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Typing With Wet Nails: Fountain Pen Day Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty has not been sleeping a lot this week, and she is not sure why. I do not see the problem here, because that means she is up during the night and has more time to focus on me, but she does tend to get crabby, so that probably is a problem after all. It has been an eventful week. Today is a good day, though, because it is Fountain Pen Day. Anty only found out about  this holiday today, but she is still very happy about it. Anty loves fountain pens.

Right now, she has three of them, all by Pilot. They are disposable, which means that, when they are empty, they are all done. Anty is not very happy about that aspect, so she is looking into refillable fountain pens. She has one, also by Pilot, that is clear purple plastic, but she misplaced it, and would need to look up what refills it takes, anyway. In the meantime, she has these.

Black, blue and purple are good for a start.

Black, blue and purple are good for a start.

This kind of pen also comes in turquoise and red. Anty does not remember if it comes in any other colors, but if it does, she wants them, too. She likes writing with fountain pens very much, especially in her special notebooks by Paperblanks. They are fancy, and Anty likes fancy. Take a lok at this one. This is her longhand book for Her Last First Kiss. It gets blue ink because the cover is blue.

Anty calls this one "Big Daddy Precious."

Anty calls this one “Big Daddy Precious.”

Here is a look inside her longhand notebook for Ravenwood:

These notes will probably not be in the final book. Probably.

These notes will probably not be in the final book. Probably.

The cover for this one is black, and it has a dragon on it. There are not any dragons in this book. That is okay by me, because dragons are scary. I think. I have not met any dragons, not that I know of, anyway. There is a stuffed dragon in Anty’s office, but I know the difference between stuffed and alive, so I do not count him on this one. Anty likes this book a lot because the pages are gray, with a darker gray border. She says that puts her in the right mood to write about this particular story. It takes place after a very big sickness called the Plague. The people vets who lived back then did not know how to stop it, so this was a very scary time. Anty got the idea for this story when she read a magazine that had an article about writing medieval romance and one about writing postapocalyptic romance in the same issue. Anty likes both of those things and wanted to see if she could mush them together. Since she finished the book, I think she did. Now it is time for her to make sure it is as good as it can be at this time and send it to publishers and see if they will like it.

Anty has been in her office more often this week, and not only during the daytime. when she cannot sleep, she sometimes goes into her office. One time this week, I got very curious. I waited until Anty had all of her attention on the things on her desk, and I crept over the threshold. I am a ninja kitty a lot of the time. I like to get veryveryveryclose to my humans without them noticing. Then it is a big surprise when they move, and there I am. Sometimes I get scared and run away, but I come right back. That is how it works on regular floors. The floor in Anty’s office does not have a regular floor. It has a carpet that is different from the one in her and Uncle’s bedroom. I do not like the office carpet much, especially since my claws caught in it.

I got my claws un-caught, but it was noisy, and Anty looked, and she saw me and I saw her seeing me, and I ran. I came right back, because I love Anty, and figured she might feed me for being a brave girl. She did. She went back to sleep after that. I like to think I helped her with that, because it is part of my job as a mews.  It is also my job to help her recap some TV shows, like last night’s Sleepy Hollow. That recap is not posted yet, but she will share it with you when it is. Maybe she will even let me update this entry, but I think I will wait to ask her until after she has a nap. I can help her with that, too, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Until next week...

Until next week…

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

PS: Happy Fountain Pen Day.

Typing With Wet Claws: Scary Stories Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Here I am, practicing my begging face. Are my eyes big enough? I am next to the refrigerator, so that Anty will know I want food. My food is not in the refrigerator; that is where they keep people food. My food is in the pantry, but I figured Anty was smart enough to make the connection. Today is also the day before young humans put on costumes and go begging for treats. I beg for treats every day (and I get them) so I feel sorry they only get to do it once a year.

I was not born yet when this happened, but I have an interesting Halloween story to tell about Anty. This happened back when Olivia was our family’s kitty, and Anty worked in a place called the mall. The store where Anty worked sold accessories, which was very fun for Anty. They also said that workers could wear costumes for Halloween if they wanted. Anty thought that sounded fun, but she was also very busy that year and did not have time to put a costume together.

That is not the end of the story, though. While Anty was at work, people from the mall gave her a prize for wearing an especially imaginative costume. Anty was very confused about this, because she was wearing her regular clothes. Well, regular for Anty, that is. She had on a long patchwork skirt, suede boots with zippers, a pirate shirt and a black vest. She also had a Star Trek: The Next Generation style communicator pin that she wore as regular jewelry. The mall people said that they loved Anty’s costume as a member of a Star Trek landing party in disguise. Anty figures it was very creative of them to come to that conclusion, and maybe she had subconsciously worked in that direction, so she thanked them and accepted the prize.

