possibly pointless blabbering

Hypercritical Gremlin Interview, Part One

annabowling 3 Comments

Welp, four more days until Christmas, not nearly ready, but I did watch A Charlie Brown Christmas last night, so that’s a start. By Real Life Romance Hero’s and my reckoning, we have gone over one solid month with somebody in our family sick. Not always the same person, thankfully -there were a few days there where I was the healthy one- but mostly it’s been me, which is weird, because I am the Energizer Bunny, and tend to keep on going, no matter what. Which may explain things right there. Sometimes, when the brain won’t allow for a break, the body overrules and takes what it needs.

BUT IF YOU’RE SO BUSY, WHY AREN’T YOU RICH, OR AT LEAST HAVE A WHOLE BUNCH OF NEW RELEASES, YOU SLACKER?

That would be the voice of my hypercritical gremlins. They, along with my characters, live in my head (though in a much dodgier neighborhood) and are a talkative bunch. They have extremely high standards, keep excellent track of what everybody else is doing, and offer advice unsolicited. Today, they get blog space, because “blog entry” is next on my list, and I am determined to get everyday things out of the way so I can concentrate on Christmas preparations.

ALSO, YOU WANT TO PLAY SIMS.

:ahem: Yes, yes, I do. I assume you guys have a problem with that.

OF COURSE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY THOUSANDS OF  WORDS YOU COULD POUND OUT IN THE TIME IT TAKES YOU TO PUT IN ALL THOSE FRIVOLOUS THINGS LIKE MODS AND CUSTOM CONTENT?

Probably not many, because I don’t work that way at this stage of the game, but I do usually have a legal pad next to my computer and jot down ideas and dialogue while I play. I find it relaxing.

SO YOU ADMIT YOU’RE A LAZY SLACKER!

No, I admit that I am finding what works for me. Sometimes, I’ve sketched out entire scenes while doing that or cracked character issues that had me puzzled before. Do you guys always shout everything?

YES!

Do you always shout it in unison?

YES! ! ALSO, YOU ARE BAD AND STUPID AND IRRELEVANT FOR NOT SEEING THE NEW STAR WARS. OR EVEN PLANNING TO SEE IT.

If Real Life Romance Hero wants to see it for date night, I’ll go with him, but I’m more of a Merchant-Ivory girl, when left to my own devices.

YOU DO KNOW ONE OF THEM IS DEAD, RIGHT? THERE WILL NEVER BE A NEW MERCHANT-IVORY PRODUCTION. ALSO, MOST HISTORICAL MOVIES ARE FICTIONALIZED BIOGRAPHIES THESE DAYS BECAUSE NOBODY WANTS OR CAN RELATE TO OLD TIMEY DRAMAS, YOU RELIC. HAVE YOU SEEN THE SALES OF HISTORICAL VERSUS CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES THESE DAYS? WRITE WHAT SELLS.

:drinks tea: Ah, the bunny trails. Okay, Richard Curtis, then. I saw About Time this weekend, and it was wonderful. Emotionally effective, intimate, made me cry more than once, and reminded me why I write romance, though it isn’t a romance (but there is a romance in it.) Also, Bill Nighy can do no wrong. He seriously can’t, at least acting-wise, though I am certain he has hypercritical gremlins of his own, who would tell me otherwise.

HE DOES. WE FOLLOW THEM ON TWITTER.

Gremlins are on Twitter?

GREMLIN TWITTER, WHERE WE CAN TALK ABOUT ALL YOU TWITS. WE NOTICE YOU DIDN’T ANSWER US ABOUT THE HISTORICAL VS CONTEMPORARY THING.

That’s because I am not having that conversation.

:HUFF: OH ALL RIGHT. THEN AT LEAST WRITE REGENCY. EVERYBODY LOVES REGENCY.

That’s not true.

YES IT IS!

No, it’s not. Regency is a very popular setting, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only one out there, or that I am suited to write in it. Remember all that time I spent trying to write Regency already?

:CLINK GLASSES AND HIGH FIVES: GOOD TIMES!

No, not good times.

GOOD TIMES FOR US! WE ESPECIALLY LIKED ALL THE CRYING AND HEADACHES.

I didn’t.

WE KNOW! THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE AN OVERSENSITVE WUSS.

Really? You’re going there? I thought you had better ammunition than that.

EXACTLY WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?

Mostly, that you must not know me very well.

WE’VE BEEN LIVING IN YOUR HEAD SINCE YO UKNEW YOU HAD ONE. MAYBE BEFORE.

So? Look, I get that you guys probably aren’t moving out, anytime soon. You like the décor –

THERE COULD BE MORE ART ON THE WALLS. REMEMBER THAT TIME YOU SOLD ONE OF YOUR PURSES AND THE PERSON SAID YOUR HOUSE MUST LOOK AMAZING WITH ALL YOUR ART ON THE WALLS, AND YOU WERE ALL CRINGEY BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE ANY UP? NOTE WE USED PRESENT TENSE, AHEM.

