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Typing With Wet Claws: Cat Days of Summer Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty is feeling a little under the weather right now (she does not do summer very well; that is why my blog entry is late today, but she will be fine with a little rest and a lot of water) so I may have more wiggle room for artistic expression here than I usually do. I still have to talk about her writing first, though, so let us get that done first.

Anty’s latest Saturday Discussion post at Buried Under Romance is about delayed gratification, so I thought about putting it at the end of today’s entry instead, but Anty reminded me which one of us can reach the treat shelf in the pantry, so it is in the regular place, which is here, and it looks like this:

BUR

When you have a special book, can *you* wait for it?

This has been an interesting week around here. I am all done with my antibiotics, and, from the way I run when Anty rustles my treat bag, the humans are really sure the site of my butt explosion does not hurt me anymore. I did not need the cone of shame even once during my recuperation. Anty suggested that maybe she could put the cone of shame on a stuffed animal, because I was not going to need it but Uncle did not want her to do that. I have to side with Uncle on this issue. Well, really, on every issue. Uncle is my favorite; everybody knows that. Uncle also got a new people vet (the regular kind, not the emergency kind) this week, and he likes them very much. Anty and Mama did not have to fight very hard to get him into the carrier, and he takes his own pills. I admire his fortitude. That takes courage. Also opposable thumbs, which probably have something to do with said pill taking. Anty does have power to make executive decisions, though, so I am still not sure where the cone of shame is going to end up; as long as it is not on me, I do not really care.

Anyway, it has been an interesting  week for Anty’s writing, as well. She has had better production weeks, but that is okay. These things tend to balance out, and, for every day that is less than she would have liked, there is another day where it will go much more quickly. The important thing is to keep moving forward. On both projects, Her Last First Kiss, and the Beach Ball, Anty (and, in the case of the Beach Ball, Anty Melva) has reached milestones. Anty likes milestones. Those are markers of how far she has come, and remind her that she can make it to the next one, because she’s already made it this far. Anty does not normally count words while writing a draft, because that is too distracting, but she does have an outline, and seeing how far she is into the outline makes her happy. Maybe she can find or create some kind of chart so she can track  her progress that way. Anty loves organizing things, so I think she might like being able to see at a glance how much progress she is making, her way.

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When Anty’s story people hit a milestone, that means that they cannot go back to the way they had been before they hit that milestone, because they are different now, a sort of different that cannot be undone. At the very end, because these are romance novels, that is the biggest milestone; the humans have promised to be with each other forever, and they will never be all alone again. Before that, it is more of a matter of tracking the humans’ changes from who they thought they were (sometimes, who other humans told them they had to be) into who they really were all along.

Anty finds that kind of thing very interesting. A once-upon-a-time friend once said that all of Anty’s stories are about moving on after a loss, and that is true, because they (at least the ones that I have seen) are, and they are also about the humans finding out that they do not have to have somebody else tell them who they are; they can figure that out for themselves. That does not mean that all of Anty’s stories are the same, because they are not. Every human has their own individual challenges along the way, and when it is two unique humans, fighting their own battles, who find each other, well, that it what Anty finds the most interesting of all. Even during the cat days of summer. I know most people call them the dog days, but the only dog I know is Bailey, and he does the same thing I do; lie around and drink water, same as Anty wants to do on hot days. Also work on her stories. Some things never change.

Anty has also rallied enough to want the computer back, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

 

 

Postmidweek Rambles

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Wednesday’s post is on Thursday this week, because Thursday was a domestic tornado day. Doctor appointment for Real Life Romance Hero, which took longer than expected, but good result, trip to pharmacy afterward, then grocery store, then…collapse. The first thing I wanted this morning, when I got up, for the first time, was to go back to sleep. Also, the second, third, and fourth. At some point, I relocated to the comfy chair, mustered enough energy to get out mechanical pencil and notebook and got some good longhand done, but I still would like to trade it all in for more shuteye. Morning pages got written, because my brain has learned to follow that discipline, and, if I am able to get out of the bed, then I am dragging the bones to the office and filling those two pages. Got it? Yes, ma’am. Got that. Allrighty, then. Shooting for the same with this blog entry and my discussion post, and then we’ll  see about nappage.

Writing a whiny post is  not my intention, but if that’s what happens, that’s fine. It will still be a post, because I am still going to hit my magic seven hundred before I can cross this off my list and move on to the next items. Besides, or between, the domestic tornadoes yesterday, I chatted with a writer friend, about projects and motivation and reclaiming the fun in writing. We both have been at that place where the Hypercritical Gremlins are shouting in our ears, through megaphones, and there aren’t any dissenting voices, so the Hypercritical Gremlins must be right. That’s what it looks like, but that’s not what’s true. What’s needed, at that point, is a shift in perspective.