She also went back to sorting through the pretty toy coins the mall people gave her to hand out to trick or treaters (they could not give out eating things because of rules) because those were not toy coins at all. Anty did not know how the mall people got those coins, because those coins were from a big big party called Mardi Gras in Louisiana, and the mall was in Connecticut. What Anty did know was that some of those coins could make parents of the trick or treaters angry, because some of those coins advertised places and activities that are not okay for young humans. Places where only grownups can go, to get drinks that are only for grownups, and places where grownups can watch other grownups, um, I will say dance. I do not mean ballroom or ballet, if you catch my drift. Anty took those kinds of coins out of the basket and did not give them out.

Those are really the only two Halloween stories I know, but I know a lot about being scared. Anty likes TV shows like The Walking Dead and Sleepy Hollow. Those are only pretend scary. I will tell you what is really scary. Research is really scary, at least according to Anty. Her first book, My Outcast Heart, was set in the town where Anty was a people kitten. Her hero was a hermit and her heroine was a subsistence farmer. That meant that the expected income for that job was food. That sounds like a very good job to me. I like food.

For this book, Her Last First Kiss, Anty is not on such familiar ground. That means she has a lot of research to do. Her previous books have had what some might call outliers as main characters. That does not mean they were very good at not telling the truth. That means that they were not a part of mainstream society. The heroine of Never Too Late started out as part of society, but she left, so she falls into that category, too. Anty says I do not need to know what a mistress is, but she needs to know how one got paid and how much and how much it would cost to keep somebody in a special hospital in 1784, and what her boy story people would have studied at Oxford and how far it is from Point A to Point B..and C and D and E, and how long did it take to get a special license to get married and other things as well. I am pretty sure I heard the exact moment her brain broke yesterday. That was a very scary moment for a kitty, because Anty was the only human at home, and I still needed food. I think she is better today, but she has a big binder out and is muttering something about something about maps. She is irritated with the Romans for putting London all the way at the bottom of the country, because that does not leave her a lot of room for characters to — Anty says I should not be talking about things like that before she has them firm in her mind.

One thing Anty has learned from all the books she has started to write but did not make it all the way is that she needs to have the foundation in place, and research is part of that. When she wants to know what her people could do in that time, she can look at what people actually did in that time. Anty is writing a romance novel, not a textbook, but she also needs to know what her people’s world was like and what they could do. If she does not know what her people could do, then she gets overthinky and that scares even Uncle, so she has to find these things out.

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

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Typing With Wet Claws: Almost Anty’s Birthday Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This is a special week, so I wanted to have a special picture today. Tomorrow is Anty’s birthday. In case you are wondering how much Anty likes her birthday, it is very close to this:

Because I was born wild, with no humans around to record these sorts of things, we do not know my birthday. The shelter people said I was about ten months old when Mama and Anty brought me home, so we count ten months back from the day I was adopted and use that when a vet needs to know these things. Anty is also adopted (I do not know how people shelters work when getting human kittens to their parents) but she does know her birthday and even the time she was born. That was eight in the morning. Anty was a morning person right from the start. Her mama and papa got a phone call very soon after that, to tell them Anty was born and it was time to come get her.

The way the story is told, Anty’s mama had to go on a plane by herself because Anty came sooner than they thought she would come and Anty’s papa still had to be at work. One would think humans could be more understanding about things like that. They probably would be, now, but this was a different time. Family lore says that Anty’s mama got very worried on the plane ride back, because she fell asleep on the plane and when she woke up, she could not find Anty. At least not her face, which should have been sticking out of the blanket in which she was wrapped. Anty was all right (as you may have guessed, because she is here now) and had squiggled herself down to the very bottom of the blanket. I do not blame her. When I was first brought home, I huddled in the back of my carrier, too, and I was a big girl of ten months. Anty was only three days old and had no idea what was going on.

She likes to think she has learned a few things since then. Like how to write good stories. She did teach a cat how to blog, so that is something. Anty really likes birthdays in general. They do not always have to be hers, which is good, because birthdays are one to a human every year. She gets  equally excited about Uncle’s or Mama’s birthdays, and she even likes my adoption day (that is in December, and she says that allows her to tick “Christmas kitten” off her bucket list. I am glad I could help her with that one.) This one is hers, though, and she is glad that it happens in her favorite time of year, October. The days get shorter, nights get longer, leaves turn pretty colors and pumpkin flavored things are everywhere. It also means Halloween and Thanksgiving are coming up, and then Christmas, which is her favorite day of the whole year, even more than  her own birthday. It counts as a birthday, though, and an important one for people who believe the way our family does.

This birthday is Anty’s, however, and, for her, it is the start of a whole new year. She likes to mark the start of a new year with new notebooks. Here are two.

Future story receptacles?

Future story receptacles?