–as I was saying, you mostly like the décor, the food is good, and you like petting my bookshelves when you think I’m not looking–

ALSO GOING THROUGH YOUR OLD PRINTOUTS AND FINDING GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. REALLY HAD A THING FOR GERUNDS THERE IN THE LATE NINETIES, DIDN’T YOU?

Okay, you guys need a hobby. Playing Sims is fun.

YOU DO KNOW THAT’S ONLY PIXELATED BARBIES, RIGHT?

I do know that the original game was pitched as a virtual dollhouse simulator, so what’s your point?

THAT YOU ARE CHILDISH.

Obviously, you haven’t been paying attention to my saved games, or any of my stories.

THANKS FOR THE REMINDER! YOU’RE NOT NICE, EITHER. WHAT ARE PEOPLE GOING TO THINK ABOUT YOU IF YOU HAVE CHARACTERS DO THINGS LIKE YOU DO?

Hopefully, that I can tell an emotionally compelling story. Are you guys about done now?

NOT EVEN CLOSE.

In that case, we’ll have to continue this conversation later, because it’s time for me to move along with my day. Any parting comments for this session?

YES. YOUR ART JOURNALING IS AMATEURISH AT BEST AND NOBODY WANTS TO SEE IT. COVER REVEALS, THAT’S WHAT READERS LIKE. ALSO, YOUR DISLIKE OF THE WORD, ‘JOURNAL’ MEANS YOU ARE NOT A REAL WRITER, IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING.

Actually, I wasn’t, but thanks for sharing your opinion. I need to go write and send off an invoice now, so we’re done for the day.

FINE. WE’RE GOING TO HANG OUT HERE AND PICK ON YOUR READING CHOICES.

As long as you do it quietly, knock yourselves out.

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Christmas Crunch Time Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for my regularly scheduled Feline Friday. Anty is feeling much better, but that also means she is very busy, because it is now one week until Christmas. Anty loves Christmas. Normally, she will spend the whole month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, getting ready for her favorite holiday. This year, she spent it being sick, or taking care of sick humans, or taking care of sick humans while being sick. That does not sound like a lot of fun, but some of the smells were very interesting. Well, probably only for a kitty. The humans are fond of a thing called Febreeze.

With only a week to actually get ready, Anty is winding up to go into high gear. First comes the pretending she doesn’t care and we can skip the whole thing at this point stage. (That is never going to happen, trust me.) Then there is the “there is no way we can do this” stage. That is a little scary, because I am used to being the most panicky one in the house and that is not always true during this stage, but then the next stage kicks in, and everything falls into place and she makes it happen after all. Sometimes it is fancy, and sometimes it is intimate. Uncle says that means small. I think Anty doesn’t much care; she likes Christmas, period.

There is wrapping to do, and mailing, and Mama is going to help Grandma get ready, and have their own celebration back where we used to live. Presents are starting to come together. I think I am getting cat food. I hope I am getting cat food. I love cat food. My humans know that my favorite toy is crumpled paper. Very occasionally, I will bat my catnip mousie (but I do not care about the catnip) if one of my humans throws it while I am already playful, but, really, I’m all about paper when it comes to toys. I am thinking about getting everybody mice.

What? Oh. Sorry. My mistake. I got all excited about Christmas (Anty will probably catch up with me soon) and forgot I am supposed to talk about Anty’s writing things first. Something big happened on The Big Bang Theory last night, and Anty is recapping it all at Heroes and Heartbreakers. It is here, and it looks like this.

SHAMY

This episode was about, um, something grownups do that also happens in romance novels, but it was also about getting expectations built up so much that it can affect the actual experience. This applies to Anty and Christmas, and to Anty and writing. Will she do something wrong? Will she miss out on something good? Is there something she could have done better? What if she does the wrong thing, and, because of that, it’s not fun for anybody? It is times like that when I am glad Anty is too big to fit under the bed (the space down there is kitty sized, not human sized.) because she might seriously consider hunkering down there with me sometimes.

As much as I would like to have the time with her, that is not how writing books work. If I, who am a kitty, know that, then an actual writer human should know that, too, but sometimes, she needs a reminder. Also, usually a notebook and a pen, because then she will want to play with them. Tea usually helps, and, this time of year, seasonally appropriate treats. Anty is especially fond of red and green gumdrops and cheese and crackers. (The cheese and crackers do not need to be red and green, in case you were wondering. Only the gumdrops. The cheese could even be blue. Anty likes it when the cheese is blue. Full of holes is good, too.)  Talking with writer friends definitely helps, and, most of all, (sometimes scariest of all) actually writing.

