting one.

As soon as I read Melva’s email, that she’d heard back, I was prepared for a thanks but no thanks, and, instead, got a rare opportunity. We got the chance to make a good thing even better, which is its own sort of adventure. Not really the same as that sale I did not remember making, with the manuscript that had vanished and had to be Frankenstein-ed together with hardcopies from my then-critique group (of which Melva was a member) but some of the feelings are similar.

There’s the “eee, this is exciting” feeling. There’s the “egads, this is going to be a lot of work” feeling. There’s the “at least I’m not doing this on my own” feeling, which I will take, any day, over sitting cross-legged on an itchy carpet, surrounded by piles of paper, trying to put the puzzle together. Not entirely by myself, because one panicked message to said critique parnters brought in a flood of aforementioned papers, and, in the end, it all fit together, and became Orphans in the Storm.

Chasing Prince Charming, the story that began because Melva and I were early to breakfast at a conference, and only wanted to kill time, is going to have  its own hero’s journey, as we take it apart and put it back together. Tonight, over Skype, Melva and I will Throw the beach ball around once again, put ideas out there, and see where our imaginary friends want to take things to the next level.  I’m looking forward to the trip.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Encouraging Word Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. First of all, I would like to say welcome to our new readers. It is very nice to have you with us. My posts are always on Fridays, and, sometimes, I help Anty out during the week, as well. I will try to get her to put more pictures of me in her regular posts, because, you know, everybody likes kitties.

Since the rule here is that I have to talk about where to find Anty’s writing on the interwebs, other than here, before I am allowed to talk about anything else, I had better get right to that. I usually end up talking about Anty’s writing anyway, but it is the principle of the thing. First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. Her topic this month is beginnings. This week, she talked about the different ways romance novels have started their stories over the years. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURsoitbegins

Next, we move on to Anty’s Goodreads reading challenge. Anty is currently one book behind, at three books out of ninety, but it is the weekend now, and she is reading a bunch of books at the same time, so one of them is going to reach The End soon. One book behind is not that mug of a lag, so I will not chastise her this time. So far, she is at about 33% historical romance reading, which is pretty good. She also currently has two historical romances, one time travel romance, and one YA in her reading rotation. No, three historical romances. I counted wrong. That is an occupational hazard of having special paws.

This week, Anty read and reviewed her first YA novel of the year. It is this one:

 

 

That may look like a compact week for Anty, and there have been a fair share of domestic tornadoes, but there is also some encouraging writing news. This morning, Anty Melva emailed Anty. That is not an unusual occurrence, because they write books together. Anty first thought that Anty Melva had told her that another publisher or agent had said no thank you to Chasing Prince Charming, but that was not the case. Before anybody gets too excited, it was not an offer on the manuscript, but it was still a good enough thing that I got to take a picture of Anty’s happy face. It looks like this:

 

AntysHappyFacereviseresubmit

Anty’s happy face

What made Anty have a happy face was that, even though the publisher was not asking to buy Chasing Prince Charming as it is right now, they had some suggestions about how Anty and Anty Melva could make it even better. If they want to make those changes, then the publisher would like to see it again, because there were things they liked about it very much. Anty and Anty Melva told the publisher people that they will be happy to make those changes and try again, so that is what they are doing now.

Right when anty got the email, she got out her notebook for that story (which was carefully chosen by Anty Melva putting it in her hand before they started one of their road trips, and telling her it was the notebook for that story. Do not question Anty Melva.) and made some notes about what the publisher said they would like to see done differently. She and Anty Melva will both think about those suggestions, and then talk next week, and make a plan to actually make the changes.

If you think that one of the first things on Anty’s mind was “yay, more planning,” then you are right. Anty loves to plan, and Anty loves to revise, so planning revisions is, if not quite a big party, then pretty close to it. That does not mean it won’t be a lot of work, because it will but it is writing work, and Anty likes that kind, and she likes Anty Melva, which is kind of important because they write books together, so things should work out okay. I will be sure to keep everybody up to date on any new developments.

In the meantime, it is business as usual with the regular writing. Anty and Anty Melva are both working on scenes for Drama King, and Anty will have pages to show Miss N, for Her Last First Kiss. With all of that time Anty will spend, looking at her glowy box and all of her notebooks, that means she will not be using her phone during those times, so I can hone my Mouse Hunt skills. I also like the game with the laser pointer (the humans have talked about getting me a pet-safe one for the really real world) and another game, where I catch a fly. There is also a birdie game, but I do not care about that one. Anty says I am honing my gaming palate. We will have to try more games and find out, for sure.

