possibly pointless blabbering

If At First You Don’t Succeed…Blabber

annabowling 2 Comments

Go figure; I plan a blog post with tons of pictures, to blabber about my various notebooks, and that has to be the day all the pictures get stuck in a Gmail queue. This is the same day that my desktop earbuds become my desktop earbud, singular. Slapping a greatest hits deskscape up for now, and we will see if anything changes by the time I get this entry posted. In one ear, I have 80s music, and in the other ear, (short intermission for minor domestic matter) the sounds of puttering Real Life Romance Hero and his fuzzy shadow, Skye. There was also a brief discussion of expiration dates on luncheon components (occupational hazard and/or benefit of having a spouse in the restaurant industry.) The verdict: lunch will not kill us today. That’s reassuring.

One more check of Gmail, annnnd….nope. Le sigh. Okay, winging it instead, because I have pages to get ready for N tomorrow, more pages for Melva soon thereafter, and an arduous stretch of research for an upcoming Heroes and Heartbreakers post. (Okay, not that arduous, as it involves watching key moments from The Walking Dead.) Right now, I’m grumbly, because I had an outline for the post I intended, even a bunch of sticky notes on the wall next to my desk. My first instinct was to take a picture to make up for the pictures that I can’t access until the queue comes through, but that picture would go to the end of the queue, so not exactly an option here. Which is okay. I can refocus.

Plan B is a part of the writing life. It’s going to happen. It happens when we hit “delete” instead of “save,” empty our trash, and then realize what we did. It happens when life intervenes, and we can’t write about XYZ right now, because it’s now either too close to home, or we’re not in that place anymore. Any number of reasons, really. This is the part of the post where I haul out the old Japanese proverb, fall down five times, get up six.

So, what does this mean for today? Since we are now three weeks until I join fellow writer/bloggers,  Corrina Lawson and Rhonda Lane at the Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference, and talk about blogging, I feel like I should have something to say here about what one does when one finds oneself in a situation like this. There’s “feel like” and there’s “actually do.” I like having a plan. In fact, the post I wanted to write was all about my use of notebooks in planning, my solution to getting to the end of my current morning pages book before finding a suitable replacement (the answer: DIY, pictures to follow) and how a notebook, no matter how much I love it when it’s pristine and brand new, isn’t really mine-mine until it’s stuffed full of sticky notes, with notes scribbled in the margins, decorative tape on the pages (that’s a new one, but what has been seen cannot be unseen) and how Picasso really was right that all creation begins with destruction (of the blank page/canvas.)  I can blabber about all of that, but it’s not the same without the pictures. Not that not having pictures stops me, but it does present a challenge.

Which is okay. I can write that post on Wednesday. I have the pictures on the way,  I have the sticky notes on my wall, and I’ve blabbered my way to nearly the magic 700, so I’ve got that going for me. Once I am done here, it is lunch with Real Life Romance Hero, and then I get to go play with my imaginary friends (part of me suspects I should be capitalizing that -Imaginary Friends- since I am using it instead of their names) and also have some tea. The tea is important. By that time, I will probably have given up on my earbud, singular, and opt for closed office door and computer speakers because I need my playlists. This will also result in Skye outside said office door, looking pitiful. Okay, maybe make the speakers and slightly open office door and Real Life Romance Hero will need to deal with the sounds coming from said speakers, because kitty face.

Allrighty, past the magic 700 mark, so time to feed my beloved family and then off to century eighteen. See you Wednesday.

Sifting For Nuggets (not the chicken kind)

annabowling 2 Comments

Right now, I am sitting at my desk, with my second cup of tea after I got back from the laundromat (third cup of tea for the day, total) in a short-sleeved t-shirt, with a blanket on my lap, because wearing a sweatshirt is too hot, but not having anything snuggly is too cold. This is the acceptable compromise. So far,  I have written and discarded several paragraphs of this entry, because they ended up going nowhere, which means they were not the right topic for today’s post. I am listening to the Discover Weekly playlist Spotify suggested for me. I would rather be writing fiction.

Part of that is because I have my weekly critique session with N tomorrow, and I need to show her pages. Part of that is because I have more of an idea what I need to write on both books than I do this entry. I like having a plan. Because of last week’s sinus headache, I do not have a plan for this entry. Which means I am winging it, because I can get to the fiction writing once I have the blog posted, so time to whip off the metaphorical coverup, run down the metaphorical dock, shout, “Ronkonkoma,” and cannonball into the water. There. That’s  plan. Kind of. We’ll go with that.