Last night, when I finally slipped between the sheets, ready for my nightly ritual of squinting at the teeny print in a mass market paperback, possibly but probably not through the fingerprint-covered-muck of the supposedly magnifying bookmark it feels like I’ve had since forever, but rarely used, something occurred to me. What if I took it out of the sleeve? Duh. This honestly never crossed my mind before last night, not even once. Sleeve was clear, which meant I could see through it, which meant that, obviously, I was the one doing something wrong here. Well, yes, but not the way I thought.

I checked the top of the sleeve, and, sure enough, it opened. I withdrew the bookmark. Held it over the page. Insert favorite exclamation here. Enlarged, clearly legible text. Even with only my left eye and its  ninja cataract. This was a game changer. Well, okay, then. Let’s roll. I held the bookmark over page after page.  I didn’t have to strain, and could focus (pun intended) on not the marks on the page, but the story. I finished the book in fairly short order, and fell asleep looking forward to what book I’d pick for the next night, to take its place. Current plan is to go through the stack of library books in order of when they are due. Cuts down on the possibility for overthinking there.

Where am I going with this? Mainly to the magic seven hundred, because then I get to tackle the next thing on my list, my Saturday Discussion post. Do I have a topic? No. Will I, when I get there? Yes. It’s that left foot, right foot thing, same as blogging thrice weekly and filling two pages first thing in the morning. I made my first attempt at writing this entry yesterday, had absolutely nothing to say then, and a not sure I have that much more to say now, but if I don’t make this entry, then it carries over into the weekend, because Skye is not giving up her Friday spot. Saturday is my Buried Under Romance day, and Sunday is a day of rest (supposedly) and then Monday again. Faithful readers know how long I carried a missed Wednesday post, last time, and I am not willing to go into that again. So, onward I go, babbling all the way.

Discoveries like the bookmark thing amuse me. The answer was right there, the whole darned time, and it took me how many months to figure out I should take the bookmark out of the sleeve? Really? It’s the same with discoveries about the writing process. I read mass market books more easily with a magnifying bookmark? Well, then, take it out of the sleeve and use it. My storybrain flows more freely with pen and paper? Ink that sucker and turn the page and have at it, madam. First draft goes more quickly with bullet points rather than proper prose? Lock and load, because bullets are about to fly.

Some days, it comes hard. Some days, it comes easy. What’s important is that it comes. If it’s not coming, step back an take a look. What, exactly, isn’t feeling right? Sometimes, it’s as easy as taking the bookmark out of the sleeve.

 

 

 

 

 

Another Meh-nic Monday

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It’s been one of those days. I’m tired, Real Life Romance Hero is not feeling his greatest, and I’ve written and erased false starts to this blog at least five times. This has been one of those days when it feels like I’m smashing my head against a brick wall instead of putting fingers to keyboard. It’s not entirely unproductive. I wrote some in longhand while at the Laundromat this morning, but I’d like to have done more. The day isn’t over yet, so maybe I still will, but maybe it’s time to fall back on an old bit of common sense. If I’m not able to put out, then maybe it’s time to take in for a while.

Now that it’s finally August, with school supplies and even the first trickles of Halloween merchandise in the stores, summer doesn’t seem quite so endless anymore. The weather has been gorgeous the last couple of days. Cool, gray and rainy. We should be getting thunderstorms later tonight. Skye is not terribly thrilled about that, and I’m not sure it’s going to be RLRH’s weather of choice at present, but I’m looking forward to it, hopefully to be observed from beneath a comfy afghan, cup of tea optional but likely.

RulerBlackboard

at least that’s the plan

Today, I took down the cobbled-together  calendar I’d assembled from blank calendar pages, paper clipped to last year’s calendar, and replaced it with the ruler-framed chalkboard. I have my planner when I need a calendar, and there’s a calendar right on the computer. We’ll revisit the calendar thing when we see the 2017 collections appear. Having something intentional on my wall, and something I can easily change at will, feels like a much better fit that a mess that gave me a headache every time I looked at it. If I really super need a calendar in that particular spot on my wall, I can draw a grid on the blackboard, but I don’t foresee that becoming a screaming need in the immediate future.

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Current daily carry

New office supplies are always a mood booster, and this time of year means it’s time to stock up on the necessities at a bargain price. The big notebook (which is for a particular project) doesn’t fit in the pouch, but that’s why I have the mini Moleskine Volant. Even on days like this one, when the mehs set in, the lure of fresh paper, pens and highlighters, is pretty darned hard to resist. Bonus points for encouragement from Sir Winston Churchill.

SkullCup

my new drinking buddy

Well over halfway to the end of this entry, so entering free babble mode here so I can cross “blog entry” off my list and get to that carrot on the stick, the reading. Reading can do a lot to turn a meh day around, so my hopes are high that this will be the case. Current  reads include, but are not limited to,  Marrying Winterbourne, by Lisa Kleypas, and  Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, by Jesse Andrews. I’d seen the movie version of Me and Earl, loved it, and binge-read my way through Jesse Andrews’s other novel, The Haters, which I also loved, so had to give the book version of Me and Earl a shot. So far, so good, even if I’ve only been able to read in short spurts lately.