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

skyebye2018

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Gamer Kitty Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today, the weather is warm and rainy, here in New York’s Capitol Region. That is very different rom the deep freeze we have been having lately, but I will stick close to the heater anyway. One never knows.

Because the deal is that I am not allowed to talk about whatever I want to talk about (which is usually Anty’s writing, anyway, go figure) I have to talk about where readers can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs (other than here, because you are already here, if you are reading this, and I do not have to tell you how to get here, where we already are. There would be no point.)

First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. Last week, she talked about the magic of new beginnings. Those do not only happen to characters, but readers, and writers, as well. Anty loves to talk anything related to romance reading, so feel free to drop by and chat with her. That post is here, and it looks like this:

bursoitbegins1

Now that it is a whole new year, it is a whole new reading challenge for Anty at Goodreads. If you want to follow her reading progress this year, you can do that here.

GR2018

This year, Anty wants to keep the same goal as last year, ninety books. So far, she has read two books, and is right on track. Those books are:

GRbeautylikethenight

Beauty Like the Night, by Joanna Bourne

GRheresnegan

Here’s Negan, by Robert Kirkman, et al

That is quite a combination, but it fits Anty. The reading year is off to a good start. Right now, Anty is reading one historical romance, one time travel romance, and one YA novel. I do not know how I want to count time travel when it comes to historicals. I may have to do some research and set a standard.

This morning, Anty and Anty Melva had their first Skype (which still does not have anything to do with Skye Pee, to my eternal displeasure) session of the new year, and they set their goals of writing one scene each during this coming week. Drama King is back on, and Chasing Prince Charming is still making the rounds. Anty and Anty Melva are also considering going indie with their jointly written books, so keep an eye on this page for new developments.

Now for the important part of this post, the part about me. As of this week, I am a gamer kitty. My favorite game so far is called Mouse Hunt, and you can see it on YouTube, here. I like other games, too, where I can chase a laser or some buggies, or a squirrel, but the mice are my favorite, because they are mice. I have done some real mouse hunting, in our old house. There are no real life mice in this house, but that is okay. I like the game.

SkyeOMalleyCatgamerkitty

Anty and Uncle try to play with me, by throwing pieces of crumpled paper at me. That is really super fun, until the crumpled papers stop moving. Then I am no longer interested. Nobody wants to hunt things that are already dead. Especially not me. These games, though, those are a different story. The mice in the game keep moving. Sometimes, they tease me from the corners of the screen, and then they zip across it. That is very exciting. When I see the game mousies, I am riveted to the screen. I bap them with my paws, and try to bite them (the biting part has not worked so far, but I will keep trying.) A couple of times, I have even grabbed Anty or Uncle’s phones (they both play with me like this) and dragged them toward me, so I can get the mousies even better.

That is usually when Anty or Uncle takes the phone away from me and says that it is time for a break. I am not so sure about that, but they are the ones with opposable thumbs. That is also about the time when they give me food, so that I am not too irritated about game time being over. Come to think about it, that generally works on Anty, too, if she has to leave a writing session, especially when it takes her time to get into one. There had better be food (or at least tea) if she has to be interrupted.

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

skyebye2018

 

 

 

 

Happily Ever After, Plus

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After inhaling several Christmas romance novellas over the holiday, I think I finally know what it is I like about Christmas romance. The first part is obvious. I like Christmas. I like romance fiction. Therefore, it stands to reason that I would like Christmas romance fiction, but it’s not as cut and dried as that.

In any work of romance fiction, we know we are going to get a happy ending (whether that is Happily Ever After or Happy For Now largely depends on author and subgenre, but we’ll focus on the “happy” part for now.) When we add Christmas to the occasion, everything gets cranked up to eleven. Romance gets HEA (or HFN,) so turn that dial in an upwards trajectory, and bam. Christmas romance brings HEA (or HFN) plus. HEA plus sparkly lights, plus presents with big floppy bows, plus friends and family gathered around the hearth, plus peace on earth and goodwill towards men (and women.) HEA plus grudges set aside, plus sparkling snowfall, plus the music of church bells, plus the biggest feast of the year, plus reunions and reconciliation, plus restoration and second chances, and coming home, in a literal or metaphorical sense.

