personal

Leap Day

annabowling Leave a comment

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

annabowling Leave a comment

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.

2016-02-26 09.18.39_resized

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

annabowling Leave a comment

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.

12717620_1136794449693918_2810033261570317212_n

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.

Midweek Rambles

annabowling Leave a comment

Rainy Wednesday here, and the fact that I’m only now getting to the first blog entry of the week should be an indicator of how things have been going. The new addition to my workspace is Hedwig, (thanks, Kara!) who has shot up to mascot status in short order. Lift his head off, and he’s a flash drive. He will soon be filled with novel stuffs.

No idea what I want to write about here, so I’m going to wing it. One of the most vivid rainy day memories I have carried for a long time reaches all the way back to fifth grade. We’d recently moved from Bedford Village to Pound Ridge, and I had a playdate with Elizabeth A, to keep us both occupied and our mothers sane for the rain-soaked afternoon. I remember I had a corduroy pantsuit (it was the seventies; don’t judge me, and yes, my mom picked out my outfit) that day, red with a flower print all over it. The legs were too long, so the hems of the trousers (I preferred skirts even back then, but mom said, sooo…)were damp the rest of the day.

We spent the afternoon in Elizabeth’s room. I remember Barbies and some imaginative play, some discussion of the new TV show we both liked, Wonder Woman, probably my first fandom, though I didn’t know what fandom was at the time. Elizabeth had a Chow dog, who had particular tastes in what interactions he would allow with what humans, but he always liked me. I don’t remember his name, or the name of Elizabeth’s older brother. I don’t remember many particulars of that day, but I remember the day itself, and the memory is a good one. Elizabeth A, wherever you are, I hope you do, too.

On this rainy day, years later, there’s imaginative play still. Now, I call it writing, and it’s work as much as it is play, which suits me fine. No red corduroy pantsuit, thankfully, and I’m writing this from my favorite coffee house instead of a friend’s bedroom, but the day has some of the same feel to it. Not that I know exactly what the connection is, but some things become a part of us, and come to the fore when they will.

Today is also the first anniversary of the passing of Bertrice Small, still a favorite author and my entrée into the world of historical romance. I’d wanted, as many Small fans, to dive into some rereading when we got the sad news, and, at the moment, I’d tried, but I couldn’t make the connection. Not a good feeling, but, at times, the best thing we can do is let the feelings do their jobs. I don’t know when I got it in my head that I would intentionally step back from reading an author whose work had been that important to me, or when the idea arose that I would resume on the first anniversary of her passing. Maybe it’s a form of literary mourning? I’m not going to question that one.

Once I knew I wanted to resume on a certain date, everything fit. I would pick up one of her books on that date, and I would read it, but which one? With forty-nine titles from which to choose (well, less than that, as the Lara books are in storage, and I don’t own the Channel titles) the options were too many. N’s advice, “make a decision,” came to me then, and I did. I decided I wouldn’t decide. I turned to my Lionesses at my Facebook group, The Lion and Thistle, and placed my choice in their capable hands.

1917649_1136272486412781_6670506870823280307_n

this is the one

Some of the suggestions, I’d expected. Skye O’Malley (the book, not the kitty) is my favorite, and The Kadin was the first historical romance I ever read.  I know those books, can quote them in places, so re-reading them would be as much remembering as experiencing the story. The other choices offered, Deceived, and The Border Lord’s Bride, I haven’t read as much. Since my copy of Deceived seems to have gone walkabout (will be reaching out to the library system and/or used bookstores soon) my choice became clear. I hadn’t remembered, until I plucked my copy from my special Small bookcase, that this was the second story in the Border Chronicles, not the first, but since it’s an extremely loose connection, I’m letting that go. I can read the prior title, A Dangerous Love, later, if I want. I did put my choice in others’ hands, after all.

 

As with that long-ago rainy afternoon, I remember the book more in general than in specific, and it’s a different experience. The last time I read this book, it was 2007.  A few things have happened since then. My critical mind is along for the ride, and has some issues with tell-y passages and instances of passive voice, but the voice itself, that’s as familiar as I remember, a welcome back to the things that drew me to historical romance in the first place. It’s also made me schedule reading time in my day, something I’d wanted to do, but put off actually doing, but if I want to make time to read all that I want and need to read, there has to be time where that’s all that I’m doing. This is different from pleasure-only reading; it’s also research.

