possibly pointless blabbering

It’s (Almost) Heeeeere….

annabowling 2 Comments

“It,” in this case, being the fiction edition of the New York’s Emerging Writers anthology, which includes my novel excerpt, “Ravenwood,” and is now available for preorder. Official release is August seventh, but preorders will be filled about two weeks prior. You do the math. Actual physical paperback, this time, It’s a slim volume, about two hundred pages, a smorgasbord of “young talents.” Plus me. I don’t know about the “young” part, but the book is now (almost) a thing, and that’s pretty cool.

If all goes according to plan, Melva and I will be putting this edit of Chasing Prince Charming to bed, and sending it out again, before we turn our attention to Drama King, and the as-yet-untitled third book of the trilogy. I still have some selkies (and the humans who love them) to name, and I still need to figure out the big why of my heroine’s choice in A Moment Past Midnight. Bern and Ruby, of Her Last First Kiss, are tapping their feet impatiently, and N gave me a much-needed nudge, at our weekly breakfast this morning.

August isn’t that far away, and after August, comes September, which means Connecticut Fiction Fest, which means Melva and I get to sing for our supper (don’t worry, we won’t actually sing) and present our workshop, Writing Through The Tears/Save The Writer, Save The Book. Registration is open, which gives me more than a little bit of a squee. For a long time, I’ve been wishing that this whole writing thing would pick up the pace, and, now, it would appear that it’s doing exactly that. I’m not exactly sure how that works.

In a way, it’s like coming out of the movies, on a day when the sun is strong. Blink. Blink. Is this really the way things look? It is? Oh. Okay. I guess. Well, then. Best get on with things, eh?

:rub hands together:

:awkward pause:

:put on tea kettle, because that is always appropriate:

:clear throat:

So this :gesture to expanse of blue sky, parking lot, circling seagulls in search of surplus French fries: is called “out-side,” is it? Oh. One word. Outside. Outside? Are you sure it’s one word, because that sounds wrong. Out. Side. No, that doesn’t make sense. It really is “outside,” then? Huh. Learn something new every day.

:rub eyes:

Granted, I am normally one who prefers the darkness of a movie theater to summer sun, but go with the metaphor. That’s what I’ve got right now, and the clock is ticking on my (hopefully) laaaaaast Chasing Prince Charming scene. Once that’s done, and Melva-approved, I need to give my final verdict on the ms as-is, make any needed changes, and then…then back into circulation it goes. As in other eyes on our book baby.

A book baby, Melva and I agree is not so much of a baby anymore. By book’s end, Meg and Dominic are clearly on their way to their own real-life happily ever after, and won’t be needing us as much as the other books will. We get to put the big kid on the bus, so we can play with the baby, aka Drama King. If I stick with the raising kids analogy (I do not have kids, but I was a nanny, so that counts) I suppose that would make book number three…umm, both of us story-pregnant? Not going to look too deeply into the mechanics of that one.

This morning, over tea and coffee, bagel and quiche, N and I talked about setting concrete goals for the coming (rest of the) year. Her Last First Kiss has to get on that bus, along with Chasing Prince Charming, and I need to figure out what comes next, historical-romance-wise.

That’s when I have to ask the big question: what would be fun? For a full length novel, I am going to be spending at the bare minimum, a year with the people who live in that story world, so I may as well have a good time while I’m doing it. Not that only one book a year is the ultimate goal, because  today’s market likes production to be speedier than that, but, right now, it’s a good place to start. Well, re-start, really.

There is the matter of those four other titles that seem, at the same time, like they only came out yesterday, and like  a different person wrote them, in another life. I want to say both of those things can be true at the same time, because that’s how it works with these book babies, or at least it is for me. I’ve done this before (but not in hardcopy, and not in an anthology, unless one counts the fanzines from my Star Trek: The Next Generation fanfic days) but I’ve done it, and I suspect there is some form of writerly muscle memory that will kick in sometime between now and the start of August.

It’s like public speaking, in a way. I’ll be nervous, but once I’m in front of the people, and I’m looking at them, and they’re looking at me, and there is that special sort of energy between us -these people want to hear what we are here to blabber about; they picked this over other options, and wow, that is a thrill- and talkative extrovert instinct pushes nerves to the side and copious amounts of caffeine do their thing.

TLDR: Anthology is up for pre-order, will be out in August. Melva and I will be talking at people in September. N is twisting my arm about starting a second blog, devoted to paper and pens.

Good thing fall is coming soon. I’m going to need those super powers.

 

 

My Mind Is A Messy Place

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Welp, it’s Monday. The heat wave is, thankfully, over, and I have, finally, found out how to zoom the screen so that I can see the words I’m typing without eyestrain. This was a good weekend just past. I spent the better part of Saturday, hanging out with Housemate, our friend, J, and J’s kitties, one of whom wore herself out chasing the red dot from J’s laser pointer. We talked about important things and unimportant things. There was ice cream. I faked out a cat, by not actually turning on the laser pointer, but acting as though I had. The afternoon ended all too soon. Sunday was mostly me napping, once lunch was over. I went to bed early.