My favorite minute of the year is 6:01 PM on December 24th. It has been, for years. Stores close. The shopping rush is over. Time to go home, to friends and family, and, for the next twenty-four hours plus, the grind of everyday life gets put on hold. Life hits the snooze button, in a manner of speaking. Christmas has always felt, to me, to be a time set apart. Normally, I refer to the week between Christmas and New Year’s as the tucked away week, because that’s how it feels. Expectations are relaxed, the rush of the holiday is over, and the next thing on the horizon is bidding farewell to the old year, and seeing in the new one.

This year, we have a few things to deal with, so I can’t vouch for how tucked away this particular week is going to feel, but the spirit is there, and is probably something I would want to carry over into a Christmas romance of my own. What could be more romantic than a whole week that fits into that unique slot of time out of time, with drifting snow, glowing candles, the warmth in the middle of winter, the air fragrant with scents of spices and evergreens (even though my historical romance fiction, at least to date, pre-dates Christmas trees, evergreen boughs still count0 and the whole holiday, at its core, based on love, hospitality, and reconciliation?

I think that’s a pretty good place to start.  For all romantic fiction that comes out of my noggin (or partly out of my noggin, as I could not write contemporaries without my writing partner, Melva Michaelian.) HEA-plus. This is not a term I intend to fling around at pitch sessions or in query letters (trust me, “historical-adjacent” gets some funny looks; I have learned my lesson) but it fits the sort of stories I gravitate to, both as a reader and as a writer. It fits, though. Adding history to my romance is already a plus, and I do like to have my historical romance, whether read or written, come with generous helpings of both romance and history, and for the history to shape or at least affect the romance.

This means that it’s not a matter of swapping out the togas of a couple from ancient Rome for an Empire waisted gown and a pair of polished Hessian boots, and presto change-o, now it’s a Regency. For me, that would not work. There’s a world of difference between ancient Rome and nineteenth-century England. Close to two millennia and coughty cough miles, a good deal of water, and an entirely different belief system, not to mention government and class structure, developments in literature, science, the arts, etc, etc, etc. The ancient Roman couple would probably not have a heck of a lot to do in a Christmas story, unless we’re talking the very first Christmas, which could fit nicely into an inspirational historical (or even a few decades after; that would also work) but they would still have a lot of that plus factor. Plus gladiators, for one thing. Maybe one of those flood the whole arena for a sea battle deals, complete with boats and octopi.

Every period has its own unique flavor, which can add to the romance, and I am grateful for that. The possibilities really are endless. Historical characters don’t know they’re in a historical. They think they’re in a contemporary. Those aren’t costumes they’re wearing; those are their clothes. The way things are done is the way everybody does them (apart from those who buck the rules, with varying degrees of effectiveness.)

This is veering away from the Christmas romance topic, but it does nail down what makes these stories special to me. The HEA-plus definitely does expand past only one day out of the year, and it’s more than merely the period in which the story is set. Give me a romance with two damaged people, each of whom has a driving passion that is independent of the developing love relationship, flavored by the world in which they live, and I am one happy camper, no matter what side of the story I might be on for this particular experience.  If there’s snow on the ground, and mistletoe in the doorway, then that’s even better.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Three Days to Christmas Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is really almost Christmas now, because today is Friday, and Christmas is Monday. Anty and Uncle have been doing a lot of human stuff to set up for the year ahead, but they did remember to get me a big bag of treat, so I can forgive them. There have also been rumors of turning on space heater and letting me watch special movies that are made only for kitties, on Anty’s tablet for Christmas. This meets with my approval, but more on that after I get the other stuff out of the way, first.

The deal with me getting control of the blog once a week (at least) is that I have to tell readers where they can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs, besides here, before I can talk about other (more interesting) things (like me; everybody loves kitties.) This week, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. Her post this week was about holiday magic. You will have to go read the post if you want to find out what kind of holiday magic she means (hint: there is more than one kind.) That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURholidaymagic

Even though I said I was done with reporting Anty’s reads for 2017, since she has already met her goal, she is kind of kicking backside with the reading, as you can see here:

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We will have a few words, later, on the YA to historical romance balance, but, even though this was a very full week for Anty with non-book-related things, she still managed to read and review Things I’m Seeing Without You, by Peter Bognanni. That review is here, and it looks like this:

GRthingsimseeingwoyou

Our Christmas tree, which is now up, looks like this:

Christmastree2017

The snowflakes are a frame for the picture; they are not really inside our house. There is snow outside our house, though, because it is snowing as I write this. We are nice and warm inside, so I do not mind the snow. Anty likes it, and it helps her feel energized. Some humans, like Uncle, find that the wintertime makes them miss sunshine, but, for Anty, it is the other way around. Anty loves when it is cold and grey and snowy. That is a very good thing where writing is concerned.