20160224_125312_resized

library haul; must organize

 

 

In a way, that’s my equivalent of the art student camped out in front of the master’s painting, sketchbook in hand or canvas on easel. What did the master do? How did they do it? That thing that was never recorded, what was it? Can I do it, too? What does it look like when I do their thing, my way? Reading time, writing time, headphones in, laptop on, paper and pen at the ready. Let’s do this.

In Here, I Rule The World

annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I am in a rotten mood. I mean really rotten. Things started early. I woke, exhausted, thinking it was about 2AM, so glass of water, trip to the water closet, and I’m good for four more hours. No such luck. 6:45. Well, crud. Tend cat, dispense Real Life Romance Hero’s morning pharmeceuticals, perform ritual albutions. Agree to disagree with hair about its direction for the day. Breakfast…okay, breakfast was uneventful, except for Skye leaving a deposit in Real Life Romance Hero’s office, but Housemate took care of that, so the two things even out.

Morning was meant to be for taking care of some routine errands. Obtain clothing from a favorite, reliable retailer. Obtain pen refills from office supply store. Possibly other errands if the first two went quickly. The first two did not go quickly. Both were abject failures, and most women understand the barren wasteland that is a sale at one’s favorite retailer, when there is not one single thing that will fit one’s body and/or color palette. One of those. Housemate fared better, but I left with a case of the grumps. Repeat fruitless mission at office supply store.

Housemate and I did not know Lunch Option A was not going to work out until we were actually there, so went for Lunch Option B instead. Rest of errands had to be put off for unspecified time in the vague future, because I had to get home in time for A) me to make a chat with a critique partner, and B) Housemate to get RLRH to work. No shot at getting in a certain part of the house where I could perform supplementary albutions and renegotiate with hair, and still make it to chat on time, so did the best I could and raced off. Made it with minutes to spare and…open email from critique partner, who could not make chat.

WIN_20160217_135528

accurate depiction of my mood

 

This is, of course, the exact second I have my tea ready, notebook and sticky notes arrayed, so I’m committed now, even though I am technically free. We will now cue an instrumental version of “Song of the Lonely Extrovert” to play softly in the background. There are other people in the coffee house, but nobody I can talk to while working, and that makes a difference. Unless the college student scowling at his own laptop is interested in my Scrivener corkboard. I am going to guess that he is not.

I’ve had worse days. Nobody is bleeding or on fire, we have not needed any first responders, and are fed, housed and employed. Even so, the other irritations build. Gaming is a stress reliever for me, and, since my old laptop is currently refusing to play Sims 3, new laptop cannot support it, and we are still looking into other options, I’m going to have to accept the fact that gaming, right now, is not going to happen. Sure, I have Sims Free Play on my phone, but that’s not the same. Not even close. Bleh.

As I told Housemate, what I would like to do is huddle in a corner (under the covers in bed is also acceptable) and mainline ice cream. What I am going to do is crack open that notebook and Scrivener and transcribe some scenes. That, I can do, and it doesn’t require a lot of my brain. Transfer what’s on the page to what’s on the screen. Spend some time in my story world, and deal with Hero and Heroine’s problems instead of my own. I know what has to happen in the tailor scene, but where does the tailor scene actually go? Do I need to plant that plot point seed earlier in the story than where it actually sprouts? How is the balance between Hero scenes and Heroine scenes? Plus the joy of getting immersed in the story.

The rest of the daily inconveniences will still be there when I’m done. It’s not a permanent break from the practical world -one of the reasons I don’t use the word “escape” when I talk about reading or writing fiction; we do still have to deal with those things when we close the book, notebook or file- but it’s a respite, a place where I can order things the way I want, no matter how much time that might take; here, I control time. Heady stuff, when one stops to think about it. Uncap my new fountain pen, open my notebook, and I step back in time, where Hero and Heroine want to know what on earth I am doing to their lives, because it all looks like one giant catastrophe from where they’re standing.

In the end, it will all be worth the trouble. I’ve assured them this book has a happy ending, because that’s what romance novels do. No matter what I throw at them during the story, they will be safe, happy, and together by the end. At the moment, things look pretty sticky for them both, individually and together (not that they’re even thinking much about “together” at this phase of the game, because it’s early days, still) but they’ll thank me for it later. Right now, I’m thankful to them for giving my day some peace. We’ll have to see how the rest of it goes, but, for right now, I rule the (okay, their) world.