Oddly enough, Anty has not yet written a Christmas story. Maybe she will have to give that a try. If she starts now, she could be ready for next year. She says she needs to finish her current projects first, but I remember this is before she’s watched Love Actually, The Holiday, or Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol even once this year. The bug could still hit.

It is almost time for Anty to go meet a writer friend, so that is about it for now. I may have to fill in for Anty again if Christmas preparations (or writing) take up much more of her time this week, so maybe we will see each other before next week. Until then, I remain very truly  yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

 

Past Present Future

annabowling 2 Comments

 How I Thought It Was Going To Go:

That magnum opus I pounded out on an electronic typewriter, in my dad’s living room, my old bedroom, and my first college dorm room, heavily reminiscent of the Bertrice Small epics I still adore, complete with fictional island nation, slaved over for years, was supposed to be The One. I had a chance to send the first three chapters to a big name editor, and I did. I remember sitting on the couch of Real Life Romance Hero’s and my first apartment, the letter in my hands, unopened, knowing that this would change my life forever. It did, but not the way I had expected.

Not enough action, nothing important happened, something else, something else, something else, probably something positive in there, but danged if I can remember any of it all these years later.  What was supposed to happen was that Big Name Editor was supposed to love this story as much as I did, want the whole thing, throw a big bunch of money at me and ask for more books. Never mind that I had no idea what those books were going to be, because that one was my everything at the time.  What I do remember is the crushing disappointment, the “proof” that I couldn’t do what I wanted to do more than anything else in the world. Totally skipped over the “send me something else” part, partly because I was that crushed, and partly because I didn’t have anything else at the time. This was meant to be the one that flung open the doors and got the party started. Surely, then, everything would come easy after that.

What Actually Happened:

I went into retail. The book went into the briefcase a family friend gave me for my high school graduation, and then into the back of a closet, eventually into a storage unit. I stumbled onto the path of retail management, but when the district supervisor called me in for a talk, to ask about where I wanted to be in five years, I said “writing.” What? I didn’t want to manage my own store? Umm, okay, I guess, but mostly writing. I ended up as assistant manager at that store, and I discovered fan fiction, where I wrote. A lot. Where I learned a lot through that writing. Where I made friends who also wrote. We taught each other. We experimented. Belly flopped. Blinked in astonishment when readers asked for more. Provided more. Learned how to hawk our wares at appropriate venues, used the heck out of the USPS to stay in touch, fumbled through the early days of the Internet together, and, sometimes, met in person.

Through one of those meetings, I found a local writer’s group and was invited to join. I did. Week after week, we met and wrote to prompts, in timed exercises. One of those clicked, and kept going, eventually becoming My Outcast Heart. My first shot at a historical romance since that book where nothing happened. I queried Awe-Struck Publishing, sent in a partial, and sent in the whole thing when asked. Less than a week later, I got The Email. A real, live publisher wanted to buy my book! Um, yes, please. Then when one of the editors started his own boutique publisher and asked me for more, I sent more. I wrote two novellas and another novel, and all went out into the world and found homes.

Then life happened. I became caregiver to three relatives at once. Two passed away, while the other and I learned to manage the conditions newly discovered. There were matters to settle, a move to be made. My own depression was in there somewhere, along with some anxiety, and more miscarried manuscripts than I care to count. Not my favorite time, and sure, I wish I’d done some things differently. Sold  a few books, that would have been nice, but I’ve written articles and blog posts and not going to lie, I’m proud of those. I kept writing books. Not all of them made it, and that’s probably a good thing, but I kept on going, finding things that didn’t work and looking for things that would.

How It Goes From Here:

You’re asking me? This is the person who cried when the survey showed up in her mailbox. The one who grumped about not wanting to go to the meeting, but I had to because I was part of it. Everybody else is more successful than me and what right do I have to walk in the midst of them, so leave me here in my pile of sludge to die. Which is A) pretty much what it felt like, and, B) shines a light on how  much I want this.  Seeing as how I did tick a few boxes, I think I’m doing okay.

I’m still here. I’m still writing. I’ve been getting some good rejections on a novella, and “loved the voice and characters, but…” is a far sight better than “nothing happens.” I got a workshop I love out of lessons learned from all the fanfic I wrote and edited in those post-rejection days (which, to be honest, were all historical romances in disguise anyway) and, as my mother told me often, the year I broke my right arm (and, disappointingly, did not learn how to become completely ambidextrous during the healing process) broken bones heal stronger.

Write, finish, submit, repeat. Old advice, still works. If I get one new release this year, by traditional or independent publishing, I will indeed reach the fifth release goal. With a whole year ahead of me, and a novella in search of a home, this could happen.

We were asked, during the meeting, to make a list of our goals for the year. These should do.

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Okay, I made specific writing related ones, too, but it’s been  a rough weekend. Feeling good about these so far.

