personal

Priming The Pump

annabowling Leave a comment

So, it’s Monday. The weekend was full of family and friends, lots of errands, sometimes employing not only plan B for the day, but plans C, D, and E. Par for the course around here, which all makes it not that surprising that this is the third or fourth time I’ve started writing this blog entry, because my brain is tired and I have no idea what I wanted to put here. Even my trusty “in this moment” prompt (thanks, Barbara Samuel) which I usually interpret as “right now” has failed me, and there is a part of me that would like nothing better than give a hearty “forget it” to the whole idea of writing today, and retreat to my recliner, with beverage of choice, afghan, and laptop, and binge on Elementary while I eat three flavor popcorn straight from the tin.

That’s not what I’m going to do. What I’m going to do is babble here and prime the pump, until something decent comes out, then get back in there and bounce the Beach Ball around, because forward motion gets one to one’s destination. Which means that, since my fingers are on the keys, I need to keep them going until I meet the magic seven hundred. The previous attempts had all been too hard, too forced, too think-y. When I get think-y, I know I’m off the path I need to take. Not that thinking is bad, exactly, but over-thinking, which is all too easy for me to fall into (and pretty darned difficult to get out of) that’s the stuff that can kill writing.

There is not enough caffeine in this house (even though we bought tea this weekend) to remind me where I put that Lin-Manuel Miranda quote about writing the rust out of the pup until one hits clear water, then writing down the clear water. I do remember the bit about writing without inspiration, though: throw stuff down on the page without inspiration, and then sift for nuggets. I can sift for nuggets. Hey, look at that; I’m already over halfway to the magic seven hundred words I need for this entry. The plan is, get this entry posted, flog it around the interwebs, and then I can put on my big girl pants and get cracking on some of that commercial fiction all the cool kids are doing these days. I will also put on old clothes, because I will soon have a head full of Manic Panic. That’s the hair color, not a psychological state of being.

With five days, today inclusive, until this year’s conference, this is crunch time. I’m going to need to prewrite and schedule blog entries, knuckle down and keep moving forward on both fiction projects, and do that whole packing thing. Not to mention agree on breakfast plans, because I am not going into my first time giving a workshop on an empty stomach, and definitely not without caffeine. I may pack my own Lapsang Souchong, for the benefit of the public at large.

Before I do any of that, though, I need to get this written. Maybe it sounds like a whole lot of blabbering in no particular direction, and maybe I do a lot of that, but it’s my blog and I’ll blab when I want to. The very fact that I have to do this tells me a few things:

  1. Sleep is a need, not an option. That’s in-the-bed, under-the-covers, head-on-the-pillow sleep. If it’s one of those nights when sleep flat out isn’t happening, I need to be kinder to myself the next day. Take a nap, or head to bed early that next night.
  2. Well-filling is also a need. I do not want to count the number of books I have scattered about the apartment, in various stages of being-read-ed-ness. I will, though; including electronic reading material, it’s five. Too many. Pick one, read to the end, pick another one, repeat. The reader guilt is crushing, and not good for the creative mind.
  3. Clutter has to go. Mental clutter and physical clutter. All the “I’ll get to it laters” pig pile on top of each other and crowd out the fun, playing with imaginary friends stuff, which is what I would much rather have. Since I like organizing and planning, this is actually the easiest of the three to dive in and conquer.

Allrighty, then, I think we got us some water coming out of this here pump, so I am going to leave you all here and head off with my imaginary friends. Toodles.

 

AnnaSelfie020417

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Juggling Chainsaws Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This week’s picture is from last night, when I got my farthest ever into Anty’s office without touching the hated carpet. Well, my tail did, but I am only counting paws. If Anty moved the kneeling chair and her magazine holder, I could get in even farther. I still want  her to get rid of the carpet completely, so I can sit as close to her chair as possible, but I will take this for now. I am rather proud of myself. I will never abandon my quest. A cat in every office, that’s the dream.

Anty will also never give up her quest for a career writing historical (and historical adjacent) romance. Part of that is writing the actual books. because, let’s face it, nothing can happen without that. Anty can only sell products she has, after all, so she must make them. This week, she has been doing a lot of that. Some days, it came easy, and some days, not so much, but one thing Anty needs to remember is that it will always come, even if it takes a little while. Or a long while, but that is another story. Pun intended.