Both of these notebooks are blank right now, but they will not be that way for long. The solid blueish notebook is a Moleskine, and has a soft cover and dotted pages. That will be a new thing for Anty to try. Well, she did try dotted pages once, but the pages were a funny whitish color and hurt her eyes, so she had to give that notebook a new home. She is interested in trying the dotted pages on Moleskine paper, which is a nice, soothing ivory.

The other notebook is by Punch Studio, which makes very very pretty stationery. Anty has been accumulating a lot of Paris-themed stationery, but here is the funny thing; she does not have any Paris-set ideas right now, so she is not sure why. She knows why she collects peacock-themed stationery (they are very pretty birds and probably taste good, because they are related to turkeys. I have recently started eating turkey, in case you are wondering, but Anty collects peacock things because they are important for a future book.) but the Paris thing remains a mystery.

There are some other things in this picture, taken on the desk that Anty had wanted fro her own since she was a very young human kitten. Now it is hers, so that is another life goal reached. The stuffed bunny in the corner is Happy Bunny. He says “let’s talk about me” when Anty squeezes him. She says he is good for focus. The big square thing is a stress cube. It is good for squishing when Anty needs something to do with her hands. Sometimes that is a lot, during the part of writing when she stares at things that are not there and has to think really hard. The fact that there are sticky notes and papers around these books are proof that they are going to be written in very very soon. The solid notebook will become her all purpose computer bag book once the current one is filled. As for the pretty Paris book, she does not know. It has pretty page inside, three different designs repeating. Anty thinks this might be a good book for morning pages, as it is easier to write on pretty pages than completely blank ones. She is not sure yet, though.

What she is sure of is that it is time to read Critique Partner Vicki’s chapter, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Happily Ever After, Epically Speaking

annabowling 1 Comment

First and foremost, Happy Anniversary to Real Life Romance hero. Not our wedding anniversary, which is a different date, but the anniversary of the day we fell in love. We are mushy enough to remember the exact day (having it happen on a national holiday probably helped) and mark the occasion. I will not give the number of years, but I can say it was in another century, in a far off land called Santa Barbara. We were two college students, majoring in things that have nothing to do with what either of us are doing for work at present. Go figure.

This year, we marked the occasion with lunch at home, dragged out of the freezer and microwaved, because it’s the day before grocery day, and we both had stuff to do. Also because one of us cut the amount of bread in the household down to one slice while the other was off doing laundry. In a completely unrelated piece of news, a grilled peanut butter sandwich is apparently delicious but super melty to the point of liquefied peanut butter. I will not say which of us did what, because a good marriage always has some secrets, but it did end up with us dipping things in Malibu sauce (1/2 mustard, 1/2 mayonnaise, whisk together; excellent on chicken) at the kitchen counter and discussing what we thought life was going to be like cough cough years ago.

College majors, once of crucial importance, turned out not to be so much, in the end, for us. RLRH is now in the restaurant industry, and I make up stories, blabber about books, and tell people who kissed on TV. Living in NY state? We’d hoped. Now we’re doing it, in a beautiful apartment in a wonderful neighborhood we never want to leave. We share that apartment with Housemate, who knows all our dirty laundry and loves us anyway (or none of us can afford the blackmail; that’s also a plausible explanation.) Though I studied early childhood education, I did not take the degree, nor have I worked in that field since my last nannying gig in college. A few years in retail, many more in family caregiving, but the writing has always been there, even during the dark years when not much was actually coming. I did not expect those years.

RLRH and I went over a few things we would have never expected, if Present Us had been able to talk to Cough Cough Years Ago Us. Health issues, financial crises, deaths of parents and other loved ones, watching friends become parents, career derailments and changes of direction, changes of interests, the eclectic bunch of friends we’ve accumulated, a kitty who does not climb, jump or cuddle (but she does blog, so that makes up for a lot,) and other things we never would have thought of. We’d cut out on a school activity (not a class) that day, long ago, and threw off the person who’d gone out to look for us, because those two people on the athletic field looked like us, but he and I were not a couple, so that couldn’t have been, person kept on looking. We eventually returned to the event, knowing, from the time we’d spent soaking in the other’s company, that something was different, and always would be.

I’ve always known romance was my writing home. That was true back then, and it’s even more true now, maybe because I’ve lived the ups and downs of what life has to offer, with RLRH at my side. A lot of romances are courtship stories, maybe even the majority, and that’s fine. Falling in love is romantic, that’s for sure. Everything is new and shiny and overwhelming, and nothing has been like this before, and maybe, maybe…. RLRH and I threw around a lot of “did you ever think we’d…” questions to each other. Some were answered with “yes,” some with “no,” some with incredulous laughter, and, my favorite, a soft “I’d hoped,” from him.