Typing With Wet Claws: Crabby Holidays Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today, you get an edited picture of me, and later than usual, because I am camera shy. Part of the reason is because it has been a challenging week. Part of it is because Anty is crabby. Part of it is because I am a kitty. I think that a few holiday lights would make this picture more seasonal. I know Anty took some pictures of fairy lights for another blog today. Maybe she could blend the two pictures together. I think that would be lovely.

Before I say anything else, Anty has a new post up at Heroes and Heartbreakers, about last night’s The Big Bang Theory. Anty is very happy about what happened on that program, and to share her thoughts on it with all of you. It is here, and it looks like this:

SHAMY

Anty says I cannot use the crabby picture of her again, even though I think it would be a very good illustration. Maybe she needs a new crabby picture, possibly with Uncle’s Bah Humbug hat, because I think the lack of holiday spirit is part of what is making Anty crabby. Anty really loves getting ready for Christmas, and it is only two weeks away now. Here is a list of the preparations she has been able to make this year:

Nothing.

  • Number of Christmas movies watched – zero.
  • Number of Christmas TV show episodes watched -zero.
  • Number of times Christmas playlist has been played – zero.
  • Number of Christmas themed books and/or stories read -zero.

This is a problem. Normally, Anty likes to get the Christmas tree up after Thanksgiving dinner. This year, both she and Uncle were sick, and the next week, too. Then Anty and Uncle got better, but then Mama got sick. Mama is on her way to getting better, so maybe things will go up this week, depending when all the humans are home at the same time, and nobody is sick or tired. That will be an interesting time. It has been like this for the last couple of years, so I am not surprised. Anty will get over this roadblock, and, before we know it, she will be in the mood. (I think church on Sunday will help a lot, because they will be talking about Christmas then.)

I can relate to the crabbiness. I do not like having to wait until evening to post my blog. Being a kitty of habit as I am, my blogs are morning things, and I prefer to get mine up in the  morning. That is not always possible. Today, for instance, Anty needed to help Mama take care of some errands. It is very difficult to open a laptop and turn it on when you only have paws and no opposable thumbs. Also, when you do not climb or jump, and it is on top of a table. So, I had to wait. A long time, since Uncle decided Anty really, really, really needed to be fed when she got back from errands, and then Anty had to do laundry.

A couple of days ago, all of the humans were very, very busy and Mama was sick, so my dinner time got put off. As a kitty of habit, I did not like this at all. I had to get their attention so they would feed me. I ran and ran and ran all over the house at my fastest speed. Uncle calls this  a rip. Then I talked. Since I am a Maine Coon mix, I do not meow like other cats. I make different sounds. My “ek ek ek” sound means that I would very much like food in my dish as soon as possible. I said that very loudly, and that did the trick. Anty paid attention to me and put food in my bowl. I ate it. Then I felt better. She and Uncle apologized to me and gave me scritches and love. That is a happy ending in my book, pun intended.

Here is where Anty can learn from me. When she is crabby, that probably means she is not getting something she needs. Often, that is food, or sleep, or she needs to be around people. When I have one of those needs, I find a human and I ask them. Sometimes, I will use my voice, and other times, I prefer to be quiet, sit very close and stare. Other times, Anty needs something else, like art, gaming, or some time reading a good book. All of those things are needed to fill her well. It is okay to ask for those things when they are needed.

Tonight, Anty and Mama are going to put up the white lights around the doorways to the living room and Uncle’s office. Uncle does not know they are going to do that, so it will be a surprise. I hope it will be a nice one.

Speaking of dinner time, it has rolled around again, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

 

 

 

Heroines (real life edition)

annabowling 2 Comments

The more you do, the more you’ll want to do.
-Erma Pesci Carrasco (aka Mom)

December ninth can be a hard day for me. I remember being fourteen years old, my dad waking me, and not understanding why he wouldn’t let me get out of bed. Then it sunk in. Mom was gone. The cancer won. Dad wouldn’t let me go to school, though I wanted to. He went to work, and , as I found out later, did not inform coworkers why that day was different at the time.  I spent part of the day at home with a family friend, then the rest with a neighbor.

December ninth is also the birthday of a favorite aunt (family friend sort, not parent’s blood sibling sort,) who served as second mom at key points in my teenage years, and who greatly influenced my choice of career and genre. I always wondered if it dampened her birthday celebrations in later years, that her special day was also the day she lost one of her dearest friends, but could never bring myself to ask. This year is the first Aunt’s Birthday after Aunt’s own passing, and anniversaries like this are…interesting.

My mother never got to read any of my books, though I like to think she would have. She never got to know I would write articles and blog posts (or know what a  blog was) or teach workshops.  Since my first exposure to the historical romance genre came from stealing the books from her nightstand and sorting through the books her sister, my Aunt Lucy, brought her, I suspect she would not have any issues with my choice of genre. I never got the chance to find out what Mom’s favorite settings, tropes, plots or authors were, but I do remember that, every time Aunt Lucy visited, there was a grocery bag full of big, thick historical paperbacks with art that captivated me, and back cover blurbs that fired my imagination. All that adventure, all that history, and all those happily ever afters…pure bliss in a brown paper bag. That hasn’t changed.