As always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance this week, and, this week, her post on historical romance outside the Regency (yes, she is still salty about missing that workshop at next week’s conference, but she has plans to get handouts, so it is okay. Ish.) got some people talking. That post is here, and its link on the main page looks like this:

BURnonregency.png

 

Anty has also written a post on Heroes and Heartbreakers, about the Bones series finale. Anty liked Booth and Bones and their love story very much, so it was sad to say goodbye to them, but happily ever afters are good things. Anty’s post about that is here, and it looks like this:

HandHBonesFinale

Reading, especially reading other historical romances,  is also important. Anty could do better on that one, as she is now seven books behind in her Goodreads challenge. This does not make Anty happy, but it does make her want to dig in and read some more. Probably when the conference is over and she has come back with a whole armload of books, and is not juggling metaphorical chainsaws. Do not worry, they are only metaphorical chainsaws, not real ones. That would be very dangerous. Anty needs her hands for writing and for feeding and petting me. She has her priorities. She had better make reading one of them, because her Goodreads challenge now looks like this:

GR310317

Time for Anty to step up the whole reading thing.  Readers who have been with us a while may remember her freakout when she thought she was fifteen books behind, with the end of the year approaching. Nobody wants that to happen again. Which means life had better calm down, but I am not in control of that.

This week, Anty had too much going on, on Monday, to be ready for crit session with Miss N, so asked if Miss N could move it to Thursday, which Miss N could not, because she had another appointment, but she could do Friday (which is today.) Then, while Anty was talking with Miss H, Miss H mentioned that there would be a blizzard where Miss H lives. This was news to Anty, because Anty had not looked at the weather in a while. She looked at the weather then, and got a surprise – we would get a winter storm, too.

Miss N, and her husband, Mr. N, picked Anty up, so she would not need to walk in the slushy rain. They have three kitties of their own, so I know Anty can trust them. The critique session went very well, and Miss N suggested that she and Anty skip next Tuesday, because Anty will be too busy during the week, getting ready for the conference, to get her scene ready for critique. The conference goes late into Saturday, then there is the two hour drive to get from where the conference is, to where she will meet Mama, then two more hours to get back home. Miss N kind of has a point. Anty agreed taking that Tuesday off was a good idea. Then Miss N said maybe the next week, too, but Anty did not like that option. Two weeks away is too much, so Miss N said maybe an outline instead of a scene. Anty is still thinking about that one, but she cannot think too much about it, because there is still her Buried Under Romance post to write, and then this weekend is her last chance to get any conference related errands done.

Earlier this week, the conference people asked Anty for a bio, so that they can tell people about her. That is a new thing for Anty. Whenever she has to write a bio, she either feels like she has never met herself, or that she is not sure why other people would find her interesting.  Because having a bio for the conference people is part of Anty’s career goals, she put on her big girl panties and combined parts from two bios she does not entirely hate. The bio she sent in does include me, which I think is a very smart move. Many writer humans find cats extremely interesting, so they will probably like that.

Anty needs the computer back, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebanner01skyebye

 

Nobody Likes a Naked Panelist

annabowling 8 Comments

Let me qualify that; there probably are some people who would appreciate nude presenters at a conference, but A) I’m not going to  that kind of conference, and B) most of those who will be attending the workshop I’m co-presenting would prefer said nude presenter to have body parts I do not, if nude presenters were a thing, which, to the best of my knowledge, they are not. Plus there’s the problem of chilly conference rooms, so clothing is indeed in order.

The question, then, is what sort of clothing? This year, for the first time, people will be looking specifically at me for the better part of an hour. Thankfully, I have my lovely and talented co-presenters, each with their unique personal style, to share the vision, as it were, so anybody who shows will not be looking, specifically, only at me. That takes some of the pressure off, but the fact remains that dressing for this particular conference is different from years prior. This year, I am going not only as a writer, not only to network with my peers, not only to sit across a small table from a publishing industry professional and convince them why they might like to give me and my writing partner monies for the adventures of our imaginary friends (and, if the “do you have anything else?” question comes into play, my individual imaginary friends as well) but sitting/standing/walking in front of people who have chosen to learn about blogging, over the other workshops that are being presented at the same time.

So, clothes. In some aspects, men have it easier. In a word, suits. I’m sure there are gentlemen out there (or some dapper ladies) who can school me on the complexities of suit wearing, but, in broadest terms, suit, shirt, tie, shoes, done. Basic equation, which, at eight days before conference time, has me thinking the guys might have things easier in this regard. The clock is ticking, and writing schedule and other obligations mean that shopping is not going to be a much or an option, which means I’m going to have to work out of my closet, which is, to put things bluntly, in flux.

A few years back, I culled most colors out of my closet, because it felt too jumbly, to look in there and have to think of what went with what. I’m visual. I love color theory.  That wasn’t the issue. What bothered me was that those colors didn’t feel like me, so out they went. Immediately, I felt more settled. Calmer. Me-er. What’s left now is mostly black, gray, and white, a little navy, and occasional shots of red or purple. Almost everything goes with almost everything (do not ask me to mix black and navy, because that is not going to happen.) This should make things easier.