I would say that I didn’t think/talk about writing much, but that’s not true. I am always thinking about writing. I should be writing, I should be writing more, I should be writing better, I should be writing something more marketable (that’s a big one) etc. That sort of stuff. There’s also the other side of the coin. I love writing, I wish I were writing, would anybody notice if I whipped out my notebook and started writing right now? What if my characters are doing something without me? What if they’re plotting? (Note: I mean amongst themselves, possibly against me, not actualy helping out with the plotting of the story, because that would be awesome if they did. Some of them do.)  My mind is a messy place.

Now, as I am seated here at the tv tray desk, keyboard on lap desk on my lap, with seasonally appropriate beverage at hand, it’s time to get down to the business of writing, which is mainly comprised, right now, of the work I meant to do last week, before the heat tsunami knocked me flat.

This morning, I set up at the kitchen counter, with my planner, washi tape, and an array of colored pens, to plan out my week. What gets done, and when? Anxiety says “all of it, and right now, but never mind. It is both urgent, and too late, bwahahaha.”  Anxiety is a jerk. That’s where planning comes into play. If I can see the big looming NEED broken down into manageable steps, that makes it not as intimidating. Realistically, I can get through all the Chasing Prince Charming stuff by the end of the week, and be ready for the “resubmit” portion of “revise and resubmit,” which will then allow Melva and I to turn our attention back to Drama King, and our own individual projects.

If we’d had a parrot with us during the moving process, and the in-between-homes phase, the first phrase he would have learned is “do the thing in front of you.”  “Pack the entire house,” for example, is far more overwhelming than “assemble this box.” Sure, “assemble this box” may be repeated elebenty billion times, but focusing on each individual box means that things do, eventually, get done.

It’s like that with writing. My idea hamster is more of a idea horse when it comes to Her Last First Kiss, and is doing the whole pawing at the ground, chomping at the bit thing, because “wow, it’s been a while” bumps right up against “about dang time,” and time and distance can, in the best of cases, provide perspective. I like perspective. I find it useful.

This month, there are no RWA meetings, because the national conference takes place in July. I am not going, but I like knowing it’s there. CT Fiction Fest is almost close enough to measure in weeks, rather than months, and the anthology release is only an eyeblink away. The August meeting of my local RWA chapter will be here before I know it, and I want my shot at winning the goals pool. I’m competitive like that.

Part of me is still salty that I didn’t sign up for Camp NaNo, because I do like the daily page goals (yes, I know I can do it on my own, but refer to competitive comment above.) We’ll see how Actual NaNo looks when we get closer to November.

For now, I have my weiner-dog-printed-shorts-clad bottom in chair, fingers on keyboard, taking care of one thing at a time. First up, look at the last new-new scene for Chasing Prince Charming, then polish my last scene for this draft. If the draft as a whole looks good (which I am sure it will) then back the book goes, for another look. That’s a little scary, and a little exciting. Sometimes, scary and exciting take turns, but, mostly, they hang out at the same time. I can deal with that.

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Typing With Wet Claws: Heat Wave Has Broken Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday, straight from Camp Grandma. This past week was a hot one, even for those of us without built-in fur coats. For humans like Anty and Uncle, both who are extra-sensitive to the heat (Anty more than Uncle, but it’s not a contest,) that makes getting things done extra challenging, so this will be another different sort of post. Weather permitting, things should be back to normal (or as normal as they get around here) by next week.

One thing that has not changed is that I have to talk about Anty’s writing first, before I am allowed to talk about anything else. To be fair, that anything else is usually Anty’s writing anyway (that is what a mews does) but it is my job to tell people where they can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs, besides here. As usual, Anty was at Buried Under Romance this past Saturday. That post is here, and it looks like this:

Huh. My apologies. We are having some technical difficulties with the remote connection today. I love Grandma, but she is not that great as an IT person, so you will have to click on the link above to see what Anty’s post looks like. Anty is also under a time crunch today, so I am going to charge through the rest of this post. It is summer vacation, after all.

What did not take a vacation is Anty’s Goodreads challenge. Anty has been crushing this challenge. That is partly because she did not have a lot of energy during the heat wave, and reading was, on some days, all she could handle. That is not a bad way to pass a hot day, plopped in front of the fan, with a cold sport drink, and a few good books. Sebastian is still crunching the numbers (he is kind of lazy) but, at current count, Anty has read fifty-five out of ninety books, putting her at sixty-one percent of the way to her goal. That is impressive.

Since Sebastian is still crunching the numbers (or kibble; probably kibble. I know what kibble sounds like) I will put one picture here, of one of the books Anty most especially liked this week:

Normal book review pictures and lists should return next week. Suffice it to say that Anty is doing a lot of reading, and Is very eager to talk about that reading. If you want to follow her on Goodreads, you can do that here.

