Notebooks

Getting Hygge With It

annabowling 2 Comments

Yesterday, I found a spot on my desk, where I can light a candle without burning down the house. I also, without fully knowing how, found a piano instrumental channel on Spotify, which fits nicely with the flickering light inside the small jar in the corner of my desk. This may or may not have had something to do with me finally finding out that the aesthetic I’m going for in my office actually has a name: hygge. Depending on which Danes (great or otherwise) one asks, it means “wellbeing,” or “to embrace,” or, possibly, “to think or consider.”  In modern parlance, “cozy” might be the most accessible term.

For my purposes, we’re going to translate it as “comfortable.” Physically comfortable, yes, because when a writer is not physically comfortable, that’s going to be an obstacle to getting any sort of work done, but it’s more than that. I’ve always felt more grounded with things I love around me, so it makes sense that I would focus better when I carry that over to my writing space. Especially on a day like today:

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Actual view from our balcony.

I love snow. Snow is my favorite weather. Snow turns the entire world into a gorgeous, magical playground. I have not, as yet, attempted to get any serious writing done outside, in the snow, but, when I was but a wee little princess, I would stay out in that stuff for literally hours, making up adventures in my head, to the point where my mother would make me come in to have a hot drink and switch to my other snowsuit, because the first one would be soaked through. Snow invigorates me. To quote The Gilmore Girls, it’s my Catnip. My first novel-length fan fiction was set on an arctic planet, solely so that I could have all the snow I ever wanted.

Snow has always meant stories and adventures for me, so maybe that’s part of the current hygge-fication (is that a word?) of my work space. This morning, I rearranged the notebooks on the top of my desk’s hutch, until they felt more harmonious, like they were ready for what I wanted to bring to the metaphorical table. The books I use only occasionally are no longer the closest at hand, but still where I can get to them when I need them. The peacock cup, filled with a hodgepodge of pens I don’t really use all that often, has been demoted to the B team, and now resides on a bookcase, with the rest of my peacock themed collection. Their time will come.

Right now, I want to ground myself in what I am actually doing, what will welcome me to the desk every day. It’s a process, and I’m not going to discount the value of the time spent taking everything out of each cubbyhole, examining it, and putting back in only what has some sort of benefit. I’ve become pen-snobbier (sorry, ballpoints) and more highlighter-savvy (pastel highlighters ftw) and the way I use notebooks has evolved. Behind me, right now, is the blank cardboard binder I set up for Her Last First Kiss use, several months ago, then promptly misplaced.

The system I used to set it up at the time made sense, logically, but it was all theory, and no practice, mainly because I never connected with the way I’d arranged things. It’s probably somebody else’s perfect notebook, but for me? Ehhh, not so much. I’m more of a cannonball off the end of the pier and then splash around until I figure out which way shore is, then plan the best way there sort of gal. Deciding that, because there are four colors of notebook paper, there must then be four sections, of an equal number of pages is not going to work here. If my space doesn’t work, neither will I. It’s like trying to go through the whole day with a hole in a sock, or shoes that don’t fit.

For me, it comes down to the “embracing” part of the equation. This is my writing space. This is me, on a desk. Lots of paper, lots of pens, lots of tiny compartments with hidden treasures. Flickering light that harkens to an earlier time. Lots of layer, lots of detail. Something for all the senses to do. A place to tuck in and spend some serious time. The place I want to go when I want to go home. This is who I am. This is what I do. Welcome.

Unprecious

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The first draft of this blog post found its origin yesterday, in the laundromat, while I waited for the first dryer load of the day to do its thing. No laptop for these laundromat trips, and, earlier in the morning, I’d balked at the thought of lugging my whole bullet journal (I use a traveler’s notebook setup, with four smaller notebooks inside one cover that holds them all.) Even without that notebook of notebooks, I would be lugging a double load across two crossings (we live kitty corner from the laundromat) and, after that first foray, would be repeating the journey again, with a larger load.

This clearly meant that I needed one notebook for my bag, so I’d have something to write in, without the big pink monster (Big Pink? Would that work for a bullet journal’s name?) tagging along. Not wanting to delay my start any longer, I grabbed a spiral notebook I’d snagged from a Michael’s dollar bin some years ago, with grand intentions of using it for a novel that is currently in a resting phase. I only had to tear out a few pages (no worries, this is a ring-bound notebook) to make it a completely blank book once more. Blank except for the designed heading on each page, that is; give me a pretty page, and I have a biological urge to put my handwriting on said page. This is a proven fact. Add the clicky black gel pen I snagged when Housemate cleaned out her pencil cup (yes, singular) and off I went.

