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Typing With Wet Claws: Rainy Day Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is rainy here today, so Anty is very happy about that. Rain gives her energy that too-bright days take away, and she is looking forward to getting things done. That is why she wanted me to get my blog out nice and early. I do not mind, because I would not have sunbeam time anyway, because of the rain.

This week, Anty had to say goodbye to one of her favorite characters, Derek Morgan,  on one of her favorite shows, Criminal Minds. Then she got to write about it for Heroes and Heartbreakers. That is a little tricky, because this character was part of a shipped pair, and that ship is now in drydock because Morgan married somebody else and left the job, and the show. It is here, and it looks like this:

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goodbyes are never easy

 

Anty is not sure if she will keep watching the show, but she will give it a few episodes, at least, to find out. She is interested to see the shift in the group dynamics of the rest of the team, and what sort of character will come along to fill the vacant spot. Anty is very aware that Criminal Minds is a crime drama, so the relationships are not the focus of the show, but that is still one of the main reasons that she watches. (Uncle refers to this show as “Soothing Serial Killers,” because Anty finds the show calming. For the most part, that is. There is an older episode where bad things happen to kitties, and she will not watch that one. I fully support her in that regard.)

Besides the relationships, Anty likes the psychological aspect of the show. She likes to see the profilers figure out why the bad guys are doing what they do, and what is the best way to stop them. Getting inside the characters’ heads is one of the things Anty loves best about writing, and that works very well with figuring out how relationships work, because romance novels are all about relationships. Every couple is comprised of two people who have psychological and emotional baggage of their own, and that is not magically solved when they fall in love. If anything, falling in love makes it worse, because that brings a whole new set of problems.

This kind of thing makes Anty very happy. Anty loves solving these sorts of problems and getting her heroes and heroines through their difficulties and on the right road to their hhappy endings at the end of the book. That gets her about as excited as waking up and finding our that the day will be rainy (the only thing better than a rainy day is a snowy day. We did not really have any of those this year. That did not please Anty, but she is over that now and happy to have rain.) When both of those happen at the same time, then that is a perfect storm. Today, Anty  has to go out with Mama and get some things done, but she is taking along her story notebook (and her all purpose notebook, and probably another notebook, in case she needs that one. She may also buy a new notebook, because she is Anty and requires multiple notebooks to survive.) because she does not want to shut off the movie in her head while doing other things, like getting cat food.

When Anty is on the right track with a story, it plays in her head all the time, even when she is doing other things, and, sometimes, she will follow it off to wherever it goes. This is all right when it is writing time, but when it is grocery time, that can have some interesting results. Mama knows Anty’s story world face (I am not allowed to post a picture of it) and can tell when Anty’s body is in the regular world, but  her brain and her heart are somewhere else. That is either a time to let Anty do what she needs to do, or very gently steer her back to the mundane task at had. She will usually be crabby if that is done too quickly, so Mama has to be very careful about when and how to do that. If all else fails, gummi bears can usually do the trick.

Sometimes, though, the only thing to be done is to leave Anty to it and try to keep up if she decides she needs to talk. For Anty, talking and thinking sometimes happen at the same time, and she will not know she knows something until she can talk about it. Then the idea unlocks and she needs to put pen to paper. This is why she has this many notebooks. On rainy days, especially rainy days when Anty is out and around a lot of people, the likelihood of this is a lot higher. I think this is going to be one of those.

It is about time for the humans to leave the house, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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

 

Head Down, Eyes On My Own Paper

annabowling 6 Comments

Welp. I’m sitting here in Panera, rather than the coffee house one block from my house, because we needed at item from a store near Panera, work area photo (the above is not it) taken but phone is being persnickety about sending it to other devices, so this will have to do. No idea what I’m going to talk about right now, because, right now, my brain is quite firmly lodged in story world (actually more than one of them, but I can compartmentalize things like that fairly easily) so we’ll go with the picture for inspiration.

Technically, I do not need any new notebooks. Ideally, I need them all. Reality is somewhere in between. This set of three cahiers screamed out that it wanted to come home with me, and I didn’t even have the shrink wrap off before I knew exactly how I wanted to hack this trio. I almost always hack notebooks, except for those that are already a perfect fit, as with my current daily pages book.

These are by Picadilly, one hundred pages each, a nice, round number, and have cream-colored, lined pages. I love Picadilly paper, but need more structure on my pages, so I draw a frame around each, add some color (in this case, suggested by the covers of each) et voila, new purse notebooks. I’ve used my Pilot Varsity and Micron pens in the “Make Today Great” book and will probably use my Bic Cristals in them at some point, but am leaning ever more strongly toward fountain pens as my favorites. I already have my eye on two more Pilot Varsity pens at our local art supply store, green and turquoise, and I’m going to need to replace the black one soon. I’ve read tutorials on how to refill the Varsity pens, which are sold as disposable. Half of me wants to try it, and half of me remembers I am me, and this will require pliers and an open bottle of ink. . I may have to recruit Housemate or Real Life Romance Hero on that one, or actually buy a real fountain pen, because that’s what I really want. We’ll see what happens.