This has not been the easiest year for that, but there is a whole new year ahead, and Anty is looking forward to that. For the next few days, though, it is all about Christmas. I will make sure that includes time for Anty to burrow under a fuzzy blanket and read some Chrisrmas romances, and maybe watch one of her favorite Christmas movies. She has seen only one so far this season, and it made her laugh, but probably not in the way the creative team intended.

Tomorrow, Anty will do laundry and bake Christmas cookies. These are both very good things for her writer brain, because they let the front part of her brain focus on the thing that she is doing (for example, washing clothes, or baking cookies) and that is the time that her imaginary friends (some people call them “characters”) get to play in the back part of her brain. To some, this does not look like anything other than washing clothes or baking cookies, but writer humans understand that there is something more at work here. Writer humans know that this is part of the writing process, even when it is farther along than a first draft.

Sometimes, this is part of re-connecting with the story after real life demands the writer’s time, and sometimes, it is some special one on one time (or one on two, because romances generally involve two humans besides the writer) with the writer and their characters. Of course, there are times when all it is, is laundry or cookies, which are both good things on their own, but, when it comes to writing, there is usually something else going on, and that is usually how it goes with Anty. When she is baking cookies, then I can be in the kitchen with her, to supervise. Sometimes, she will talk out loud about the story and tell me parts of it. Other times, she is all in her own head, with or without music playing on her phone.

Somewhere in all of that, connections are made that she might have missed if she were actively looking for them. I do not know exactly how that works, but it does. When it is a holiday, that can get magnified, so I would not be surprised if some of that reading time under Anty’s fuzzy blanket turned into writing time instead (or alongside it.) Either way, clean clothes and cookies can only help.

In the meantime, forget Disneyland. The real happiest place on Earth for me is with my Uncle. I do not normally like being picked up, but, sometimes, it happens. This week, it did, and I got to be in Uncle’s arms. I will stay with him longer than I will stay with any other human, because he is my favorite, and I love him the most. Other kitties can have Santa pictures, but I will take my Uncle picture over that, any day. I mean, look at him:

SkyeOMalleyCatWithUncle

Anty, Uncle, Mama and I, all hope that, whatever holiday you are celebrating this season, you are doing it with those that you love. A few good romance novels wouldn’t hurt, either, because those things are all about love. Seriously. I can recommend Anty’s.

That is about it for this week. Until next week, I remain Very Truly Yours,

skyebyenew

see you next week

Heroinecentric

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The image in the desktop wallpaper I am currently using is not me, nor is it mine. (It isfrom Pinterest, and it is here.) The notebook, with the Eiffel Tower and the woman with the red umbrella is, again, not me, not my picture, but it is my notebook, because I bonded with it, sitting there in a travel themed display in Barnes and noble. The notebook was sitting there in the display, I should mention. I was standing on the floor, like a normal person. Like a  normal person. Writers are not normal people. Some of us bond with notebooks in bookstore displays, for one thing. That should be an indicator right there, forming bonds with inanimate objects.

Not that it’s the objects themselves (not all the time, anyway) but what the objects represent, and, if they have one (or more) of the writer’s favorite motifs, then chances for bonding are higher. In this case, both images show a lone female figure, facing away from the viewer, and there is some sort of inclement weather situation. There is also outerwear. Throw those all together, maybe toss in a dreamy sort of filter, and it is a perfect storm. That sucker will draw me like an industrial strength magnet.

I don’t know when I first noticed that I liked this sort of image, but it does fit with my preference for stories, especially historical romance, that are heroine-centric. Not that I’m not into the dudes. Real Life Romance Hero is a dude. In fact, he is my favorite dude, and that includes all dudes who ever duded, hence his status as Real Life Romance Hero. Most of the romances I’m into include a dude, and so do the romances I write. I, however, am not myself a dude (RLRH can attest to this) which may be part of the reason I gravitate to heroines first, most of the time.