Since I didn’t have any idea what to write in that book, I went to my fallback, writing about writing, of which I am doing a lot, anyway, with the current writing challenge. When I’m starting a new notebook, like this one, destined to be a commonplace book, and I truly have nothing on my mind, I start writing about the notebook. This particular notebook, I’d grabbed because I couldn’t, at the time, get the notebook I really wanted for that particular project (hardcover deep pink Moleskine, 5×8 inch size, lined pages, for those keeping track of this sort of thing) and, surely, the deep pink background, plus pretty pages (also lined in deep pink) should be enough, right? Eh, not so much. since I only had to tear out a few pages in order to make the notebook “new” again.

Writing about the history of the notebook brought up a lot of feelings; frustration, anger, despair, and, most importantly, the love of writing. My pen filled page after page. I’d thought about transcribing what I wrote, word for word, but that book is at the other end of the house, where Real Life Romance Hero is taking care of a few things, and I’d rather not get in his zone at the moment. The spirit of those pages will have to do.

If this notebook were a child, it would be in elementary school by now. That’s how long I waited for the “right” time to go back to it. I do plan to get back to that story someday (today is not that day, but someday) but the notebook itself was too pretty to let sit. I’d hauled it all the way from the old country when we moved, and I didn’t want that to be for nothing. It wasn’t. Yesterday, I needed a portable notebook of that size and thickness, preferably with pretty pages, so into the purse it went. The pen, too, was from a brand I’d been wanting to try forever (Sarasa,) and, when Housemate plucked it from her cup and asked if I wanted it, I wasted no time making with the grabby hands.

I could have saved the pen for a proper pen test, in my swatch notebook (pen/paper nerd, so, yes, I have a swatch book for pens/markers/highlighters) but what good would that have done? I’m over saving the good stuff for a special occasion. Today can be a special occasion. I’m writing. I’m making something that never existed before. That’s special. Sure, great things have been written on the back of the security envelope from the electric bill, in generic blue ballpoint, but, for me there’s an extra layer of lusciousness that comes from using the good stuff.

Up until now, I’d preferred to save the really good notebooks, the really good pens, for the really good ideas. That meant publishable fiction, naturally, the kind that flows from pen to page, ready for bestsellerdom. The kind, as it turns out, that does not exist. So what was I waiting for, then? Something that would never come? That doesn’t make much sense. I got the good stuff -good, as in it makes me happy to look at it, touch it, put ink on paper, not good as in expensive, because that’s not going to happen right now)- because I love it, not because I want it to sit in a box. I got it so that I could use it. Interestingly enough, that’s pretty much why I have this writing part of my brain. No sense keeping that in a box, either.

Keeping certain pens, certain notebooks, certain ideas on a shelf marked “precious,” to be saved until some nebulous time in the future, when something will be good enough, that’s…well, it’s been standard practice for a while with me, but, now, I’m not so sure. That’s a lot of pressure to put on an inanimate object, and a lot of pressure to put on a writer.  Better, by far, to ink that pen, open that notebook and splash down some ink.

 

 

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.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: The Heat is (Back) On Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Yesterday was not my favorite day, but it ended well. I do not know entirely what went on between the first doorbell and the heat going back on, because I was under the bed for most of it, but I will get to that later. The important thing is that the heat is back on in the apartment, and it is very nice. I do not know how I am going to break it to the space heater that I love the regular radiators now that they work again, but maybe we can still be cuddle buddies, unless the humans do not use it any more, and give it back to Landlord.

Anyway, before I can get into any more details about that adventure, I have to talk about where you can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs, apart from here. If you are reading this blog, then you already know Anty writes here. First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, talking about a subject near to my heart (and stomach): food. Even though fictional food is not “real,” that does not mean we cannot partake in it. That post is here and it looks like this:

BURfictionalfood

Even though we had a very big week in the domestic tornado department, Anty was not a slacker this time, when it came to reading. As of today, which is the first of December, she is ninety-six percent of the way to her goal of reading ninety books in this calendar year. She has read eighty-six books out of that ninety, and is currently four books ahead of schedule. Go, Anty, go. She finished reading, and reviewed, three books this week, and here they are:

 

 

 

Because this is the first of the month, this is also where we do a tally of how many historical romance novels Anty has read this month. Anty thinks I cannot see her, when she hides behind her splayed fingers, but I can. Anty has been on a YA binge for quite some time now, and needs to tuck in with some historical romance novels, if she wants to bring those numbers up to an acceptable level.

