possibly pointless blabbering

Typing With Stuffed Paws: Introductory Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Let’s get introductions out of the way. My name is Sebastian Thunderpaws Hart-Bowling, and I will be serving as Cat Regent until one or more flesh and blood cats can take on their rightful blogging duties. Trust me, these humans, especially the writer one, are not fit to be left on their own between cats. Hence, the need for a Cat Regent, specifically me.

As far as I understand it, the duties of Cat Regent mostly involve keeping an eye on that writer chick who lives here. I think the dude who lives here calls her Anna, or something like that. I think that’s what the other chick who lives here calls her, too, so that’s probably her name, but whatever. I’m still going through the orientation packet, and by “going through” I mean “sleeping on,” but that goes without saying.

Before I go any farther, it’s elephant in the room time. Yes, I am aware that I am a stuffed animal. All of us are aware. Deal with it. The humans really cannot be left alone without feline supervision, but currently live in a no-pets building, until they can find a pet-friendly place, which should happen in the spring. When that happens, I will train my non-stuffed replacement, and return to my normal life of naps, and emergency pillow duty. Until then, I get to motivate the writer human, and use this blog to air my grievan…I mean, provide support and keep readers abreast of new developments.

Originally, I wanted to call this blog “Get Stuffed,” but Writer Chick said she’d write all of the Friday posts by herself, before she let me do that. As Cat Regent, and temporary Mews, I cannot allow such things to happen. Since my paws, and, well, all of me, are stuffed, that title is acceptable.

As you might have guessed, the change in hosts means that some things are going to be different around here, regarding the way I keep you informed about Writer Chick and the stuff she’s doing. To make sure we are all on the same page, here are all the humans who live here, and what I call them:

AnnaCTFF18

Writer Chick: The other humans call her “Anna.” Writes books, writes blogs, reads books. Drinks tea (a lot of it.) Gets way too excited about notebooks and pens. Loves epic historical romance and contemporary YA. Bakes a mean macaroni and cheese. Wrote this.

SebastianandDude Dude: This guy. Married to Writer Chick. Fuzzy, but not stuffed. Reads, but not romance. Used to cook professionally, now does it for fun. Pretty smart. Good at naps. Leaves the apartment to work. Current area of interest: US Civil War history.

placeholderyarn Other Chick: Camera shy, so will be represented by this picture of yarn. Also leaves the apartment to get monies. Knits a lot. Buys groceries. Fairly quiet, and low-maintenance. Makes best blankets ever. Reads a lot. Some of those books are romance.

Then there’s me. As far as origin stories go, either Dude gave me to Writer Chick, or the other way round. Ever since Skye went to Rainbow Bridge, they have been putting me in the places where a cat should be, like in front of the bathroom door when one of them is inside, on top of the refrigerator, or in the basket of clean laundry. Like I said before, these three should not be without feline supervision. They get kind of pathetic. Scratch the “kind of,” because it is not a pretty sight.

Neither is Writer Chick first thing in the morning, before shower, caffeine, and morning pages, or when she is not writing. By this, I mean in the general sense, as when she does not have a manuscript in progress, not that she scares small children when away from the keyboard or notebook. Thankfully, she has two manuscripts in progress right now, and it is my job to keep her working on both of them.

Drama King is Writer Chick’s second co-written contemporary romance, with co-author Melva Michaelian, and Her Last First Kiss is her current historical WIP. You (both collective and individual “you”) are invited to kick her in the posterior to pic, up the pace on getting draft two of that one finished, and out on its rounds.

Still working on my signoff  phrase. I have been informed that I cannot use “Get Stuffed,” for that, either. Hmph. Oh look, birds!

SebastianWindowBye

Intravenous

annabowling Leave a comment

A few years back, I had several big life changes happening at the same time. A long-time friendship ended, there was a serious illness in the family, and  I’d had to helm an interstate move of three adults and one cat who did not sign off on any of this. Needless to say, all of the above did a serious number on the ability to create. I have multiple Moleskines filled with random ramblings, trying to make sense of everything, but fiction? Not so much.

Those changes also did a number on my ability to sleep, so there were more than a few times that I said to heck with it, slip out of bed, and plop myself in my recliner, in the dark of pre-dawn, underneath a hand-knit blanket, and plug in my earbuds. I’d kick back in the recliner, eyes closed, and let the music play, Skye kitty nearby, to send love beams my way.

The songs on that playlist didn’t pertain to any one particular novel project. It wasn’t the time for that. What it was time for, was to feel. There were a lot of sad songs on that list, loss songs, and songs that were just…big. Meat Loaf.  Mary Chapin Carpenter. Elton John.  Snow Patrol. HIM. Others.

Lying in that chair, under the blanket, one thin wire connecting me to the thing that I needed to have pumped into me, reminded me of sitting with my father during his dialysis sessions. By the time the sun came up, I’d have enough to get up and start doing things. In time, I started writing fiction again.