Now that the heat wave is over (Sebastian tells me that there was a BIG thunderstorm yesterday, which scared the heat away) Anty is also ready to do a whole lot of writing. She is mostly over her angst regarding t he selkie naming issue, and working on the outline. This did not turn out to be a Camp NaNo month after all, but that is okay; there is still a lot of work for Anty to do.  Especially so, since she did not get a lot done during the heat wave. I do not blame her on that one, honestly.

Anyway, Anty is excited to have a few writing balls to juggle, and it is only two more months until CT Fiction Fest. If you are going to be there, so is Anty, so find her and say hello. I can see Anty making “move it along” motions over the interface, so I will type faster. That is not the easiest thing in the world, with special paws, I should mention. I should also mention that I know Anty petted other cats last week, and that she is going to see those other cats again tomorrow. Cats always know. That is okay, though, because, yesterday, the humans had a meeting about when we can expect to move to Forever Apartment, and they think we can probably do that by September. That is when Anty’s super powers come back, so I think that would be perfect timing. Until then, I will take best advantage of Grandma Rules, while here at camp. (#peanutbutterisdelicious)

This week, Anty will be going over the last edits of the revised edition of Chasing Prince Charming, working on the outline of the selkie story, and getting all her Her Last First Kiss ducks in a row. This book does not, as far as I know, contain any actual ducks, but please do not hold that against Anty. Anything can happen in a second draft.

Speaking of which, Anty also did something this week, that she has not done for a while. She okayed a proof for a new release. Anty did not write the whole book for this one; it is an anthology, but she is still excited to be able to share her part. If you have been curious about Anty’s peostapocalyptic medieval, A Heart Most Errant, you will be in luck, because her contribution to this anthology is an excerpt from that. Here is a fun fact: Anty meant to change the name of the town the heroine wants to find, but she (Anty, not the heroine) had not found a better name by the time of the submission deadline, so the town is still Ravenwood, which is also the title of the excerpt. I should probably mention that Anty only now realized that the name of the town does not actually appear in the scenes of the excerpt, but too late to fix that now.

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

skyebye2018

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Post-Retreat Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for a very special Maine Coon Monday. If you are wondering where I was for Feline Friday this past week, (besides Camp Grandma, of course) I was in time out. I have never been in time out before, so that was a new experience, but more about that later.

Anty and I have had an eventful retreat, and I am here to give the cat’s eye view of what went down. Besides Anty, that is. She pretty much slept the whole first day, which was really the first afternoon, because Mama and Grandma did not leave until after lunch. I did not mind. In fact, I took advantage of Anty’s nap, to sneak in a ninja cuddle. That is when there is a human asleep on the floor (it does not happen very often, because humans generally sleep on furniture, but Anty was really tired)  and I sneak over and lie down so close that we are touching. If they wake, then I get startled and run away, then come back. This time, I did not run away, but Anty only  kind of halfway woke, and gave me head scritches, so I I would say that worked out pretty well. I snuck in a few more ninja cuddles, because I am smart like that.

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Anty’s Plan

This picture shows Anty’s plan for the week. Since Camp Grandma does not have interwebs, Anty could not be distracted by things like Facebook and Netflix and games. As it turned out, that plan worked pretty well. Anty read three whole books over the four days of retreat (not the one pictured, but I will give a full rundown of all books read, on my regular Friday post) and wrote a total of twenty eight regular notebook sized pages. That is to say, not the mini legal pads she had intended to use (but she will use those soon enough; Anty loves mini legal pads. Also the big ones, but they have to be pretty.) She also did not use those particular pens, but she did use all of the ink that had been in four of her previous travel ballpoints, so she really did need new pens. Add in morning pages (always three) and evening pages (not every night, but most of them) and what do you think happened?

What happened was that, when Anty wasn’t even thinking about it, bloop, there was the idea for her next Camp NaNo story. The one from May is still cooking. Anty did a lot of brain dumping, and then, bloop. She’s off and running. Since one of the days of retreat, Anty had lunch with Anty Melva, they got to talk about Chasing Prince Charming, and only have a couple of things to do, before they can send the book back to the editor for another look. They also talked about things they want to do for Drama King, and, when things calm down in their personal lives, about a nonfiction project they think would be fun.

Besides the books with Anty Melva, Anty’s main focus is to get the second draft of Her Last First Kiss ready to roll. I will let Anty tell you about what she plans for the Camp NaNo story, but it is both a nice change of pace, and going back to her roots, so it should be fun. Anty likes to stay busy writing, so writing time is now officially a priority.  Part of that involved setting up the desktop computer when she got back from retreat. Right now, it is not on a desk, but on a TV tray. The CPU is on top of a filing cabinet (Anty is still looking for pretty hanging folders for that cabinet, so if you know where to find some, drop a link in the comment box.) So far, so good. Writing on the desktop is much easier than on the laptop or phone.