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Anty’s goal was to read at least 50% historical romances this year. With thirty-nine out of eighty-six books counting as historical romance. she is close. If I count historical fiction with romantic elements, that number goes up to forty-three out of ninety, which is almost there. Almost all of the YA books Anty has read so far are either romances, or have romantic elements, but they are not historical. She does usually ask herself how something in the YA books would work in a historical romance, so she is getting historical romance inspiration, but I cannot count YA books as historical romance novels, because they are not historical, even if they are romances.

Okay, I think that is everything on that list so far. Anty also wants me to mention that, yesterday, in the midst of all the commotion, she still managed to set up the first week in her new planner. Anty loves working with her planner things. Here is what her weekly spread looks like, before she puts any information in it:

PlannerWeekly011217

Anty almost went with a more Christmassy color palette, but would have had to mix marker brands, and that is a no.

Yesterday morning, Anty was not even done getting ready for the day when the doorbell rang. For new readers, our house is very old, and the doorbell is very loud. It makes the whole house vibrate. I ran under one of the beds, while Anty went downstairs to see who it was. This was a good visitor, because it was Landlord. He wanted to let Anty and Uncle know that the workers were here, to put in the new boiler. He also needed Anty to unlock the back door, so that the workers could come upstairs and do some of the work.

Well. I did not like this at all. Not only were there multiple strange humans in my home (and some of them were very tall) but they had to open the radiators. This meant taking the radiator covers off, which meant taking off things like the window seat and all the decorations on the radiator covers in the dining room and Uncle’s office. This also meant that furniture like Mama’s chair had to be moved into the middle of the living room. My house does not look like my house right now, and I am not okay with that. I am sticking close to Anty and Uncle until they put things back the way they belong.

Anty says this might be a good chance to move some of the furniture around even more. I think the cold may have gotten to her. We kitties like things to be The Same. Moved-around furniture and changed decorations are not The Same. Anty says that sometimes, new ways of doing things are better. I am not too sure of that. Granted, the new boiler is nice, but did they have to move the furniture? Next thing you know, they’ll be talking about different furniture, and then who knows what else? There is a lot to be said for consistency and tradition.

Since it is now December, and the new boiler is installed, Anty will probably be putting up the Christmas decorations soon. I will not mind that too much, because I like to look at the lights, and the shiny ornaments. I do not touch them, because I am a floor girl, and I am also well behaved. Also modest. I am not sure exactly what the living room will look like when the humans are done with it, but it will, no matter what, turn into a cozy spot for Anty to bump that historical romance number as she reads in her comfy chair. See what I did there, tying back in to the reading thing? Maybe some of the Christmas romance anthologies and novellas will inspire Anty to read more in that genre.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week

 

A Tale of Two Covers (and maybe a bit more)

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Still waiting on the new boiler, which marks the start of our second week with what I am going to call accurate period heating. Toss on the heavy sweatshirt, bring the Irish fisherman blanket to the office chair, on with the hand warmers, and away we go. This week, I am excited about Friday, even though Friday is at the other end of the work week, because Friday means December first, and, because there are not enough pages left for an entire other month in my current planner, that means I get to start a brand new one. Purists might be miffed that the new planner doesn’t start in January, but I like having the end of one year up against the start of another.

This means that I also get to embark on the journey of setting up that new planner, since I now make my own, in blank (or dot grid) notebooks. Back in September, I wanted to start my autumn planner in an orange Exceed notebook. Orange is a great color for autumn, with Halloween and Thanksgiving, plus it makes me think of the House of Orange, so there is a Dutch connection, and also a tie to the orangerie scene in Joanna Bourne’s The Forbidden Rose (one of my favorite scenes, period) but there was only one flaw in this plan; it took me too long to find an orange book, so I started my autumn planner in a black one (always classic) and now, orange does not strike me as particularly wintry.

Okay, then. Being a collector of notebooks, armed with the tip from a Facebook group of like-minded individuals, I sniffed out discounted Leuchtturm notebooks at a local outlet. and snagged a lovely berry model. Only catch there is that the pages are blank, not dotted, but no worries; there’s a guide sheet with lines on one side and a grid on the other. Berry strikes me as much more wintry, there are more pages, already numbered, and there are perforated pages in the back.

For those readers disappointed that this post is about notebook covers and not romance novel covers, I’m getting there. Saturday night, I finished the YA novel I’d been reading, and needed to pick another book to bring with me to the laundromat this morning. I was in the mood for a historical romance novel, a paperback, and spent some time staring down my TBR shelf. before I ultimately tossed Beauty Like the Night, also by Joanna Bourne, into my bag, because A) I am halfway through it already, and B) it already occupied the lime green cover I’d picked u pat a UBS double-digit years ago, when I had a different aesthetic.