I remember those mornings, sometimes, when I find myself facing a blank page, or looking askance at my to-do list. On those times, I’ve found that it’s usually time for a creative transfusion. This morning, that included watching Bob’s Burgers, in my pajamas, while eating oatmeal, and then meandering a few feet to the left, to the kitchen/dining room table, and mess around with some of the art supplies that had been sitting in their moving boxes for far too long. watercolor, ink and stencils layered onto the paper, guided by instinct. The language part of my brain went on the back burner, my conscious attention divided between the backlog of TV shows I’d been putting off watching, and the images that composed themselves, as overthinking was the farthest thing from my mind.

011018artscape

And then…because there always is an “and then,” because that is how stories work, the tips of my ink-stained fingers tingled and itched to get at the keys. This entry wanted out of my head and onto the page, because after that (see previous comment about the inevitable “and thens”of every story) it would be time to rad Melva’s next scene for Drama King, and, after that, I can work on my own, and tomorrow, N and I get back on board with our mutual butt-kicking, for my historical and her contemporary. I am keeping one eye on library notifications, because I have some classic standalone historical romances on their way to me, to help stoke this historical fire. By which I mean get me back into historical mindset, because A) as much fun as co-writing the contemporaries is, I need some historical transfusion, and B) we are now in October, which means full superpowers should be going into effect, and I want to go at this as strongly as I can. There is also C) the fact that love beams do indeed come across the Rainbow Bridge, and writing between cats is, in fact, different than writing with a physical furry shadow.

There’s also the transfusion of last month’s Connecticut Fiction Fest, this past weekend’s Albany Book Festival (as an attendee, not a participant) and enough pages logged already in my reading tracker to put me two weeks ahead of my goal for October, on the first day of the month. Today, I got a transfusion of cartoons at breakfast, and cop shows at lunch, all the cups of tea I couldn’t have while the cold sore was in town, (totally making up for that now) and the agreement of all family members that now would be a good time to decorate our for-now apartment.

We still plan to find a pet friendly place some months from now. We can spend those months living out of boxes and staring at plain beige walls, or we can have some fun and put our stamp on the place. Expect progress pictures, as we go.

Such is the way a new normal begins. Do what you can, when you can. When it’s a struggle to put out, it’s time to take in, as much as it takes, for as long as it takes. Creative transfusions can come from old favorites, or the  most unusual sources. For me, I like to throw it all in there, and see what sticks. Sometimes, the enthusiasm for writing will wane, especially when there are big life changes, even when the desire, or even the need, to write,  hasn’t gone anywhere.

Even as the enthusiasm can ebb, it can also flow. Sometimes, that’s at a trickle, and sometimes, after a big enough or effective enough transfusion, crash in like a tidal wave. Usually, it’s somewhere in between.  I have a list, in my bullet journal, of things that I know make for good transfusions: Spotify playlists, secret Pinterest boards, favorite movies, books, and TV. Taking the time to set up a Sims world exactly the way I want it, then spend long weekend afternoons, playing through generations. Hauling my beloved antique rocker (I don’t know how old it is, but it’s older than me) out of storage, and setting it up in my corner of the living room. It doesn’t recline, but it rocks, and that’ll do.

020418deskscape2

Friday Favorites (in Flux)

annabowling Leave a comment

One week in, and I’m still not sure what I want to do with the new format for Friday posts, while we are between resident felines. Sebastian has taken a more active role in the household, Real Life Romance Hero and I plopping him on the other’s lap, shoulder, book, etc, at random intervals, so Sebastian might find his way into a guest hosting spot of Feline Fridays.

The search for pet-friendly housing will continue, but we will also be taking a breather. New feline units are expected, probably, in spring. Until then, I still have blogs to fill, so I’m going to have to blabber about something. As of right now, Friday Favorites feels about-right-est. We will see.

One of the things I have always liked to do when I am at an in-between place, is to find a romance-friendly used bookstore (the romance friendly part is important) and tuck in for a couple of hours. It’s not a real visit, if I don’t spend at least some time sitting cross-legged on the floor, combing through the bottom shelves, my eyes peeled for classic historical romance and hoping for a rare gothic sighting. There were, until fairly recently, a couple of such stores around here, but both closed last year, and I think that may have been it for UBS locations in NY’s capitol region. Nothing against brick and mortar stores that sell romance novels, and e-books and Amazon are lifesavers for sure, but there is something about the experience of a UBS.

Lately, my reading has polarized into two distinct camps: contemporary YA, and classic historical romance. Big, bug-squasher paperbacks that span years, sometimes decades, and continents, acceptable time periods ranging from the ancient world, to about five minutes before living memory. Those two genres, on the surface, couldn’t seem farther apart, but are they really? I’m thinking not. That thought has settled into place, and will probably be affecting the way I track my reading this coming year (and will probably practice before the new year begins.) What elements about each book drew me to them in the first place? What surprised and/or satisfied me during the reading process? What sticks with me after the book is done? What would I have done differently if I were the one writing the story? Consider it another chance for me to blabber at myself on paper, but the more I blabber to myself on paper, the more I want to write actual fiction, so I think I am heading in the right direction with this idea.