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Picture break while I change the subject.

In the meantime, I’m writing. Current projects include Her Last First Kiss, as well as co-writing a novella I can best describe as ‘historical romance adjacent,’ and am diving into more book-related posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers. I can fangirl about historical romance novels all day long (no, seriously, I can. Ask Housemate or Real Life Romance Hero. They know.) and, as much as I love some of the older titles, this is an exciting time to be currently in the genre, as well.

This means I’m doing more reading. A lot more reading. Library books give me baleful looks from my TBR shelf as I peer intently at the screen of my phone, because either A) I have somehow missed how to increase the font size on Adobe Digital Editions, or B) their option to increase font size is only a cruel joke, and/or a test to see how badly I want to read the EARC (electronic advance reading copy) I have for an upcoming post. Blocking out time to read (and using a planner to do so) has meant a big boost, not only in how much I’m getting read, but the amount of time I devote to it.

Reading more keeps my brain closely aligned to story, and reading within my genre (though still keeping an eye out for realistic YA that catches my interest – I literally squealed when I saw the release of a new David Levithan is imminent. I’d read his grocery list, seriously.) gives me a firmer footing there. I hadn’t known that was missing. Well, no, I had, but I didn’t know that I didn’t know, if that makes any sense.

What it comes down to, for me, is head down, eyes on my own paper. It’s not a contest. While I’m sure there are people who read books by only one author, ever, that’s the exception rather than the rule. X’s success does not mean Y’s failure. It’s up to the individual. As long as I know what I’m doing, where I’m going, and what I need to get there, keep moving in that direction every day, it’s going to happen.

 

I can’t control the market. I can’t control the readership. I can’t control current events or other writers or the internet. What I can control is this: what I write. That’s it, and that’s probably a good thing. My job is to write my stories, my way. That means knowing what tools I need to get the job done, making sure that I have them, and that they are in good repair and ready to use. That means shutting out things that are going to get in the way of getting from “once upon a time” to “happily ever after.” That means studying my craft by reading the work of historical romance writers who came before me, and the work being produced by my contemporaries. That means filling my creative well and exposing myself to new experiences, to put new tools in my toolbox. That means knowing my voice, and knowing how to protect, nurture and develop it. That means saying “no” to things that are going to take me farther from my goal and “yes” to those that will bring me closer to it. That means making mistakes and falling down and getting back up to try again. That means  butt in chair, pen on paper and fingers on keyboard, by any means necessary.

TLDR:  Head down, eyes on my own paper. I got this.

 

Blarney

annabowling Leave a comment

I got nothing today. Seriously nothing, blogwise.  As in zip, zilch, nada, empty, dry, tumbling tumbleweeds through the echoing expanse of my head when it comes to blog topics for this midweek post. Only the thought of Skye making excuses for my lag (not a kind thing to do to a kitty) keeps me moving forward here. If there’s such a thing as blogger’s block, the only way through it is through it, and so here we are. Which is all a fancy way of saying I’m winging it today, at the end of the day, instead of yesterday, at the start of it.

Yesterday was one of  those domestic tornadoes that would have their own special on the weather channel, but things are settling now. I have heard there is a thing called “sleep” that I might like to try, but it is still daylight, and so not yet time.  Yesterday, I did manage to get out of the house despite the tornado, but the entirety of my blogging experience was staring at the screen, making a noise  best described as “ummmmhhhh…” Okay, I didn’t really make an audible noise. I made a mental noise, but that’s what it sounded like in my head. I think. I’m punchy, so it’s all pretty much a fog.

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Look, ducks, to distract from lack of wordage. Inversely as many ducks as productive blog ideas today. The fact that these ducks are from yesterday shames me. :hangs head:

 

I started today with the best of intentions. To do list made (mentally, that is, which was probably a mistake, in retrospect, because I forgot a big chunk of it) and self hustled out the door only an hour or two (ish?) later than intended, due to aforementioned punchiness. This brought me to Panera around (very early) lunchtime. I ordered a cup of tomato soup. They gave me a bowl. This may have thrown me. That is a big bowl. Like, a really big bowl, but I knew I was camping, so the longer I had food in front of me, the less obvious my camping would be.

 

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A lot of tomato soup. Also a lot of bread. Next time, I’m bringing a friend. Who likes soup. And bread.