The rest of it is really Anty’s to tell, but you are probably wondering why I did not post on Feline Friday (apart from the fact that it was Anty’s travel day.)  Anty says that I am still a very good kitty, and would like to point out that I have never, in my entire life, gone after people food, before I went to camp. During the retreat, I went for people food, twice. The first time, Anty took the sandwich away from me before I could actually put my face on it, but the second time, she left her rice cake with peanut butter on it, where I could get it, and, well, I got it. Anty chased ne away from the dish and reminded me that I am a kitty and am not supposed to eat people food. Grandma’s house, Grandma’s rules, though, right? Anty took the rice cake away, but I kept licking the peanut butter from my mouth. I can see why she likes peanut butter as much as she does.

The other thing that capped my time out was the jailbreak. Anty had slept on the couch, and came to my room to give me breakfast, but – plot twist- I was not in my room. The door was open. I was in the room across the carpeted hall, where I had, um, made some stuff.  Anty put me back in my room, then cleaned up the stuff. Speaking of which, Grandma and I have reached an accord on the stuff place business, which is a relief to everybody. Pun intended.

That is about it for this week, so, until our next, regularly scheduled meeting, I remain very truly yours,

SkyeByeTemp

An Unexpected Writing Retreat Appears

annabowling 3 Comments

Funny how things work in the writing life. I will skip over the family life details and get right to the pertinent part. This upcoming week, I get an unexpected writing retreat, as I get to join Skye at Camp Grandma for the better part of next week. One interesting thing about Camp Grandma is that it does not have internet, so I will be mostly off the grid for days at a time. Oddly enough, my first concern was for the pets in my Sims Free Play game, but I will be connecting with at least one friend in the area, for lunch and an internet fix, so cyberpets should be fine, while I focus on the in-person, fuzzy one.

Though time away from Real Life Romance Hero has not been high on my list (especially when there is people vet tie involved) the idea of time spent with my story people, without the  lure of Facebook, Google, and all the rest, is pretty exciting. Not going to lie, the first day will likely be spent taking cat naps near an actual cat, and I am bringing a good supply of books, art supplies, and the charger for my Kindle, because part of this retreat is going to be one heck of a well-filling session. I need it. I have been in the empty, and I have been in whatever it is that lie beneath the empty. Not every day, but there have been some doozies, and the prospect of hanging out with my mews and concentrating on nothing but sending stuff down to the girls in the basement, so they can play with books and movies and sparkly pens and pretty papers and all that, then send some good story stuff back up to me.

Laptop and lap desk are coming, too, as are notebooks and pens, and at least one legal pad. Yes, there will be lists and bujo spreads about what I want to bring on this retreat, because this will not be the only such instance in my lifetime. Retreats won’t always mean Camp Grandma (especially when we are in Forever Apartment, and Skye is with us every day) but the thought of a whole chunk of days, where there is nothing to do but concentrate on story, both the writing and reading of same, that’s too good to keep to a one time deal.

I have never been on a “real” writer’s retreat, as in pay money, go to lovely, picturesque place in the mountains/by the shore/etc, where there are other writers for socialization, brainstorming, and talking about the writing life. Not that I am opposed to that kind of thing, but, as of yet, that has not been possible. On the other hand, the last time I went on this sort of retreat, I apartment/dogsat for musician friends, and, at their kitchen table, two rescue dogs standing by, I wrote what would be the beginnings of Orphans in the Storm.There’s a precedent here, and I like that.

Being an extrovert, the internet is great. A whole world of people, only keystrokes away, 24/7, and special groups for people who like things I like? Godsend. Also distraction. I’ve been thinking about trimming down my Facebook feed, to cut down on extraneous noise. Once again, it’s clean slate, more layers, and I am looking forward to that. I don’t have page count goals (but let’s say more than two) or concrete plans on what scene in what project will get the bulk of my writing focus, but the thing I do know is that there will be something. There will be fiction.

Over the last few months, with the move, and some health challenges for RLRH, and assorted happenings, I have done a lot of free writing in various notebooks, in various places. Laundromats, motel rooms, friends’ apartments, fast food places and coffee shops, waiting rooms (oh so many waiting rooms) and, as much as I am grateful for those times, and all the pages I have filled with the stuff inside my head, fiction is still my first love Especially romance .Especially historical. That has taken a back seat to other concerns, but, when I first knew this retreat was going to happen, my heart skipped.

Yes This. Take in some good stuff. Put some good stuff back out. Play with the kitty. Nap on the sofa. Hang out with a writer friend, when there is no time one of us has to dash off and handle domestic concerns. A few days is a good stretch of time. Respite. Palate cleanse. Catch breath. Gain strength. Regain sea legs, as it were. Try new things, and revisit old loves, to give them new life. Let them give me new life, in return.