That’s the other level of romance, and one I like to include in my books whenever possible. A lot of the current romances take place over a short period of time, so focusing on the courtship makes sense. That other level, though, the love that has been tried, broken, mended, grown stronger, as broken bones do, that’s also worth celebrating. Those stories also need to be told. That’s one of the reasons I’m studying some of the older historical romances these days, the ones with a bigger scope and taking place over a longer period of time. For me, the very best historical romances, the ones that linger with me years and decades later, are epics. Sagas. Romances worthy of historic record. Those make my blood sing, so that’s where my focus is going these days.

I once described an early work, which I still find satisfactory these many years later, as feeling like I was dancing in a room that was too small. That’s the best way I can put it, even now. I had a sense of restraint then, a keen concern about what I was “supposed” to do. Levels of historical accuracy (I go for verisimilitude now)  and sensuality and which periods are desirable and which are not. Word count is  a big bugaboo for me, useful in marketing and editing, but needs to be firmly locked away during the drafting process. I need to tell the story the way I tell the story and then we’ll focus on the form and all that during the next pass through.

Am I where I thought I was going to be all those years ago? Mostly, no. Am I where I need to be? Probably. Am I where I actually am? Most definitely. One of the questions RLRH and I asked each other was, did we think we were going to be this happy? Life isn’t perfect. It’s not ever going to be, and of course we have some what ifs, but we also have each other, and that’s what this happily ever after thing is all about, in life and in fiction. Onward we go….

Typing With Wet Claws: Feeling Much Better Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It has been a momentous week for me, and also for Anty. Everybody at home, really, because this week has mostly been about me. Last week, when I went to the vet, the vet told my humans they should try to get me to eat. That is the kind of vet advice I like to hear. It was not the easiest thing, though, because of my upset tummy.

Anty was very determined to get me to eat. She even got down on the floor, under the bed with me, and shone a flashlight on me to make sure that I was okay. Then she offered me different kinds of food. I did not want to take any at first, because I had been so pukey earlier. I was afraid I would get sick again, but Anty would not give up, She stuck her finger in tuna juice and people baby food and mushy cat food with gravy and rubbed it on my fur. I do not like messy things on my fur, so I licked it off. That was Anty’s sneaky way of making sure I got some food in me. She did that for a couple of days, and even started bringing her tiny glowy box down there so she could talk to other humans while trying to convince me to eat.

After a couple of days, I changed my mind. Anty put the gushy cat food, with gravy, in front of me. That smelled good. I do not normally eat gushy food with gravy. I normally eat fish jelly, which is soft, and my treat, which is crunchy. The gushy food smelled like birdie. The vets said that the medicine Mama squirted in my mouth twice a day for a whole week was birdie flavored. I do not know what kind of birdies they have eaten, but it tasted like medicine to me, plus it was cold. This gushy food was not cold. Anty offered me some gushy food on a soup spoon, and I was tempted, but still scared. Then Anty put some on my mouth fur. She knew I would lick it off. Well, I did. I liked it. I took a very small bite from the food on the spoon, and it was good. I mean really good. I ate a couple more spoonfuls, and then Anty put some of the food on a small people dish. That is what the big picture at the top of the post is from; Anty took pictures of me eating, so Uncle and Mama would know I was doing better even though they were at work.

Anty fed me a few meals like that over the next days. I would get excited when I saw her come with the flashlight and the gushy food and the plate. Here is where Anty got sneaky again. Every meal, she would move the people dish closer to the edge of the bed. If I wanted the food, I had to come closer. Then, one night, when Uncle came home, he rattled my treat bag. I ran out from under the bed, into the hallway and to my regular room, where Purple Bowl is. I only have treat out of Purple Bowl, ever. Anty and Uncle were very happy to see me eat like a normal kitty. The next day, Anty tried feeding me my normal food in my normal bowl, and I ate it.

 

The next thing is kind of gross. Anty has been very interested in my poop. That is getting better, too. I have not peed yet, but Uncle told Anty I have been running around, which I always do before I pee. I like to hold it for a long time and then let it all go at once, so this is normal for me. My old vet once said he never saw so much pee come out of one cat at one time. I set the office record. I had a reputation there, because I made a BIG poop on my first visit. In my defense, I was young and scared and new to the whole pet thing.

Anyway, I am feeling much better now, and can pay better attention to what Anty is doing, so I can tell you all about that. She says this week has been pretty much a wash on writing, but she took good care of me, so it is still a good week. She will write more this coming week, because October is when Anty gets her super writing powers back. The air is cooler, the days are shorter, and the leaves turn wonderful colors. Now that she has her mews back in working order, work will be a lot easier.

She wanted me to mention that she will, once again, be recapping every other episode of Sleepy Hollow at Heroes and Heartbreakers (she shares the job with another human) so that is some writing already. She is very excited about the new season, though there still do not appear to be any cats in this program. Maybe the lack of cats is intentional, to enhance the horror.