That right there may be a big contributor to today’s meh-ness. Taking in story is important, especially for those of us whose careers depend upon putting out story. Especially-especially for those of us getting back up on the metaphorical horse. That’s how we make the transition from mundane world to story world. That’s how we hone our own voices, by reading/hearing the work of others. Earlier today, H and I chatted on Skype, her sharing tidbits from her current reading material – the letters Alexander Hamilton wrote to Eliza. We both agreed that, if Alexander were alive today, he’d be constantly texting Eliza, who would probably appreciate him dialing it back a notch, because raising eight children and all that kind of thing, does require a portion of a gal’s attention. I actually snort-laughed when H shared a video of Lin-Manuel Miranda, at a Ham for Ham event, reading from the actual letters, came to the part where Alexander suggested he and Eliza start numbering their letters, because obviously  some of them were getting lost, and that way, they could tell which ones. This would be letter number one, and would she please write back soon?

The above was indeed relevant to my interests, as Hero, in Her Last First Kiss, carries a portable (lap) desk around with him; Hero would totally be on Alexander’s side with this one. Numbered letters; why didn’t he ever think of that? Okay, there we go, babbled myself back into story mode. Mission accomplished.

:cracks open paperback:

See you Wednesday.

Typing With Wet Claws: Heart of a Storyteller, Hand of a Smurf Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty wanted me to get this post up early in the morning, but that is not what happened, for a couple of reasons. First, it is sometimes hard for Anty to get to sleep when it is hot and muggy (I do not have that problem, thankfully. I can sleep anytime.) Then, when she finally did (after helping Mama to give me my pill, which I do not like) she crashed, hard. Then she remembered she had a lot of things to do, the first of which was dealing with my stuff. All I will say is that I hit the trifecta today. It is a good thing Anty has puppy pads and Febreeze. Also, Anty had to do laundry, and, because it was late, it was while a lot of people were there, instead of no people, which makes for a different experience, and crabbier Anty. Anyway, if you are wondering why this is showing up in the afternoon instead of the morning, that is why.

Because part of our deal is that I have to talk about Anty’s writing first, I will do that now. She has been busy. First, her Buried Under Romance post on the struggle of getting into a book that isn’t quite working is here, and it looks like this:

 

BUR

Anty loves when readers leave comments. She will even answer them.

 

Anty also wrote a review of a book she found very interesting, If I Fall, by Lauren Oliver. That book got Anty thinking about voice, emotion, and characterization, a lot. Her review is here and it looks like this:

GOODREADS

Yes, Anty is pondering how this could work in historical romance.

For actual fiction writing, this has been a good week, too, summerbrain not withstanding. On Tuesday, when Anty met with Miss N, Anty had the hands of a smurf, because she is still learning how to refill fountain pens. Also because she had a blueberry bagel, but, mostly, it was the ink. Not only did she get ink on her hands while filling her pen, but when she took off the cap, she shot a stream of inky blue water all the way across the table, because she had not gotten all of the water out when she rinsed the nib. I did not see that, because that was at Panera and I was at home, but there is a picture, so I will share that with you here:

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Heart of a storyteller, hand of a smurf.

Anty finds that writing in longhand is her very best way to get the ideas out of her head and into readable form. She is also very thankful that first drafts are supposed to be rough, because this one is. That is okay. She is laying down the foundation, and she can go back and make it pretty later (even though she likes to do the actual writing on pretty paper; you cannot see it much in this picture, but her paper is very pretty. The design is mostly on the borders, and her writing is in the middle.) Right now is when she follows her characters around and writes down what they do. This is not the time to be concerned about whether the language is entirely period specific, so it is okay if she has a character respond with “FML” after something very, very, very inconvenient happens. That is exactly what she did, actually; she can go back after the draft is done and translate that to its eighteenth century equivalent. She can also go back and figure out how Heroine’s very young half-sibling would address her in a letter, especially since English is not the half-sibling’s first language. That would be Russian, for those who were wondering.

Yesterday, Anty did remember her notes, and they amounted to a lot more than she thought that she did. She did not want to have to stop working on the book to take care of other things, but I have a very persuasive “feed me” face. Please refer to today’s picture, in case you have any doubts about that. There were other things she had to do, as well, including reading, because story in means story out, but I think it was mostly my “feed me” face, even though she was at the coffee house and I was at  home. My “feed me” face is that strong, trust me on this. Even so, Anty still has Hero and Heroine hanging around her brain, talking to her whether or not it is writing time. That is when she knows she has hit her stride and is on the right track.