The first thing I tried to write about here was that today starts the official (for me, anyway) countdown to conference time. One month from now, I will be on my way to the Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference, and my first time co-presenting a workshop (on blogging, yet; wait, I know stuff about that? :shifty eyes: Hi, I’m Anna. I take pictures of my desk and blabber about my imaginary friends. Thank you for giving me roughly an hour of your time. Did I mention numbers are not my strong suit? Yeah, that’s why I make up stories and tell people who kissed on TV.) I am also, after a coughtycough years hiatus from pitching, voluntarily sitting across a very small table from an industry professional and tell her why her readers should hand over coin of the realm to play with my imaginary friends. I also have no idea what I’m wearing, although it will probably be black. So that’s one thing settled…and I’m drifting, but over halfway to the magic seven hundred words that will let me post this puppy and move on to the fiction writing part of our day.

The other part of why I would rather be writing fiction right now is that this is one of those turning points, where Hero commits to a course of action and takes his first steps -or missteps, really, at this point- in that direction. He knows what he wants to do, even if he isn’t entirely sure how to start actually doing it, and, while that’s not at all fun for him, it is for me. Call it one of those instances of authorial schadenfreude. Maybe two, really, because, when I get done with him, I get to go torture Heroine for a while. I also get to mess with Guy and Girl later in the week, when Hero and Heroine need a break.

The pull to get back to both couples is strong, and I get itchy when I’ve been away from them for too long, which is a very good thing. That means they’re real and alive and taking an active role in getting ready to meet readers. Always helpful when they carry their share of the load. Mighty kind of them, as Real Life Romance Hero would say.

One might argue, if the pull is that strong, that I might have flipped things around and written the fiction first, before tending to bloggy matters. That’s true, I might, but I also know myself well enough to know that, once I get in there, I’m not going to want to come out and I’d get to the end of the day and oh shoot, where did the blog go? Nope. This is where the discipline comes into play. To paraphrase Lin-Manuel Miranda (who kind of maybe knows a thing or two about this writing stuff) when inspiration isn’t there, toss stuff on the page without inspiration and then sift for nuggets.

I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean chicken.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Headache Relief Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Things have been quieter than usual around here for the last couple of days, because Anty has a sinus headache. She gets those sometimes, before a big rain, which we were supposed to have, but did not get, so the headache stuck around. Do not worry, part of the duties of a mews is to be a good nurse when needed, so I have been sticking close. She is starting to do better now, so I think that means I have been doing a good job. Taking her medicine with caffeine and taking naps probably helped, too, but I think it was mostly me. Also Uncle. All right, and Mama.

Anyway, Anty thinks the worst of it is probably over, and that is a good thing. She did get a brand new picture of me, and in a very crafty way. She fed me, in my room, and then sat in the doorway and waited for me to finish. I could not get out without getting past her, and that is when she took my picture. She also paid me for my trouble by letting me watch a few minutes of my favorite movie, Koi in Their Winter Tank. I love this movie. It is wonderful. It has everything. It has fish, and, well, that is really all it needs. I will take movie time as fair payment for my work.

Anty is now making noises that could mean her sinuses are draining, or they could mean that she would like me to get to the point and post about her writing, so I will do that. She is on her own with the sinus thing. This week, as usual, she posted on Buried Under Romance. It is all about spring awakenings (no, not the Broadway show) this week, and the thrill of discovering something new. You can read that post here, and the link on the main page looks like this:

burspringawakening

Her next post at Buried Under Romance will be up tomorrow, so stop by to see what she is talking about this week.

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Since it is now March, it is now time to report how Anty is doing on her Goodreads challenge. She is four books behind schedule, which she does not like, but she is not worried. Four books is not that much, and she has four in her currently reading section, so all she has to do is finish those, and boom, back on track. If you would like to see Anty’s reading progress, you can do that here, and, so far, it looks like this:

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This week, the days have been mostly the days they are supposed to be, except for Wednesday being Tuesday. That was a little disconcerting, but two good things happened because of Tuesday being a day late. The first one is that the mallards are back in the lake at the park. I am always in favor of the return of birdy-type creatures. Maybe Anty will take a movie of them and let me watch it. Anty makes very good duck movies. To be fair, the mallards may have been back before Wednesday, but that is when Anty saw them.

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The other good thing is that Anty is very glad she had the extra day to work on her pages for Her Last First Kiss, because Miss N said that these were Anty’s best pages yet. Anty was very happy to hear that. Critique Partner Vicki also loved these pages, so that went a long way to balance out all of the headache ick. Getting good feedback lets Anty know that the story in her head is making it to the pages, and makes her want to go home and write even more pages. Even when a headache makes her want to smash her head into a wall. Do not worry, she did not actually do that. It is a figure of speech.