It doesn’t always. Neutrals provide a blank canvas for accessories, which are also in flux at the moment. Most days, I wear at least one piece of jewelry with a skull on it, sometimes more. I don’t know where the skull thing started, but A) I like skulls, and B) we all have one; for me, it’s a symbol of humanity.  I also love heels. Housemate is convinced I walk better in heels, and trip more often when wearing flats. She’s not wrong. I once fell down two fights of stairs when the heel of my flats caught on the edge of a tile. This was back in college, and I landed at the feet of two nursing students, which I thought convenient. (I was fine.) I am going to take a wild guess and suspect that I am not going to want to repeat that experience. So, heels. but which heels will depend upon which actual clothing items come with me, and, as of now, I have no idea.

Writing, domestic duties, and other obligations have meant schedule hopscotch this week, which left no time for going through the closet and making a proper, informed selection. While Housemate is happy to decide what she’s going to pack about five minutes before she has to be out the door, that doesn’t work for me. I’m a planner. I want to know in advance, preferably well in advance, and, preferably, have a backup plan, in case something (like a two-staircase tumble) goes wrong with the original. This makes me itchy. It also lets me know what I need to feel confident, which, as it would turn out, is the most essential thing I can wear to a professional gathering.

At some point, something in my head will click, and I’ll know what’s for Friday day, what’s for Friday night, and what I want to be wearing from very early Saturday to very late Saturday/possibly early Sunday. What I need to keep in mind is that I know this stuff. I have two smart, entertaining, stylish women to share the spotlight, and more people are likely to look at the Power Point presentation than what the presenters are wearing. It’s a workshop, not a fashion show. What’s most important is to be confident and comfortable.

Blogging, I can do. Talking, I can do.  Telling stories, I can do. Talking about stories, I can do. Sitting up half the night in the hotel lobby, talking with other writers about what we’re writing, what we’re reading, and the workshops we’ve attended, or, this year, presented, I can definitely do.  At some point, things will click, and I’ll know what to wear, what to pack, and, in the end, what most people will take away from the presentation is the content, not the appearances of those presenting it. Thinking about it, though? That’s all part of the process.

 

Fair Day, and Another Blog Begun

annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I have a deep, burning, urgent need to read Fair Day and Another Step Begun, and I Would Go Barefoot All Summer For You, two long-out-of-print YA novels by Katie Letcher Lyle. This is not want. This is need, like these books are a part of my writer self that I did not know were missing, until something, likely falling down a YA rabbit hole on Goodreads, jogged my memory. I’d read Fair Day when I was in junior high, and fell wildly in love with the exquisite use of language, how a story set in then-contemporary 1970s America could have the feel of a time and place long ago and faraway. I did not read Barefoot, and I think I may, at the time, have scoffed at the title, but that only means I was not ready for that book then. I am, now.

Both books have their roots in medieval ballads, Fair Day a direct contemporary (for 1970s) retelling of the centuries-old ballad, Child Waters. I don’t know how these books came back to my attention, but, right now, it hurts that I don’t have them, which is a clear signal that there is something in them that I need. Neither book is in the library system, though two nonfiction books on plants by the same author are. Not quite the same, so the search continues. Ebay or Amazon it is, unless I strike gold at the local UBS, which is probably a longshot, but still going to try.

My memories of Fair Day are hazy, but I remember, while reading that book in the second floor study hall (if I remember physically where I was at the time I read something, it’s a sure sign it has become part of my idea soup) how it felt both modern and ancient at the same time, in a sort of world set apart. I love that kind of thing. Give me a pop singer backed by a symphony orchestra, or modern music played as though it were from centuries before, and I am going to play it until somebody’s ears bleed. This is one reason why my family knows that it is a good idea to keep me well supplied with backup earbuds at all times. There is no such thing as playing a song on repeat too many times if it has something to say to my storybrain.

It’s the same with books. If there is something about a book that gives me that “Yes. That.” feeling, then I have to have it, hold it, touch it, smell it, stare at the covers, flip through the pages, until it becomes a part of me. Once it’s in, it doesn’t come out. Well, it does, as something from it will find its way into a story or character or idea, and it will be reproduced, but the original inspiration stays put, ready for me to draw from it again, as needed, in near or far future.

GRfairday

Why this/these book(s) now? I don’t know, but I have learned not to question it. Sure, the cover does have a vague sort of historical romancey feel, if one looks in the right light. I don’t remember if Ellen and her child’s father end up together, and I don’t want to know until I (re)read, so I don’t know if this a romance. I don’t want to know. The heroine in the foreground, the man on horseback in the distance, the dirt road between them, her long, loose hair, her oversized coat, the bare trees reaching to the cloudy sky, the lyrical title, the memory of how the school library was often my sanctuary when life got rough. I remember the bite of cold air on my skin. I remember falling down and getting  up and going onward, onward, onward, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

I did not read Barefoot, but, when I read “Toby Bright is coming,” said Aunt Rose, my storybrain quickened. Yes. That. Shut up and take my money. I need this book. Don’t need to know another thing about it, and, in fact, don’t want to know. Given that the heroine is thirteen, I don’t think this is a romance. I think it’s what those old-timey people in centuries past would call “calf love,” and I am fine with that.