My aunt had read at least some of my writing, though I’m not sure how much, and her advice remains invaluable. She gave me books to read, letting me know which were the good ones, and was firm but fair with her input on my own writing. I remember, as a teen, that her advice to live life first before attempting to write about it, irritated me, but, all these years later, yes, she was right. I’ve lived. Some of the stuff, I would have rather skipped over, but it really is all grist for the mill.

From an early age, Mom’s publicity pictures, and a newspaper write up or two, preserved in a scrapbook, dazzled me. There was a long while when the fact that I got kicked out of robe choir, in front of the whole class, for having “a bad voice,” (teacher’s own words, sadly; I remember those, too) or the endless wait to see when her bone structure would make itself known in my own face vexed me greatly. My dad confirmed that I was adopted when I was twenty-two, but I’d figured it out by then.

I am, however, Mom’s daughter, and Aunt’s niece, without a doubt. Every year, at Christmas, I channel Aunt in a way that still gives me the heebie jeebies. This year, I may go all out and bust out the Robert Burns grace even if we end up ordering Chinese delivery for Christmas dinner. The decorations, the way presents are organized, that’s all Aunt, and, at this stage of the game, I think it’s safe to say those things are going to stick.

As will the advice Mom gave me, driving me to elementary school one day. I don’t remember the time of year, though I want to say it was spring. I wanted to stay home sick, and she didn’t think it was needed. As one who works from home now, myself, I do understand the need for a peaceful workspace and the room to breathe when the others have left for the day.

I was still fairly young, as I was in the back seat, and still angling to get my way. This was a short day (we had one of those a week, I think, at that time of year) and Mom remained firm. I didn’t even have to do a full day, only a shortened one, and I’d be fine once I got going. “The more you do, the more you’ll want to do,” she told me as we pulled into the parking lot, and, at the time, those words were the last thing I wanted to hear. She was right, of course, and, if saying it here counts, yes, Mom, I get it. I don’t remember anything about that day, but I obviously made it through.

Sometimes, especially on tough days, it’s tempting to say “nope” and retreat. Some days, that’s needed. Other times, though, the best thing to do is get dressed, get out of the house, and go do the work. Show up. Open the file. Change seat if needed. Put something down on the page and make it pretty later. I think Mom and Aunt would both approve of that.

 

 

 

 

In My Blanket Fort, Coloring Furiously

annabowling 2 Comments

Well, it’s Monday. Time for Monday’s post. Not sure what I’m going to write here, because even I am sick of reading me write about being sick. Not sure what else there is to say on that front, except that the cold seems to like it here, and I am impressed with the sheer volume of mucus my body can produce. I do not want to know where it is all coming from, but at least that’s progress?

Cherry and licorice cough drops have become a food group for me, and my favorite foods at the moment are those that do not have corners. On the plus side, I sound almost human after I’ve had ice cream, and I am staying well hydrated. Ice skulls are lifesavers (I do have a roll of actual Lifesavers, but have not yet opened them.)  By which I mean small novelty ice cubes in skull shaped molds I brought home around Halloween. Perfect size to pop in my mouth and cool things down without being unwieldly. Plus, they’re skulls. That has to count for something.

The way things are going, I’ll take that. It’s easy to get discouraged. Last week was going to be the week I made up for the week before’s loss of writing time, and then look what happened. Look at it. Not only did I not get things done, but it feels like things I did get done, got un-done. I would like to retreat to my blanket fort and color furiously. Yes, I used an adverb. Want to make something of it?

Right now, I’m grumpy. I’m tired of being sick, tired of being tired, tired of not Getting Things Done. Tired of not having brain enough to get a lot of reading , much less writing, done, but one thing I’ve been able to keep focus on for the last couple of days is art. In my office, on the floor, with paper and pencils and paint and assorted ephemera, it’s a different brain space than trying to make English work in a brain that only wants to take a nap (but knows that it can’t, because getting horizontal seems to be my body’s version of putting in a request for a long coughing fit that leaves me even more exhausted.)

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This spread took me a couple of days to create, no plan in mind but to use stuff I could get without having to look for it. So, liquid acrylic paints, gesso, an almost-dried-out paint dabber, fortune cookie fortunes, and gel medium.

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The page with the blue background was the page I gave some form of thought to, mainly to finally use the fortunes I’d been saving. Get those down on the page, arrange in pleasing manner, then paint around them with the blue paint. The arrangement of the fortunes suggested boxes, and primary colors seemed to fit, so yellow boxes came next, then the dark red boxes, and I may do some doodling with silver Sharpie or white gel pen, but I’d need to pick up a new one of those, as the old one now pines for the fjords, despite my best efforts.