Stats and Buried Under Romance links will come back in October, possibly in a slightly different form. This past week has been largely spent wrangling domestic tornadoes, which do seem to be settling, and Monday marks Serious Return to Work.

This will, of course, require new pens (what doesn’t, am I right?) and possibly the creation of a new tracker or two. I am eminently self-bribe-able when it comes to pen and paper, and my mom was right – the more I do, the more I will want to do. First, though, there must be the kicking and screaming, the watching of streaming TV/movies while playing with art supplies, and watching the email to find out when the sam hill the library is going to let me know the books requested on inter-library loan are available for pickup.

Having the right kind of book, at the right time, is an important thing in general. For a writer? Essential. When I teach my Play in Your Own Sandbox, and Keep All The Toys workshop, we have an exercise I’ve always found to be tremendous fun. Not only asking ourselves what we like, but why we like it. What elements show up again and again. Right now, I find that especially exciting, so that my find its way over to Friday blogs.

There may, as well, be more posts going into more detail on the tools of the trade, aka pens and paper, possibly adventures in computer repair. Since we will soon be getting some furniture out of the local storage unit, there may even be a chance for a few shelfies, with explanations of what it was that earned specific books a spot on the shelf. Sebastian may or may not claim part of the shelf space for his own (such is normal when three cat people are between felines for a few months) but we will see what happens when things are actually in place.

For right now, we have a lot of flux, and I am going to have to call that a good thing. Flux is a time of change, a time to learn new tools, rediscover old passions, and build strengths, both old and new.

TLDR: Friday blogging is going to be a little different, but still fun. Catch you next time.

20180525_054727

Until next time…

 

Number One With a Bullet (Journal)

annabowling Leave a comment

For a long time, I resisted the term, “bullet journal.” I know one reason is that the word, “journal,” has always squicked me out, and I have no idea why. Ito does, though, but that’s what the thing I had already been doing for years before I found out that it was a thing, is called, so using the commonly accepted term means that I get to find more resources, and other people who share my interest. That’s not the point of this post, though. That’s me, babbling my way through a first paragraph, because a first paragraph means there is something on the page, and it is no longer blank. Boom. Writered.

The above paragraph is also me, not wanting to get up and retrieve the longhand notes I wrote for this entry while doing laundry yesterday, so I am relying on my undercaffeinated memory to get me through. After I’d stuffed a load of wet washing into the dryer, I asked myself what I could talk about, right now, that made me happy. The first thing that came to mind was this stuff:

270918Bujoneeds

My forever loves

In the past, I’ve always set up binders the way I thought they should be formatted. I’d put together pretty papers, scrapbook paper to cover the section dividers, and have sections for story, hero, heroine, villain when needed, and miscellany, and then, the one thing that was uniform across the board. Never. Use. Them. For. Embarrasingly. Long. Periods. Of. Time. Sometimes, forever. Obviously, this approach Does Not Work. For me. It probably works perfectly for somebody else.

For me, instead of a useful tool, I get aesthetically pleasing monuments to failure. I love setting up the notebooks, and looking through them, and thinking of what I could put in there, which actually does a lot for y creative process, but using the books themselves? Not so much.

When I first stumbled upon the traveler’s notebook system, aka a bunch of smaller notebooks inside one unifying cover,, bells rang, angels sang, and the same thing clicked as the thing that clicked when I hid under the brass bed in the guest bedroom, with the copy of The Kadin, that I’d filched from my mother’s nightstand. Yes. This. So what’s the difference?

I’m still trying to figure that out. The main physical difference is that the traveler’s notebook inserts aren’t held in my brings, but by elastic bands, and all I have to do is slip in notebooks that are already made, in whatever format and configuration I want. Now that we are at almost-October, I am looking at setting up next year’s notebooks, which has me thinking about how I can use this with my writing, as well.

For 2018, my writing tracker consisted entirely of one question: did you write? I would tick this box immediately after writing my morning pages. Achievable goals for the win, pun intended. For 2019, I want to go farther, do more. The question is, how? What do I want to track? Okay, that’s two questions, but still, that’s been on my mind. Do I want to track word count, which is the usual thing, or so it seems, or do I want to find some other method that might work better for me? Number of pages per day? Time spent composing and/or editing? Percentage of the way toward my goal, be it word count, page count, chapter count, calendar date? I may start with all of them, and see what sticks.

One of the beauties of the traveler’s notebook system, is that it’s perfect for frustrated perfectionists.  For added flexibility, I prefer using erasable pens and highlighters. I have heard that Frixion also makes erasable markers, but if I fall down that rabbit hole, I may not be heard from again in the foreseeable future.

I’m looking at how I want to track my inspirations, as well, For this past year, I’ve logged pages read, and titles/authors, but, for the year ahead, I think I want to do more. I’m not sure in what sense, but I like the idea of following the bunny trails of things I like, and to see what elements of the books I keep coming back to, time and again. I have some time to figure thig out, try a few different layouts, for both content and aesthetics.