It is almost time for people dinner, so that is about it for this week. Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Thursday Rambles

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“Be willing to expose yourself to your readers. Plumb the depths of your own experiences and emotions in order to make your stories authentic. Don’t hold back.”

— Madeline Hunter

Wednesday’s post was going to be a special midweek update from Skye, but a domestic tornado chain touched down, here it is, Thursday, and Skye will be able to make her regular Feline Friday post tomorrow, so this one is all on me. Which would be lovely if I had any idea what I had planned to write here in the first place. Keeping the discipline of thrice-weekly blogging is one of my goals, so here I am, and my complete lack of focus means that I am going to babble and trust that some sense will come out of all of it at some point.

I will admit that, in a not that long ago romance writer’s conference, I had the great good fortune to be seated at the same table as Madeline Hunter at one of the meals, but did not get to talk to her. Despite my best attempts to peek at her name badge, I couldn’t get a good view, and the noise level was high, so shouting across a big round table wasn’t the most practical thing to do. Point is, I was at the same table with Madeline Hunter for an entire meal, and did not get to talk to her. This will haunt me to my grave. Either that or until my next opportunity, because these things do roll around again.

Granted, due to the lack of a clear name tag sighting, I didn’t know who the new arrival to our table was, and her only answer to a tablemate’s question of “what do you write?” (universal writer to writer icebreaker there) was “historical.” If I had known, I would have loved to talk with her. I still remember, long, long ago, when Madeline Hunter first came on the scene with well-received medieval romances, and feeling betrayed when she switched to Regency. I’m all for writers writing in different eras, and, in fact, I encourage that. I’d like to see more of it. What hit me hard at the time was the loss of a writer who used the medieval setting in all its grit and glory, leaving for more populated Regency assemblies.

There are multiple reasons a writer might switch time periods. Medievals have been declared dead multiple times since I started reading romance novels, let alone writing them. I don’t recall if it was that same conference, though it may well have been, where I pitched my own medieval, with a working title of Ravenwood, to a very interested agent, who said she loved my voice, quoted my own lines back to me, and assured me she would totally read this book for her own pleasure…but she couldn’t sell a medieval in the current market. Did I have a Regency?

I was working on one at the time, and told the agent that. She said great, send it when it was done, but don’t rush. She wanted the same level of polish as she could see in the medieval. Well, dear readers, I can say that I tried. I love the characters in that once upon a time Regency, love the conflict, love the resolution, but, as Critique Partner Vicki pointed out, I hate writing Regency. Georgian seems to be my natural default these days, so, when I do go back to that manuscript, everything will get bumped back a few decades, to fit within my natural reach. It’s going to take a while to get to that point, as I have the current novel and novella that need my attention, and I’ve blabbered on this subject before, so I won’t belabor the point.

Does this post even have a point? Does it need one? It’s written, that’s what, or mostly so, and I’ve had a few discussions, at various places on the interweb, about writing historical and how and why and all that. Defining what makes a particular period appeal to a particular reader or writer is far above my pay grade, so I’m not going to try (today) but here’s what I do know: I need to feel the era. To us, it’s history. To the characters, it’s life. Barring time travel (and I have a time travel waiting to burn off its own bad juju – this may be payback for all the jujubes I inhaled as a kid) the characters don’t know how the war is going to turn out. They don’t know they’re inching up on another ice age, or that the thingamahoozie is going to be invented two months hence, thus changing the world forever. They don’t know any of that.

What they do know is that they want the same things we do; home, health, shelter, food, companionship, purpose, love. All that good stuff. The way they get it, though, that’s where we find the differences, and what historical characters can and cannot do are influenced by any number of things. I find that endlessly fascinating. It’s easier for me to climb into a character’s skin and move around in their world if that world strikes a chord in me and plucks me like a stringed instrument so we can make beautiful music together. No doubt that can happen in any number of settings, and there are probably some I haven’t ever thought I’d employ that, someday, I will. For now, it’s Georgian, and, for today, that’s one blog entry down.

Typing With Wet Claws: Vet Vet Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This week is mostly about me, because this week, I had the adventure. Normally, I am a very healthy girl. I only eat my food that my humans give me, in my dish, in my room, so I do not know how my tummy got upset, but, this week, it did.

I puked. A lot. Also had something come out of me that was liquid, but should have been solid. Anty watched me closely and was very concerned. When Mama and Uncle came home, I did not feel very well at all, and had not wanted any of my food (if it came out of you the way it came out of me, you would not want to put any more in, either.) This is very concerning for kitties. My humans got the carrier out (I know what that means, so I made my displeasure known. I usually go along with what the humans want, but this was a carrier.) Mama got me in fairly quickly, and then we went outside (it was cold) and then in the car. Anty had her fingers through the grate on the door so I could smell her and she could feel the warmth from my body. Mama drove through the dark while Uncle used his phone to check in with my Anty Kiara, who had recommended the emergency vet.