Since Anty is making her “I need the computer” face at me, that should probably be about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

 

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

This Is My Brain On Summer

annabowling 2 Comments

I had plans for this afternoon. I was going to head to my favorite coffee house, with the legal pad on which I’d written stuff for two scenes of Her Last First Kiss, and transcribe in air conditioned comfort, directly under a ceiling fan. Good in theory failure in execution. The hitch? I left the legal pad at home. Since I live less than a full block away, there was the temptation to ask the barista to hang onto my iced tea while I raced back home, but I am not racing anywhere in this heat. I’m already sun and heat sensitive, and not going outside any more than I absolutely have to until this heat dome lifts.

So, today went to plan B. I had some Beach Ball work to do, and switched gears to take care of that. First up, check on the comments Melva gave on the chapter I sent her. Which cut off a full two pages early than the actual scene. Okay. Find backup copy, pray it has the missing pages (it did) and send off the correct version, as well as the compiled document with all of our scenes in it. These are more or less in order, and, seeing them together, criminy crikes, this is a book. Still in the gestational stage, but definitely a book. Guy and Girl (to differentiate from Hero and Heroine) have got to their first threshold of contact. Plot arc and romance arc progressing, historical adjacent stuff inserted at the proper (we think) time, and seeds for future things planted. This is all a good thing. Not what I had planned for the day, but I am calling it good. I can pick up on what I wanted to work on today, tomorrow, and the world will not  end. Doing things in a different order is still doing them, so forward we go.

Possibly into the babbling portion of this blog entry, because this is the last thing on my list for the day. It was going to be one of the first things, but see mention of doing things out of order. There are times, when the unrelenting heat stays unrelenting, that the only thing to do is plunk one’s feet in cold water and crack open a book somebody else wrote. When putting story out isn’t working, take story in; refill the well. A reading break, if nothing else, gets my mind into story mode, in general, which is a good thing .

When the heat gets too high, and invites its BFF, humidity, along for the ride, it can be difficult to slog through the brainmelt and actually get stuff done. Interesting timing there, with this brainmelt arriving the same time I’m getting my stride back, writing wise, but that’s how things work, I suppose. Resistance builds strength and all that. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Story, story, story, story, story, story, story. That’s my happy place, any time of year, and slipping into storyworld makes consecutive days of 90plus temperatures somewhat more bearable.

As my mother used to tell me, the more I do, the more I’ll want to do, and she’s right. Every morning, I drag myself to the morning pages, even when I have no idea what I want to put on those pages. It’s the discipline that’s building the practice. This is telling my brain that this is what we’re going to be doing for the majority of the day. The pretty pages mean my eyes want to stay on those pages, and good thing, because I have two more notebooks by the same makers, to take up when I finish this one. Okay, one and a half, really, as I’d tried using one of them for one thing, and that Did Not Work Out. That, though, was before I discovered rollerballs and fountain pens, so that notebook is only resting for a little while.

Exercising any muscle makes it stronger, which is why I set myself the discipline of three blogs per week. Okay, two, but getting a cat to write the third one for me is pretty darned creative all on its own, so credit there, surely.

Allrightyroo, that is the magic 700 words, so this blog entry is d-o-n-e, done. Tomorrow, Hero and Heroine, tomorrow, I am coming for you. For now, air conditioning and reading break. Toodles.

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Autumn is Coming Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for my regular Feline Friday post. I would like to send out a big thank you to everybody who checked in to see how I have been doing since my big vet adventure last week. As you can see, I am not wearing the cone of shame, and my, um, stuff, has all been regular for the whole week. My humans have been shooting bad-tasting liquid into my mouth twice a day. They tell me it keeps infection away, which I do not fully understand, but they do feed me immediately after that, and I do understand food.

Since I am feeling much better now, Anty says I have to go back to talking about her writing first. This week, she is a little embarrassed (and by a little, I meant that she went down into the  neck of  her t-shirt like a turtle when she realized this and made a sound I am not sure I have heard before) that she did not post anywhere about her Buried Under Romance discussion post. She was excited about this topic, too, but then my butt exploded, which was pretty distracting for everybody, so I think she is allowed an oops on this one. In case you missed it, and you probably did, because she did not post anywhere, (but people who commented, you made Anty’s day) the discussion on treasures of the used bookstores is here and it looks like this:

BURSCREENSHOT

Apologies for the black part at the bottom. The crop tool is difficult to use when you have paws instead of hands.

 

This week, Anty has been hard at work on her turn with the Beach Ball. Anty Melva showed Anty the scene she had written, which made Anty take another look at her own scene, and want to change some things about it. Anty loves working with Anty Melva, so she does not mind, and then new scene will probably be better than the one she had originally written. It could have picked better timing, though, because Anty is feeling a little sluggish herself, something she gets when she is stressed and does not get enough sleep. She knows what to do when that happens, so there will be no cone of shame for her, either.

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Shoes like this are important in the Beach Ball’s story, so this picture may become a visual cue for when Anty talks about it. She is not sure about that yet. We will see.