More information is always good, and keeping track of what’s going on, and how it’s going, allows me to notice patterns that I might not have noticed before. When do I do my best writing? When do I need to refill? What refills me the best? The idea of starting some sort of notebook setup for ongoing projects, so that I have everything in one place, gets me excited. As in can’t wait to get to it, excited.

Which is where I like to be, especially when I need a creative kick in the patoot. Does it mean this is a magic shortcut? Not by ay means, but it feels like me, and I will take that, any day of the week.

020418deskscape2

 

Butt in Chair, Pen to Paper

annabowling Leave a comment

There aren’t a lot of articles out there on how to get back into the swing of writing after the loss of a pet. Personally, I haven’t found any. Hence the left foot right foot approach of putting butt in chair, and pen on paper. I work best in longhand. I always have. Still, there are times when it’s going through the motions. Writers and cats have a special connection, and Skye was, and is, my mews forever. At some point in the next couple of weeks, we will brig her ashes home. When we move, in time, to a pet-friendly apartment, we will add a new cat, or cats, to our family. They will be their own creatures, and I can’t say, before getting to know them, whoever they are, whether or not they will agree to blog for me. I have no earthly idea what Friday’s blog is going to look like, and I am okay with that. Maybe it will take a break for the week. I don’t know yet.

Last night, I had my weekly Skype session with Melva, to talk about Chasing Prince Charming‘s adventures in submission (we racked up a really good “no,” this week, so I count that as good) and where we are going next with its companion book, Drama King.  I have a rough scene to smooth out, as soon as the immediate fam sorts out a domestic tornado, and, after I get Melva’s next scene, I get to rough out the scene that comes after that. Those whom I have tasked with needling me about Her Last First Kiss, you are doing a splendid job. That kind of thing works well with me.

For the first couple of days after Skye passed, I didn’t have any energy to do anything but cry, or stare at the bleak, cat-less future. Losing a pet sucks, no question about it. I found myself scrolling mindlessly through the internet. Cat videos have been extremely calming, and looking through all of Skye’s photos also helps. I have spent more time than I would care to admit, scrolling through ranked lists that pertain to a daytime drama I followed avidly in high school and college, but haven’t watched even one episode, since. The teenagers I remember are the parents now, and there may even be a grandparent or two; I haven’t looked. There are some things I do not need to know, especially when I am emotionally vulnerable.

Other things, though, have risen to the surface. Over the past weekend, I had a lot of time to myself. Housemate made a trip to Camp Grandma, Real Life Romance Hero was at work, and I gave myself assignments with a stack of new art supplies. I put pens in a new pen case. Playing with pens is always a sure soothing method, which, for a writer, is also one that is readily at hand.

I read some. Not a lot. Some, though, and there were, in fact, more reading-related activities. I’d been following the worksheets N and I are using to connect ourselves to the projects it’s high time we get out there, when I heard about Skye. Things had been going pretty darned well, actually, and then, in an instant, BOOM. Life will do that to a person.

Melva, also, recently lost a pet, and, in our weekly chat, we tossed around the idea of our two cats on the other side of Rainbow Bridge, plotting something together. Could happen. Who’s to say? We commiserated, gave each other a little more time, and made plans to move ahead.

Which is why this disjointed entry is up here. Melva and I talked about how we need to take our own advice, on writing when dealing with real life plot twists. Adjust expectations. Do what you can, when you can, and, maybe most importantly, remember why you’re doing it.

Those of us writing for publication would like to see a royalty check, sure, but I’m talking now more about capturing that initial spark, the one that turned “I wish I could do this” into “of course I can do this.”  As is often the case, thoughts became more clear when I sat myself down with pen and paper, and let the whole matter leak out onto the page.

Back when I was but a wee princess of eleven, I stole my mother’s copy of a seminal historical romance novel from her nightstand, and scurried to my hidey-hole under the big brass bed in the guest bedroom. My mom followed the flashlight beam, but too late. In the first few pages, while the heroine was still an even wee-er (more wee?) princess herself, I was sold. I’d found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life.

Big, thick, epic historical romance, that spans miles (sometimes continents) and years (sometimes decades) and drags both hero and heroine through one heck of a lot of trouble, before the triumph of their HEA…that’s my jam. I want to inhale that now, like oxygen. It won’t fill the Skye-shaped hole. I’ll have to heal around that one, and, when new felines come, they won’t fill it either, but make their own places, on their own terms.

There is still grieving. Other cat people understand that. There is also the steady, inexorable need to make story. Writer people get that. Sometimes the two things happen at the same time, and sometimes, they take turns. I am not in control of how they work that out. The only thing I can control is butt in the chair, and pen to paper. It can’t always be gold, but it can always be. That’s good enough.

The Fine Art of Self-bribery

annabowling Leave a comment

Post-conference letdown is most certainly a thing. The change from spending an entire weekend amongst others of one’s kind, where writing, publishing, and promotion are the topics of the day, to quizzing one’s family on the location of garbage bags, and other domestic matters, is a big one. Sometimes, it takes a while. Sometimes, it takes more than that.