These days, I prefer darker, richer colors, though the types of books I prefer to have within those covers have mostly remained the same. Historical romance is still my favorite, still preferably with generous portions of both (hence the love of Joanna Bourne, among others) though I also now co-write contemporary romance with Melva Michaelian, and realistic YA is a close second to historical romance in my reading preferences, the cover still does matter.

This holds true for both books and notebooks. I’m a visual person, and then there’s also the harder to qualify feel of a book or notebook. Not the physical sensation of holding it in my hands (though that also factors) but the mood, the impression, the essence. That’s why I can’t do an orange cover in December, but will  be happy to call it into service when September rolls around once more. The bright side is that now I get more time to prepare it, so it will be at its full autumn-ness, and I can throw myself into winterizing the beautifully berry colored planner I have now.

As for the lime green paperback cover, I’m more conflicted over that. I’m not ashamed of reading romance novels in public. Proud romance reader and writer, here, and longtime collector of covers by the incomparable Elaine Duillo. I like using a cover for some paperbacks, not only to keep the cover art private, but to protect the truly gorgeous covers from any accidental spillage, droppage, or what-have-you-age. Lime green, though? Not my thing anymore, and it feels odd to take a lime green paperback shaped thing out of my smoky grey tote, especially when the pages inside that lime green cover are nuanced with history, danger and emotion, deftly woven together like a tapestry of old, not something that puts me in mind of toucans and pink lemonade.

This probably means that I am soon to be on the hunt for a book cover more fitting for the books I am likely to toss in my tote on a given day. I know, I know, my Kindle has a lovely purple cover, but there are times I want an e-book, and times I want a paper book, and, well, lime green isn’t doing it anymore. Granted, I’m not sure where to look for this sort of thing, and I now live triple digit miles away from the store where I first snagged the lime green cover. We’ll see what happens on that front, and I will most likely blabber about it here.

For those who are curious about this sort of thing, yes, whether/how well the book cover (or book cover cover?) coordinates with my planner is going to factor into my ultimate decision. While it’s true that the cover does not dictate the contents of books written, or books read, it’s still the first impression, and there’s still that indefinable something that gives a hint about what’s inside. Hopefully, good stories on both fronts.

 

The Unblank Page

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There are ten days left in my current morning pages notebook, and I do not know what notebook I will use as its successor. Having notebooks is not the problem. I have notebooks. I have a lot of notebooks. Some might say I have too many notebooks. Some would be wrong. There is no such thing as too many notebooks. There is, however, such a thing as not having the right notebook, and for those, like me, who take notebooks seriously, this can become an issue.

I am also moving into a new planner at the end of the month, and I have that book on hand already. Morning pages are different. Those are for whatever is on my brain first thing when I wake, and, for those, I prefer for some design element to already be in place. If there are multiple designs that repeat through the book, that’s ideal. I got the same effect by rotating through different colors of ink for each entry, so I’d be fine with doing that again, as long as there is something on the page already.

I have tried, in the past, taking plain lined pages and adding stamped images or fancy washi tape to give some interest, but it’s not the same. I want to come to a page that’s move-in ready. This is going to involve some research, which will mostly consist of combing the shelves at local chain stores, flipping through notebooks and journals on display. There are a few factors at play here. The format of the book, size, cover material and design, whether or not there is a bookmark, the design and texture of the pages, and what sort of pen, what color of ink I will use on these pages, all come into consideration.

This may sound touchy-feely, or special-snowflake-y, to some, but every writer is different. I can only speak for myself. When the right notebook and I find each other, I’ll know it, and that’s going to have to happen within the next ten days, because that’s when this notebook will be full. I kind of like having that kind of a deadline.

Deadlines are great. Deadlines mean there is a limit to how much thinking, how much preparation can be done, because there is an ultimate destination. A post has to go live, there are no more pages in the book, the story is told. I love writing endings, and, since I write romance, that means I get to write happy endings. No matter what went before, the hero and heroine are going to be together at the end of the story, and they’re going to be happy about that. Anything up until then? Fair game.

My favorite endings aren’t sunshine and rainbows all around; there’s an element of the bittersweet to them as well, which only heightens the HEA for the lovers. They may have made important sacrifices along the way, lost people important to them, but they’re still breathing, and they have each other, and that’s a good place to start the rest of their lives. If we don’t see these characters again in related books (and I would love to see more true standalone romances) that’s all right. we know they’re going to be fine. I love sending a pair of lovers off into the sunset that way. After all they’ve been through in the course of a book, they’ve earned some time alone, and there are more lovers to meet. more adventures to be had.