 

As much as Anty likes playing with the Beach Ball, she is very eager to get back to Her Last First Kiss, which is going to require cracking open the old laptop, because that is the one with Scrivener on it, and Anty wants to preserve disk space on the new laptop. She is actually kind of paranoid about it, and cleans up extraneous files daily. By “kind of,” I mean “really, really, really.” She says she may crack in her resolve here and put Scrivener back on the new laptop, because the old one takes its time doing things, and she wants to keep the ball rolling.

Either way, Anty gets itchy when she spends too much time away from that story. One of the most important things she has learned on this long and winding road back to the active writing life, is that, the longer she is away from a project, the more challenging the road back will be. There have been times when the road has been so long and convoluted that she got so hopelessly lost that she might as well have ended up on the wrong continent. Her worst-worst nightmare in the really real world is to be stuck, alone, someplace from which she cannot get back on her own. The last few years have felt like that sometimes, and she is not willing to let that happen again. So, this time, she’s going to take steps to make sure that does not happen. Some of those steps, she is figuring out as she goes. This may be one of them.

I have faith in her, though, because I know a secret. Okay, it is not really a secret. Autumn is coming. That is the time of year when Anty gets her super powers back. As you may be able to tell in my picture, there is a floof on my neck. “Floof” is our family’s word for the bunches of fur I shed at one time. I always start around my neck, and when I start making neck floofs, that means I am going for the Big Shed. This time of year, it will mean shedding my sleek summer coat (well, as sleek as Maine Coons get; we are pretty fluffy all year round) and growing in my nice, warm winter coat. That will make me super fluffy.

Autumn also makes Anty super happy, because it is her favorite season (but when it is winter, she will say that is her favorite season. I think they take turns) not only because I start getting fluffier, the leaves turn pretty colors and fall on the ground, and there is pumpkin flavored everything (Anty loves pumpkin flavored everything) but because that is usually when Anty hits her stride and becomes more productive. Earlier this week, Anty spent an entire day piecing together everything she and Anty Melva have written on the Beach Ball, to see how far along they are.

Although Anty does not like to count words when she is drafting, Anty Melva wanted to know how far they were, so she found out. She was super impressed. They have already written a bunch and are well on their way. They wrote more than Anty thought they had; a lot more, actually. Now it is her job to finish this scene and send it to Anty Melva, so that they can be even further along. She knows what her next scene, after Anty Melva’s next scene, is going to be, so she can work on that one, too.

Her next scene for Her Last First Kiss is one of her favorites so far, so she is very eager to get deeper into that and add more layers. Since the vet said that the other part of my butt is not looking explodable, I think it is safe to say I am not putting any obstacles in the way of that scene for this coming week. which means that is pretty much it for this week. Until next week, I remain, very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

Right Now, I Am an Egg

annabowling 3 Comments

On Twitter, at least. Seriously. See? Right here.

IAMANEGG

I am visible, I promise

 

Okay, not exactly there, because that picture has the camera with the plus sign, telling me where I can put the picture (in the literal sense; there may well be a figurative meaning in there as well, for all the challenge this has posed) but putting in actual picture? Nope.

To be fair, I liked the picture that was there before. It was actually the first picture of myself that I honestly liked in a long time, and that sparked some refining of my personal style, which is what sparked the desire to spiff my profile (all right, the factory reset on my laptop did have something to do with the matter as well) and I thought nothing could be easier than putting a new profile picture up, but, apparently, I was mistaken there.

At this point, I am tempted to leave the egg where it is. I am more concerned with the missing background on the page -can we even do that anymore on Twitter? If we can’t, I am sorely disgruntled over that development.- and satisfied with the header, which is my giant eyeballs, so, really, the profile picture is my only complaint here, which leaves me in a pretty good place, all things considered. Since I have been considering a lot of things lately, that is actually rather impressive.

Gmail is on a queue again, and I have no idea how that works, so the artfully composed and edited shot of my secretary desk, with my new morning pages book in action, and bonus guest “pastel” (I do not think that word means what the manufacturer thinks it means, but I love them anyway) gel highlighters, is not in my in-box, so what we get is the stripped-down shot of what is actually on my lap desk at present. Once I have a featured image at the top of my page, my brain knows it’s blog time, so I’ve learned to put anything up there and let the blabbering flow. I can always fix it (picture or blabbering) later.

Which is why I still don’t have Scrivener on my current laptop, and I don’t know that I’m going to reinstall it anytime soon. One, it’s still on the old laptop; two, Melva works in Word, which the old laptop also has, and converting documents is not either of our favorite things; 3) I like keeping this laptop lean; and 4) I freaking love composing in Word Pad, which surprises the heck out of me…and it doesn’t.