Typing With Wet Claws: Not a Doggie Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Since Anty says I have to talk about her writing first, I will do that before we do anything else. This week, Anty recapped an interesting episode of Sleepy Hollow. It was all about Ichabod looking for Abbie, who is someplace else. This was different for Anty, because it was all about the feelings, even though one of the people was not really in the episode at all. It is here and looks like this:

 

ICHABBIE

 

Anty had a really good writing day yesterday, and hopes that continues today. She has two more articles to write for Heroes and Heartbreakers, and they are about books, not TV shows this time. Anty is very excited to write more about books

She would also like to be reading a lot more books, but life  has had other ideas. That is okay, because the library will still have those books, even if Anty has to give them back for a little while. This week has been a mixed bag for Anty, which means that she could probably use some time dedicated purely to amusement. Usually, that is a good thing, but, yesterday evening, she found a site called what-dog.net, and then she did this:

skyeasadog

Anty, that is not funny. I am a kitty, not a doggie. I am a very smart girl, though. It took me less than three days to learn my name, I have a big vocabulary (that means I know a lot of words) and I can follow hand signals. Although my favorite toy is paper (and I need to re-learn how to play every once in a while) sometimes, I get my own toys, that are not really toys. If you see some of Mama’s yarn where it is not supposed to be, that was probably me. I like to watch my people, and sometimes TV. I would watch out the windows, but they are all very high, and I am a floor girl who does not like being picked up, so I can only see outside if I look up. I do not bark, but I do talk. I make chirpy sounds and trills and I chitter when I see birdies, or my humans take too long in getting my food ready.

Well, Anty is not the only one who can use that website. I can use it, too.

mylifeasadog

I do not think Anty will be angry with me. First, I am cute. Second, I love her. Third, they are not wrong. Anty does like to talk, a lot. She talks to me all the time, which is how I learned how I could make sounds, too. As for the herding others part, Anty tells me that the term I mean is that she has leadership skills. “Bossy” is not a nice word, though being the boss can be a good thing, and doing a thing like a boss is also good. Stephen “tWitch” Boss is a very good dancer. Anty says that if she can write as well as he can dance, then she would be very happy. So, I do not see where “bossy” is a bad word.

Being independent-minded can also be a very good thing. Some people say “stubborn.” (Anty and Uncle saw a cooking show on TV once, set in Norway, where there was a motorcycle gang whose name translated to “Stubborn.” They thought that was funny.) Anyway, thinking for oneself can be a tricky thing sometimes, but a useful tool for those who want to write. It’s easy to get caught up in “should” and expectations, but thinking differently is a big part of making new things. It also helped Anty think that being called a collie was funny, and not bad. I do not think collies are bad. Bailey is very nice and he is a pretty boy. Maybe Anty really is part collie, and they are related? Anty is adopted, so we cannot say that she is not. Hm. This could explain some things.

Anty tells me that people cannot be part doggie (except in some stories, but that is only make-believe) so that means she is not related to Bailey. I can only imagine how she must be taking that news. Apparently well (though it is disappointing) because she is getting ready to start her writing session for the day, 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)

This is What You Get

annabowling 2 Comments

Originally, I’d meant to bang out a quick video blog and get on with my day. The fact that you’re reading this is proof that didn’t happen. Well, the video part happened. Over twenty takes, as a matter of fact, ranging from eight seconds to six minutes, but each one ended with me scowling at the screen, muttering some variation of “I’m not doing this” and hitting the button to stop the recording. A few roundsI don’t think you missed much. Skye insisted on staying out of camera range, no matter how I tried to entice her to join me, and, no matter the list I’d made on what topics to cover with my blather, my brain went blank. Took me a while to get the message that this was not a video blog day, but I finally did.

No typical shot of my workspace, either, because I left my phone on the kitchen counter when I left the house, despite my reminder to not repeat yesterday’s blunder of not bringing the computer cord, which was why there was no entry yesterday. I did bring the cord today, so there’s that. As to what this entry will actually contain, at the moment, I have no idea.

WIN_20160127_145237

This is what my workspace sees.