It’s not that different from coming to the end of a notebook. I don’t normally write-write (as in writing fiction) in my morning pages, but I have used those pages to work story problems out, on occasion. So far, I haven’t had a manuscript and morning pages book start and end at the same time, but that could be a goal for 2019. Not saying that it is, but not ruling t out, either. I’ve done a lot of thinking, recently, about why it is I prefer a predesigned page for my morning pages, and why it matters what notebook I choose when I pick out a dedicated notebook (and/or pretty legal pad) for a new project.

What it comes down to, for me, is the unblank page. Pablo Picasso said that all creation begins with destruction. The first mark or dab of paint on a blank canvas destroys the blankness of that canvas. I’m not a Picasso devotee, but have to hand him this one. It’s not only different colors and shapes on a physical page, but coming to the day’s writing with a sense of what will be on the page, be it paper or screen.

Having designs on the page when I pick up my pen for morning pages reminds me why I’m there. Not that I can’t figure it out without pretty pages, but they do make the experience richer. Maybe that has something to do with the kinds of stories I like to write, as well as read. I want the details. I want the information. I want to know what the room looks like and smells like and what the weather is, and if my people are comfortable or not, if they’re tired, hungry, impatient, if the room is too hot or too cold, who else might be around, that kind of thing.

With morning pages, and with writing, the hardest part is putting that first mark on the page. After that, it does get easier. Sometimes, pages are filled quickly, sometimes it takes a while longer, and I am fine with that. Fill one page, then another, and then, before I know it, the book is almost done. Not that hard when one looks at it that way.

The November-est Thing

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As of this morning, I have three weeks left in my morning pages book. I have about the same amount of time left in my planner. This means that I will have two fresh notebooks for the start of the end of the year. For somebody who loves planning, starting two new notebooks at the same time, especially at the start of a new month is like, well, Christmas, which is not that far away anymore.  Starting a new planner means making new plans, and a new book for morning pages means a whole bunch of new mornings. There’s the whole process of choosing what books/planners to use, which pens, flipping through the as-yet empty pages, and imagining what will eventually fill them.

This is another NaNope year for me, but I do want to use the start of a new month to pick up the writing pace. Okay, and try out a new tracker. A page a day is a book in a year, after all. Probably somewhat quicker than that, as I am second-drafting the last half of one book (okay, re-drafting, but it’s my blog, so I’ll call it what I want) and co-writing a second. So, that’s what, two half-books? Which averages out to one whole book, so still somewhat in that ballpark.

The biggest obstacle, for me, to writing more is not knowing what I’m doing. Having a flexible (because those characters have their own ideas) plan in place goes a long way to counteract that, and having an audience is like catnip.  I live for that stuff. In a once upon a time critique group (which included my contemporary co-writer, Melva Michaelian) I was the only person who had something to read, every single week. It wasn’t always on the current WIP, but there was always something. I am not currently in a group, but I do have three independent critique partners, two of whom I met by turning to the new person next to me at an RWA chapter meeting and introducing myself. Pretty much the same for the other one, though online, and on a fan fiction newsgroup.

Talking things out with writer friends usually does the trick to get stalled trains of thought moving again. Sometimes, for extroverts, (okay, often, for extroverts) thinking and talking happen at the same time. This is especially true, for me, when it comes to writing fiction. Babbling is my usual M.O., and, when I start to flounder in said babbling, the best thing is for the other person to ask me questions. Freewriting is basically babbling on paper, and it has its place, but there is that x factor of the other person, those questions I wouldn’t have thought of on my own, but, as soon as they’re asked, bam, there’s the answer.

November brings a focus on productivity, and also on reflection. The days grow shorter, nights longer. Colorful leaves give way to bare branches that reach to a slate-grey sky, hopefully with a good dose of rain and/or snow, on especially good days. This week, my Goodreads challenge tells me I am four books ahead of schedule, thanks to my recent YA binge. I inhaled last night’s This Is Us, and will probably go back and re-watch, to pick up small details from the dual timelines, and follow the threads that appear in both times and connect to the “now” of the present-day story.

November is at once time to pick up the pace and slow it down. Time to remember why I write, and what I want to bring to my readers. Time to refill the well and empty it out, then fill it again. Hopefully time to figure out the right balance so that the metaphorical bucket doesn’t hit dry earth, but there may be a learning curve on that one.