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We Have a Desktop…Now What?

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There is, technically, a desktop computer in the house. Setting it up is farther down on my list for the day, but I am eyeing the TV tray (still the only one of its kind in the Stately Bowling Manor summer quarters.) The inner editor is strong today, but the crackle of energy that comes with having my machine back is stronger. Inner editor can go stuff herself, because I am tired of her bullpoop.

This past Saturday, I attended my local RWA chapter meeting (CR-RWA) and had a chat with the lovely and talented Eden Mabee, on a couple of topics. First, was a discussion of  where new romance readers, and writers, might come from, and then, as another friend joined the conversation, about the books that got us into romance reading in the first place Historical romance, in particular. At some point, I mentioned that I have not only a TBR list (actually that is only codified in Goodreads. I am not sure I possess enough notebooks to write down every book I want to read, but a To Be Re-Read list, and a To Finally Read list. As I’ve gone through the turbo move, I’ve found myself skittering around the edges of both, though I checked off my second TBFR title this weekend…after first reading a duology by the same author, that had nothing to do with the book on the TBFR list. The book on the list actually starts off a quintology, with the author now writing books about the next generation of the family covered in the first five books. I am a sucker for generational sagas. Hero and Heroine of book one as parents of hero or heroine in a subsequent book? :makes grabby hands: See them again as grandparents, later on? Yes. Give. Me. That. Not to put pressure on this author for a third generation, when she’s already started on the second, and I have only dipped my toes in the first, but this falls in with you don’t ask, you don’t get.

Eden suggested that I might consider putting those lists on my site, which I will be doing, and maybe think about writing a post on my most re-read novels. I am all over that.  The idea of picking a top five floated around for a while. I want some more time on that, though I could name the top two, maybe three, right off the top of my head, no problem, no hesitation. I’m not  re-reading anything right now, though I am reading two authors I’ve been meaning to read for literally years. Double digit years, in one case Maybe both.

While I was at CR-RWA, Housemate went to the storage unit, and unearthed, among other things, my desktop computer and my box of desk babies, those special pens and notebooks that lived on my desk in the old apartment. Cue little kid on Christmas morning feeling. Pens, pens, beautiful pens. Hello, notebooks. I sifted through the boxes within the box, to make sure everybody was okay (yes, my pens are “everybody,” not “everything”) and heaved a sigh of relief when I ascertained that they were, in fact, all fine I am certain the same thing will happen when I bust the desktop out of its cardboard prison. In the past, when I’ve come back from a period of not having computer access, I’ve described it as like finally getting my voice back. This time,  and I don’t know precisely why yet, I would say it’s my hands.

Maybe that’s because of Real Life Romance Hero’s recent battles with his own extremities. Maybe it’s because I use my hands when I use both computer and pen and paper. Maybe there’s some other reason, but, this time, it’s hands. Fine by me. Hands do a lot of the work of writing, or a lot of the work of writing that involves getting the story in a form where others can read it . Important, that. I am not opposed to a good old-fashioned storyteller/bard kind of setup, and anybody who has known me for more than five minutes knows that I can talk pretty much forever, especially if there are stories involved, but there’s something in actually reading the written word, and in actually writing it, as well, that doesn’t come through any other means.

Maybe it’s because there is something therapeutic in whipping out the utility scissors and slicing through the packing tape, then opening the cardboard flaps, and uncovering what has been hidden away for far too long.

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Writing in the Aftermath

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Disclaimer: This is the computer I am currently using, though not the room in which I am using it. Usually. This is the setup for my weekly Skype session with Melva Michaelian, to go over our weekly assignments for the Chasing Prince Charming revise and resubmit request. Right now, I am on my back, on Housemate’s air mattress, lap desk on my chest, fuzzy cow pint blanket over me, because today did not get the memo that it is June now (I do not mind this) and I have lost track of the number of cups of tea I have downed today, in an effort to stay awake. Real Life Romance Hero is puttering in the kitchen behind me, so imagine the sounds of potato chip fragments rattling in their can as you read this.

Friday afternoon, on our way out of town, Housemate and I had to drop Real Life  Romance Hero at the hospital (we stayed with him until the doctor arrived) then packed in a hurry and got on the road. Please note the packed in a hurry part, as it will be important later. I remembered, when we’d been on the road exactly long enough to rule out turning back, that I had forgotten the new lipstick I had bought especially for the occasion. First world problems for sure, but it was also a portent of the way things would go. When we got to the motel, two hours later than expected, I discovered that I had not, in fact, packed my pajamas. What I had packed was the dirty laundry, which was mostly t-shirts. I could not sleep in my travel outfit, because the skirt from said  outfit had dipped into a bathroom fixture that should never have a skirt in it, and I was not about to sleep in my outfit for the next day, so I did what any rational person who has skin sensitivities around unfamiliar linen would do. I lined up the least dirty t-shirt for the length of my body, used my jacket as a cover, and went for those three hours of sleep like a boss that I am.