Anty also found a really, really good passage in Miss N’s pages and told Miss N exactly that. Miss N told Anty that, for that part, she sat down with pen and paper and put on the page exactly what was in the character’s head. That is also what Anty did for one of the scenes in her own pages. Great minds, it would seem, really do think alike. Anty and Miss N talked about that for a while, and how, for both of them, it is sometimes easier to write with pen and paper than compose directly on the computer. Pen and paper are also more portable (eve with laptops) so, really, writing can happen anywhere. In Anty’s case, writing by hand can help her feel even more connected to her characters, because she writes historical stories. Miss N’s story is contemporary, but she is also thinking about a historical of her own, when this is done.

Hopefully, Tuesday will be on Tuesday this coming week, because Anty is very much looking forward to moving into the next phase of this second draft. This will involve research into old-timey bathtubs, art history, and putting Hero in the unfortunate position of wanting to cross the one line he swore he would never cross. Heroine does not come off much better in this chapter, because what she wants to do and what she has to do are two different things, and she is not okay with that. Anty loves that kind of stuff.

Taking pleasure in things getting worse for other people, and taking an active role in making things worse for them, would be mean in real life, but, for writers, it is not mean at all. It is actually good, because things have to get worse for the characters, before they can get better. They can only be completely happy at the very, very end. Because Anty and Miss N both write romance, they know that the happy ending is a guarantee, but, up until then, anything goes, and that is a lot of the fun in writing. No matter what Anty and Miss N throw at their story people, things will be all right in the end. That is also the source of many of the evil cackles and overly dramatic groans anyone in Panera might hear on Tuesday mornings (or whatever day Tuesday ends up being that particular week.)

Anty says it is time for her to use the computer now, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebanner01

skyebye

 

 

 

Grouse

annabowling Leave a comment

The fact that today’s picture is an off-center banner image should say pretty much everything. The calendar says today is Wednesday, though it was also Tuesday, as N and I moved our meeting this week, to accommodate both our schedules. My brain also says it is Tuesday extension, as, thanks to a sinus headache (thanks, barometric pressure,) I did not sleep last night. This may be one of the reasons I am considering going to bed at slightly after 3PM. I thought about moving today’s blog to tomorrow, but my internal calendar is muddled enough already, and tomorrow is Buried Under Romance post writing day, as well as fiction writing, and I know myself well enough to know when I’ve reached my limit in the stuff-on-my-metaphorical plate situation.

Today, when I walked through the park, on my way to meet N, I noticed a green haze of buds on the willow tree near the lake, and, on the lake, ducks swam. The mallards are back. It’s March first. Even a winter person like me has to admit that all looks pretty spring-like. Had to happen sometime. I could do without the sinus headache, though, but I could not do without my weekly critique session.

Quote from my morning pages, on the pages I brought for N to read:

I have nine pages today, and they are not my favorites, but they are a second draft, and I will make them better on the third pass.

Part of  me wanted to tell N straight out that I wasn’t sure about these pages. That I wanted to take them back and do better. Was sending Heroine to a different part of the house to completely lose her, um, stuff, then take another whack at the whole rational adult thing stupid, ineffective, or insert own personal pet fear here? There are few units of time longer than the time between one’s critique partner putting down the pages and their mechanical pencil, saying “well,” and then completing the sentence with “this is the best chapter so far,” or words to that effect. The parts I was most nervous about were the ones that seemed to work the best for her, which means this may be something I want to do more of in the future, because I love that squidgy butterfly stomach feeling. Hopefully, next time, I can manage something more cool and sophisticated than the squeak of “really?” that actually came out of my mouth. Or maybe not. Maybe that’s the appropriate response, and I should roll with it.

What stands out to me most about the difference from this chapter and the previous ones of this draft, is that I didn’t write it, as much as write it down. I don’t mean that I wrote it in longhand, though I did, in mechanical pencil, in my Big Daddy Precious notebook, but that following Heroine was all I needed to do. I handed her the metaphorical reins, and off she went. She did not mind her language. She got mad. She threw things. She dug up old (metaphorical) bones and wanted something she couldn’t have, and got mad about it. She got loud. She got petty, and she knew she got petty, and she didn’t care, because she’d had one of those days, and y’know what, no regrets. Well, not in that scene. There’s still a lot more story to go, but, for right then…yeah. It felt right. For both of us.