 

My plan was to bang out a blog entry, which, in my notebook, I’d made some stabs at acknowledging the holiday. I might be part Irish. Maybe. Or possibly English. Potentially both. My birth mother’s last name (I don’t know her first name)  has both Irish and English roots. The part of Virginia where I was born, where there are a lot of people with that last name, is also where the Crown used to drop off convict labor back in the day, so speculate at will as to how my biological ancestors first crossed the pond, at least on birth mother’s side. Which is exactly where my brain petered out on that idea.

:cue cricket sounds here:

:cricket sounds echo:

:tumbleweed blows past:

:more crickets:

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Okay, no blog entry? Let’s try book. Book works. Yay, book.

 

 

Some days, it’s not going to happen. This was one of those mornings, blogwise. Couldn’t force it, couldn’t command it, couldn’t push through. Prompts left me cold, quotes left me doubting my ability to understand English, and my Hypercritical Gremlins’ ears perked. So, okay, we’ll put the blog entry off for later. Instead, I opened Scrivener and worked on the draft of the scene I’d been working on later. That clicked. Blue font, to let me know what phase of this thing I was on, and Hero and Heroine got chatty, writing the dialogue for me. Except for that one part where I forgot where they were and thought they were in the middle of the previous scene (I figured it out within a couple of paragraphs, so easily fixed) I’d say that went rather well. :pats self on back:

That unlocked one of the things I need to know for the next scene, so I’m confident in picking up there again tomorrow. I’ll make some notes tonight and then back to work tomorrow. Which is all great for the book, but…blog. Blogging three times a week is a discipline I need to keep, to strengthen the writing muscles, keep them supple, and remind myself that yes, I can do it, even if all I can do on a given day is babble.

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Mas ducks. Ducks of distraction. 

 

 

Whee, magic seven hundred words have been reached. This calls for Canada geese, because I think the big male may be reading this blog. At the very least, he’s keeping tabs on me in some form (seriously, he has some potent stink-eye; trust me on this. I assume the other boy geese know to stay well away from him and his woman.)

 

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Nothing to see here. Move along. No pictures. Keep walking, human.

 

 

Normally, this is where I’d make some sort of closing statement, but, once again, I got nothing. (Hey, repeat of my opening. At least this entry is structurally sound. That’s something, right?) Time to kick back and focus on taking in, rather than putting out. Time for tea and blankey and books and Sims and TV with the hubby and cat stares and what’s-for-dinner and online chatting. There may or may not be dancing in the kitchen.

Adieu, Daily Pages (Book)

annabowling 4 Comments

On October 26th this year, I decided to start writing my own version of daily pages. One two page spread, every weekday, no matter what. If I was late, or missed, I had to make it up. No skipping. No censoring. Whatever was in my head went on the page. Domestic tornadoes, family stuff, existential angst, my Hewig and Hamilton obsessions, books I’ve been reading, thoughts on books I’ve been writing. Sims. Tea. Random thoughts. Writer things. Domestic warrior queen things. Me things. Yesterday, I started on the last signature of this volume. It’s taken me seven months. So, what did I learn?

A few things. One, setting aside time to record my thoughts is essential for anchoring myself in the work of writing. Nobody is going to see this, except for whoever goes through my stuff when I have completed my life cycle (not planning on that anytime soon, so there will be many more of these volumes) so Hypercritical Gremlins are not allowed. This is for me, and me alone. This is putting on my own oxygen mask before tending others. I remember dragging my Martian-death-flu-riddled body into my office because I needed to fill pages, dagnabit. I’m not going to guess how much sense those pages made (probably not a lot) but getting the discipline in there was and is key.

When I realized I was on the last signature, I remembered that I hadn’t taken any pictures of the blank pages, in what is, hands down, my favorite notebook I’ve ever used for this purpose. I’ve attempted others, but this is the first one I’ve come this close to filling, and, as the habit is now entrenched, I don’t see anything coming between me and that.

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Since yesterday was a domestic tornado day, I didn’t get to my pages until after 5PM, but even with groceries to be put away, all family members arriving home at the same time, and Skye needing to collect on back food and scritches for the time we were away, my first priority was – pages. Also pictures, because I wanted to save some record of what the book looked like before I got my hands on it. My lobster friend, Dashing John, (thanks, Mary) wanted to help out, because this book does not open flat.

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I still don’t have any ideas for Paris-set stories, but as soon as I saw this gorgeous Punch Studio specimen, I knew this one was special. It became my morning pages book, and I’m going to miss it. I have candidates for its successor, and at least one of them is also Paris-themed, but it won’t be the same, and that has me feeling nostalgic.

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This particular book has seen me through a lot. New relationships come into my life, and old ones gone out of it. The ups and downs of Real Life Romance Hero’s health and his move to a new job. The aggravation of my Sims 3 installation going wonky, and ripping the whole thing out and putting basegame back in, because yes, I do need gaming. Physical things. Spiritual things. Writing things. It’s a time capsule, and now that Friday will mean it’s time to close that capsule, and put it on the shelf of completed notebooks, I don’t want to let it go. I work a lot of stuff out on these pages. Some of it, I’m still working.