Maybe I’m entering the magpie stage for whatever comes next, acquiring bricks for a house I have yet to design, much less build. As of this week, I am six chapters and change into the second draft of Her Last First Kiss, and there’s a new Melva chapter from the Beach Ball sitting in my in-box, which means I need to send her one back. There needs to be a What Next putting itself together on the back burner, because I am going to come to The End on both of these projects, and I do not want to blink into the abyss.

So, yes, medieval ballads. Check. Soak in the exquisite marriage of language and emotion until I am drunk on it. Check. Emotional afterglow that is still with me I’m not going to say how many decades later. Yes. This. This is what I want to take in. This is what I want to put out. Titles that feel like music. Lyrical prose. Characters who let me feel each beat of their heart as though it were my own. I want to read that. I want to write that.

For now, I can stare at the covers and pick apart the design elements, maybe mess around with paint and ink on paper of my own, to see what comes about, either to come up with something similar, or figure out how the original artist did it. Note what music feels the rightest while I do, and see what imaginary friends poke through the fog in the process. The journey of a thousand miles, they say, begins with a single step. Maybe this is one of those. Only one way to find out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rumblings of a Temporal Vagabond, part one

annabowling 5 Comments

Okay. Deep breath. This is one of those days where I stare down the packed to-do list and charge. This past weekend, I came across a post by Isobel Carr, on Risky Regencies, called “Some Possibly Unpopular Thoughts.” My ears immediately pricked. Might this post be referencing the other post, on Smart Bitches, Trashy books? Oh, yes, it did. Oh, good. After a week stuck in the house with my beloved family, a stomach bug, and back pain, I needed something to latch all my frayed nerves onto, and this has been a bee in my bonnet for some time, so here we go.

I don’t get why, with historical romance, if we’re defining it as “anything before living memory,” which, for the sake of argument, let’s say predates WWII, it can seem a Herculean effort to sell a book set outside of one particular era, in one particular locale: Regency England. Strictly technically speaking, we’re talking 1811-1820, when King George III was unfit to rule, and his son, who would eventually be known as King George IV, ruled in his stead, as Prince Regent. Regency = during the rule of a regent. Easy enough. More broadly, the term, “Regency Era,” can apply to 1795-1837, ending with the ascencion of Queen Victoria, for more of a zeitgeist approach. For the smaller definition, we are talking a span of nine years. For the larger, forty-two years. Bit more breathing room there, even room for a generation or two to pass. All well and good there, but for those of us who write (and read) stories set outside of this era, it can be rough going at times, and yeah, my dander is up on this one right now.

There’s art and there’s commerce. There’s the book of the heart and there’s the book that sells. Right now, Regency is what’s selling. Especially Regency with Dukes. I get the desire for some fantasy in historical romance (not the elves and faeries sort) but there are also the times when my blood carbonates with the need to poke at whether it is that specific historical period and that specific rank of the peerage that seems to have a stranglehold on the market at the moment (and for more than a few preceding moments.) All the why, why, whys mosh around my brainpan, because that’s what I don’t get.

Before my life took a hard turn into caregiving, and a huge shift in the family structure, I had four historical romances published. My Outcast Heart was set in 1720 New York, with a subsistence farmer heroine and a hermit hero. Never Too Late was set in 1900 England and Italy, the heroine fifty years old when she set out to reclaim the love of a lifetime. Queen of the Ocean, set in sixteenth century Cornwall, and had a Spanish hero. Orphans in the Storm was my English Civil War novel, set on the Isle of Man, and the English Court in Exile, in the Netherlands. (Hey, I had royalty in that one. Impoverished, exiled royalty, but royalty. It’s okay. The monarchy got better.) Those were all settings I loved, that came organically with the stories that I wanted to tell, the ones that were real and alive in my head. I still love them all to this day, and those years when writing was all but (and sometimes outright) impossible didn’t change my love for a variety of historical settings . Call me a temporal vagabond.

When the writing came back, and maybe even before, that had not changed. I had to set aside a time travel I dearly loved, and needed to start something new, something smaller in scope, something I knew I could get from point A to point B. Aha. Road story. I could do one of those. Then I read the then-newest issue of the dearly departed RT Book Reviews, which had two articles, one on medieval romances, and one on post-apocalyptic romances, and my writerbrain perked. Aha! Post-apocalyptic medieval! Yes! I can do that! What would seem like an apocalypse for the medieval world? Black Plague? That, I could do, so that’s what I did.