Vets are humans who help kitties (and dogs; there were a lot of dogs in the waiting room. That was scary, because some of them were big.) and they helped me right away. The vet tech gave me a bath, even though I did not say that she could (Mama said she could, though, so that is why.) because I had a poopy butt. They poked me with needles and took some blood, which I also did  not like, but  that is  how humans help kitties who are sick. Some of the needles gave me liquids, because I was dehydrated, and some of the needles gave me medicine. The vet gave my humans other medicine to give me, and then my humans took me home. I ran out of the carrier right away and hid under Anty and Uncle’s bed. The humans offered me food, but I was not yet interested in it.

i1035 FW1.1

Anty says I am very pretty after my bath.

This is the best part next. I am starting to feel better, and food is looking interesting again. The vet said I could  have people baby food if I would eat it (I will not. I feel sorry for people babies that have to eat that stuff. No, thank you.) My Anty Kara, who has kitties of her own, and helps kitties who do not yet have humans, said that I could have tuna juice. A human Anty went to school with when she was an almost grownup said the same thing, so Anty went to the food store and got me people baby food, people tuna and a different kind of cat food with gravy in it. My regular food does not have gravy in it, because my vet where we used to live said that can make kitties like me fat. (I do not know if she understands I am a Maine Coon and I am supposed to be bigger than non-Coons.)

Anty put all the food she had bought on the floor in front of me, to see if I was interested in anything. I looked straight at the can of tuna. It was sealed and she had to get the can opener, but I let her know that was what I wanted. She tried the baby food first, because its cap screwed off. Meh. Tuna, Anty. It was hard to get the can open, because our can opener is older than me, but she did it, and put the juice in my dish. I loved it. I ate a little bit of tuna and asked for more. Then I ate some of my treat that was still in my dish. Then I had more food. Then I puked it all up, and Anty cleaned it. Anty knows a lot of bad words, but she was not angry at me; nobody likes cleaning throwup.

I still throw up a little when I eat, but most of it stays down, and Anty says I am acting more like myself. I am up to writing this blog entry, so that is something. Anty gets to cuddle me when she holds me so Mama can squirt medicine in my mouth. Then they tell me I am a good girl, but I already knew that, because they tell me all the time. I am feeling a lot better and can once again function as Anty’s mews. That is a good thing, because she has writing to do.

Last night, she recapped the season premiere of Sleepy Hollow, for Heroes and Heartbreakers. It is here and looks like this:

Ichabbies3

That is about it for this week, as it is time for my nap, and Anty needs the computer. She also is looking forward to picking up her new phone this weekend, so that she can take pictures of me on Instagram again. She was very concerned about me this week, but now that I am getting better, it is time to pay attention to writing again.

Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Mandatory Midweek Post

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I want to know that there’s something just beyond MY ability, that I can eek (sic) out one day that can move people like I’ve been moved.

–Ben Folds

I’m grumpy today. Kitty with tummy trouble will do that to a gal, and coming on the tails of a Monday and a half, especially with a gorgeously cool and rainy day that I would love to spend reading, especially (yes, two especiallies in one sentence; it’s that kind of day, and it’s my blog, so hush) now that we have a comfy cushion on our windowseat, the temptation to give this day a certain digit and slack off is strong.

Here’s why I’m not. In a word, discipline. I am the first one to turn into a whimpering ball of jelly when I look at the publication date on my most recent book. I am also the one in charge of the publication date for my next one. I have a novella scene due to my collaborator tomorrow, so I need to get that down today, at least the bare bones. I can do the bare bones, even when I’m grumpy and have one eye on kitty doings. Not consciously drawing on Anne Lamott’s one inch picture frame, but it’s similar.

Organizing and making lists works incredibly well for me. I don’t have to write the entire book today. Shoot, I’m only writing part of the book, because Collaborator Melva kicks writing butt and we are so much on the same page (pun intended) that it’s scary. It doesn’t have to be perfect. If I’m off, she’ll tell me, and we’ll fix it, together. What it has to be is written. That’s it. Bullet points are fine. Present tense is fine. I can fix bad, but I can’t fix blank. (Thank you, Nora Roberts, for that one.)

“Do what you can do, when you can do it,” is  a phrase I learned while caregiving, and it applies to writing as well. Life is going to happen. Cats are going to throw up, phones are going to go to the great charging station in the sky, and grumpy days are going to happen. These are the times I like to focus on what I can do, rather than what I can’t, or haven’t, or didn’t. One of the items on my bare bones to do list was write today’s blog entry. I had nothing when I started, unless fretting pet-aunt mode was an option  (on a writing blog, it usually isn’t) and Skye is currently hanging out in her regular rainy day spot under the bed in the master bedroom. She has a bowl of water, and I’ll keep an eye on her. The other eye has to be on the writing.