I’d always planned on using the fortunes “someday.” These particular paints are free samples of some of the good stuff, from the art store, again, saved for “someday.” The day I’m good enough. The day I somehow intuitively know how to paint like Elaine Duillo by sheer osmosis. The day life calms down. The day, well, there’s always something, isn’t there? That day (don’t ask me when, they all blend) I decided, enough. It’s that day. Put the fortunes on the page. Paint around them. What’s next? What’s after that? Well, that, apparently. Who knew?

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The facing page was somewhat of a cheat; random smushing and/or swiping of stuff, mainly to clean my brushes, and, in the case of the black dots, to see if the paint dabber was still worth saving. It kind of is. Not what it used to be, but not too far gone, either. I can deal with that. I have no idea how my phone camera got rotated, but as I took the picture in the middle of a coughing fit, that may have something to do with how that turned out. I’m going to call it good enough, and/or a new perspective.

Are either of these pages done? Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell. What I do know is that playing with arty things like this calms me down and lets the story part of my brain free-float and work things out, away from the hypercritical gremlins that like to look over my shoulder when I’m pounding keys. (Gremlins aren’t quite as vigilant when writing longhand, thankfully, but they come back when it’s time to transcribe.) Sometimes, I have music on in the background, or a movie or TV episode on the DVD player. Sometimes, it’s quiet, with only the voices in my head.

Sometimes, I have a plan for these pages, and sometimes, I don’t. Sometimes, the best pages come from when I think I’m only cleaning my brush or playing “what marks does this make?” or “what color is this, really?” Some mindless noodling with color and line and shape, and before I know it…art. It can be the same with writing. Was once, before I let the rules drill in too deeply, and it’s a place I am learning to find again. There are going to be some messy pages along the way, some that get torn out and we will never mention again. Others, though, others come together in such a way that it feels more like discovery than creation. I’ll take that, too.

Typing With Wet Claws: Sick Friday Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today is Black Friday, when Anty had thought she might try to see about getting a new desktop at a good price, but there is a problem. I think Anty may be a zombie. She has been in the same pajamas for a couple of days, and the last time she wore makeup was when she took Uncle to the people vet. I thought Uncle might be dead for a while there, yesterday, because he was behind a closed bedroom door for most of the day, even though Mama made some very good smelling food, but he is awake now and watching food shows on TV. That is a good sign.

When Uncle is sick, he generally likes to stay in the bedroom and be under the covers. When he does that, I get under the bed and send him love beams to help him get better. With Anty, it is more difficult, because she is a zombie. I am pretty sure she is a zombie. She has the glazed eyes, the shuffling walk, she makes strange sounds and I already said about the pajamas and makeup. I will wait until Mama comes home to see if we need to put Anty down. I hope we do not. If we have to put Anty down, then I have to write all the blogs, instead of only one a week.  Anty usually tries to do all her regular things when she is sick, but her brain lets go of things in the middle of doing those things, so there is a lot of her standing in the middle of a room, looking confused.

With all of that going on, it is probably a good thing Anty did not do Black Friday this year. Anty loves Black Friday. As an extrovert, being around all those people and all that energy gives her energy. That is even better than getting things at special prices. This year, she is at home, but she is not entirely missing out. She has enough Sim Points at the Sims Store online that she can get herself  a new world for her game. She is not sure she will be able to install it right away, because the old laptop is slow when there is too much installed in Sims, but she is not upset.

That is partly because she is too tired from all the coughing and lack of sleep, but also because she has been doing some research and found that she can get a refurbished desktop from multiple retailers at a similar price without dragging her sick self out to brave the crowds. Right now, she is taking care of a couple of computer things and then allowing herself to crash. She would like to read but will probably play Sims and watch TV, because this cold has eaten her brain. She thinks it will come back soon. Uncle says he can already feel himself coming back. I should mention he did not come home with the cone of shame. That is a good sign.

I will tell you what is not a good sign. Coughing. It is very scary for a kitty who does not like sudden, loud noises. I know it is a sign that Anty and Uncle are getting the sickness out of their bodies (and if they threw their very interesting smelling tissues, I think I might like to play with them, but Anty says that might not be the best idea, and throws all the tissues in the trash. I do not go in the trash. I am a good kitty.) All those sounds make me jumpy, but I know they will not last forever, and Anty makes sure I am still fed. Uncle, too, now that he is up. Mama is at work, but she will feed me -and them- when she gets home.