I wrote the story of a disillusioned knight errant and a woman who refused to believe the end of the world was, well, the end of the world, who offered him the one thing he couldn’t refuse (apple seeds; it works in context.) They meet early on, they’re together the whole darned time, and I literally cried when I had to say goodbye to them at the end. Then I tried to sell it. The last agent I pitched to said she loved my voice, quoted some of my own passages back to me, and said she would totally read this story for pleasure, but was not going to ask for the full, because she could not sell a medieval. Cue sad trombone slide.

This agent advised me that my options were to trunk the story for now and hold onto it until the market changes, and medieval come back into fashion, or self/indie publish. She asked what else I had, and I mentioned I was writing a Regency. Great. Send her that when it was finished. Seriously. No question about plot or characters; just send it. I wish I could say that buoyed my spirits, I ran home, finished it, sent it in, and here’s the cover reveal, but that’s not what happened.

What happened was that characters and a story I loved turned into torture, frustration, sobbing to Critique Partner Vicki, who finally smacked me upside the head with a bat’leth of four words: “you hate writing Regency.” But it had to be Regency! That’s what sells! She didn’t budge. I didn’t have Regency in me. Set the story aside, along with the time travel, until the bad juju burns off, set it in another era, and try again.

Her Last First Kiss came complete with its setting, and, when Melva and I needed a historical period for the book within a book for the Beach Ball, I suggested Georgian, because hey, I was there already, and I knew I’d be doing a lot of the historical heavy lifting on this one. Both times, the setting was organic, not even a question. I/we didn’t pick; they picked us.

Done with blog time for today, not done with the topic, so calling this part one. See you Wednesday; let’s chat in the comments. :jaunty wave:

Typing With Wet Claws: Digging Out Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today, you get a greatest hits picture of me (but with a new frame) because Anty does not feel like getting on the floor to get a good new picture. As some of you know, we live in New York, which got a lot of snow this week. I mean a lot. Like three mes high. Even for someone like Anty, who loves snow, that is more than a bit much. She has an ouchy back from all that shoveling, to clear our sidewalk and help get Mama’s car out of the way when it was on the wrong side of the street. Mama thanked Anty by sharing her stomach bug, which does not look at all fun. Good thing she has me to take care of her.

Before I can talk about anything else, I have to talk about Anty’s writing, and, this week, there are a few things to cover, so let’s get to it. First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, where she talked about spring fancies. I will give you a hint; she does not mean only thing one likes in spring, but things that one likes in any romance novel. That post is here and it looks like this:

BURo4o317

Anty did do some reading this week, and even managed to write a review, of Judith Ivory’s Beast. You can read that review here, and her reading challenge page now looks like this:

 

GR170317

This week, I am also able to share where people have been talking about Anty, which is very exciting. First, Anty SueAnn read one of Anty’s books, Never Too Late, which looks like this:

NeverTooLate

and liked it very much, so she did a very nice thing and wrote a review, which is here. Anty SueAnn is pretty good at this kind of thing, which is no surprise, because she is a writer, too.

The big thing that made Anty very happy this week was from the NECRWA conference, where Anty will be co-presenting “Blogging Isn’t Dead: How To Write Non-Fiction That Can Help Your Career.” It is only a couple of weeks away, now, which means it is very, very close. Imagine Anty’s surprise when she saw an ad for the conference early this week, and it was all about her. That has never happened before. Maybe that is because Anty has never spoken (as in officially; she talks a lot, all the time) at a conference before. That picture is on Facebook here, and it looks like this:

NECRWAAnnaBowling

Okay, I think that is everything about where Anty is on the web this week (besides here, that is.) Now I can talk about other things, like the storm. Even though Anty loves snow, this was too much. The night of the big snow, I wanted to be near Anty, but she has that carpet that I hate, so I sat right outside her door and we had a conversation pretty much all night, that went like this:

Me: :Chirple:

Anty: I love you, baby.

Me: :Chirple:

Anty: I know, you don’t like the wind.

Me: :Chirple:

Anty:  I know, big storms are scary for little kitties.

And so on. Anty says I would be closest to her if I would let her pick me up, but I do not like to be picked up. I was born wild, so I missed that whole cuddling class most kittens who are born pets get, so they know cuddling is a good thing. I prefer to be near. Sometimes, really near. If Anty sits on the stool (or really, any of my humans) in the kitchen, I will sneak up and sit on her feet. Usually she does not notice me, so it is a big surprise for both of us when she moves, and a stripey ball of fuzz (that would be me) races out of the room. Then I come right back, because I like to be near her. That is what a good mews does.

Right now, Anty’s back is happiest when she is lying down, so that means I will be near her recliner or her bed today. I am sure she will feel better very soon, but she does not like this “rest” thing. It feels like wasting time, when she would rather be writing. Maybe she can use some of her time to get current on that reading challenge. I think that would be productive, and she can do it from recliner or bed. Either way, I will be there for her, sending out love beams, and, if she feels like feeding a kitty, I will make that easy for her, because I am one, and I am right there.