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But back to things I’ve learned. The visuals on the page anchor me. Even when I don’t know what I’m going to write on a given morning, there’s an image right there. I can write about that. Do I like the colors? The art? Do I know what that landmark is? What ink do I want to use on this page? What kind of pen? The visual connection matters, and, since the designs cycle through the four shown, I’m not tempted to keep on going when I reach the end of my “assignment.” Different picture, different ideas, different day. Close the book, put it back on the shelf and get thee to some novel work.

Some days, novel things do find their way into my morning pages, and that’s okay, too.  Whatever is in my head is what goes down here, and I can move things to my novel books later and/or continue them there. There are days when Hero and/or Heroine poke their heads over my shoulder and want to talk, and there are days when I write a bullet point list of what’s in the refrigerator. Most days are somewhere in between.

I’ve loved watching the bookmark (a piece of paper from a Punch Studio notepad) move from the front of the book, to the back. I’ve loved the harmony of the art not being the same, but page and marker agreeing with each other, and I will probably tuck that notepad page into the back cover of this book when I’m done. They’ve bonded by now. The next book will have something else as its marker. I don’t know if any of the candidates have built in ribbon bookmarks, or I should say, I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that I’m excited about starting the new book, deciding what pen(s) I will use, what color(s) of ink, probably intuitively when it’s time to plunk myself down on Monday morning and begin the new adventure. This new book will know Her Last First Kiss as the current project, not a pile of angsty possibilities. This new book will know the me that I am now, evidence of the me who lived in the past seven months tucked away with the sheet from the notepad. Some months from this coming Monday, I will tuck that book away, too, and start on another. Circle of stationery? Maybe so, but what I do know is that I’ve found something that works for me, and isn’t that the whole reason we try new disciplines in the first place?

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fin

In a Bind(er)

annabowling 2 Comments

Sticking with your own style is incredibly important. It’s exactly what you should do. You should never allow someone to talk you out of your natural style or water down your writer’s voice.
— Nat Russo

 

Right now, I am in my comfy chair, duck blankey in my lap, cup of tea at the ready, disposable fountain pen now empty. Maybe I’ve been using it more than I thought I was, or maybe I hadn’t checked how full it was when I bought it, but there I was, this morning, in the Laundromat, furiously scribbling notes for a scene for Her Last First Kiss in my pocket sized Hero notebook, with a ballpoint pen. One scene I knew had to happen pushed itself to the front of my brain this morning, and “something has to happen here” turned into a heated exchange between two characters, which may end up getting physical, (I did not see that coming, but Hero’s berserk button gets pushed, and yeah, he might) and propels him into Heroine’s path at a critical moment.

This is what I’ve been going after with all those miscarried stories, all the methods that didn’t work, for the times when the story takes on a life of its own, talks to me, pushes through the whispers of Hypercritical Gremlins and tells me “this is how I go. This is what I look like. Here is what you do next.”

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Part of that is moving my binder materials into the right binder. They’re in a white binder right now, which may possibly bother Housemate more than it bothers me, and plain white anything usually does bother me, so that’s saying something. While I do hold with the old Japanese proverb that a poor workman blames his tools, there’s something about having the right visual setup that clicks with my brain.

Scrapbook paper is for covering the section dividers in my story binder. Pastel sticky notes match the paper that is color-coded for each section. Index cards are for listing scenes and shuffling them around. Sticky index cards? I’m not sure what I’m doing with those yet, but they are super cool and I will find a use for them at some point.

I love the visual component of writing. If I know what the story looks like, not only the faces of hero and heroine, their clothing and such, but the story itself, there’s a thrill that goes with that. While I’m putting together this new binder, Hero and Heroine are over my shoulder, giving advice (Hero is an artist and Heroine likes to manage things, so they have a lot to say) and the story itself simmers on the back burner of my brain. I love that.

Later, I’ll add pictures as needed, maybe song lyrics, maybe lines of poetry or favorite quotes. I’m not sure yet. The physical act of setting up the binder, moving from the plain white temporary binder (Housemate has informed me she is taking said plain white binder away from me once I do transfer everything, so I can’t use it again.) to its permanent binder that has never belonged to anything else. This  new binder, plain cardboard, is a blank canvas -the clean sweep I thought I would find in the white binder- ready to be personalized -more layers- and it feels right.

Last week, N asked me if I would write a second book about Hero and Heroine. That’s a tricky question. First, I write romance, so a direct sequel with Hero and Heroine would need to provide some new obstacle for the love relationship, by that time, the marriage. For the second, I’m so in love with this story right now that I don’t want to think about any others. That’s a good place to be. Then there’s also the question of what the market will bear. I don’t see a lot of direct sequels with the same couples, though there are some serial stories. This doesn’t feel like one of those. I naturally think in standalones anyway, and always have. Do I have ideas? Yes, but this book now. The date is on my calendar, June first as my target for my bullet point draft. Let me get there first and then we will see.