Not that I don’t love the heroes in my (and others’) books. That’s kind of mandatory when writing romance. These are 100% the heroine’s guys, but I have to be in author-love with them, or it’s going to be difficult to get said dudes to their HEA in believable fashion. I need to fall in love with them through the heroine’s eyes, because, let’s face it, she’s really the one who’s in love with them, and it’s her HEA as much as his. Theirs. This is not my day for pronouns, at least not until I have had more caffeine.

As far back as I can remember, it’s been the heroines that are my anchors to stories, whether read or written. The heroine’s skin is the first one I tend to climb into when I write, though there are exceptions. The hero and heroine of Her Last First Kiss came to me at the same time (convenient when they’re considerate like that, and, with these two, I would like to say that they walked into my office, already holding hands, though they don’t even know each other for the first couple of chapters. Time works differently for this sort of thing, but that’s another story.) and there is one back-burnered story, another Georgian historical romance, where the hero crashed what was supposed to be a regularly scheduled writing session for A Heart Most Errant, a medieval, turned the chair opposite me around, straddled it, and informed me I’d be writing about him that day, instead. Can’t argue with a hero like that, though, and, since I write romance, I knew that a heroine befitting him would not be far behind. (Spoiler alert: she wasn’t, and I look forward to getting back to their story soon.)

One of these days, I am going to track down the blog post (and do not ask me on what blog, because, at this point, I am starting to think it was probably a guest post) where Ilona Andrews wrote about teacup romances (books where characters, especially the heroine, could carry a cup of tea throughout the entire book and never spill a drop) and slapping kings (self-explanatory) and probably print it out and post it where I can see it every day, because yes. This. (Well, That.) As much as I love tea, and, generally being British, and generally living in periods when tea was known to and available in the British Isles (and other parts of the empire) they do drink tea, which therefore means that they are likely to carry teacups at some point, if I have a choice between carrying teacups and slapping kings, it’s king slapping, every time. Full disclosure: I have not read any of Ilona Andrews’ novels, as SF/F can be a hard sell for me, but never say never. I suspect I might like the kind of heroine she writes. (They write, as Ilona-the-writer is really Ilona and Gordon.)

There’s one more thing that draws me to these sorts of images, and, perhaps, to these sorts of stories. I love the heroine’s journey. Life was not always as easy for women in previous eras (not that it’s a cakewalk now, by any means) and finding out how the heroine is going to get what she wants, within the strictures of her time and society has always caught my interest. Figures, then, that when I need to figure out things in a story of my own, getting outside and taking a good long wander usually gets things going. So far, I have not been able to convince any photographers to follow me, but, again, never say never. For romance heroines, (and, one would hope, their writers) anything is possible.

Sixty-Two

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This time, I am not bothering to move the tissues out of the picture. They are part of my life now. Many thanks to Skye for filling in for me on Tuesday. I am somewhat more vertical today (somewhat) and Real Life Romance Hero is doing quite well. Today, mostly, I have been forgetting where I leave my tea mug (Real Life Romance Hero says he always knows) which results in me wandering the length of the apartment, wondering where I left the darned thing, hoping I can find it before it gets cold and I have to make more tea. So far, I have found my mug on top of the dresser outside of Housemate’s room, on the edge of the bathroom sink, and on the shelf in front of the doors on the china cabinet in the hallway. That’s only today.

Needless to say, if I can’t keep track of a mug of tea (anybody who knows my love of tea can attest to this) keeping track of fictional characters is a stretch, so this is not my best novel-writing day. Which means, of course, that I turn to my next big love, planning. Back in June, I stuck my foot in the bullet journal waters, and now, as we approach the end of the year, I am also approaching the end of the first notebook I set aside to track various aspects of life, and of the writing life.

So far, I have not found a writing tracker that works, which is okay. That means I am ruling out trackers that do not work, and my right one is out there somewhere. Not all of my trackers are going to make it to the 2018 book, but all have served a purpose. When I sat down to decide what would carry over and what would not, it felt natural to divide things into categories. That way, all the health pages could be together, all the writing pages could be together, all the reading pages, etc, etc, etc. After figuring out which sorts of pages I wanted to make for the new notebook, I had to figure out how many pages I’d need to set aside for each one. This involved counting and math.