I think that is about it for now, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebanner01skyebye

 

 

Morning Pages Have Broken

annabowling Leave a comment

Okay, not actually broken. More like adjusted, but we’ll get to that. Lots of pictures for this entry. You have been warned.

This morning, I headed outside at six in the morning, to shovel the sidewalk in front of our house. This is what I saw:

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Good Morning, Albany.

This morning, I filled the last two page spread in my most recent morning pages book. Normally, I like to plan ahead, and have the next book all ready to go, so I don’t lose any momentum. This time, that was not the case. I love the Paris-themed book by Punch Studio, that I’ve been using; so much so that this is the second copy of that book I’ve bought. I did some online searching, and Ebay shows me that there are three other designs in that line: a different Paris-themed book, one themed around Italy, and another around New York City. Insert sound of angels singing here. Perfect. Only problem is, that I wouldn’t be able to get any of them shipped in time to start the new book.

I didn’t want to have any gaps. The longer away from any creative project, the harder it is to come back, and morning pages have been such a big help that I had to do something. All of the books I’ve had so far have rotating designs, so spread A is different from spread B, different from spread C, and so on, repeating after a short sequence. My visual brain likes that, so it’s a must when I look for a new morning pages book. This time, I couldn’t find any in stores, so I had to get creative. I had a deconstructed Studio Oh book that I’d originally intended for Her Last First Kiss notes, but book and notes were not a good fit, so I put it aside. Plain lined pages, but a lovely, slightly mottled ivory color. Add selections from my collection of design tape, et voila:

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It’s not Punch Studio or PaPaYa Art, but it will do for now. What’s important is that it feels like the right place for me to start my day (as opposed to, say, shoveling knee-high snow. That is not a fun way to start a morning.) I’ve found that priming the pump with whatever my brain dumps out in the morning is usually effective, and from there, I go to planning. Here’s the current planner setup:

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The small book is my eighteen month planner. Technically an academic planner, but I grabbed it because it is gorgeous and it feels like me. That’s where the day to day calendar things go; appointments, deadlines, RWA chapter meetings, etc. The larger book is a gridded page leatherette Markings book. I struggled to find a use for that one for about two years, lots of false starts and different formats, until I tried the design tape trick. Voila. Now it’s my daily tasks book, in bullet point form on one page per day. In two months, I’ve used more pages than I did in the two years previously. Think I’ve found something that works here, so sticking with it.

Which brings me to Big Daddy Precious, the Papberblanks book that holds my HLFK notes. Few false starts there, as well, but, once I figured out the single line of copper marker at top and bottom of each page, the notebook clicked with me. I started out writing in ballpoint in this book, because fancy book needs fancy pen, but it wasn’t until I switched to mechanical pencil (I do a lot of erasing) that it really clicked-clicked. The ability to erase is incredibly therapeutic, and makes it a lot easier to climb into my characters’ skins and look through their eyes. Will definitely be carrying this practice over into other projects.

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Inside pages

The fancy twinkle lights are not on the actual page, but are an accurate representation of how it feels to be writing Hero and Heroine’s story. Which is an extremely good way for a writer to feel about the current WIP. I don’t know what it is about the visual connection that does it for me. Maybe it has something to do with being an artist’s kid, and making art, myself. When things in the really real world look similar to what’s in my head, that makes the connection stronger. Not going to complain about that.

 

If At First You Don’t Succeed…Blabber

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Go figure; I plan a blog post with tons of pictures, to blabber about my various notebooks, and that has to be the day all the pictures get stuck in a Gmail queue. This is the same day that my desktop earbuds become my desktop earbud, singular. Slapping a greatest hits deskscape up for now, and we will see if anything changes by the time I get this entry posted. In one ear, I have 80s music, and in the other ear, (short intermission for minor domestic matter) the sounds of puttering Real Life Romance Hero and his fuzzy shadow, Skye. There was also a brief discussion of expiration dates on luncheon components (occupational hazard and/or benefit of having a spouse in the restaurant industry.) The verdict: lunch will not kill us today. That’s reassuring.

One more check of Gmail, annnnd….nope. Le sigh. Okay, winging it instead, because I have pages to get ready for N tomorrow, more pages for Melva soon thereafter, and an arduous stretch of research for an upcoming Heroes and Heartbreakers post. (Okay, not that arduous, as it involves watching key moments from The Walking Dead.) Right now, I’m grumbly, because I had an outline for the post I intended, even a bunch of sticky notes on the wall next to my desk. My first instinct was to take a picture to make up for the pictures that I can’t access until the queue comes through, but that picture would go to the end of the queue, so not exactly an option here. Which is okay. I can refocus.