The other night, I was on Skype with H, both of us grumbly over where we were on respective projects. Facebook had decided I would like to remember the exact date an editor last confirmed to me they had received the book I’d sold them (for the record, Facebook, I did not.  I actually cried a little.) I said something along the lines of “stuff it, I’m doing it, right now.” (I did not use those exact words.)

If this were a movie, imagine  H and me, sitting, midpoint, on a dock that overlooks a scenic lake. This would be the part where I would clamber to my feet, whip my oversized white t-shirt over my head, revealing fashionable-yet-modest swimsuit beneath, race down the dock at top speed, shout, “Ronkonkoma!” (once-upon-a-time version of “cowabunga” et al, that a favorite cousin and I shared as kids) and cannonball into the water. This was not a movie, so what actually happened was that I stuck my flash drive into the UBS port…and then remembered the document was in Scrivener, and Scrivener is not yet reinstalled on this machine. Going back to the movie image, this would be where I would frantically try to un-cannonball because…well, not sure where to go with this one, because there would still be water, only not the kind of water I expected. Maybe it was cold. Maybe I’d spotted lake sharks.

In either case, impact. So what if I didn’t have that particular program? Word Pad would do, and so I opened a new document. I started swimming. I couldn’t format, couldn’t count words, couldn’t see any reminders of how far behind I was or how far I had to get to my goal. All I could do was tell the story, and that’s what I did. Much like writing longhand. It felt incredible. Since it was late, and I was tired, I paddled on back to the dock before too long, but with a sense that I’d discovered something I’d been missing (and no, FB, I don’t want a reminder of how long. Really, really don’t.) and that my muscles, though complaining, were stronger for the stretch.

Word Pad was something I’d written in, years and lifetimes ago, when I wrote paper letters to a once-upon-a-time friend when it was too hot to sleep, at a desk with stacks of historical romance novels piled on the floor behind me, because I didn’t have bookshelves in that room. Scrivener will definitely go on the new desktop, when that computer joins the family, and I am very glad to still have it on the old laptop, but, right now, I am writing these books. I am telling these stories, and the purity of throwing the story at the screen and seeing what sticks is motivating me like crazy. I refuse to let go of that, ever again.

I don’t have all the answers right now, and I’m not going to pretend I do. Rather, I’m finding them out as I go, and, this time, I am appreciating the journey. What works for me, now? What stories do I want to tell, now? What tasks can I realistically accomplish, today? Do those. I don’t have a fabulous new book deal to splash on the screen, but I am writing one and a half (Melva has the other half) books that I absolutely love, with people who are so real to me that I see things in stores and think, “Hero would love that; I should get him one,” before I remember they are fictional. I have articles in the hopper, more on the horizon, and forward we go.

Ronkonkoma!

:splash:

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Special Exploding Catbutt Edition

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Hello, all, Skye here, for a special Monday edition of Typing With Wet Claws, because this weekend was all about me. What was supposed to happen was that Mama was going to get in the people carrier and go spend the weekend with Grandma, while Anty was going to stay home and get current on her reading. Uncle is the only one who did what he had planned, and went to work, which was a good thing, because this weekend was expensive. The fancy vet term for what happened to me is “ruptured anal gland,” but we will call it what it is: my butt exploded. I am fine now, which is why I am able to tell you about it, and Anty says I do not even have to talk about her writing first this time. This post may contain descriptions of gross things that come out of kitties, so if you are squeamish, know that I am fine, and will see you Friday.

For those who are still reading,  here is what really happened. Mama had noticed I was more interested in my own butt than usual for a day or two, but I am a tough girl and did not let anybody know I was not feeling my very best. Then, on Saturday morning, a couple of hours before Mama was supposed to get in the people carrier, I made my usual puddle in my usual place. Anty told me what a good girl I was, like she usually does (because I usually am) and then she noticed a glop of something else next to it. She put pads down on my puddle (they are called puppy pads, but they work on kitty puddles, perfectly fine) and then got a tissue to pick up the glop. At first, she thought it was throwup, but she hadn’t heard me throw up, so it could not be that. She examined the tissue, and thought it looked like blood. She showed it to Mama, who thought it looked like blood, too.

That was when Mama picked me up and Anty looked at my butt. Yes, the blood was coming from me, even though I did not act like I was in pain. (I told you, I am a tough girl.) That was when they knew there would be a big change in plans. Mama called some vets, to see if who could look at me that same day, and she found one, who is now my regular vet, because everybody liked her. I acted like my normal self all morning. I followed Uncle around, asked for food, flopped in my sunbeam, and even tried to get some of the blood off by myself. The humans were not entirely sure I should be doing that, so Anty kept an eye on me while Mama made sure Uncle got to work. Then Mama came home and she and Anty put me in the cat carrier, which then went in the people carrier (humans call this a “car.”) Anty held my carrier in her lap the whole time and talked softly to me, because I like soft voices. That kind of helped, but I still knew where we were going.