Next chapter is Hero’s POV, and he has no idea any of this has happened, though he has his own issues. It’s going to be an interesting contrast, and, hopefully, some time with a mechanical pencil and Big Daddy Precious (along with some extra research into bathtubs of the eighteenth century) I can take what’s already there and make it better. If it weren’t for the headache, I’d probably be doing that right now, but will retreat to the bedroom with caffeine and Ibuprofen and wait for the weather to break.

Maybe I’ll read, or maybe I’ll lie there with eyes closed and a light blanket. It’s in the sixties, so I don’t need the warmth, but  I like the weight of the blanket. As with writing, go with what works.

 

 

 

 

Breathing Room

annabowling 1 Comment

Yesterday, I played Sims 4. All day. That was it. No regrets. I’m playing this current (game) world rotationally, or, more accurately, pinging back and forth between households, to  ensure that each of my families makes it to the next generation. We will not mention the one Sim I forgot about since he was a teen, and stumbled across, living by himself, as an elder, with none of my created or born in game female Sims of childbearing age unattached. I had him adopt a child, then married a widowed elder female Sim, merely because I want to see how many husbands she can go through before her own time runs out. This dude is her third. I played long enough that a teen aged up to young adult, solving the dilemma of my second adult aged bachelor. The third one is still on his own, but he has two older sisters who have descendants, so I’m not worried about him. He can meet a nice townie, or adopt.

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Saturday, I picked up my first bottle of fountain pen ink. I’ve had samples before, and cartridges, but having a whole bottle feels different. It’s a commitment. I am a Fountain Pen Person now. I was before, because I wouldn’t have had a need for the ink if I didn’t already have fountain pens in need of the same, but I have a bottle now, and a box that’s probably going to find itself, at least in part, stuck in an art journal, because it’s beautiful in its wornness. This also means I am going to have to buy some converters, and possibly a syringe (to refill the technically disposable Pilot Varsity pens I hoard like a dragon hoards treasure) but that is for another day.

Today is time to get pages of Her Last First Kiss ready for N’s critique. Tuesday is Wednesday this week, which does not help  my disorientation regarding what day it is but I am glad to have the extra breathing room, to make sure I turn out the best pages that I can. Breaking the habit of holding back can be difficult, though I am up for the challenge. Hero and Heroine have to live out their story the way that it goes, and that means I have to write what happens in the movie in my head. If this means putting stuff on top of stuff, then I need to make sure that’s what I’m doing.

morningpagesaltered

This weekend also brought a trip to the craft store, which meant Tim Holtz stuff is probably going to come home. This time, it was a canister with several rolls of decorative tape inside it. That’s two different tapes used in the frame on the pages above. This particular book had several false starts before I figured out what its true purpose was (my daily task list.) The original pages were too plain, even with the grid lines. Meh. Nothing to see here. Add some interesting borders, though, pattern on pattern, color on color, and now we’re talking. With two weeks left in my current morning pages book, I’m thinking I might consider taking an existing book with ruled pages and adding the interest myself, with tape and a few other mediums.

Which is basically what I’m doing with this draft of HLFK. The basic pages are there already. What they need are the extra touches that make this story unique. Time to climb inside Hero’s and Heroine’s skins and look at the world through their eyes. Sub out any other character for either of them, and we would not be having this story, because those different people would do different things. Those richly textured historical romances, dripping with atmosphere, are the things I love to read the very most, so they need to be what I put out there in the world.

I don’t like veering from schedule very much, but there are times, like this one, where even a smidge of breathing room comes in handy. That gives room to stretch, to observe, to pick out patterns, layer together things that might be two great tastes that taste great together, or they could be a colossal mistake. Thing is, with that breathing room, there is time and space for course corrections when needed. Time to move things around and make sure all is well with the fictional world. It’s not an excuse to slack off, but a chance to make sure things are done as well as they possibly can be done. At least that’s the theory. We’ll see how practice goes.

Typing With Wet Claws: A Writer’s Mind is a Terrible Place Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty  had to check to make sure it is Friday, because it has been one of those weeks. Anty already talked about that here, so I will not go over it again. Suffice it to say that she has been using her calendars more than usual this week, because it has been more than a little confusing. Part of today is still part of yesterday , part of tonight may get moved to Sunday, because Saturday night is the new Sunday morning, and Anty still has not had that nap. She also has not been to her favorite coffee house in two weeks, by her best guess, and that makes her crabby. Nobody likes it when Anty is crabby. That is when she needs an extra dose of mews therapy, which is where I come in. Well, actually, I will come in anywhere as long as the door is open. Yes, that includes the bathroom. If the door is closed, I will sit outside it and wait. I can do that for hours.