This isn’t my favorite entry. I’m blabbering, but it’s honest. It’s where I am. That’s something I’m working on strengthening, in both fiction and nonfiction. I have Ben Folds’ new album playing, a mix of his usual music and a symphonic orchestra (my love for pop/rock combined with an orchestra knows no bounds, really it doesn’t) because his work is always good for jump-starting my own. Getting to those deep emotions and the insecurities characters like to hide from the world, because those are things that will prove them weak, get them rejected, make them vulnerable. Those are my jams. I love that stuff. In romance, I can throw basically anything at my characters, as long as they end up happy and together at the end. Since I write historical, that means I can use wars and natural disasters and political upheaval, and all of that ready made good stuff to cause bumps in the road to Happily Ever After.

Being a character focused writer means that I can play with the voices in my head when I don’t know what we’re going to be doing today. That’s a good jumpstart again. If I don’t know how they’d react to X, then that means I don’t know them well enough, most likely, and we are going to need to have some tea and a good long talk, them and me. We’ll get through it. Bullet point by bullet point. There will be another day when I blaze through multiple scenes without breaking a sweat. Taking this day for what it is, doing what I can, and then refilling the well is the best way to get to that new release, the next article, and hey, look right there. I wrote a blog entry. Cross that puppy off the list and let’s get back to that novella scene.

Monday Junior

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Focus on writing the story you want to tell. Don’t worry about how many words, what genre, and especially about people who tell you that you will never make it. They’re not important. Finish the thing and try to do your story justice.

–Ilona Andrews

 

Today  is Tuesday, but I am calling it Monday Junior this week. To best explain this, here is a short rundown of my Monday evening:

  • hit same place on head on corner of shelf and corner of dresser, in two separate incidents.
  • found a bug in my crushed pineapple, and remembered, hours later, that this serving had been broken down from a bigger container earlier, so I did at one point eat half a can of pineapple that had a bug in it.
  • decided to make tea to counteract the buggy pineapple, only to have tea infuser open (this may be because the kitchen light was out, we have prewar ceilings and no ladder) and float my last bit of Earl Grey throughout the water. Tea dumped, because now not drinkable.
  • Real Life Romance Hero  washed my mug (into which I had flung aforementioned bug) which I used to make that cup of tea, which had to be dumped out, but I only found out there was still soap in it after I started drinking said tea.

It wasn’t a total waste, as today’s picture evidences. Real Life Romance Hero had received a gift card to a swanky restaurant near our apartment for his birthday a month and a half ago. Yesterday, we finally got a chance to put it into use. Got dressed in real Grownup People Who Eat in Swanky Restaurant Clothes and everything. Food was amazing, atmosphere was perfect, and we had the place to ourselves, so that made for a special afternoon. I went for a walk in the park to ponder over some current writing projects while Real Life Romance Hero watched the news, and came home, expecting a lovely evening of writing.

Insert maniacal laughter here. Normally, a pina colada sundae is the perfect cap to any day. I love pineapple. I love coconut. I love ice cream. Mush them all together, and we should have something special. Add a dead bug (though I suppose dead bug is better than live bug, but not by much) and we have the exact opposite effect. Bleh.Try and follow that up with a soothing cup of tea that fails, not once but twice. Surely, Tuesday has to be better.

i1035 FW1.1

Did I do that?

Well. I will start off by mentioning that Skye kitty puked at my feet while I was making my list of Monday horrors. It was not her first time today. She’s fine; it’s hairball season. This happened at the same time Housemate arrived several hours earlier than we expected her (always good to see her, and it is her house, too, but surprise factor was high) and RLRH, who had been sleeping in, rose at that exact moment, doubling the surprise factor for me, plus cat puke. I am about to give this day a jaunty salute and retreat into Sims 3 and adult coloring books.

Before the cat puke and flinging open of multiple doors at once, my Tuesday so far includes:

  • the two pens I normally keep in my computer bag, for specific purposes, are not in my computer bag, nor are they in my computer sleeve, and I have run out of logical places they could be, which leaves “lost” as the most likely suspect. Not earth-shattering, as they are easily obtained at Dollar Tree, and I am subbing Pilot Varsity fountain pens (there is something about subbing a fountain pen for a dollar store pen, but I am too Mondayed to examine that at present) but still enough to jangle in my current state.
  • Aforementioned festival of doors flinging open, with my opinion asked on a conversation whose topic completely eluded me.
  • New (additional, that is; Critique Partner Vicki is not going anywhere; I love and need  her and she can’t afford the blackmail, so she has to stick around) critique partner not only pinpointed specific issues with project she’s looking at with laser accuracy and helpful suggestions with which I totally agree can make this story So Much Better but also nailed the overall goal I’m going for in my writing, which I had not mentioned to her yet; reclaiming my melodrama, which I love and dearly miss, buried under should and expectations and nonwriting concerns.