Suffice it to say that I’m excited at this turn of season. Halloween candy is on clearance, along with all things skull-themed and batty. Christmas displays are going up, and Christmas is my favorite holiday, so I like that, but I’d like to take a pause at Thanksgiving first. That’s possibly the November-est thing there is. Not the actual calendar holiday by itself, though that is a big part of it, but the whole feel of Thanksgiving.

Shorter days mean the world gets tucked in for the night, earlier. Cinnamon and pumpkin scent the air. Thoughts turn to friends and family, and who’s going where, when. Couches become beds for a weekend, odd assortments of chairs crowd around the dining room table, to make sure everybody has a seat. Porch lights go on early, firewood becomes a hot (pun intended) commodity, tea, coffee, and cocoa flow, and warm, comfy blankets come out of their hibernation, so that writerly/readerly types can drape them over our laps and hunker down for some quality time with our imaginary friends.

This part, I don’t want to rush. I love the whole holiday season, which, for me, has always started with my own birthday, one week before Halloween, and goes straight on through to Valentine’s Day. I love it. I want to get the most out of it, and I don’t want to rush it. I want to savor it and cherish it and let it do what it does best. I’m grumpy that Thanksgiving, all too often, gets shoved off to the side, when it’s perfectly situated so that there is one major holiday at the end of October, November, and December, but I am not in charge of retail

What I am in charge of is how and when and where I write. This time of year, my imaginary friends come home for the holidays. They hang out with me all year, of course, or at least that is the plan. Most of them would have no idea what Thanksgiving is, and more than a few of them would probably be convinced that I’m making the whole thing up, but  that’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s keeping in the spirit of the season. No family gathering is complete without a few disagreements, a couple of blow-ups, some misunderstandings, squabbling amongst the ranks, etc, but, in the end, the good times are worth it. At least that’s the plan.

 

I Can Do Anything For Fifteen Minutes

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Yesterday, I got home from my weekly critique session with N, and noticed that I was ahead of schedule. We’d started early, because we had to finish early, because N needed to be home when the window guy came to see what he could do about one of the windows in casa N. The actual numbers on the clock didn’t register with me, because N and I focused on the pages in front of us, and, as usual, had a productive meeting. Then Mr. N showed to retrieve N, and drop me home. That’s when I noticed what had felt different all morning. I was ahead of schedule. For someone who loves planning, this is both cause for celebration and mild alarm.

What am I going to do with all this extra time? Granted, the extra time amounted to a whopping thirty minutes, and I would be lying if I said that my use of that time did not include Sims Free Play, and posting a picture of Skye to Instagram. No regrets. I am not going to pretend, either, that I remember exactly where it was that I read an article on the habits of productive people, but what stuck with me was the efficient use of time, so I’m going with that for today’s topic.

I’ve always liked to have things in order. Older family members can attest that I had a love of putting things in boxes from the day I discovered fine motor skills, as well as my leaving folded and scribbled-upon pieces of paper all over the house. When asked about said papers, I always identified them as “books,” and that I was the author. This may have been a sign of things to come.  A once-upon-a-time friend introduced me to Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott, and her concept of one-inch picture frames. Pretty much the same thing as the old joke about eating an elephant one bite at a time. In other words, tree, not forest. Focus on one small thing at a time, and the rest can wait their turns.

When, sometime in the recent, unspecified past, I read that article on productive people, I noticed I’m already doing some of the things right, which is encouraging. Regular morning routine? Check. Keeping a paper notebook? Check plus plus plus plus plus, infinity (well, not quite, but I do love my notebooks, and use a lot of them.) Keeping a daily schedule? Check, but there’s more. This article talked not only about keeping an hourly schedule, but breaking those hours into fifteen minute chunks. Hmm.

This is the point where the writer who loves to plan squints at the pages of the dot grid planner spread in front of her. I already have my day broken down into one hour units, and there happen to be four rows of dots in each hour, which corresponds to four fifteen minute units. This is also the point where there is a whispered voiceover from K.A. Mitchell (okay, maybe not whisper in this case) and one of her previous workshops, on writer’s block.  “I can do anything for fifteen minutes,” that voiceover says, and it’s true.

Fifteen minutes fit very nicely into one-inch picture frames, from where I’m sitting, so what if I tried breaking those hours into quarter hours? Hmm. This may be worth a shot. Not that I’m going to micromanage my day into precise fifteen minute blocks, but, on days when getting into the groove needs a little help, or things haven’t quite gelled in the ol’ writerbrain, fifteen minutes is a manageable chunk. Pen on paper or fingers on keys for fifteen minutes, then we can do something else. Sure, I don’t always want to stop at the end of the fifteen minutes, and I don’t have to stop; there’s no law on that.