When we got to the vet’s waiting room, there were a lot of other pets. There was a chocolate Lab puppy (they did not have a tail, but they did have a waggly butt anyway) and a huge brindle and white pit bull who did have a tail; it was waggly, too. His papa told Anty and Mama that he loves coming here, until they go in the back. I think that is a smart pit bull. There was also a curly orange dog, who wanted to be friends with the pit bull. I was very interested in what they were doing, but I stayed in my carrier.

Until, of course, we got in the back. The vet tech took me out of my carrier and put me on a soft blankey so I would not be cold on the table. She also told me how pretty I am. She is very smart. She asked Mama and Anty if I was there because of my bloody butt, and Anty said she thought I might have had a ruptured anal gland. The vet tech checked and said that is exactly what happened. Then the vet came, to double check and to decide what I needed. I got a shot and some pills (they are liquid; Mama and Anty have to team up to get me to take them) and the vet told them how to put warm compresses on my butt to make it feel better. I am a tough girl, so I do not always tell them. The compresses will also tell them how the site is doing; I might have blown all the gunk at once, and now only need to heal. One of the pills is in case I do have any pain, and the other is an antibiotic. The pain pill makes me a little sleepy, so I get extra naps, which I do not mind.

skyeatvet

Me at the vet. Can you tell the blankey has a dog bone design?

The vet also gave me a cone of shame, in case I started going at my butt again, like I did before. So far, I have not. Mama says we already paid for the cone, but it does not look like I am going to need it. I do not know what they are going to do with it if I don’t. Maybe I can be a kitty martini for Halloween. The top picture is from when the vet tech showed Anty how to put the cone on me. Now she knows. This concerns me. Anty did distract me while we waited for the vet tech to come back, though, by playing me relaxing music on her phone, and showing me a movie she made, about ducks swimming. I was very interested in that movie, until I realized the ducks were doing the same thing over and over. Anty should make longer duck movies, next time. I am not into short films.

Anty says it is time to wrap things up, because I am perfectly fine, and she needs the computer. She is right. I am eating and socializing and asking for attention, and am even a good girl for my pills and butt compresses. Mama says I have an expensive butt, but everybody agrees that I am worth it. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours

i1035 FW1.1

See you Friday….

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Factory Reset Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is still very hot and muggy out, so I am coming to you today from my super cool and comfy flop space in the dining room. I do not know why they call it the dining room, because that is not where my dish is. My dish is in Mama’s room, and I am such a good girl that, last year, when it was hot, and Uncle tried to feed me in the living room, I would not do it. I looked at him, all sad and confused, and showed him where my food goes. Because he is smart, he moved it to the right place and then I could eat. So, I do not know why the humans call this the dining room, but it is where I flop when I want to stay cool, but the humans walk through my hallway too much.

Anyway, Anty’s rule is that I have to talk about her writing first, so her most recent Buried Under Romance post is  here, and it looks like this:

BUR

The parts in the black lines will only look like that if you are on Anty’s computer right now. Which you should not be. Use your own, please and thank you.

 

This past week, Anty talked about the different kinds of romance novels with American settings. She only now remembers that Janet Dailey wrote a series with books set in all fifty states, but that is not very useful when she wrote the discussion post last week. That is okay, though, because this has been a week with a lot of things to distract her. First, she twisted her ankle early on Monday morning, while she was getting dressed and Uncle was asleep. Since I am a kitty, and have a built-in fur coat, I do not fully understand the whole getting dressed thing, but it did remind Anty why she prefers dresses to pants. She has never hurt herself while putting on a dress. She did not get hurt very badly, only a little, and still made her meeting with Miss N. She is walking fine now, which is a good thing, because this has been a week where Anty has to do a lot of things.

Maybe the biggest thing was the time her computer exploded. Or imploded. Not literally, in either case, but there Anty was, talking to Miss H, when her screen began to flicker wildly and then go completely black. Anty may or may not have said some bad words when that happened. I am not allowed to say, in either case, so that I may retain some semblance of paws-ible deniability. Anyway, Anty got her computer to work again, and then, when she was about to post Monday’s blog on Tuesday, (the ankle thing took up a good chunk of Monday) it would not post. She checked the memory, since it had been in the red for quite some time and there it was, the dreaded zero. No room left at all.

After several tries of deleting programs to make enough room to do a system refresh, Anty called in Uncle to help. Uncle knows the signs of an impending Anty meltdown, and took over. He told her the only thing they could do was make the computer the same as it was when she first took it out of the box, and she said that was fine. Maybe it was the heat that contributed to her not freaking out about that, but she had learned to keep all her files on a jump drive, so she was pretty calm about the whole deal, and went off to read The Walking Dead graphic novel while Uncle did what had to be done. That is her comfort read; a book with pictures of zombies. I do not always understand Anty’s choices in these matters, but it works, and it worked this time.