I do not trust my counting, and I am not great at math. Prevailing theory is that I opted out of the math unit, and had extra stories take up that brain space instead. At least that’s the explanation that makes the most sense. I would mention how many times I went over these numbers, but, again, math and counting, and, when I finally noticed that the edge of overthinking loomed perilously close, I came up with a good enough number, sixty-two. Really? Was I sure? Eh, not entirely, but again, good enough.

So. Sixty-two pages, to keep track of goals and essential information. Some of that is personal, so, instead, we are going to skip right to the important stuff. Writing and reading. My reading tracker, for pages read and books read, are carrying over, because I hit the right ones the first time. The writing trackers, ehhh, I found two this year, that don’t work. I’m disappointed at that. Somewhere in those sixty-two pages, there should be something to track what I love to do the most, and what I am fully intending to make my life’s work. I have six pages allotted for that, though exactly what is going to be on those six pages, I have no idea.

This both bothers and excites me. Bothers, because I like to know what’s going to happen before it happens, and excites me because it means there are unlimited possibilities (except for the two trackers I tried already; sorry, guys) ahead. That’s kind of like my writing process in general. Right now, I know that, in 2018, I want to get the second draft of Her Last First Kiss finished and off on submission, or figure out an indie publishing plan. I want to get A Heart Most Errant to good enough status and off to its very patient beta readers. I want Melva and I to complete a first draft of Drama King, and, hopefully, find a home for Chasing Prince Charming. I would like to write a historical romance Christmas story, and find that a home. Finding a new freelance blogging gig would be pretty sweet, too, so we’ll put that on the list.

That’s good enough for now. If those are the goals, then the way to get there is clear. Take one step at a time, in that direction, and try not to over think it. There is a Yoda voice in the back of my head, that says “do or do not, there is no try,” but I’m not listening to Yoda right now. Part of that is due to a stuffy head from this cold, and part of it is due to stubbornness from being me.  I don’t know what 2018 is going to hold, and I do know that it probably won’t fit neatly into sixty-two pages, but that’s okay. The discovery is part of the journey.

 

Ninety

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My primary reading goal for 2017 was to ready ninety books by the end of the year. Yesterday evening, while waiting for my doctor appointment, I finished reading book number ninety. Bonus points for book number ninety being a historical romance, as my secondary goal was to have at least half of my reading this year classified as historical romance. I will probably come close to that, and then carry that goal over to next year.

I am a firm believer in story in, story out, and I like a good challenge. Last year, I had set my goal at eighty books. Do not ask me how I came up with that number. I blew past it, by a wide margin, which led to me raising the reading bar for 2017. Hitting that mark, three weeks ahead of schedule, does give reading bragging rights, and I will admit that, when I took my Kindle out of my purse, I had a sense that picking the right book to be number ninety would be important. I wanted to finish the challenge on a historical romance, which I did, and I wanted to get started on reading Christmas romance, which I also did. Handy, that, when they both come in the same package.

I also wanted to read more in historical periods that especially appeal to me. A Secret Christmas, by Lauren Royal, fit that bill, because it’s set during the English Commonwealth/Lord Protectorate, aka the time when England had no king because Oliver Cromwell had other ideas (which did not turn out all that great, spoiler alert.) Said other ideas included stomping out frivolous things like sports, music, theater, and Christmas. Definitely not a setting one sees for a Christmas story all that often, and it works quite well in this novella. This is listed as number eight in Lauren Royal’s Chase family series, but is actually the prequel, the story of the parents of the “first” generation, so I’m counting it as the start. For readers who prefer the bedroom (or in this case, other room) door closed, a sweet/clean/kisses only version is available under the title, The Cavalier’s Christmas Bride, written with co-author Devon Royal.

Which is another thing. I’ve wanted to find more historical romance that is not a subsequent book in a long line of related stories, and, if I can’t find a true standalone (of which I think there are not nearly enough, but that’s another story, pun intended) the a first book, or prequel, will do quite nicely. The mother-daughter team is now working on an even earlier branch of the fictional family tree, that will take place during the Renaissance era, and that has me excited.

When I first began reading historical romance, which is also when I first knew I would be writing it as well, or, more appropriately, when I knew that “historical romance” was the name that fit the kind of story I’d always loved, the field was wide open as to exactly when the happily-ever-after would take place. Authors would pour details of daily life in their chosen period onto the page, the everyday things as well as the big things like wars and coronations and oh, hey, look, there’s another whole continent over there. I loved that stuff, and I still do.