There is, of course, the physical reserves that need to be replenished. In other words, sleep. There needs to be some. The change from hotel bed, to home bed, may be an improvement, or it may be not an improvement. Kind of a crapshoot with that one, but at least home has the familiarity of home. On the down side, family members have still not consented to put mints on my pillow. Not that the hotel I stayed at did that either, but sometimes, it’s nice to have the gesture.

There’s unpacking, which usually includes laundry. I may get unicorn points for actually liking the whole laundry process, but that may also be because laundry time = reading time. This may count in the self-bribery category, an I am more than okay with that.

Getting back into the swing of things, after a conference, for me, involves a good deal of self-bribery. It’s very rare to come back from a conference as exactly the same writer one was when one went to said conference, and, along with swag, new friends, and possible free books, a writer generally comes back from a conference with new ideas and things they want to try. Do these things always fit into the category of business as usual? Not by a long shot.

Yesterday, my goal was to write this blog entry after I got home from breakfast with N. I’d attended CT Fiction Fest, and she’d been at an all-day event with our home chapter, Capitol Region Romance Writers. Naturally, this meant that we had to compare notes. Which led to giving ourselves homework. Which meant, for me, that a trip to nearby retailers, for new office supplies. To be fair, pretty much everything is a call for new office supplies for me, so this is not as big a deal as it may be for others. Even so, the pull of playing with new pens and/or paper and/or organizing the papers I already have are enough of an incentive to get me to actually do the same stuff that was haaaaarrrrrd before the conference (or not related to a conference. I always want to go get new pens, etc.)

As a result of this venture, my everyday carry pens and highlighters are all the same brand, Pilot Frixion. As much as I love the Pentel RSVP pens, and will still use them in other capacities, A) I did not have one in green, and B) my green Marvy LePen was mostly in there for sentimental reasons, anyway. It will go into a shadowbox, with related items, later. Now, my EDC pen case is a lean, mean, writing machine. Also, an erasable one, which is extremely useful for a perfectionist, marching herself resolutely back into a draft.

Sitting across from a critique/accountability partner and coming to terms that it is high time to get back to one’s current ms in one’s favorite genre, even when the room seems to get a little smaller, and lungs get a little bit squeezy at the thought of maybe not being able to do the thing one loves, as well as one would like. Especially when the word, “homework,” comes into play.

There’s the thing, though. Homework, especially homework that involves writing in longhand, means that it needs the proper supplies. It’s going to need paper. It’s going to need pens. Highlighters, maybe. A folder or notebook, definitely.  “Shopping” from my own stash, and picking out the supplies that volunteer as tribute, is as fun as purchasing new stuff, so it’s not all about the shopping.

It’s about the focus. It’s about the commitment. It’s about honoring the story and the characters, and wanting to get myself in the very best position to see this through to the end.

So, today, I lay out the pens and highlighters all from the same maker. I checked to see if the laptop cord will reach from the kitchen table, to a power strip on a nearby wall. Spoiler: it does., I will test the Mac Book and desktop later. The thought of happy back and happy eyeballs at the same time, with the added bonus of not having to scramble to my feet, is a powerful draw. So is the chance to practice drawing (pun intended) once I have my writing goals for the day, met.

There is a new scented candle on the table now, pine, to hint of the seasons soon to begin, and a fresh cup of tea, to warm body and soul. My planners (yes, plural) are nearby, so I can have visible evidence of tasks accomplished, and a clear outline of where I need to go, to get to where I want to be. The seasonal Windows theme is new to me, and it’s fun, as well as helping to set the mood. I’m not at the point, yet, where I want a different theme, depending on the project I’m working on at the moment, but that could be a reward, trying stuff out, in that manner, for doing some of the eat the frog stuff that is also on my list.

Making up stories, and polishing the rough stuff, that’s the fun part. Poking around in electronic guts, or hauling a desktop around the common room, eh, not so much, but, if I do those things, it makes doing the fun stuff all that much easier/more efficient. The instructions for the printer are right there, on top of the box. Get that in place, and I can print pages. When I can print pages, I can three-hole-punch them. When I three-hole-punch them, I can put them in a binder. When I put them in a binder, I can see the manuscript grow, as I print out the fruit of each new session. Carrot and stick; it works for me.

Tabling the Issue

annabowling Leave a comment

This morning, I sat at the kitchen table -I call it the kitchen table, though it’s really in the common room; we basically have a studio apartment, plus a bedroom-  and made a list on pen and paper, to make some sense of the blog topics swirling around my mind this morning. There were a lot.

Two nights ago, my writer friend, H, introduced me to an animated Japanese film, that is still holding onto a lot of my brain space, and, oddly enough, embodies a lot of what I love about historical romance, though the film really isn’t one. Still thinking on that, and will likely blog on that later. There’s the conference coming, and stuff I still have to o in order to get ready, much of which I will be doing after I get this  blog entry posted.