The next morning, I hopped in the shower, excited to revisit my first ever RWA chapter, this time as an invited guest speaker. Shower, moisturize, apply product to hair, turn on motel-provided hair dryer…I said turn on motel-provided hair dryer. Is this thing pliugged in? Uh huh. Correct buttons pushed on everything? Looks like. Allrighty then, we are having interesting hair today. Fits the topic, and may even count as a visual aid, especially since all the real life plot twists of the day before meant that I did not have my taking points on index cards, and  would have to be that person, who reads their notes fro their phone. This becomes extra challenging for those of us with eyeglass prescriptions that need serious updating.

I arrived at the meeting place to find e had an intimate group. Six, including me. Since we all knew each other anyway, I dispensed with the bios and inroductions, and got right to the meat of the matter. A lively discussion ensued, followed by an excellent lunch (did you know chicken alfredo lasagna is a thing? Because it is. A delicious, delicious thing.) in good company. Not a bad outcome for the weeks of nervousness and preparantion. As I’d thought, when it was time for the presentation, I did fine. I know the subject, and the delays and detours of that weekend, down to the non-functioning hair dryer and absent co-presnter, served to illustrate my point.

The writing life is not an easy one, and there are times when it seems that the whole of creation is set on keeping us from creating. yet here we are, still doing it. We turn a utility closet, TV tray and folding chair into an impromptu office. We  tap out new chapters a letter at a time on our phones, when that’s our only option. We carry pen and paper  because they never crash, even when we do. We lie on our backs with lap desks on our chests, if we have to, and do the same job as when we’re nestled in a comfy office chair, behind a desktop, at desks that have been in the family longer than we have.

Right now, the weekend is a memory. RLRH is home, and will be going back to work tomorrow, one diagnosis and change in medication and lifestyle later. Skye is doing well at Camp Grandma, and this visitors’ weekend only strengthened our resolve to have her back home ASAP. It also gave that extra push to get the current WIPa from WIP o new release. What this weekend showed me most was that I am in this. Even with the real life plot twits, there’s a fair amount of writing going on, which may or may not need to be rewarded with a few new bujo supplies and a few good books.

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Typing With Wet Claws: I Smell Ghost Cats Edition

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ello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Once again, I am coming to you from Camp Grandma, but this is no ordinary day at camp. That is because Anty is coming to visit! Mama is coming, too, and they are bringing boxes of my food, so that Grandma does not have to worry about getting the right kind. We are all very excited. Anty will have special time with only her and me, and maybe a toy that belonged to the ghost cats who live here. Did I tell you there were ghost cats? Well, there are. I smell them.  More about them later. First, I have to talk about Anty’s stuff, and, this week, there is stuff to tell. I had better get right to it.

Of course, the most important thing Anty is doing this week, is coming to see me. She wants to take some new photos. I guess I will not mind that, if I get extra treats. It has been a while. I hope that Anty will want to read or write or nap in the comfy chair, so that I can curl up by her feet and have a really good snooze. Those are the best. Anty might also see if I remember the trick she taught me before I went to camp. She taught me how to take one single treat from her fingers. I learned that one very fast, but got shy when there were other humans around, and would not do it. Maybe when it is just me and Anty, I will give it another try.

Oh. Right. Anty’s writing stuff. First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, talking about the different kinds of romance book covers, and what she thinks about them. I think they could use more cats. That post is here, and it looks like this:

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As luck would have it, Mr. Fabio was on the cover of one of the books Anty read recently. and, I am happy to say, she is doing pretty well in her goal to make up for lost time in reading historical romance novels. Let’s take a look at her Goodreads challenge. Right now, Anty is one book ahead of schedule, having read 38 out of 90 books. That puts her at 42% of the way to her goal a respectable achievement, all things considered. Out of those 38, 11 are historical romance. Still room for improvement there,  but Anty is almost done reading the  first book in Denise Domning’s Graistan Chronicles of historical romance, with the rest of those books queued on her Kindle, so Domning Nation is going to raise those numbers. Also, Anty read To Love a Wicked Lord (do not worry, he was not that wicked) by Edith Layton, and remembered how much she likes Miss Edith’s books, so she will soon be looking for more of them. She has missed a few. Oksy, more than a few. This endeavor may need a catchy name of its own. Lay, Layton, Lay, as an homage to Anty’s favorite Bob Dylan song? I will have to think about that. Anyway, that review is here, and it looks like this:

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This book got Anty to thinking, a lot, about what makes a good historical romance for her, both as a reader and as a writer. There is some of that in the review, but she will talk about it more in depth on her own, later. Right now, she has a nice big stack of historical romances by some of the greats: Mary Jo Putney, Virginia Henley, and Madeline Hunter, lined up for the coming week, and that is only in paper books. I think she is making some excellent headway. Speaking of heads, I do like head scritches. in case Anty needs a reminder. It has been a while.