There are days when I start out with the best of intentions, to-do list made, and then – wham. I hit the wall. Some days, that’s earlier than others. Is this one of them? I’d like to think I would know something like that by now, but I can’t say one way or the other. What I can say is that I am doing the most essential thing; I am showing up for the writing. There will be a blog entry today. I will write my Buried Under Romance post for Saturday. I will work on Her Last First Kiss. I will probably have to hit the supermarket afterwards, because :shifty eyes: aliens broke into our freezer and ate the last of the strawberry ice cream while I was doing take elebenty bajillion of the video blog, but that is not an entirely bad thing. I can listen to selections from Hamilton and Hedwig on my walk, which definitely counts as creative well-filling.

Here’s the deal I made with myself today: I babble here for about seven hundred words, minimum, and whatever I have at the end of that is what goes up. Then on to the Buried Under Romance entry and I get a break. Novel work may happen in longhand, because I will likely have had enough of the screen by that time, but it does have to happen. Not sure, at this point, if I’m going move all my novel stuff to a new Scrivener document or ruthlessly slash the one I have down to the bare bones, but things are going to get moving. I am sick to death of not having  a new book out, and there is only one way to fix that particular problem. I have to write the book.

That’s scary. That’s daunting. What if I get it wrong? Who’s reading me anyway? Not Regency, not series, not wallpaper, no dukes, no wallflowers, so does that mean no readers? Eh, possibly. It’s entirely possible that nobody will read any given book. It’s also true that I don’t have to please every reader; only my readers. :beat: Both of them. Okay, all three. Realistically, it’s probably more than that, but I am in the midst of one end of year earning statement funk. This is a competitive game, and these are older titles I have out. In publishing terms, I’m basically starting from scratch, which can be exciting in its own way, but right now, it’s aggravating.

I’m motivated, though. Common wisdom has it that one needs five books to break out and get attention. Five books is also one of the milestones CRRWA has for recognizing notable achievements by members, and nets said member a padfolio as a reward. I am enough of a stationery junkie to need that padfolio. Sell or publish a book merely to get stationery? Challenge accepted! We all have our motivations. Mine happens to smell like paper.

Forging Ahead, Reinvention and Learning to Dig

annabowling Leave a comment

We never end up with the book we began writing. Characters twist it and turn it until they get the life that is perfect for them. A good writer won’t waste their time arguing with the characters they create…It is almost always a waste of time and people tend to stare when you do!

– C.K. Webb

 

I’ve noticed, lately, that I often get to the keyboard and find I’m not doing what I intended to do. Like with this blog, today. I’d intended to write this entry (well, not this entry, obviously, because today hadn’t happened yet yesterday) on the regularly scheduled Wednesday, because routine and discipline and all the rest of that good serious writer stuff. I did not write yesterday’s entry because I’d gone two and a half nights with no sleep, and my brain and body were so depleted that I couldn’t focus.  (Apart from Pinterest, but we’re talking writing here.)

Originally I’d planned to make this a video entry, but A) forgot about that until I’d already set up for the afternoon at the coffee shop (video entries are best not made in public) and B) my hair and I could not reach an agreement about what we were doing that particular day, apart from a five minute span around breakfast time. I’d planned to still make this a video entry today, but nobody wants to see me with wet hair (trying my best not to touch it while it air dries with product in, because beachy waves, dagnabit, or at least that’s the theory we are testing today.)

There’s a reason I frequently trot out K.A. Mitchell’s advice to A) open the file, and B) change your seat. That’s because they work. So, when I sat in front of the screen this morning, my brain a muddle, that became a signal that it’s time to mix things up. When I retired the previous version of Typing With Wet Nails and started this new one, I’d come to a point where I couldn’t do the old blog any longer. Finding a new clip for Happy Dance Friday became a chore, and Saturday at the Movies, instead of being fun, made my head hurt. So, it had to stop. Clean sweep.

After clean sweep comes more layers. I’d been to a wonderful workshop by Jeanette Grey on making websites with WordPress, and figured it couldn’t hurt. What to put in it? What’s really in my heart and head. That was, and is, talking about the whole writing experience. I love seeing other writers showing off covers and talking about new releases and awards and reviews, and, trust me, I will be one of them in good time, but then there’s the other side of the matter.