One thing that has not changed is that I have to talk about where you can read Anty’s writing from this week, other than here. As always, Anty posted at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. This week, she wrote about the escapist nature of romance fiction. Anty does not like that term, escapist, because she does not find it accurate, but you can read more about that in her post. That post is here, and it looks like this:

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Anty did not put any new reviews on Goodreads this week, because it was a crazy week, and she mostly wrote before bed instead of read. She hopes to do better on that this coming week, but if you are interested to see what Anty is reading, and you do not already follow her on Goodreads, you can find that out on her Currently Reading page. That page is here, and it looks like this:

grcurrentlyreading

Hmph. Okay, it looks similar to this. There is a reason cats are not widely known as graphic designers. There is not a picture of me on the page. I put it over reviews by other people, because I do not have permission to put their reviews on this post. That is because I did not ask, and, anyway, there can never be enough pictures of me. Some of these books, Anty started reading a while ago, and then life exploded, but that does not mean she is not interested in finishing them, if that is all right with the universe. Anty sometimes yells that part, even if I am the only one around. I know she is not yelling at me, so do not worry about that.

This week has been an interesting one for Anty, which means it has been an interesting week for me. For one thing, Uncle was home a lot more than he usually is. I liked that, because he is my favorite. I do not care that much what he is doing; being around him is enough for me.  Anty likes having him around, too, and he is pretty good about understanding that a closed office door means only knock if there is an emergency or food. Uncle starts his new job this afternoon, so it will be me and Anty again, which is kind of normal. Anty thinks she will probably go to the coffee house so that they know she did not fall into a sinkhole, but she will probably take a notebook instead of her laptop. Sometimes, Anty has to unplug.

When Anty feels all rushed and crowded, then she knows it is time to unplug. Turn off the computer (unless she is playing Sims or chatting with friends) and open a notebook, book or make some art. That is not wasting time; that is filling her well. When she identifies a picture of otters on the computer as “puppies,” then she knows it is time to shut the whole day down and go to sleep. She is still not sure if she has to, at some point, identify  actual puppies as “otters,” to reset the balance, but that is the kind of thing that goes through the mind of a writer when she is stressed.

There is a good side to that, too, though. Another thing that goes through Anty’s mind when she is stressed, is that she needs to write things out to process them. It is like talking on paper for her, which is useful when she gets this need in the wee hours of the morning and all the other humans are still asleep. Later today, after she crosses her essentials off her to do list, she will fill the last two detachable pages of the Moleskine she keeps in her purse. That still leaves her with the decision of what to do with the non-detachable pages, as the whole point of having that book was so that she could take out the pages when she needs to transcribe them, but she will deal with that later.

For now, it is time for her to take the computer back, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebanner01skyebye

 

Unbalanced

annabowling 5 Comments

This week, Saturday was Sunday, Sunday was New Year’s Day, Monday was Saturday, Tuesday was Monday, Wednesday was Tuesday, though I’m writing its post on Thursday, and I could use another nap. Well, nap, period. In the words of Alice (of Wonderland, not Mel’s Diner) I haven’t had one, so how could I have another? The forecast says we may hit sixty-six degrees today. In northern NY. In February.  It’s kind of a mess.

I don’t like messes. My ideal weekend, in fact, would include cleaning and organizing my office. Maybe the dining room too, if I get really wild. I want to put things where they go, turn piles into files; that sort of thing. Yesterday, I kept forgetting what day it was, and exclaimed, “oh, puppies!” when I saw a picture of otters. It’s probably a good thing I am not a veterinarian, if I can’t tell the difference between otters and puppies, and definitely a sign that I need one of those nap things. Also, to get out of the house and be around people who do not share my mailing address. My people meter is low.

Tomorrow, Real Life Romance Hero starts a new job, so Friday will, hopefully, look like a normal Friday.  I could use the routine. Today is part Wednesday, a little Tuesday, definitely Thursday, and my writing/critting commitments for the day take me through past, present and future. This is enough to make me throw up my hands and retreat to a blanket fort, but that would probably be too hot at sixty-six degrees, so blanket fort is not a viable option, even if the blanket fort does have Netflix.

Because Sunday was New Year’s Day, it wasn’t a writing day, or writing prep day, and that made Monday a grumbly, frantically preparing pages for Tuesday morning critique day. Which ended up being moot, because the one time N doesn’t check her email, so she doesn’t see my message, asking if she could please print my pages, because the family car is committed to RLRH’s job interview (this is the job he starts Friday) and I still can’t find what’s jamming the printer that is right next to my desk, so this means there is still a part of Tuesday out there, ready to pop out at me at some yet to be determined time, after N has had a chance to read and comment on said pages.