Then there’s the (probably) most mundane thing on my list, the fact that I like writing at the kitchen table, which is not really the kitchen table. It’s not in the kitchen, and it’s basically the everything table, but kitchen table it is, when I tink about it, so I’m calling it that.

Since I am a pen and paper first writer, having the table solves al ot of the between-offices issues. When the rest of the family is ougt of the apartment, there’s my uninterrupted writing time. My brain works easier on pen and paper than facing a blank computer screen, so I’m not sure why I haven’t roughed out blog entries on paper before now.

In the best of all possible worlds, I would probably want to write in longhand only, hand the pages off to somebody else to transcribe, then go over the printed pages with pens, highlighters and sticky notes, as many times as it takes to make a finished raft. Maybe that will happen someday, when I’ve sold more books, but, for now, I have to fill both roles.

Writing at the kitchen table has a few benefits. For one thing, there is a time limit. Since this is the everything table, I need to be done by mealtimes. I usually do the cooking anyway, so that limit is pretty but make-your-own-sandwich nights, and eat in feral cat mode, aka everybody retreat to their neutral corners nights, are now a thing. In that case, I get the table.) Because the table is the everything table, that also mean I can’t let any clutter accumulate. When the session is over, everything must go, and back to the place where it lives, so I can find it for the next time.

The table is also within eyeshot of the kitchen, so I am only a few strides away from tea, at any given time. Tea is an essential part of the process, so this is a huge plus. When I look up from the page, the first thing I see is the flame of the jar candle, which is another strong positive. Maybe its’ something primal about how our ancestors would gather around the communal fire, and tell stories. Maybe it’s that I like candles. Maybe Stare at the flame for a few seconds, take in the scent (iced tea scent, today) and then get back to putting ink on the page.

There are a few negatives, too. For one thing, I really like writing at the table, but handwritten manuscripts are a thing of the past. Little historical romance writer humor there. Very little. This means that, at some point, I am going to have to transcribe.

This is an issue because all of the  outlets directly under the table are occupied by router and something else with blinky lights. There are also outlets that I could reach, with an extension cord, to the left or right, but, on the right, those outlets are already occupied by TV and cable box. To the left, we have Housemate’s bed. The cord would go directly across her face. We’re good friends, but extension cord across the face is a lot to ask, even for besties. This also means that I would need to fix the Mac’s three-beep thing (which I have to do anyway, so put on the  big girl panties, Anna) and/or propping the pink laptop up with multiple binders, so it’s at the right angle, or, for the truly desperate and/or dedicated times, hauling the desktop and monitor over to the table, and then putting it back where it goes, when the transcription session is done.

When we do move, and I can get my real desk back, I want to keep it for handwriting, and get a different desk for computer work.  Since my beloved office chair has wheels, I can put each desk on opposite walls, an turn around when I want to go from one, to the other. Space permitting. If not, well, I really do like this table.

TudorRose050918

In other news, there is an update on the War of the Roses. Tudor (or maybe Lancaster, as it is possible that somebody mixed up the pots before they got labeled) officially has a blossom. Bloom? Flower? I will know for sure when it fully opens and shows us if it’s all red, or red-and-white.  More petals than bud now, so I can’t say bud anymore, but my rose vocabulary is lacking. At any rate, I am proud of this new development. His brother has some new leaves, and there may be things going on with the stems growing new stuff, but this is the first actual flower since the great drowning of August. Maybe it’s a sign.

020418deskscape2

Five Days, And Counting

annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I am ensconced in the latest iteration of my writing corner. With the addition of an improvised floor pillow, created from Housemate’s old comforter, the current setup is pretty darned close to a video game chair, which is not only useful for writing, but for computer gaming, as well. With yet another heat wave, with high humidity, forecast for this week, staying inside and writing is pretty much my entire week. This is a good thing.

Anything physical gets done in morning or evening. Days are for writing, which suits me fine. On Friday, I hit the road, to Connecticut Fiction Fest, riding shotgun for Melva Michaelian, aka my contemporary cohort. Things happen when we’re left alone together, unsupervised. Those things tend to be book-related, so it’s a pretty good deal. We will be taking not only our act on the road, but our dinner as well, (we have both agreed that the grilled cheese with hot peppers incident has to go in a book, someday. There is a lollipop bouquet incident, in Chasing Prince Charming, that actually did happen, aka That Year Anna Won Everything, Whether She Wanted It Or Not, and I have every reason to expect that this latest adventure is going to spawn an incident or two of its own.

With the way scheduling and transportation worked out, we will be arriving at the hotel around 7pm on Friday night, so we’ll be raring to go on Saturday, to pump us up for Sunday. Melva, a long-time educator, is a pro at public speaking, and I will talk to anybody, at any time. (I have vivid memories of my mother telling three year old me that there are restaurants that allow dancing and restaurants that do not allow dancing, and she would tell me which ones were which, but plopping myself down at stranger’s tables and introducing myself was not a very good idea. Yep, I was a unique kiddo.) With this in mind, public-speaking nerves are not really a thing (speaking for myself here) but there’s still a degree of nervousness.