There are all those notebooks I have, months of them, filled with venting about how hard writing had become, how arduous it was to get words on the page, how I despaired of ever fitting into the market, how, maybe, I missed my chance and was doomed to spend the rest of my life (a pretty darned long time, I would hope) as someone who could have been a writer. The voice of an acquaintance at a mutual friend’s book launch haunted me. “I knew the author when I used to write,” she said to another guest, and laughed. I didn’t laugh. I shuddered,

Used to write. I can’t think of more horrifying words. (Okay, genocide, fascism, polyester; but stick with me here.) I can’t not-write, and so the writing is worth the struggles. One of my favorite quotes is a Japanese proverb that says “fall down five times, get up six.” That resonates with me, and resonates deeply. In the last couple of days, two writers of my acquaintance have posted about their own difficulties in keeping motivated. I want to let that marinate before I expound (besides this, that is) because I think this is a fairly common malady.

There are a million reasons to quit, but all of them together don’t overpower the one reason to keep at it. I have to write, the same as I have to breathe. There is no off switch for this relentless pull into the story world. That, for me, my natural habitat is historical romance, that, too is organic. The market will change. My need to tell my stories won’t. Logic alone says keep going, and so I do. Muscles grow stronger with exercise, so I keep at it. Fingers on keys, pen on paper, show up, open the file (or notebook.)

When that’s not enough, time to change my seat, change direction. Change my wallpaper. Play different music. Put some goop in my hair. Browse the library stacks. Trust that what I need to go forward is out there, and, if I look for it, remain open to it, things will click. Sometimes that takes a while, and sometimes, it happens in an instant.

With fiction, I’ve come back around to something, I used to do when I’d only first started. Let the characters lead. I’d wanted Hero, for example, in Her Last First Kiss, to be blond and a musician. When he actually showed up, he had red hair and wanted to play with my pens. I tried wooing him back in line by playing the music that was supposed to be his passion; he responded by picking up one of my fountain pens and doodling. Okay, fine. Heroine was supposed to play the pianoforte to relieve stress. Nope. She likes guns.

This brings to mind certain questions- when did all that start? Why that interest? What are you doing with my pens, Hero? These things generally take me away from what I’d intended, but usually to a better place, and I am okay with that.

The good thing about characters being stubborn like this, when they tell me I’ve got it wrong, means that they are real and alive within their world and they are going to  help me tell their story, rather than making me do all the work completely by myself.  I like to think we make a pretty good team.

 

Monday Morning Brain Dump, With Notebooks

annabowling Leave a comment

Urgh. Monday morning again. I have shown up at the keyboard, which is an achievement when I’m coming off another night of no sleep. I hate insomnia. Brain races a million miles an hour, but will it focus on something useful, like the WIP? Nope. Not a chance on that one. Late night Pinterest pinning sprees are about as close as I get on that front.

Most recently, I started my Pen and Paper board, which is here. Not enough caffeine in the world to figure out why my computer says I can’t share the screencap I took of my own Pinterest page with myself, so click on the link to see all the pretties. Pens and notebooks, that’s it.

Since I’ve become more serious about my interest in notebooks, I’ve been doing more research, and my wish list is growing. Moleskines are still my workhorse, supplemented by Picadilly and Markings -I really need to do a comparison post/video on those soon- but I have found I’m not as immune as I used to be for the other brands out there.

The newest “must try this or a part of myself will forever mourn” item is this. Leuchtturm 1917 A5 Medium hardcover notebook in berry, with lined pages. Need. I love that the pages come pre-numbered. I love the color, which goes perfectly with my laptop. I honestly can’t tell if the pages are white or ivory. I strongly prefer ivory, but if this paper takes fountain pen ink as well as I’ve heard it does, I am willing to make an exception. I also have a strong thirst for a large Moleskine Volant, a format I hated in the 3×5 size, love in the mini, and now want to revisit in my preferred size, 5×8. Gray is first choice for color, purple second, though there are new colors that look interesting, too.  The books may have to go into a leather cover, because the plastic feel of the books themselves feels off to me, but perforated pages all the way through? I have to give that a try. Maybe blank pages, rather than lined, but lined might be all right also.

There are actually a lot of notebooks I haven’t tried yet, and the whole fountain pen world? Only dipping my toes into that. Which reminds me, I’ve never even held a dip pen, but the mere thought of that makes me feel closer already to the eighteenth century people currently taking up space in my head. Hero and his letterbox and his sketches, (I seriously cannot draw worth beans, and I’d originally wanted him to be a violinist – I also cannot play the violin- but nope, he went right for pen and ink, so here we are) and Heroine and her ledgers (that, I can get. Keeping track of stuff is important) and my natural affinity for longhand make this an appropriate pastime.