Tuesday night, which my brain remembers as Monday, even though I know it was Tuesday, I didn’t watch This Is Us, which I love, because I was working on Her Last First Kiss, and, while part of the reason I stayed at the keyboard instead of shambling off to the living room was that I wanted to stay with the story (because N’s comments, when she had me talk to her about the new scene, even though the pages were cozy in her inbox, got me going and I wanted to capture them) another part of it was that my brain was too flat out tired to switch from writing mode to watching TV mode.

Right now, I have a cable knit blanket in my lap, not because I am cold (though I am sitting directly under a ceiling fan) but because I feel more comfortable with something on me, and also because it’s normal. This has not been a normal week. This week also brought the passing of a cousin I hadn’t seen in quite some time, though we had recently reconnected on FB, as well as renewing acquaintances with two other cousins. One of them now lives in the same city where I attended college for two years, and where I met RLRH. Small world.

Today’s task list is a mishmash of things from other days, shuffled around, grafted in and cobbled together. As much as I like making order out of chaos, this feels like a lot of chaos. This is where Anne Lamott’s famous one inch picture frames come into use, as well as Barbara Samuel’s “in this moment,” writing prompt. What do I need to do right now? Do that. Everything else can wait its turn. Right now, it’s this blog entry. After that, tea.

Technically, slipping out to the coffee house this afternoon is actually last Friday, in case my personal timeline wasn’t spiraled enough, but I know there will be tea and I will plug in my earbuds and open a notebook or turn on my laptop, and, as a once upon a time writing group facilitator often said, the practice begets the product. Her rule was that, once our pens hit the pages, they had to keep moving until she called time. It didn’t matter what we wrote on those pages, only that we kept the pens moving. Our brains knew how to write, and, they know that’s what happens when pen is on paper.

There have been many times this week, when I didn’t know what day it was, or 5PM felt like 10PM, 2AM felt like 6AM and 9PM at the same time, but the one thing that has remained a constant is the writing. Hero and Heroine, Girl and Guy, know what they’re doing, where they’re going, and how they’re going to get there. Think I’ll let them drive.

 

 

Off-ish

annabowling 4 Comments

Yesterday, I went to a New Year’s party. A bit later than the usual New Year’s party, yes, but these things happen in life. The dynamic was different than most years, but the company was still good, there were bacon wrapped figs (or maybe they were dates; it does not matter, as they are gone now, and they were delicious) and there were books to swap, which absolutely did happen. I not only came home with an armful of Patrick O’Brien books for Real Life Romance Hero, but a couple of big, thick, emotional historical romance novels, as well as two containers of leftovers, a lovely gift from our hostess, the lovely and talented M.P. Barker, and my brain, or perhaps my body (possibly a collaboration between the two) not entirely sure this was not an actual holiday. I was doing holiday things, after all, and went to a holiday place, where I saw holiday people and ate holiday food. Ergo, holiday.

The calendar is not giving me clear signals in either direction. The block for today says President’s Day, but it also says Monday, and I did haul my tired bones to the laundromat, where I gobbled nearly a third of a Barbara Samuel Georgian historical romance I have been wanting for literally years. We will not go into the brain fog that required me to fashion an impromptu scooping system out of the detergent box I got from the vending machine, so I could scoop the skin destroying remains of detergent a previous patron had left behind in the place where my hypoallergenic detergent goes. That brain fog, though, did give me a clear direction. I emailed N and asked if we could move tomorrow’s crit session to another day this week. N was amenable, and we picked a date.

Then, I took a nap. Hung out with Real Life Romance Hero, who also needs some downtime today. Had lunch delivered, consumed same with the two of us standing at the kitchen counter. Watched one of the food shows on the DVR. Figured I may as well mosey on into the office and get the blog post written, so I could say I did something today. Well, there was laundry, but I mean writing things. There’s a difference.

Though the honor of spending time in M.P Barker’s lovely home now means that it is a holiday, time to stuff myself with food, talk to people I don’t get to see every day, and go home with at least one book I did not possess before, there were many years when being in that house meant that it was Wednesday night, and that meant nag group, which meant I had better have pages ready. Though they weren’t always for the WIP of the moment, there were always some pages to bring, and I greatly appreciate the input I received from the others around that table.