It is hard work being a kitty nurse for two humans at once. so I had better get back to it. With both Anty and Uncle sick, there is not much else going on this week. I will take a nap and hope they follow my example. They will need a lot of rest to get ready for the Christmas season. Soon, the tree will go up, and sparkly lights around the living room doorways. Anty really really really loves Christmas, so there will be lots for her to do, but first, that nap. Until next week, (or maybe this one, if Anty needs more help) I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

 

 

Making a Valiant Effort

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I have no idea what I’m doing here. It’s Wednesday, so blog day, but any idea of what I was going to write here is long gone. My cold is hanging in there, and Real Life Romance Hero’s warranted a trip to our local Emergency Room. Never fear, Real Life Romance Hero regenerated, after stopping the ambulance to leap out and save a bus full of nuns, school children and rescue puppies. He is now resting comfortably at home, despite the rigors of attempting to teach me how to use video chat on our phones. He is a brave, brave man. (He also made me write the part about the bus…um, I mean because that is what really happened and not at all because he knows my passwords. He is also very, very handsome, makes a mean cup of tea and will not be doing glitter beard, but many thanks to those who have suggested he give it a try. He is also quite sure that, despite the fact that I do possess a supply of glitter, it is not nearly enough  to even make the attempt. His beard is magnificent. )

Before our adventure, I’d planned to take my tablet and retreat into a nest of blankets, and give the cold brain its head. It already has mine, so that wouldn’t be too difficult. Well. That is not what happened. (The nuns and children and puppies are thankful, though.) I am a planner. I like lists. I like schedules. The only thing better than making a list is prioritizing the list, and the only thing better than categories is subcategories. You get the drift. I am all about the color codes and the sticky notes and getting my ducks in a row. This was not one of those days.

I also love holidays. Thanksgiving is a big one. Second only to Christmas. At various points in the last few days, we have considered A) Cracker Barrel, B) Denny’s, C) finding a locally owned restaurant open on the holiday, D) skipping the holiday, E) ordering Chinese delivery (that was shot down with a withering glare, as Thanksgiving must have Thanksgiving food, or it’s only Thursday. We will revisit the delivery idea on Christmas. Unless Housemate makes her spaghetti sauce. But not with spaghetti, because spaghetti is pasta worms. Suggest rigatoni or ziti instead. Or lasagna. Lasagna would be good. Also some garlic bread. And meatballs. With sausage.) At this point, we have gone with another option, involving a last minute trip to the market and winnowing down the original traditional Thanksgiving menu to a microwavable version, because this family is two people down, and I am a diehard holiday nut. Microwaved turkey is better than no turkey.

Our family will never forget the year we, and Housemate’s mum, had to have turkey sandwiches at Denny’s, because Denny’s had, for some unfathomable reason, taken the turkey dinner off the menu that year. We have a history with Denny’s Thanksgivings, though all of those were in a state that is not New York, so it may be safe to try again here. Except for the whole Martian Death Cold thing and spreading germs and all. Which is why we are braving (when I say we, I mean either Housemate and myself, or Housemate by herself, with me on standby via phone, but not video phone, because A) it’s weird, and B) all Real Life Romance Hero got was my grumpy face and intense closeups of my fingers, without any sound. We will text. Nobody wants to see my sick grumpy face.) It all goes to show that, if we want something badly enough, we will find a way to get it.

It’s the same with writing. Not a huge day for that, not that I’d meant it to be (and I am endlessly glad I did not NaNo this year, because yesterday’s sick day and today’s chaos day would have sent me into anxious despair spiral.) but here we are, at the tail end of another blog entry. I got in there, started with what I knew for sure, and ran with it. Is it perfect? No. Is it written? Yes. Even with all the ick and chaos, I can still tick “blog entry” off the list. Now for the grocery run.

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Pocket Full of Candy Corn Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is halfway through November, almost, and that means the holidays are almost here. Well, Halloween is a holiday, and so is Anty’s birthday, so I suppose that means we are already in the holiday season. That is a good thing to keep in mind when things get hectic, because they certainly are.

First, Anty has a new post up at Heroes and Heartbreakers. She said I have to put her new posts up first, or I will run out of room when I get talkative. Her Heart to Heart on last night’s Sleepy Hollow is now live. It is here and it looks like this:

ICHABBIE

Anty is slightly grumpy that the show is going on hiatus until February, but she is glad to know that it will be back. It will be on a different night, Fridays, instead of Thursdays, when it was originally aired on Mondays. That is a lot of change. Kitties are not very big on change. Humans can handle it somewhat better, and it is good to try new things once in a while.

For a long time, Anty could not remember if she liked candy corn or not. Most years, she did not care about that. As long as she has gummi bears, she is pretty much content on that front, but this year, she had to know. Uncle thought she did not. Mama could not remember, either, but she does not like candy corn, so maybe Anty did not, either. Anty wanted to find out for herself, so she tried some.