Last night, as I read, the story framed by an introduction, and an author’s note about the real history behind the customs, that spark flickered. What I wanted to do was go home and flip through the new issue of RT Book Reviews, which will always be Romantic Times to me, but the paper version of the magazine doesn’t exist anymore. There are still back issues, though, and the website has lots of resources, and maybe I can bring some of what I loved about the magazine here. We’ll see.

This year, I read ninety books, and I have no intention of not-reading for the rest of the year, so we have some time to watch that number grow. Reading books fills the creative well, essential for those of us who are, ourselves, writing. I am still experimenting with what writing trackers work best to keep me motivated, but one of the best motivations is that, in writing my own books, I get to “read” the story as I go. There is , of course, the re-reading of what’s already written, but it’s more than that. It’s having the characters meander around inside my head when I’m doing other things. Normal, everyday, not necessarily related to writing, or fiction in any way sorts of things, and bam. There they are, my imaginary friends, ready to let me follow them around for a while, and take notes as we go.

I haven’t written ninety books…yet. There’s a new year ahead, and anything is possible.

Peace, Quiet, and Historical Romance

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Wintry winds blow outside my office window. Skye kitty waits in the office doorway, where she can see me, smell the Thanksgiving leftovers warming in the oven, and see Real Life Romance Hero, also the love of her life, as soon as he emerges from behind closed doors. The space heaters in bathroom and living room take turns, and it has become second nature, by now, to put on handwarmers, an extra sweater, and flip up the hood on my sweatshirt.  The Irish fisherman blanket is a cozy weight in my lap. My new, blank, berry colored Leuchttrum 1917 notebook, aka my planner-to-be for the winter months, waits for me to finish my writing tasks for the day, because starting the new planner is the carrot on today’s stick.

Last night, Real Life Romance Hero and I spent a few hours in the familiar territory of the emergency room. I got the better end of the deal, as I got to read, while he got poked with needles and otherwise examined by the medical staff. All should be well, though I feel a close kinship with the walkers of The Walking Dead. This may necessitate a third cup of tea. I already hear H’s voice in my ear, whispering “coffee,” but we will see about that.

The small, blue, Eiffel Tower book in today’s picture is my new morning pages book. The pages inside are pretty, though it’s the same image all the way through, but I can rotate pen colors, and that will do. I can always count on Punch Studio for gorgeous paper that makes me eager to open the cover and get to work. This book is smaller than the last few, and I am fine with that, which surprises me, but not going to complain on that front. Two pages, as close to first thing in the morning as I can get them, every day, no exceptions.

This includes zombie mornings after ER visits. Butt in chair, notebook open, select pen. Click pen (because I am using clicky pens this time around) a couple of times, to get into the zone, and then get at it. By the time I reach the end of the second page, part of me wants to keep going, even if I’ve been seriously reaching for something to write. Well, fine, I can write about that, and, in morning pages, I frequently do.

Fiction is different. Fiction is creating a world and the people who live in it, and making their lives interesting enough for people we’ve never met to want to spend time in those worlds, with those people. Maybe these people I’ve never met will want to spend time in these worlds, with these people, while also spending time in the visitor chair (or patient bed) in the ER, in line at the DMV, on a five hour flight to the other side of the country, or twenty-four hour flight to the other side of the world. Maybe in the stands at their kid’s swim practice, in the car waiting to pick up a loved one, maybe in an upstairs bathroom because it’s the only place family members won’t follow, for five minutes of peace, quiet and historical romance.

The book I finished reading last night wasn’t historical romance, but I did have a historical romance in my bag. I wasn’t ready to read something else, though. Instead, I took out my traveler’s notebook, flipped to the brain dump section, now marked with a strip of washi tape between one entry and the next, and I wrote. It was brain dump, not salable fiction, but what it did give me was the emotional immediacy that my characters need.

I’ve often said that people in a historical romance (or any historical fiction) don’t know they’re in a historical. They think they’re in a contemporary. They storyline isn’t the plot to them; it’s their life. Stuff happens, and they choose how they react to it (apart from the times when they react on instinct. Hero of Her Last First Kiss, I am looking at you) and they get through it somehow. The only exception is the characters who don’t get through it, but I write romance, so my hero and heroine find some way to make it through, and to make it through together. There may be collateral damages, because I, personally, find the HEA works best for me when it’s even slightly bittersweet, but the lovers are always going to come out on top in the end. Other than that, I can go nuts.