Though I have my Tuesday mornings with N and email check ins with Critique Partner Vicki, I do not have a new version of nag group in my current location, a question I answered a few times yesterday. I will admit to some nostalgia, and I did float the idea of resurrecting some virtual form of those gatherings via modern technology, so we will see where that takes us. I had the chance to chat with some old friends, who are on different writing paths, and meet new people, two of whom asked where they could find my blog. I handed out a couple of cards, and do hope they’ll drop by. :waves hi, in case they are reading this right now:

When the sun set, Housemate and I headed for home (and The Walking Dead, because we have our priorities.) My brain drifted (no worries, I was in the passenger seat) from story ideas, to memories of writing groups past, to current WIPs and the upcoming NECRWA conference, my very first shot at co-presenting a conference workshop. By the time I got home, I had enough energy to watch The Walking Dead and pour myself into bed immediately afterward. I fully intended to push through and do all the stuff I planned on for a regular Monday, but this isn’t a regular Monday, and the week that went before is certainly anything but regular, so maybe a break from routine might not be the worst thing I could do.

Still, I’m  here, writing this, because, dangit, Monday is blog day, and I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t post something. So, this is here. Not really on, not really off, more like that comfortably aimless in between that I usually associate with the tucked-between week. Not that I’m thinking I’m going to get a whole week of that, because tomorrow is indeed a regular Tuesday, and there are chapters to write, that last Golden Heart entry to judge, pages to print, and laundry to put away, but, for today, I’ll take a moment or three, refill the well, so I have something to draw from tomorrow. Tomorrow, it’s on.

 

 

 

Past Present Future

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I had plans for this blog entry, took pictures of some of the tools of the trade I use every day, a clever trick I adapted from a notebook blog (which blog, though, I neglected to write down; ironic, that) and give a behind the scenes peek, as it were. What actually happened is that I somehow launched said pictures into space (okay, they are trapped in my draft folder) and it’s blog time, (also that I used the deskscape with a bunch of my paper things already, when I thought it would save the time of taking a new one) but the current desktop wallpaper is one of my very, very favorites (not quite Abbie and Ichabod level, but close) so let’s go with that for today’s theme.

Last week, after I’d finished my critique session with N, I got a text from Housemate, asking me what I was doing. Odd, that, because she should have been at work, and her work directly involves customer service, so sending “what are you doing” texts to household members during work hours is not exactly encouraged. Long story short, mental health day, and did I want to go out and do something? Since A) snow is my very, very favorite weather, and B) this is what it looked like outside at the time:

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I took her up on her invitation. Remember the scene in Gilmore Girls, where Lorelai says snow is like catnip to her? Yeah. Same. Show me the white stuff, and I immediately have all the energy. am in a good mood and want to go do stuff. Preferably stuff that involves me going outside for at least a little while. We do not have snow today. We had some lovely gray clouds, and may get a snowstorm tomorrow, but I see sunshine outside my office window right now. I don’t like sunshine. I’ll consider this a lull between yesterday’s snow/rain and tomorrow’s snow.

Yesterday, I had another critique session with N, and came home energized, as usual. I made notes in my big daddy precious notebook

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Paperblanks silver filigree journal, Maya Blue Grande

this time, with my nifty trick of drawing a line at top and bottom of each page -so the page isn’t blank anymore- in copper metallic marker -so it’s fancy; I love fancy- and then on to the next task on the list, bouncing the Beach Ball around, very much outside my comfort zone. I did have my doubts, and no, the scene was not perfect, but I sent it off to Melva; she’s my partner on this one, so she’s the other half of the writing of this book, and she can point out what needs spiffing. This was one of those feel the fear and do it anyway moments. I am learning to embrace those moments and steer into the skid.

Earlier this week, Rhonda Lane, one of my co-presenters for “Blogging Isn’t Dead,” and the brave volunteer to put together our Powerpoint presentation (I have never done Powerpoint, so this will be another new adventure) asked if I would like to feature one of my books in my part of the …um…intro…thingy…where…they…tell people who we are, or something like that. My first inclination was to say no, my books are too old, but then I pulled up my big girl panties and sent the cover and information for Orphans in the Storm. I love that book. I’m proud of that book. That was the best book I could write at the time, when life was in chaos, and would continue to be for several years afterward, and I still love Simon and Jonnet, and am honored to have been the one to help them along the road to their happily ever after. It also has my favorite cover of any of my books. I mean, look at this gorgeousness:

 

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Cover art by Kathleen Underwood

 

Could I write a better book now, :coughtycough: years later? I certainly hope so. I’ve had a whole world more of life experience, some good, some bad, and I’ve written more, read more, taken in more information and influence and and and and…you get the picture. Do I plan on rewriting Simon and Jonnet’s story? Right now, no. They’re fine where they are. They’re happy. They’re good. That’s the beauty of writing a standalone novel; the happily ever really is exactly that. They’re together, they’re happy, they have an estate to manage, probably a gaggle of mini-thems by now, they have friends and family, and they’re better for what they’ve been through, even if they didn’t think that’s how things would turn out at the time they were actually going through it.