Plan B is a part of the writing life. It’s going to happen. It happens when we hit “delete” instead of “save,” empty our trash, and then realize what we did. It happens when life intervenes, and we can’t write about XYZ right now, because it’s now either too close to home, or we’re not in that place anymore. Any number of reasons, really. This is the part of the post where I haul out the old Japanese proverb, fall down five times, get up six.

So, what does this mean for today? Since we are now three weeks until I join fellow writer/bloggers,  Corrina Lawson and Rhonda Lane at the Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference, and talk about blogging, I feel like I should have something to say here about what one does when one finds oneself in a situation like this. There’s “feel like” and there’s “actually do.” I like having a plan. In fact, the post I wanted to write was all about my use of notebooks in planning, my solution to getting to the end of my current morning pages book before finding a suitable replacement (the answer: DIY, pictures to follow) and how a notebook, no matter how much I love it when it’s pristine and brand new, isn’t really mine-mine until it’s stuffed full of sticky notes, with notes scribbled in the margins, decorative tape on the pages (that’s a new one, but what has been seen cannot be unseen) and how Picasso really was right that all creation begins with destruction (of the blank page/canvas.)  I can blabber about all of that, but it’s not the same without the pictures. Not that not having pictures stops me, but it does present a challenge.

Which is okay. I can write that post on Wednesday. I have the pictures on the way,  I have the sticky notes on my wall, and I’ve blabbered my way to nearly the magic 700, so I’ve got that going for me. Once I am done here, it is lunch with Real Life Romance Hero, and then I get to go play with my imaginary friends (part of me suspects I should be capitalizing that -Imaginary Friends- since I am using it instead of their names) and also have some tea. The tea is important. By that time, I will probably have given up on my earbud, singular, and opt for closed office door and computer speakers because I need my playlists. This will also result in Skye outside said office door, looking pitiful. Okay, maybe make the speakers and slightly open office door and Real Life Romance Hero will need to deal with the sounds coming from said speakers, because kitty face.

Allrighty, past the magic 700 mark, so time to feed my beloved family and then off to century eighteen. See you Wednesday.

Sifting For Nuggets (not the chicken kind)

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Right now, I am sitting at my desk, with my second cup of tea after I got back from the laundromat (third cup of tea for the day, total) in a short-sleeved t-shirt, with a blanket on my lap, because wearing a sweatshirt is too hot, but not having anything snuggly is too cold. This is the acceptable compromise. So far,  I have written and discarded several paragraphs of this entry, because they ended up going nowhere, which means they were not the right topic for today’s post. I am listening to the Discover Weekly playlist Spotify suggested for me. I would rather be writing fiction.

Part of that is because I have my weekly critique session with N tomorrow, and I need to show her pages. Part of that is because I have more of an idea what I need to write on both books than I do this entry. I like having a plan. Because of last week’s sinus headache, I do not have a plan for this entry. Which means I am winging it, because I can get to the fiction writing once I have the blog posted, so time to whip off the metaphorical coverup, run down the metaphorical dock, shout, “Ronkonkoma,” and cannonball into the water. There. That’s  plan. Kind of. We’ll go with that.

The first thing I tried to write about here was that today starts the official (for me, anyway) countdown to conference time. One month from now, I will be on my way to the Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference, and my first time co-presenting a workshop (on blogging, yet; wait, I know stuff about that? :shifty eyes: Hi, I’m Anna. I take pictures of my desk and blabber about my imaginary friends. Thank you for giving me roughly an hour of your time. Did I mention numbers are not my strong suit? Yeah, that’s why I make up stories and tell people who kissed on TV.) I am also, after a coughtycough years hiatus from pitching, voluntarily sitting across a very small table from an industry professional and tell her why her readers should hand over coin of the realm to play with my imaginary friends. I also have no idea what I’m wearing, although it will probably be black. So that’s one thing settled…and I’m drifting, but over halfway to the magic seven hundred words that will let me post this puppy and move on to the fiction writing part of our day.

The other part of why I would rather be writing fiction right now is that this is one of those turning points, where Hero commits to a course of action and takes his first steps -or missteps, really, at this point- in that direction. He knows what he wants to do, even if he isn’t entirely sure how to start actually doing it, and, while that’s not at all fun for him, it is for me. Call it one of those instances of authorial schadenfreude. Maybe two, really, because, when I get done with him, I get to go torture Heroine for a while. I also get to mess with Guy and Girl later in the week, when Hero and Heroine need a break.

The pull to get back to both couples is strong, and I get itchy when I’ve been away from them for too long, which is a very good thing. That means they’re real and alive and taking an active role in getting ready to meet readers. Always helpful when they carry their share of the load. Mighty kind of them, as Real Life Romance Hero would say.