Right now, when I spend time with this story, my heart leaps. The papers and stickies and all the rest are part of the puzzle. I love touching them, moving them around, throwing everything down in haphazard fashion and then making order out of chaos.  I like structure, and I like intuition. This way, I get both. Onward.

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Plot Pants Puzzle Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty is on a tight schedule today, with hunting for food (she hunts at a place called the “supermarket”) and writing things. She has some research to do for some upcoming articles, and then there is book work, which she thinks really ought to come first (I agree) but she also likes to be the strangest person in the Laundromat, so she likes to do the laundry early. Laundry time is very good time for Anty to sort through ideas in her head, and, if she has her headphone in, and keeps her head down and pen moving on the paper, people generally leave her alone to do exactly that. Well, sometimes, almost-grown-ups ask her how the machines work. If the owner is there (he was not there today, but the custodian was) she will chat with him some.

This week, Anty  has a lot of feelings about what happened to Morgan and Garcia on Wednesday’s Criminal Minds, (or what will apparently not be happening between them in the future, because the writers decided to…what? Oh, sorry. Anty says no spoilers, so I will stop there.) but she did not have to write an article about that, so I cannot give a link to an article that does not exist. What I can say is that she and Uncle had a grumbly conversation about it yesterday -they are both on the same side, so it was not an argument- which showed Uncle’s impressive grasp of romantic arcs and character dynamics, as well as genre expectations and creative choices that limit options once a path has been chosen. Spend enough time around Anty, and these things tend to rub off on a person. Or kitty.

As Anty’s mews, I spend a lot of time around her. Pretty much all of it, except when she leaves the house, since I am an indoor kitty and only leave the house when it is v-e-t time.  It is not v-e-t time now, so I have an up close and personal view of her creative process. When writers get to know each other, they will often ask if they are pantsers or plotters. That means, do they make things up as they go, with no firm plan (or a very loose one) or do they plan things out ahead of time? Anty has come to learn that she has to give a different sort of answer to that question: she is a puzzler. That does not mean she stares at  a blank screen or page and puzzles over what comes next. Well, not all of the time.

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these all fit together

What it does mean is that Anty does not always work from beginning to end. That may sound crazy to some -it did to Anty, at first- but that is how her brain works. Finding things that look like her story also help give Anty visual cues. Since Hero in Her Last First Kiss is an artist (she wanted him to be a musician, but he said no; Anty did not mind too much, because when characters tell her she got them wrong, that means that they are alive inside her head, which is  a good thing.) the visual cues are even more important. They are another piece of the puzzle, and working in notebooks that look like the story helps her feel connected. That is why she is going to hunt at the craft store for some toile patterned cardstock so she can make better dividers for the binder where she keeps important story information. I like that, because I get to play with the strips of paper from the bottom of the cardstock; they are really fun toys. Anty holds one end and wiggles it, then I bat the other end with my paw. Sometimes, I get so into it that I even go back on my hind legs. Since my balance is sometimes special, sometimes, I fall over, but I get right back up, because I like to play that game. Falling over is worth it.

Anty is like that with writing. At one point, she thought that being  punster was the ‘real’ creative path, and she tried that, but she soon felt like she was lost in the middle of the ocean, and did not know what was going on. Some of the stories during that time did not make it. Then, she tried plotting, and that worked better, but the stricter she tried to be with it, the more restrictive it became, and then she found that she could not move. Well, write, the same as when she tried to pay strict attention to word count. I think those actually happened around the same time.

This week, she played with index cards and listed scenes, then transferred that to her binder, color-coded, so she could see where she was missing things and what had to happen when. It literally can be a puzzle, when she sits on the floor with her index cards, or puts sticky notes all over her plotting board. When she can see what is missing, then finding out what goes there is a lot easier. That is probably why she has lots of sticky notes all over her notebook pages, because when the puzzle pieces start fitting together, they really start fitting together. Something that comes clear to her about the end of the book could fill in a hole about something she did not know near the beginning, so she can go back there, put down a sticky note and come back to it on the next pass.

I do not mind this at all, because it means more paper for Anty, which means more toys for me. Granted, I am in one of those learning how to play again phases, but Anty says that fits with her relearning how she works best. I guess that means we are in sync. That is about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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

Leap Post

annabowling Leave a comment

Not sure where I’m going with this, but an extra day in the month (all right, last month, technically) calls for an extra post. Right now, I am in my comfy chair, lap desk in my lap, a pile of pale yellow sticky index cards (how did I ever forget those existed; not thrilled with the yellow part, as that’s my least favorite color, but sticky index cards are the closest thing I’m going to get to cross breeding my office supplies) and Skye kitty snoozing in a sunbeam. Real Life Romance Hero is taking it easy after a hard week’s work, and I have the binder for Her Last First Kiss wedged between my hip and the arm of the chair.