Would I like to revisit the seventeenth century at some point in the future? Absolutely. Right now, though, my focus is on the century that comes after that. I’m writing Hero and Heroine’s story, and there’s a seventeenth century tie to Guy and Girl’s story (not time travel; that’s a whole other kettle of fish) and I’m slowly gathering things I might like to play with for the next phase of the journey. That’ll get me where I need to go.

And (Not Or)

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It’s happening again. Monday, that is. It really shouldn’t feel like a surprise, as Mondays happen every week. That’s how it goes: Saturday, Sunday, Monday. It’s kind of a thing. I’m writing this blog entry because that is the top thing on my task list for today, and the plan is to get the things I know I can get done, done first, so that I have the bulk of  my time to work on the stuff that’s going to need more attention. In this case, the writing of actual fiction. Today, I need to get the second draft of the scene in Her Last First Kiss, where Hero and Heroine meet for the first time, ready for my meeting with N tomorrow morning.

Over the weekend, I’d had a plan to get current on my rest (sleep has not been that great recently) and relax by reading (did some of that) playing Sims (did some of that) and organizing: making the part of my office that doesn’t show in my deskscapes look less like the wake of a tornado and more like a working office, sync all my paper calendars/planners so that they all have the same information, and leave room for tracking my writing output (I kind of did some of that. At least all my RWA chapter meetings are now listed on my office calendar.) All of those partial things were on Saturday. Sunday, however, turned into a family day. I am not complaining. I love my family; they are weird and have a lot of variables, and, at one point, we all ended up eating honey barbecue boneless wings in the living room (no, that is not correct, as Housemate was in her room, decompressing from her own weekend) and anything that ends in honey barbecue boneless wings can’t be all that bad, really. So, no, not complaining, but….

There’s always a but. The part of me that is forever an eight-year-old boy now snickers because but sounds like butt, and he is not wrong. Only one t, though (mmm, tea….) and here’s the thing: those buts can change everything. (One t, inner eight-year-old boy. One t.) Because I love to plan, and I get antsy if I don’t know what’s coming next, and because I am making progress in not one, but two novels, with a goal of being able to pitch either or both at the NECRWA conference this year, I need to know what’s going to happen after those books are done. With Beach Ball, it’s easy; Melva and I have already sketched out two more collaborative stories, and we look forward to writing those.

When it comes to straight-on historical romance, though, I am on my own. Since I’ve already talked about choosing a focus for this phase of the game, here and here, that gives me a general direction :salute: of where that “what’s next” is going to go. As my Aunt S often said, writing is a business, and, in the current market, linked books are the big sellers. Okay, then, I would like to be a big seller. I get the logic behind this, and I like a challenge. Trouble is, that my brain does not  naturally think in series format (unless we’re talking multigenerational, but that’s a whole other story, pun intended, and we will deal with that later.) Hello, my name is Anna, and I am a unicorn; that rare romance writer/reader who honestly does prefer standalone stories. That’s how my brain works, so consciously building a linked story world is a challenge.

How do I face challenges? With organization. My plan for part of the weekend was to boot Scapple and slap down a bunch of things I love about eighteenth century romance; character types, locations, different eras within the era, names, tropes, etc, then see what connections my brain wanted to make. Not hard and fast, mind you, only something to get the wheels started turning. I have become a big proponent of “this book, now” – as in get this current draft done, and then we can think about what comes next, because I really do have to know what comes next, the same as I really do have to have pretty paper. That’s not  bad thing, to know what tools one needs to do the job, and I will still make time later in the week to get that particular ball rolling in that particular direction.

I’m grumbly that I didn’t get to do that when I wanted to do it, but that doesn’t mean I missed my chance forever :flings overly dramatic arm over brow and swoons on fainting couch: As I learned when I took the leap of playing with the Beach Ball with Melva, new things don’t mean I can’t do the other thing. Co-writing a modern day (but historical-adjacent) story doesn’t mean I can’t write historicals anymore, and planning out a linked story world doesn’t mean I have to bury my beloved standalones in the cold, cold ground and wander the moors forever mourning my one true passion. It’s and, not or. I can do more than one thing without cancelling out that original thing.

How to wrangle it all into submission (pun unintended, but I will let it stand) – that’s another matter, and I’ll figure it out along the way. For now, time to make some tea and hunker down in century eighteen for the day.