One might argue, if the pull is that strong, that I might have flipped things around and written the fiction first, before tending to bloggy matters. That’s true, I might, but I also know myself well enough to know that, once I get in there, I’m not going to want to come out and I’d get to the end of the day and oh shoot, where did the blog go? Nope. This is where the discipline comes into play. To paraphrase Lin-Manuel Miranda (who kind of maybe knows a thing or two about this writing stuff) when inspiration isn’t there, toss stuff on the page without inspiration and then sift for nuggets.

I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean chicken.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Headache Relief Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Things have been quieter than usual around here for the last couple of days, because Anty has a sinus headache. She gets those sometimes, before a big rain, which we were supposed to have, but did not get, so the headache stuck around. Do not worry, part of the duties of a mews is to be a good nurse when needed, so I have been sticking close. She is starting to do better now, so I think that means I have been doing a good job. Taking her medicine with caffeine and taking naps probably helped, too, but I think it was mostly me. Also Uncle. All right, and Mama.

Anyway, Anty thinks the worst of it is probably over, and that is a good thing. She did get a brand new picture of me, and in a very crafty way. She fed me, in my room, and then sat in the doorway and waited for me to finish. I could not get out without getting past her, and that is when she took my picture. She also paid me for my trouble by letting me watch a few minutes of my favorite movie, Koi in Their Winter Tank. I love this movie. It is wonderful. It has everything. It has fish, and, well, that is really all it needs. I will take movie time as fair payment for my work.

Anty is now making noises that could mean her sinuses are draining, or they could mean that she would like me to get to the point and post about her writing, so I will do that. She is on her own with the sinus thing. This week, as usual, she posted on Buried Under Romance. It is all about spring awakenings (no, not the Broadway show) this week, and the thrill of discovering something new. You can read that post here, and the link on the main page looks like this:

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Her next post at Buried Under Romance will be up tomorrow, so stop by to see what she is talking about this week.

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Since it is now March, it is now time to report how Anty is doing on her Goodreads challenge. She is four books behind schedule, which she does not like, but she is not worried. Four books is not that much, and she has four in her currently reading section, so all she has to do is finish those, and boom, back on track. If you would like to see Anty’s reading progress, you can do that here, and, so far, it looks like this:

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This week, the days have been mostly the days they are supposed to be, except for Wednesday being Tuesday. That was a little disconcerting, but two good things happened because of Tuesday being a day late. The first one is that the mallards are back in the lake at the park. I am always in favor of the return of birdy-type creatures. Maybe Anty will take a movie of them and let me watch it. Anty makes very good duck movies. To be fair, the mallards may have been back before Wednesday, but that is when Anty saw them.

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The other good thing is that Anty is very glad she had the extra day to work on her pages for Her Last First Kiss, because Miss N said that these were Anty’s best pages yet. Anty was very happy to hear that. Critique Partner Vicki also loved these pages, so that went a long way to balance out all of the headache ick. Getting good feedback lets Anty know that the story in her head is making it to the pages, and makes her want to go home and write even more pages. Even when a headache makes her want to smash her head into a wall. Do not worry, she did not actually do that. It is a figure of speech.

Anty also found a really, really good passage in Miss N’s pages and told Miss N exactly that. Miss N told Anty that, for that part, she sat down with pen and paper and put on the page exactly what was in the character’s head. That is also what Anty did for one of the scenes in her own pages. Great minds, it would seem, really do think alike. Anty and Miss N talked about that for a while, and how, for both of them, it is sometimes easier to write with pen and paper than compose directly on the computer. Pen and paper are also more portable (eve with laptops) so, really, writing can happen anywhere. In Anty’s case, writing by hand can help her feel even more connected to her characters, because she writes historical stories. Miss N’s story is contemporary, but she is also thinking about a historical of her own, when this is done.

Hopefully, Tuesday will be on Tuesday this coming week, because Anty is very much looking forward to moving into the next phase of this second draft. This will involve research into old-timey bathtubs, art history, and putting Hero in the unfortunate position of wanting to cross the one line he swore he would never cross. Heroine does not come off much better in this chapter, because what she wants to do and what she has to do are two different things, and she is not okay with that. Anty loves that kind of stuff.

Taking pleasure in things getting worse for other people, and taking an active role in making things worse for them, would be mean in real life, but, for writers, it is not mean at all. It is actually good, because things have to get worse for the characters, before they can get better. They can only be completely happy at the very, very end. Because Anty and Miss N both write romance, they know that the happy ending is a guarantee, but, up until then, anything goes, and that is a lot of the fun in writing. No matter what Anty and Miss N throw at their story people, things will be all right in the end. That is also the source of many of the evil cackles and overly dramatic groans anyone in Panera might hear on Tuesday mornings (or whatever day Tuesday ends up being that particular week.)

Anty says it is time for her to use the computer now, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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