This last one is where I’m going to focus, because it’s a good place and an uncomfortable place. It’s good because this is what I want, this getting back in touch with my natural voice and working those writing muscles until they give me some resistance, which is the signal that they are getting stronger. Uncomfortable, because, well, change is uncomfortable. Resistance is uncomfortable. Looking at what we could do better and where we’ve fallen short is uncomfortable. It’s also a necessary step in the journey, and, sometimes, we need to tread that particular path more than once.

So, on a day when I’d hoped to make up for the day before, (though I did get some work done before RLRH and I had our adventure) instead, I’m digging up bones, fleshing out, refining, reexamining, restoring, tearing down and building up until what’s on the page is what’s in my head. My characters deserve that. My readers deserve that. I deserve that. In that perspective, all the crud is worth what it takes to go through, to make the best possible story and the best possible me. Remind me of that when I grumble, okay?

Return of the Robot Revolution

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Today, you’re getting what my computer sees, and Monday morning’s post on Tuesday afternoon, because this has already started to shape up as quite a week. I’ll give you a brief tour. Feel free to grab your own beverage, because I know I need mine.

Monday was jury duty, my first time in NY, though I’d been called more times in CT than anybody I know (in any state, actually.) I was not selected, so you get me this week, after all. I’d meant to get this blog up in the morning, but then I noticed the laundry was three steps away from becoming sentient, so trip to the Laundromat was in order. I like to bring my phone with me so I can stay current on email and do some research or check favorite sites (Spotify, I ❤ you) but that only works if the phone does.

I need to back up here, to Sunday. I’d been in the park, stopped on a bench to check my messages, and the phone went dark. Not what it was meant to do, as I’d left the house with a full charge. Okay, no big deal. Go back home and charge it, only darned thing wouldn’t take a charge. Maybe it’s the charger? I tried Real Life Romance Hero’s charger, tried Housemate’s charger, tried my tablet’s charger, and more, until the grand total was six. Nothing. This warrants trip to the phone store. Not my favorite place, and I was already anxious, so yeah, fun. Phone Dude fiddled with phone, it worked fine, so, okay. Worked fine again on Monday, useful for checking in with Real Life Romance Hero and letting him know how things were going. Worked fine Monday night and most of Tuesday morning.

So, back to Laundromat today, checking mail, and…phone goes dark again. Try to power on or off, nothing. Ahem. I have been this way before. Run phone home (I live kitty corner to the Laundromat) to stick it in charger, grab tablet, back to Laundromat. Head back to phone store after laundry is done, Phone Dude II fiddles with the battery, and all is well. Great. Time for lunch with Housemate. While Housemate is obtaining food, I stake out table in food court, and check my…wait a minute, we just fixed this. Double ahem.

Back to phone store, and deal with Phone Dude III. Phone Dude III could put us in queue for Phone Dude II, who is the one allowed to poke around phone guts, but that would be at least two hours wait. Nope. There is an alternative, Phone Dude IV, a few minutes down the road. Fine. Nothing to lose, so off Housemate and I go. Phone Dude IV agrees to poke around the phone guts. First job: test battery. Battery is fine. That’s good news. Phone, however, seems to be pining for the fjords, so options seem to be A) purchase new phone, or B) send phone back to Phone People, let them fix it and send it back. This decision will be made in a bit, as my to do list tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me there is still writing and critting to be done, so off again.

I’d wanted to have all that work done by this part of the day, not only be starting on it, but I have my list on Habitica, and my party is on a quest, so darned if I am going to be the reason we take any hits. For me, accountability works extremely well, and if the rest of my party is counting on me to do all this stuff, then I am going to do it, no matter how long it takes. Call it dedication or stubbornness or whatever; I know that’s how I’m wired. If I didn’t have a list others could see (at least I think they can see it; I know I can, and what I do contributes to the welfare of the party as a whole) I might say eh, it’s been an aggravating day; I’m curling up under a blankey, making tea and diving into a good book.

That last part, I am doing. Sort of. Review novella installment from collaborator, crit Critique Partner Vicki’s new chapter, and then hit the story points I’ve listed for the projects of the day. So, not an entire loss, and I did get a blog entry out of the deal. Still crabby, though, because I like my phone and I am going to be itchy without it until things are resolved. I am, now, more than ever, convinced that I somehow repel electronics. Maybe they’re allergic to me? Is it because I write historicals? Because I love notebooks more than a sane person should? Be honest, electronics, I can take.it.