Today is a quiet day, apart from the wind and the work crew doing sidewalk work out in front of the house (other end of the apartment from my office, so I don’t hear them when I’m back here) and, when combined with zombie-tiredness and a brain at once hungry for and full of story, well, that’s when it comes in handy to be both reader and writer, snuggled in a sweater and blanket cocoon.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Post-Thanksgiving Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This week, we have a very special blog entry, mostly because I get to talk more, mostly because Anty was a slacker. Um, I mean that Anty was very busy, getting ready for Thanksgiving, doing a big chunk of the cooking (I was most interested in the birdie part, so I did not keep track of who else made what else, but Anty did the birdie.) Anty also had to devote some time to the domestic tornado that blew through the apartment when the boiler went out. If you do not live in New York’s Capitol Region, in late November, I will tell you one thing: it is cold. Thankfully, Landlord brought over a big space heater (which I like very much) and we already had a small one for the bathroom. Anty has liberated it for her office when she and I are the only ones home. She calls it a necessary measure to boost creativity.

Actually, creativity has been pretty good, and I will talk more about that after I fulfill my part of the bargain and talk about where, besides here, you can find Anty’s writing on the Interwebs this week. Because this is a special week, it is a very short list: her regular gig at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. This week, Anty talks about family arguments in romance fiction. We did not have any in real life yesterday, which counts as a win, but in fiction, family arguments can provide some excellent entertainment.  That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURarguments

 

I know I said that Anty was a slacker this week, but to her credit, she has been trying to get some reading time. That means there are no new reviews on Goodreads this week, but she is still three books ahead of schedule, having read eighty-three out of ninety books for this year. This means she is ninety-two percent of the way to her goal. I think that, with all the commotion of this week, and her pad of that unexpected YA binge, she is still doing pretty well on this front. She will be taking a book with her to the laundromat later today, so it should not be long before she does have a new review posted.

231117Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving was one of the quieter holidays. That is not a picture of absolutely everything the humans ate, but they had to get Uncle to work in the evening, so there were some time constraints. I had special salmon cat food, because somebody forgot to get me turkey flavored cat food. Since the humans were also non-traditional and had baked chicken tenders (I do not know how tender they actually were, because I am a kitty, and only eat kitty food) instead of a big turkey, I am okay with that.

The other thing Anty has been doing this week is writing. She has been doing a lot of that. On Wednesday, she sent in her most recent scene for Drama King, to Anty Melva, and it may be her best scene yet for this book. Okay, it is only the second scene she has written for this book, but there is a kitty in this scene, and the kitty gets petted and fed, so that automatically makes it good. We will see how the rest of the book goes, but Anty and Anty Melva have already promised only good things will happen to this kitty, so I am not too worried.

Anty is not too worried, either. Landlord says the new boiler will be installed on Monday, which will make the apartment much warmer. I, of course, am fine, due to my built in fur coat. Let’s face it, I am a Maine Coon mix. I was born for this kind of weather. The humans have been wearing a lot of sweaters, and drinking lots of tea. Except for Uncle, who does not like most hot beverages.

Now that Thanksgiving is past, Anty’s holiday attentions turn to Christmas, which is her favorite. I do not like all the commotion involved in putting up the Christmas decorations, but I do like the sparkly lights and the tree when it is finally up and lit, so I will hide under one of the beds during the commotion. Unless I want to supervise, in which case, I will do so from a safe distance. Once the lights around the doorways and on the tree are lit, then I will spend a lot of time looking at them. Anty will probably spend more time reading beneath those Christmas lights, because they help her feel cozy. The new boiler will probably help toward that as well, and then there will be hot cocoa and eggnog. I have never had either, because they are people drinks, and I am a kitty, but humans seem to like them at this time of year.

Anty also brought home a Christmas anthology from her last trip to the library, so the season of reading Christmas stories has begun. Not the season of writing Christmas stories, because Anty has not written a Christmas book yet, but she may need to start thinking about one for next year, because it is her favorite holiday, and people do like reading Christmas stories. I think she should put a kitty in her Christmas story. Did I mention that I am, technically, a Christmas kitty, since Mama and Anty brought me home from the shelter right before Christmas, on our first year together? That was also my first year anywhere, because I was still a baby when we all found each other.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week