As in, there will be an approximately fifty-minute span of time, where the entire population of a room will be looking, specifically, at me.  Okay, fine, Melva and me, plus the PowerPoint, plus their own feet, their notebooks or laptops, the weird stain on the carpet, possibly insides of their eyelids, whatever name the barista wrote on their coffee cup, etc. It’s not all about me, which is a good thing, but it is a topic that Melva and I both know a lot about. I find it only fitting that the conference will come after a heat wave, which means I had best take my own advice this week.

The plain truth is, that, sometimes, writing can’t happen. Hot, muggy days, when everything seems to crawl at a snail’s pace, sometimes fit into that category. Fingers crossed that this is summer’s last gasp, and not only because I am all about the pretty leaves, crisp air, and pumpkin everything. Summer is my least favorite season, and I don’t see that changing, but there is still some good to be found in those long, humid days, where there is so much moisture in the air, we start cracking jokes about having air fish.

I like taking care of the house, especially since Housemate and I liberated some items from the storage unit, this past weekend, and I can now make a few things a bit neater, a bit prettier, a bit easier to use. One of those things is my writing corner. I still miss my beloved desk, and I will admit that I did pet the drawers, when we saw them in storage, but I like this pile of cushions, and Ikea coffee table, too. It’s kind of decadent, really, being this comfortable, which can be, at times, extremely conducive to getting my imaginary friends out of my head (though, are they ever, really?) and onto the page. Sometimes, I even think that giving myself permission not to write on a hot day like today, actually makes it easier to do exactly that.

Kind of an escape hatch, really. I don’t have to use it every time, but it’s good to know it’s there. Today is hot. Today is muggy. Sleep was meh, and there are a million things to do, to get ready for the conference, not to mention the fact that this is a holiday, so who’s going to be reading blog entries, anyway? The world wouldn’t end if I posted tomorrow, instead of today, which is exactly when my brain propelled me from its spot in front of the box fan, to my cushion pile in front of the coffee table, to blabber in circles for a while.

At the end of this week, I will pack a bunch of black dresses in my rolling suitcase, sling my laptop bag over one shoulder, and pile into first Housemate’s car, and then Melva’s, to tumble out, in the darkening night, at a hotel I’ve never been to before. I have no idea what the badges look like at CTFF, but if there is some sort of presenter ribbon, I am going to be stoked. Some other signifier would be fine, too, and I have two anthology contributions that came out in the last thirty days. Not novels, no, but my stuff, in books, that people buy. Okay, then. Onward we go.

020418deskscape2

Running Around In Circles, Planning

annabowling Leave a comment

Connecticut Fiction Fest is now only two weeks away.  Melva tells me our workshop is slated for 10AM on Sunday, which suits me fine. A) I am a morning person. B) This will be after breakfast, so I will be properly caffeinated. C) I may very well be hyped up to the enthusiastic anticipation level of a five-year-old at six-thirty on Christmas morning.

All of this means that it is time to crank planning for this event, into high gear. I love planning. I mean love, love, love planning. If I couldn’t be a writer, professional organizer would be a fabulous job. I have pulled friends over to the dark side, purely for the pleasure of helping them find their planner bliss and finding their own aesthetic. Note the planner case, with pen loops, and the blush pink thing I have going on.

Note, also, the kitchen table, which is new. Not new-new, but new to us, and, this morning, the difference between setting up for my Monday planning at an actual table, in an actual chair, and curled up on an air mattress, balancing stuff in my lap, is remarkable. With the heat for the next couple of days here in NY’s Capitol Region forecast in the high nineties, this means rearranging my schedule is going to be a must, so seeing what can be allocated where, for each task to be accomplished most efficiently, is key.

There’s something about getting up in front of a bunch of people, who have paid cash money to learn how to improve their writing game, who have also looked over all of the options available for that slot of time, and picked your fifty-minute chunk, over other options, ranging from presentations by other writers and/or publishing professionals, to staking out a chair in the lobby to actually write, or saying “stuff this” to the planned program, and nipping off with friends old or new, for a beverage of choice, that makes a person want to at least have the appearance of having their stuff together.

Thankfully, this year, I get to go into the event with new releases that are not old enough to go to kindergarten. My Ravenwood novel excerpt is currently available,  My nonfiction anthology piece, “Greetings from Boxville,” is available for preorder, so it does feel like there is, at last, progress. We like progress. Details are still forthcoming on my next involvement with Charter Oak Romance Writers, but it feels good to be asked back, and, also, for a writer friend I’ve previously worked with, to ask me back for more freelance work. These are all good things. Signs of life, if you will.

All of this brings me to this morning, at the kitchen table, with multiple planners open, nudging all (or at least most) of my ducks into, if not exactly a row, then a loose conglomeration, in the same geographical area. I like to know what’s going to happen, when, and who’s going to do it. That means that, this week, I get to go over my presentation with Melva, and plan out what I want to cover in the segments that are assigned to me. In reality, we’ve both going to interrupt each other a lot, and Melva will probably go unintentionally blue, at least once, at some point, but I like knowing how things are meant to go, in theory, even if practice doesn’t always follow the standard practices.