Certain notebooks work for certain things, I’ve found since I’ve become serious about the habit, and no, any old notebook won’t do. There was a time when I thought that was the case, and I was wasting time and money and mental energy by using pretty paper (or making plain paper pretty) but I’ve found that’s not the case. It’s a natural and needed part of my process. Using notebooks has taught me a lot about the way I write fiction. Slap something on the page, anything, and get it moving. If I don’t like what’s down there, I can change it. I can rip it out. I can tape it together. I can cover it. I do not have to be perfect on the first try, which is a misunderstanding I’d been laboring under for longer than I care to admit, even here.

It’s okay to say, “this isn’t working. I’m going to try something else.” The thoughts, feelings, images, words, stories, all of the above, that I want for project X may not come at all on lined paper, but move to dot grid and work in boxes rather than paragraphs and :angels sing: there we go. Pen and paper matter. An old Japanese proverb says that a poor workman blames his tools, and there is some truth to that, but finding the right tool can make the job all that much easier.

 

 

 

 

 

Autopilot

annabowling Leave a comment

“No story is a straight line. The geometry of a human life is too imperfect and complex, too distorted by the laughter of time and the bewildering intricacies of fate to admit the straight line into its system of laws.”
 –Pat Conroy

This isn’t the blog post I’d intended to write, or when I intended to write it. This should, theoretically, have been Monday’s post, but Monday was a holiday, and, since I’ve been dealing with a bout of insomnia, I’m on the punchy side of things. This will pass in time, but, in the meantime, there comes that moment. Sun comes up after a long, sleepless night, and I’m faced with the mixed emotions of a) looks like I made it through the night, and b) now I have to function like a normal human, only on no sleep. The best way I’ve found, when my brain won’t track with what I want it to do, is to go on autopilot. Do what I would normally do if I only had a brain. Cue the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Or was that the scarecrow? Honestly, after the last couple of nights, I have no idea.

Enthusiasm carried me through my breakfast meeting with N, my local writer friend, where we hashed out our plan to keep ourselves and each other on track with our current projects. Slightly less enthusiasm and a second cup of tepid tea (Dear Panera Manager: water that was hot at 5:45 AM is no longer hot at 11AM. Is it that hard to pay attention to the water carafe while checking on the coffee urns?) got me to the library with Housemate, and my first crack at this post, which ended up  mostly as an explanation of what it’s like to be up all night. I stayed with it, in hopes that I would bore myself to sleep. No such luck. Lunch helped some, and there were a couple of minutes of slightly lower than usual eyelids, but then I hit the “need to do something or the whole day is gone” stage.

Cue autopilot. As I’d said to N earlier today, my brain knows that, when I take a picture of my workspace, and post it to my Instagram, then I’m committed. Accountability works for me. I can find loopholes if I’m only accountable to myself, but tell somebody else? Have to do it, then. So, though a bit later than usual, and with absolutely no idea what to write, here I am. I have no idea why the computer refuses to post the picture of my actual current workspace, but this morning’s picture will do. Okay, it says, here we are, in front of the keyboard, the whole Internet knows we’re writing, so off we go. Not that it’s always going to be my best work, but at least I’m in the neighborhood. Much better than getting to the end of the day and then kicking myself through the entire sleepless night that I didn’t get anything done.

Speaking of those sleepless nights, I’ve been thinking of going nocturnal until the insomnia passes. Steer into the skid, as it were. I don’t like not sleeping, and trying to make the sleep I’ve missed during the day is dicey, apart from the odd nap, (which is usually very odd indeed) but if I’m going to be awake all night, can’t I at least get something productive out of it? That doesn’t seem like too much to ask, but we are talking about the creative process here. It’s not always going to make sense.

Maybe that’s part of the whole deal. Maybe these sleepless nights, moving from bed to recliner to kitchen stool, to fuzzy blankey on the floor in front of the heater (Skye’s favorite place for me to hunker, I’m sure, as she is my fuzzy shadow on these midnight wanderings) is time when my story brain is working things out without cluing the rest of my brain (heh. Rest. I see what I did there. Unintentional, but it can stay.) in on the process. I wouldn’t rule that out, and Hero and Heroine are very much welcome to come keep me company when the sandman won’t.

Barring that, well, I have that nice tall stack of library books. We’ll see how it goes.