It has been a while, too, since Anty has been to Charter Oak Romance Writers, but they were her first ever RWA chapter. She is looking forward to reconnecting with old friends, getting to meet new people, and, hopefully, share a few tricks for writing while real life plot twists threaten to derail her train of thought. Also, there may be lunch after. I am always in favor of lunch. Anty and Anty Melva had hoped to have handouts for the workshop, but life got life-y today, and they will probably make a PDF instead. I think that fits fine with the theme of their workshop.

But. Skye, you say, what about the ghost cats? People generally do not forget ghost cats, and Camp Grandma has two. Their names are Michelangelo and Francesca, and they lived with Grandma from when they were four, until they each crossed the rainbow bridge, after long and happy lives. Some of their toys may still be around here, and Anty knows where they would be, because she was their cat sitter, when Grandma was out of town. Grandma has friends and family in many places. She is very nice. Even though Michelangelo and Francesca were done being kitties in the having bodies sense, that does not mean that they are gone.

First, there is fur. They were both Maine Coons, like me, but Michelangelo was orange all over, and Francesca was black and white. I am brown tabby, so I know that when I see orange or black and white sheds, they are not mine. Francesca’s favorite chair is in my room, and, sometimes, I feel her looking down at me, from her perch on top of that chair. Michelangelo’s loud purrs still echo. I do not purr at all (I did not learn that when I was a baby, so I chirp when I am happy, instead. Maybe I will chirp for Anty today.) so I know that sound is not me. Grandma says I am imagining that, and that she will ask Mama to help her vacuum, but there is not enough Febreze in the world to cover the scent of ghost cats. I know they are here. As long as they do not try anything with my treat, I have no problem with them. Plus, Michelangelo says the feather on a stick toy is super fun. If Anty can find it, I may give it a try.

That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

SkyeByeTemp

 

 

 

 

 

In the Absence of Wirkshop X

annabowling 1 Comment

Right now, I am between two loads of laundry, which means two trips to the laundry room, which means using the first trip to teach me what I want to bring on the second trip. I am still learning the new apartment, the new apartment building, the new apartment complex, the new neighborhood, and a whole bunch of other news. Sleep has been not-great, which means a lot of time, in the dark, thinking about life, both writing and otherwise.

June is a ninja. Spring had only started, and now, wham, look, it’s summer. June 1st is my date with Charter Oak Romance Writers, on a topic I feel both eminently qualified, and wholly unfit to present. Allow me to ‘splain.

Save The Writer, Save The Book (STWSTB,) or Writing Through the Tears (WTTT,) depending on who you ask, came about when Melva Michaelian and I both missed the notices that Workshop X (so called, because I cannot, for the life of me remember what the actual topic was, or the name of the presenter who was unable to make it that year) had been cancelled, and thus sat in an empty conference room for an hour. At first, we figured maybe everybody else was late. They were not, because we were it, because there was no workshop. There may or may not have been discussion of going to the workshop offered in place of Workshop X, or maybe another workshop, but we wanted the one that wasn’t, and we were tired, and things do tend to happen when we are left on our own at conferences. (CT Fiction Fest 2018 attendees, you have been warned) what we landed on was that we should have our own workshop.

STWSTB is a catchy name, and it does borrow from the tag line of the TV show, Heroes, which I have never seen. I don’t know if Melva has; you’d have to ask her. At the time, we were both caregivers to multiple relatives apiece, along with juggling other flaming stress chainsaws of life, and we both had the same question: how the fluff do yoy keep writing, with all this stuff going on?

I know, I know, dangling proposition above, but it’s appropriate. How do you keep writing? I want to know this. How do I? I want to know that, perhaps, even more. No offense; I am sure you are very interesting, and I could probably ask far too may nosy questions, but I am the only one who can write my books. I am half of the team that co-writes Melva’s-and-my books, so focusing on myself is probably a wise decision on my part.

I am not where Beginning Writer Me thought she/I would be, at this point in her/my career. We rather thought we would have a bit more to show for our efforts by now. We thought we would be writing from behind an antique dedk, in an off-site office, by now, walls covered in glossy posters of our book covers, not tapping out blog entries on our phone, from the air mattress in an apartment with blank cream walls, but, today, that’s what we’ve got.

There’s an old proverb, Japanese, I want to say, that says, fall down five times, get up six. That, I can do. Though, as with many adoptees, my genetic makeup is a mystery, I am fairly certain that I am at least thirty-five percent Weeble. Knock me down, and I get back up, because that’s how I’m made. Maybe that’s why I liked the punching clown toy as much as I did, when I was but a wee princess. Smack it down, and up it comes. Every. Time.