While a good deal of the planning at this stage of the game, for Fiction Fest, involves the practicalities -which route do I want to take to the venue? What am I wearing? What electronics/pens/paper have to come with?- there is also the planning for the post-conference days. Autumn is, and always has been, the season when my superpowers, usually dormant during the summer, come back, full-fledged, and ready to rumble. In my case, that means writing. If any opportunities come from meetings, planned or chance, at Fiction Fest, Melva and I will need to jump on those, because timing matters.

More than that, there is the fact that I will come back from the conference, energized, with new writer friends, maybe new ideas, and my enthusiasm and confidence cranked up a few levels. This is especially important when I look at getting back to Her Last First Kiss, and historical romance, in general. If you think this is going to mean I’ll be re=formatting the planning of how I approach this part of my writing life, you’re right. Do I have any idea what that is going to look like, in a physical sense? Not at the moment, but not the stuff I put together because that’s how it’s “supposed to” work, or because that’s what “real writers” do. The way it’s meant to be is in the best way possible for me to easily access not only the physical documents or files, but the way that makes it possible for me to connect with that special story place, the one that makes me eager to come to the page every morning, and tell these characters’ stories, the way they want them to be told.

The fact that I get to play with pretty pens and papers and assorted ephemera is only coincidental. Really.

Pre-Fall Writing Prep

annabowling Leave a comment

Yesterday, I was in pajamas and in bed by 6:30 PM. It was one of those days. Yes, I have been out of bed since, even though bed is also today’s command center. This morning, my Mac Book Pro started with the three beeps thing. This will either mean a trip to the Apple Store (this would be my first) or removing the back of the laptop, to fix the issue myself. I have still not decided, but I need my machine, to get some work done, and, not going to lie, having Sims on my laptop is a definite must, especially when my first ever CT Fiction Fest is now less than a month away :runs around in circles, screaming: and I am not going only as an attendee, but as a co-presenter. This won’t be my first time at the front of the room, and I will have Melva right there with me, and we’ve already gone over who is going to talk about what. We also agree that we are probably going to interrupt and talk over each other a lot ( this is extremely likely.)

Right now, Chasing Prince Charming has three pairs of professional eyes upon it, which is both exciting and scary. I’m not thinking about it too much, as there’s enough other stuff on my mind.

Preparing for Fiction Fest is one thing, of course. Melva and I know what each of us are going to do for our workshop, and I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say that I will almost certainly wearing some sort of black dress, and purchasing new shoes is probably the better route than teying to find the box marked “heels” in the storage unit. I will be headed there anyway, as I need to find my traveler’s notebook inserts, which are also in there somewhere.

Either way, it’s going to be some excavation. This feels appropriate, given the recent retreat. One thing that is gauranteed from nearly a week spent with almost exclusively feline  companionship, and no interwebs, is a lot of mental excavation.

Though such time is basically made for some prime planning, one of the biggest things I discovered on retreat week was that the checklists and trackers I put together at the start of the year still work perfectly fine, for the most part, but I didn’t like them anymore. This means taling a look at what I want to do, and how I want to do it. Hence the planned storage unit excavation, in search of boxes marked “Moleskines” and “cahiers.”

The visual style changes for my notebook pages are the easy part. The scary part is the stuff that will go on them. A.k.a. writing fiction. Over the last couple of says, multiple people have brought up Her Last First Kiss. This elicited, in basically all cases, a reaction that can best be described as “eep.” Sound made by me, in case you hadn’t guessed, followed by a guilty, “I knowwwww.” Usually followed by thoughts of the wire cube where I’d stashed the printout of draft one, and the Big Daddy Precious notebook, before the move.

There was the whole moving thing, and the focus on Chasing Peince Charming and the revise/resubmit request, plus the anthology submissions, and workshops both online and on person, plus assorted medical bunny trails, Camp NaNo, two retreats, and now…it’s time, again.

When I think of returning to Ruby and Bern’s world, my mind goes to the very first scene, where a young Ruby’s life passes its first point of no return. My pulse speeds a little when I think about that. It goes next to the titular first kiss, at the worst possible time, when both Bern and Ruby become fully aware of how deep their mutual doo-doo has become, and the damage that would follow taking things any further.

That moment always gives me a satisfied sigh. It’s not a comfortable moment for either of them, by any means, but it’s one of my favorites, because it’s their point of no return, and, therefore, the book’s. In my initial notes, they both get an FML notation. Bad, bad, very bad, but oh so good at the same time. At least for me, which should, theoretically, make me want to skip to the keyboard, cackling with glee. Rubbing of hands optional.

The reality of it? We will see when I open Big Daddy Prdcious, and put pen to paper. The desktop still works perfectly fine, but I’m going to need to pick an option for fixing the Mac, as it’s about to get a lot of use. At least that’s the plan.