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In a bind(er)

Okay, not anymore, because I took it out so I could photograph it. I take a lot of pictures these days. Scrolling through my Instagram feed, I see it’s mostly  my workspace and Skye, with a smattering of local food, current reads and art supplies, the odd bit of scenery and, surprisingly early this year, waterfowl. I did not expect to see ducks on Tuesday, but there they were, a pair of mallards, contentedly paddling their way along the greenish water I had last seen as a solid sheet of ice. Late winter/early spring in upstate NY is a curious thing, which I have come to accept.

Now that I’ve started talking, I have to keep going until I hit the magic number of 700 words. That’s the deal. Discipline is a big part of the writing process for me. Counting my words doesn’t work in the drafting process. Give me a pen and some paper and let me loose, and we’ll do the math when I come back up for air. I’m not going to pretend I’ve got this all figured out. It’s a long trip back up onto the horse when I fall off on things like this, but I do know that try/fail, try/fail, try/succeed works in actual writing as well as it does in fiction, though the real life version does not always play nice and follow the rule of three. Usually exactly the opposite.

 

I’ll haul out the old Japanese proverb here: fall down five times, get up six. Or sixteen. Or sixty. Or six hundred, if it comes to that. There’s a sweatshirt I saw once, in an ad (funny what pops up on one’s Facebook sometimes) showing clothing marketed toward drill sergeants, that said:

Sweat dries
Blood clots.
Bones heal.
Suck it up, Buttercup.

Summer, the heroine of my time-travel-in-limbo, immediately told me that was her favorite sweatshirt (she’s never been in the military, but she is a competitive dancer, and the words suit her, so okay, she can have it) and the words stuck with me beyond that. I don’t know when I’ll get that story written. I will, though, and it will likely be a far different tale than the one I’d found myself irretrievably stuck on, but, right now, I’m writing this book. Hero and Heroine’s book. Head down, eyes on my own paper. Keep on going until The End.

In the words of Elvis Costello, every day, every day, every day, I write the book. Monday through Friday means morning pages. By my count, I will need a new morning pages book in two weeks. Thankfully, I have a few candidates in my stash already. That fat stack of index cards turned into a page with scenes listed. Which turned into Scrivener files, which are easy to nip into an blabber upon. I actually like rewriting, so this isn’t staring at  giant blank white wall, a strangled “uhhh….” rumbling in my throat because I’ve forgotten how to English. I’m a talker. I talk. I need to talk more.

I’m into the six hundreds now, and Skye is waiting on my left (her signal for “I really want your attention, Anty, and did you notice what time it is? Answer: treat time.) so time to wrap this up. Hypercritical Gremlins are grumbling behind their blanket in my office closet (blanket is hung over the hanger rod in lieu of a door) and, more importantly, the cat needs to be fed. To haul out another old proverb, (Japanese again, but don’t quote me on that,) the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Open the file. Open the notebook. Put something down. Anything will do. As a former writing group facilitator often said, the process begets the product. We got this.

Leap Day

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There’s no feeling like showing off the notebook one has hacked into a planner, with days blocked off and numbered months in advance, and then remembering this is a leap year. Which means an extra day in February, which means that throws off the entire numbering system, which is  a problem, because ink doesn’t erase, especially on top of colored pencil. Yeah, small problem there. Easy solution, though, because correction fluid works beautifully in said situations, and, with a flick of a felt-tipped pen, the numbers fall quickly back in line.

That’s about all I’ve got on that one, not as much material as I’d thought. One of the tricks I’ve started doing in my planner, when I have a blog entry slated, is to jot down a couple of possible topics ahead of time. I am pretty sure I did that for today, but I left the planner by my comfy chair, which is where it lives. I am going to say it’s the leap day that threw me off.

I love to organize. Taking chaos and turning it into order gives me a thrill, so the process of making my own planner out of a plain notebook has its benefits. Gets the brain firing in new directions. Can I use colored pencil instead of highlighter? Sure can. Which leads to finding out that colored pencils aren’t made from graphite (I should have gathered that, but was still surprised to find out for sure) but wax and pigment, which is one of the reasons the “leads” break as easily as they do. Which leads to noticing that several of the colors I would use if I had them are missing from the colored pencils I inherited from my dad, which leads to making a list of what I’m going to need at the art store.