Sometimes, writing is easy. Sometimes, writing is hard. Sometimes, the answer to “how do you keep going?” is, that, sonetimes, you don’t. Not in a lie in a ditch and stop existing sense, but in a take a step back, drink root beer floats in a blanket fort and watch Netflix all afternoon sense. Or reading. Reading is good. Also doodling, or lying on your back, eyes closed, listening to music; all of that is good stuff. When I can’t put out, that usually means I need to take in, instead. Feed my senses. Feed my story brain. Talk to other writers, talk to other readers. Talk to four-legged (or finned or feathered) family members, because they are very good listeners and not at all pushy with advice. Talk to myself (I do that one a lot.)  Talk to the voices in my head, which, for most of us writers, are our characters, and, when the time is right, they will talk back. That’s how they’re built, too.

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Grandma is a Snitch Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, bringing you yet another Feline Friday, straight from Camp Grandma. Grandma and I are getting along okay, but she is no Uncle, and there is the small matter of her calling the v-e-t on me ( do not worry, I am okay) so I will be glad when Forever Apartment becomes available. More on that later.

Even though I am at camp, I still have to talk about Anty’s writing before I can talk about anything else. First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, talking about the surprise shut-down of RT Book Reviews magazine and associated ventures. I have heard that the magazine was very nice to lie on, so I am sure many kitties will miss it. That post is here, and it looks like this:

http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2018/05/saturday-discussion-hail-and-farewell-romantic-times.html

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As you can see, remote blogging has a bit of a learning curve, but a good mews never lets a little thing like distance to get in their way. Next week, Anty will come and visit me when she speaks to Charter Oak Romance Writers. Anty and I are both looking forward to that. Uncle has to work, so he cannot come, but Anty will bring me something that smells like him, which is a good consolation prize. I will probably send her back with some shed fur, and maybe a whisker I am done using. A mews has to do what a mews has to do.

One of those things is to cheer Anty on when she is doing the right thing. Besides submitting two pieces to an anthology that asked her to submit, she has also got some good news: she and Anty Melva will be presenting their workshop, Writing Through The Tears, also known as Save The Writer, Save the Book, at CT Fiction Fest in September. For more information, and maybe to guess the workshops Anty hopes most are not opposite hers, visit the conference site here:

http://www.ctfictionfest.org/workshops.html

Anty has returned to her regular schedule of meetings with fellow writer humans, which feels very good, after that whole moving interruption. The interwebs connection here is much better, so Anty got to have her whole conversation with Anty Melva without weak signals or anything. That was exciting, even if Anty did have to carry on her end of the conversation from the edge of the bathtub.

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That is how Anty has to set up the laptop so that Anty Melva can talk to Anty’s face instead of her, umm, shirt, but writers, like their mewses, do what they must.  Also, Sebastian tells me it is very echoey in the For-Now apartment, so going into a different room is probably the best way to go.

Although I am still working out how to link Anty’s Goodreads challenge in this whole remote business, I can let you know that she is currently 41% of the way to her goal, with 37 out of 90 books read. She may have read more, but I will have Sebastian run the numbers later. Her two most recent reads were both historical romance:

Lady in White , by Denise Domning

And

The Prince of Midnight, by Laura Kinsale

I will have Sebastian add the links later, as those are tricky to do here at camp. It looks like DomningNation is a go, because, now, Anty is reading Winter’s Heat, also by Miss Denise, and she has all of the four books that come after it already on hrr Kindle, plus some other books by Miss Denise, so Anty is all set on that front.

This weekend, Anty and Mama hope to get Anty’s desktop out of storage, so nobody has to listen to Anty’s whining about….umm, I mean Anty will have an easier time doing her work. That will also let Anty play her games again. A gaming Anty is a happy Anty, and it might help her to miss me less if she could make a Sim version of me to keep her Simself company. We will see how that goes. This coming week is for Anty bringing herself up to date on her current projects, and that is much easier on a desktop computer.

In case you were wondering about the whole Grandma being a snitch thing, I should mention that Grandma and I have had a difference of opinion as to where I should do my, um, stuff. Grandma was worried that I was not making stuff at all (I totally was) so she called the local vet, who was my old vet, before we moved, and told her I had not made any stuff since I started camp. I am eating and drinking fine (Grandma gets a A+ on water bowl replenishment) so the vet told Grandma that I am not sick, just in a strange place, and want to be sure I am safe. Anty or Mama will probably find my stuff spot right away, and let Grandma know where I want my stuff spot to be. Mama also rold Grandma to talk to her before any vets (the vet could not see me, anyway, without Mama’s permission) and that I am fine. Not exactly happy, but fine.

Uncle is doing much better after his own stay at the people vet, and, apart from me being at camp, things are pretty good. The humans are moving things into For-Now apartment on an as needed basis, which Sebastian says makes for some interesting arrangements as they figure out what is a need-need and what would be nice.

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Of course, getting me home is the biggest need, but, in the meantime, Sebastian is doing a pretty good job of providing a facsimile of a feline presence. That window is his favorite spot. I remain, even at camp, a floor girl .

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)

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