The last two days, Anty has met her writing goals, although she does not have Word or Scrivener installed on her laptop at present. She has been using Word Pad and Google Docs, and that seems to work fine for where she is right now. She has been working on both Her Last First Kiss and the Beach Ball, and had a Skype conference with Anty Melva, to plan out the next few Beach Ball exchanges. That is pretty smooth for a week that started out with injury and computer meltdowns, complicated by weather that can best be described as “giant crock pot.” Anty is still not sure what is up with all of that, but she will probably figure it out soon. At the very least, she has managed to get some reading time in, and that is a very big help. I like to help her by sitting directly under her foot rest, so that she can’t put it down, and thus must remain in her comfy chair, with book, notebook or laptop. One of the many duties of a mews, even if my flop spaces are cooler.

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

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

Things That Almost Work

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Right now, I have a lot of things that almost work. A quick rundown:

  • Old laptop has stripped-down version of Sims 3, Word, Scrivener and Scapple, but loses internet connection quickly, and when it has it, it’s spotty. Also, there is no H key, and the only place I can put the external keyboard is on top of the built-in keyboard, which has some interesting results when one keyboard moves on top of another one. Hint: it is not the good kind of interesting.
  • Printer that works with new laptop says it has a paper jam, even when there is no paper in it, and I can’t see anything blocking anything.
  • Two fountain pens have full cartridges (one had a converter that is almost as old as I am, and finally gave up the ghost, so will no longer draw ink, hence use of cartridge) but said cartridges will not dispense ink, even though I have pierced the ends, and they do bleed ink, if I take them out of the pens, but that is not very useful.
  • Old desktop has Word, and Photoshop Elements, but the speakers are shot, it won’t recognize the internet at all, and, while it has a stripped down version of Sims 2, the CD ROM drive, which is needed for the disk to run the darned thing, keeps shooting out and trying to kill me (it has drawn blood, I am not kidding) while ejecting any disk I attempt to give it.
  • Our apartment has lovely, high, prewar ceilings, which I love, except when it comes time to change lightbulbs, which all but the bathroom and bathroom hallway need, and I can’t…quite…reach, and of course we can rent a ladder, but getting it to the house, in a small car, presents more challenges than comedic opportunities.
  • No matter what I do, my Twitter userpic is showing as a blank white square, even though I have tried different images, double, triple and quadruple checked the file size, deleted the old picture (which I am now regretting) and tried to start from scratch. Header worked fine on the first try, though, and I have no idea what happened to the backgrounds -plain white bothers me- and there is no design tab, which is what all the tutorials I find online tell me to look for. Is this just me?
  • We will not discuss the flip flop situation (also, I have always hated that name; my family called them zoris while I was growing up, and they still are that, to me) that has had the right sandal for two pairs die in one week, and the right one about to die, in the same place, on a third pair, after the Old Navy one-pair-for-a-dollar sale, because I cannot see the future, people.

I cannot count my current laptop as one of those almost-working things, because it is working, thanks to Real Life Romance Hero helping me with the factory reset, but I still need to decide what programs to put back into the thing and which I can leave to other devices.  Skype, I put back in right away, because I am me, and I am vacillating on Spotify. Sure, I could use my phone for music, but that means some juggling around of devices, and having everything in one place is convenient. Netflix is on my phone, and I plan on downloading to my tablet, as soon as tablet will cooperate (need to adjust screen sensitivity on that, which may also fit into the above list.)

Using Word Pad is actually rather freeing, which surprised me. There is no word count option, so that’s taken entirely away, and all I could do, yesterday, when transcribing from my pretty legal pad, was exactly that. Move the story points from paper to screen, slap an asterisk in front of every paragraph, because there’s not even an option to format a bullet point list, and off I go. No chance of checking to see where I was on word count, for either the scene or the book (and, at this point, doing so is a surefire motivation killer) but exactly the right place for my brain to make connections, spot details that needed adding, move things around, know how to do the things I didn’t before, etc. Not what I  had expected, but, maybe, what I needed.

I transcribed five handwritten legal pad pages into one file, named it, saved it, and went home, satisfied. Right now, I am telling the story, and I am telling it my way. There is plenty of time, once I get to The End, to smooth things out, make it pretty and ensure it is the right length for its intended markets. Her Last First Kiss is not going to be one of those books that almost worked. I’ve had too many of those. I do not want to count my miscarried manuscripts, but there are a number of them, and each one took a piece of me with them when we parted. This time, I need to keep the blinders on and keep moving forward, in the way that is right for me. The bells and whistles, all the “shoulds” and “everybody else does x-es” don’t matter. They need to take their place in the closet with the Hypercritical Gremlins and be quiet there.

My needs are my needs. They are not bad or wrong, only different. Your mileage may -and likely does- vary. The only thing I absolutely need to have is what gets me from Once Upon a Time to Happily Ever After, and those things that almost work? Why are they still here?