The other thing that stood out to me about this article was the practice of touching a task once. I stink at this task.  This one is going to take some work, but, again, fifteen minutes for email, and then I am done? That, I can do. This also encompasses the practice of assigning certain tasks to certain times and leaving them the heck alone when it isn’t their turn. This one may also take some practice, but that’s okay. I like structure.

There’s one more habit, as well, that stuck in my mind, which tells me I may remember more about this article than I think I did, and that’s assigning the most important task to an uninterrupted two hour chunk in the morning. For me, this would be the WIPs. Add pages to the second draft of Her Last First Kiss, and move A Heart Most Errant toward being ready for beta readers. I’m waiting on Melva’s pages for the start of Drama King, so my work on that book can go grab a cup of tea and wait until it hears its name called.

Put stuff on the pages. That’s all I need to focus on at a particular time. Not Must Get Career Back In Motion, not eve Write The Whole Book, but right here, right now, do this one thing. As my writer friend, H, says, it’s just riffing. For fifteen minutes? I can do that, easy.

A New Notebook, Some Love Scenes, and an Ex-Mouse

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Welp, it’s Monday again. No big surprise. This weekend went by fast. Saturday started out with the discovery that I have had a bonus office buddy for an undetermined amount of time. Said bonus office buddy had shuffled off this mortal coil before I came across what he left behind (aka his earthly remains) while looking for Post It notes to put in my new notebook, for CR-RWA meetings only. My desk is a secretary style desk, with a fold-out writing surface, and cabinet space beneath. Since dear departed bonus office buddy was kind of carpet-colored, it took me a few seconds to process what lay before me. There was no necropsy performed, but from what I can tell, Bob (let’s call him Bob) was on his way out of the lower part of my desk, when his little mousey heart gave out. His exit, both from my desk,  and his corporeal existence, seems to be fairly recent.

He might have been on his way to look for foodstuffs, because I do not keep any in my desk, so going elsewhere really was his best bet, but he’d have been out of luck anyway, since all food is secured. Bob was not our first rodent roommate, that’s all I’m saying. I can at this time, confirm that Skye had nothing to do with Bob’s demise, as there was a carpet between them. Skye’s hatred of my office carpet is strong enough to keep her from de-rodenting my desk, but I do suspect some of her intent stares in my general direction during Bob’s tenure may have been at least partly for him. I prefer not to think about the duration of that tenure. I also prefer not to think about the amount of times I rested my bare feet inside that open cabinet over the last few months. I am going to assume that Bob and I have never touched.

That was how my weekend started. I did get the notebook put together, and I am rather proud of the results. Pictures to follow, because I didn’t have time to set up everything right off the bat, but turning to a fresh page of lined, cream colored paper, with the date stenciled at the top, and posting the cap to a fountain pen, adds a certain gravitas to the taking of notes. Ballpoint on notebook paper doesn’t have the same effect. This month, the topic was love scenes, by the wonderful K. A. Mitchell, which is excellent timing, because the love scenes in both of my current historical manuscripts, Her Last First Kiss, and A Heart Most Errant, are going to need some work, and my contemporary co-author, Melva, and I haven’t even talked about the love scenes for Drama King. 

Though we had a Skype session slated for Sunday afternoon, the connection (computer, not personal) was wonky, and we had to reschedule the meeting. Didn’t help that anxiety was rampaging through my brain like a herd of water buffalo, and there was still the Outlander recap to do at the end of the night. No spoliers if you haven’t yet watched, but suffice it to say season three is off to an excellent start.

Which brings us back to Monday, and the fact that I have blabbered my way through most of this entry without a firm topic, so I will keep on blabbering until at least that magic seven hundredth word. This weekend had a few surprises. I brought a new writer friend (who is both a new friend and a new writer; hi, Erin :waves:) with me to her very first RWA meeting, where I met another new friend (hi, Terry :waves again:) who also writes historical, and makes a mean Butterfingers cookie. My beloved pink laptop may require either a system restore or trip to the computer doctor, which was not a snag I had anticipated, but will be worth the effort if it gets her back in fighting trim. Now that I have been introduced to the wonders of Skype (and of video blogging; I have not forgotten that) I don’t want to go back, and not going back means, well, going forward.