That, in turn, leads to me wondering if I could use crayons where I’d been using the colored pencils, because crayons are also wax and color. Answer: yes, but not worth it with the regular size crayons; I’d need the big kind preschoolers use to lay down a decent amount of color, and those usually don’t come in all the nifty colors I prefer to use, because, well, they’re made for preschoolers. Which also leads me to remembering my grade school love of fluorescent crayons (side note, I am a proud Crayola snob) and wondering how those would look on those same pages, even though the super bright highlighters, which are kind of fluorescent, are too bright for my eyes when used in large blocks. Without the colored frame, my eyes wander; the frames keep them on task.

I could use a frame on this entry, as my brain wants to go skipping around and try a little of this, a little of that and basically anything other than what the planner says it needs to be doing. Usually, brain consults planner, says “yes, ma’am,” and at least makes a decent effort. That’s not today. I’m fed. I’m hydrated. I’m bathed and dressed, entertained and socialized, and motivated to keep moving forward with Hero and Heroine’s story, but….

There’s always a but, isn’t there? It’s Monday. It’s Leap Day. The sun is far too bright for my comfort, and I don’t like sitting down without an idea of what I’m going to do. The hypercritical gremlins are gossiping in their closet, and if I could follow my heart of hearts right now I would take a nap. That would probably not go over too well at the coffee house (especially since the couch is currently occupied by people who are not me, and whom I do not know) so I may as well actually get some work done.

This is where organization saves my day. There’s lots of longhand to transcribe, and Friday’s work of tracking important objects throughout the story helps keep things moving at the right pace. Pick a place and dive in. I’ve done this book thing before, and I’ll do it again after this current manuscript is done and off to seek its fortune. I’ve been this way before, and it’s only a step on the journey, not a final destination.

Which paragraph above brings me to 701 words, and 700 is the magic number to allow me to check “blog entry” off my list. I do not have to write the entire book today. In fact, I cannot write the entire book today. I can, however, write. It won’t be perfect. It can’t be perfect, but it can be. That’s good enough.

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: In The Pink Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I look grumpy in today’s picture, because Anty took my picture while I was washing. I think that was not the most polite thing she could have done, but she is dominant, so I guess it must be okay. She might also still be somewhat cranky herself because I, um, did my stuff after everybody was in bed, so she had to get out of bed to clean it. At least I let her know I was doing stuff. I am considerate that way. I am also considerate in talking about her writing things before I talk about anything else. Well, except for what I already talked about, because I already said that.

Anty had two posts at Heroes and Heartbreakers this week. First, she talked about what happened with Ichabod and Abbie, on Sleepy Hollow.  Can you believe the monsters of the week got to have smoochy times before Ichabod and Abbie do? Talk about a scary episode. That is here, and it looks like this:

ICHABBIE

 

Then, she wrote about what happened between Michonne and Rick on The Walking Dead. Anty says that show is not really about zombies, but about people and human relationships. This episode, it is especially so. That post is here, and it looks like this:

RICHONNE

Anty has a lot of articles and posts on other sites, like her weekly discussions on Buried Under Romance. Last week’s discussion was on multicultural romance. Anty thinks books about lovers from different backgrounds can be very interesting, and both couples in the shows she recapped this week would fit into that subgenre. It is here and it looks like this:

BUR

She is working on a new page that will have links to all of her posts on other sites, so readers can find them easily. I do not think Anty will mind if I say she is not the most technologically minded person, so please be patient with her.

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This picture shows what Anty sees when she is working from her comfy chair. I need to come around to between the Starbucks cup and the notebook  and aim my big green eyes over the edge of the desk if I want her to see me. If she does not pay attention to me there, then I go around to the other side, which you cannot see from here. When I go to the other side, she knows I really want her attention. It is usually for food, but sometimes, I want a scratch. That is one thing about writers; they can work pretty much anywhere. When Anty works at home, she is often in her comfy chair, with a special desk that fits in her lap. Sometimes, she will write in longhand at the kitchen counter. When she does that, I like to be a ninja kitty and get reallyreallyreally close, like actually on her feet close. Then it is always a big surprise when she moves. I run away and come right back. One would think she would be used to this by now.

Please note the pink earbuds in the above picture. Anty works best with music playing, and her music is different for each project. Because Anty has different devices on which she listens to her music, it makes more sense to have a different set of earbuds that stays with each device. Anty did not mean for her electronics to (almost) all be pink, but that is how it turned out, and she’s going with it. The pink earbuds stay with the pink laptop, but before she had those, she had a set of earbuds where the tiny speaker part was pink and the cushions (I do not know what they are called) are black, like the cord. The tiny speaker parts have tiny skulls on them, so Anty really really likes them. She uses them for her phone now, although the phone is white (she will get a case for it, and then it will agree with her pink laptop and pink tablet.) Well, that is, when there are cushions on both speakers. This week, there were not cushions on both speakers.