Going forward sometimes means going into the unknown. I’d say ask Bob, but Bob’s not answering anything right now. Sometimes, reaching into the recesses of one’s desk for a Post-It means finding an ex-mouse first. Not expected, not pleasant, but better to know about those things as soon as possible rather than waiting for the what’s-that-smell stage of the game. One disposes of the ex-mouse, obtains the Post-Its, and proceeds to the meeting and keeps on going.

Today, I am tucking in with some of the changes I need for this next section of Her Last First Kiss, figuring out how the puzzle pieces fit together. Thanks to K.A. Mitchell’s expertise, I have the seeds of this book’s first love scene on the pages of that new notebook. There’s a while yet before I can get there; one house party that now needs to be a specific event, in a specific place, with specific people, rather than what it had been before, but I know where I’m going. I’ll take that.

Typing With Wet Claws: Hello, September Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today is September first, not yet autumn by the calendar, but it is autumn for Anty, so that is what counts. Anty is very happy today, because she gets to start not one but two notebooks, and she and Anty Melva had their first session on writing a brand new book, but more about that later.

As always, before I can talk about anything else, which is usually Anty’s writing anyway, I have to talk about where you can find her writing on the interwebs, besides here. She is at Buried Under Romance every Saturday, and would love to see you there. Last week, she talked about the power of romance novel heroines. One of the reasons Anty started reading romance in the first place is because romance is the genre where the woman always wins. That post is here, and it looks like this:

han

Because the old month is now over, the people at Heroes and Heartbreakers get a chance to say what their favorite reads of August were. Anty had to think really hard about this one, because she read a lot of good books this month, and had to limit herself to books that are already published. I do not know how hard or easy it was for any of the other bloggers, but Anty does have a few more books to add to her own TBR list now. That post is here, and it looks like  this:

HandHbestofAug

Now, because it is the start of a brand new month, it is time to see how Anty is doing on two challenges. First, we will look at how she did at Goodreads. So far, Anty is on track for the fourth week in a row. She has read fifty-nine books out of her goal of ninety. Go, Anty. Read those books. Keep going. You got this. This week, she left a review for North of Beautiful, by Justina Chen. She liked that book very much, and has started trying to draw compass roses in her notebooks. There may be a learning curve to that. Her review is here, and it looks like this:

GRnorthofbeautifulChen

Now we look at how Anty is doing on her goal of reading mostly historical romances. The one book she finished this week (to be fair, she had a big week) was YA, and it had a romance in it, but it was not historical, but we need to look at the overall picture.

hr-challenge-2016-badge

So far, Anty has read 59 books, according to Goodreads, and 29 of those have been historical romance. Figuring in for the romantic historical fiction (Beatriz Williams, I am looking at you) that is about a 50/50 on that score, but then we have to also figure in the historical romance novel Anty beta read, that will not be out until next week, and that gives historical romance a slight edge. Go, Anty. You are meeting those goals.

Because Anty insists, here are pictures of the inside and outside of her new morning pages book. The pages in this book are mostly the same, but she is going to use different colors of ink to differentiate the pages, so she will not get un-comfy with pages being all the same. She has a thing about that.

cover of morning pages book
Inside pages. Note sparkly ink.

 

Okay, I think those are all of that kind of update. Now it is time for book talk, and by that, I mean Anty’s books. This week, Anty Melva sent Chasing Prince Charming off to Carina Press, to see if maybe they would like to publish it. The answer to that one might take a few months, so it is a good thing that Anty and Anty Melva are now officially working on Drama King. They had their first Skype session this morning, and Anty has several notebook pages filled with scribbles about things she needs to get done in time for next week’s meeting, so that they can get started with the actual writing of this book. Anty is pretty sure that the writing will go faster this time, because now she and Anty Melva know how they write books together. She also knows that they need to do a better job of keeping track of the parts of the book while they are writing it, so nobody (especially not Anty) has to go digging around in the hard drive for that scene where that person did the thing and the other person found out about it.

Because Anty had to go to the people vet earlier this week (she is okay) she has moved her goal for finishing her once-over of A Heart Most Errant to two weeks from today, September fourteenth. That is a nice round number, a fortnight. That is an English word for two weeks. Anty likes English words. That is probably because she writes in English, but a lot of her stories also take place in England, so there is that, too. There is also laundry to do (Anty will do the laundry, not me; my tongue would get tired really fast) I had better wrap things up, so that means it is time for Tuna Roll’s Thought of the Day. Take it away, Tuna Roll.

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If you have to live with your natural predator, but they don’t climb, you’re still ahead of the game. –Tuna Roll

 

Thank you, Tuna Roll…I think. That is about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebyenew

see you next week