Anty looked everywhere for the missing cushion, and even took everything out of her computer tote (no small task, that) but could not find it. She had a spare pink cushion, but it would bother her if one cushion was pink and the other was black. Do not even suggest that Mama lend her one of her spare orange cushions. Anty is not a savage. Anty very reluctantly switched those earbuds out for the white earbuds with pink cushions that came with her pink tablet. That all brings us back to my introduction to today’s post. Remember when I told you Anty had to get up to tend my stuff in the middle of the night? That is where the two threads come together.

Because I am a considerate kitty, I pee next to the green chair of evil. It can only be stopped with cat widdle. The previous owners did not have a cat, and they are no longer with us. You do the math. Anty had to move the chair to clean the widdle, and there, in a completely dry and unwiddled portion of the floor, was her missing earbud cushion. You’re welcome.  Anty has her cushion back now, but playing with it was fun while it lasted. Do not worry, I will find another toy. I am resourceful like that. It is an important attribute to have, to be a good mews.

Anty needs the computer back now, so that is 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)

 

 

 

 

 

More-ning Pages

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The rare Thursday entry, the natural product of having Monday’s entry on Wednesday. Blogging three times a week is a discipline that works for me, keeps my brain focused, so when I fall behind, I’m antsy until I’m current again. This entry should do it. Once again, no idea in mind, so winging it for the second day in a row.

Right now, I am in my comfy chair, laptop on lap desk. It’s not raining any longer, though we had a downpour hit shortly before I had to leave the Laundromat, freshly dried laundry in two, Crocs on my feet and raincoat left behind, because it was brilliant sunshine when I left the house. Go figure. “Helpless,” from Hamilton, is playing on my headphones. Very historical romance-y song there, both in setting and content.  I have notes for today’s work on Her Last First Kiss, and will likely need to make a timeline, so I can track the progress of important items -what is where, and when?- and I’m looking forward to that.

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morning pages

 

I normally don’t like to have a lot of bleedover with my notebooks. The notebook above, by Punch Studio (part of my Paris notebook fixation; there is apparently a NY themed version of this same book, and I  must have it) is my morning pages book, which means whatever I in my head goes down on that two page spread, and, when I get to the end of the second page, I am done. Doesn’t matter where I am. That’s it for that entry. I got this book in October, and it’s been one two page spread, every day, no matter what. So far, so good.

Here’s the thing, though. Sometimes, those rambles concentrate themselves fairly quickly. Like this morning. I don’t know if it was some alchemical convergence of my free-associating brain, the fact that I had not yet consumed caffeine, the recklessness of putting my Paris travel mug next to my Union Jack mug, which was next to my English muffin pizza breakfast. or what, but novel stuff started spilling onto my pages. I’ll copy it later, into one of the HLFK books, maybe take only notebooks and not laptop to the coffee house later on (though I sweat like an addict in withdrawal at the thought) and track the progression of some objects that are important to the story. Who has the X at what point, what state is it in, and  how do we all feel about that?

My blood hums at the thought of this, and -aha, that’s where I’d intended to go in the first place, yay me- diving deep into what needs to be accomplished in a particular scene gives me electric energy. I can do this. I do this. This is what I was created to do. Natural habitat and all that other good stuff. When you’re in the right place, creatively, you know it. I’d originally planned to call this entry something like “Skating on the Surface and Diving Deep,” but if a title makes me cringe, that’s a pretty good indication of what it’s going to to do my readers.

My readers? Ulp. I have readers? That is not what my earning statement says for the last mumblemumble unit of time, but that’s okay. As with any muscle, the more I use my writing muscles, the stronger they get. Which is one of the reasons the disciplines of thrice weekly blogging and morning pages every weekday are disciplines that I want to keep. Doesn’t matter what’s on the page, as long as something is. It’s easy to put it off. Amazingly easy to put it off, but, as my mother always told me, the more I do, the more I will want to do. She was right. When I let myself into Hero and Heroine’s world, I want to stay there. As a family member, as it were, not an intruder or even a guest, which is one of the reasons I know I’m writing the right book, at the right time, and in the right way.

these notebooks have nothing to do with HLFK
at least I think they don’t.

 

These notebooks don’t have anything to do with Her Last First Kiss (at least I think they don’t) but they spoke to me, and thus, they had to come home. There will be  hackage, possibly over the weekend. Hacking a notebook is an intuitive process for me, one that lets me dive happily into the realm of sticky notes and drawing frames, letting color dictate my path, the feel of the book, its covers, its pages, the spiral binding, in the case of the above, tell me what they want to be. Total pantsing on notebook hacking, which makes for a good contrast with how I need to know things about the characters and stories to fully grasp what I’m doing with a novel in progress.

My minimum for these winging it entries is seven hundred words (word count is not a problem with me for nonfiction or editing; go figure) so I am going to wrap this for now. There’s my Buried Under Romance discussion post to write, and then I have a date with Hero and Heroine. I think they’re going to show me an interesting time.