2015-11-09 11.27.26

the great experiment

Mama and Anty got some candy corn that was on clearance, from a maker whose other products they have liked, and brought it home. The box said it was made with real honey. Anty was surprised to see that as an ingredient, as she never thought honey had anything to do with candy corn, but maybe that was a point in its favor. She gave Mama a piece and then tried some for herself. Then she remembered. She did like candy corn, but it has to be from a good maker, and there is a right way to eat it. That would be by color, from the top down, in case you were curious. Anty did not rush out and buy three pound bags of the stuff (three pound bags of cat treat, yes, but candy corn? That would be a little much.) but it is good to know there is something fall-themed on which she can nibble while she works in her office. They also fit nicely in her sweatshirt pocket for cold days when she needs to wear that while she works.

Anty’s office is undergoing a lot of change, the same as her writing and reading. I think it is all related, but do not quote me on that. The bulletin board is down now, as is the string of fairy lights (some people call them Christmas lights, but Anty likes to have them up all year) she used to drape around the frame of the bulletin board. She still wants to have the lights up, but now needs to find a new place for them to live. Even Anty cannot drape fairy lights around a poster that does not have a frame (basically, a piece of paper) so she must think of other ideas. She could put them around the closet doorway (it does not actually have a door; it was like that when we moved in, so do not blame Anty. Or me.) or maybe get some  hooks to go around the poster and try to display them that way. She could also get the poster framed, which she probably will do eventually, but for right now, she likes the airier feel of having more visual room in her workspace. She will take a picture and share it later, once she gets things the way she wants them.

Having a work environment that reflects the work Anty does is important to her and it does help her stay focused. The one big Union Jack does more for her than a board with small bits of ephemera scattered around it, so it is going to stay. She has some Georgian-era reproduction prints that her papa had in his house. Those are in heavy frames, so she needs to find the right sort of supports to hang them, that will not damage the walls. Maybe they will end up leaning on a shelf, if the frames are too heavy, but she has always wanted them in her special space, and now they are there. All she has to do is find out how they can best be displayed.

That is a theme with Anty these days. Take what she loves and find the best way to use it. That will generally provide the best result. For right now, the best result will be for her to feed me, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Until next week...

Until next week…

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

Writershead Revisited

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“I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I’m old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.”
― Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

My favorite movie of all time is the original 1980 Brideshead Revisited. Okay, technically speaking, it’s a miniseries, as it ran on PBS and clocks in at a whopping twelve hours, but to me, it’s a movie, and so I am counting it as such.

If you’re a purist and insist on theatrical releases, my preferences are thus:

  • Comedy: Love Actually
  • Drama: Remains of the Day
  • Other: Saturday Night Fever
  • Obscure: Lords of Flatbush

People who know me in the really real world, am I forgetting anything? I have not seen the Emma Thompson theatrical version of Brideshead Revisited, nor do I plan to,  because I do not mess with perfection. Sorry, Emma, not even for you. I’ve read the novel by Evelyn Waugh (Hevelyn, for those in doubt about which Evelyn wrote this one) and will correct any who try to call the building known by non-devotees as “Castle Howard.” They are wrong. It’s Brideshead. I know. I’ve lived there, with Charles and Sebastian and Julia, and I have deep emotional scars from the first time I saw the graffiti on Charles’s mural and the empty :sorry, I need a minute: fountain :sniffle: with barbed :I can’t, I seriously can’t: wire. Sebastian drove that car around the bend of the road on that first school break, and BAM, I, as well as Charles fell deeply, irrevocably in love.

It’s the same feeling I had when I stole the then-new copy of The Kadin by Bertrice Small from my mother’s night table and read it under the bed in the guest bedroom during a power outage. I knew then and there that I’d found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life. The same way a lot of my SF/F reading/writing friends fell hard for Star Trek, Ray Bradbury and others, that’s how I fell for historical romance, and that’s what’s been, increasingly strongly, calling me back home.

Today, I took the bulletin board off my office wall. If I haven’t been utilizing it in the three years and change I’ve had this office, that’s not where it belongs. Later, I’ll take the items off it, find them new homes, and figure out the board’s new purpose. There will be one, because I crazy love vintage office supplies. In its place, I put the Union Jack poster above, purchased at a local art store about two years ago. it’s been rolled in brown paper, waiting for “the right time.” Which would be when, exactly? When we could spring for a fancy frame? The right fancy frame? When life calms down? When (fill in the blank?) If there’s one thing loving historical romance and historical fiction has taught me, it’s to seize the moment. So, up it went, with blue tacky stuff holding it to the place where whoever painted the room a lovely moss green had obviously painted around the mirror that Real Life Romance Hero took down for me the day we moved in. Much as I like to work on my selfie game, I don’t want to stare at myself the whole time I’m writing.

Taken in a different room, but it would be pretty much this.

Taken in a different room, but it would be pretty much this.

I also unearthed a pub sign that I honestly don’t remember when I acquired it, and had been waiting for, you guessed it, the right time and perfect place to put it up. Maybe the right kind of hook, whatever, whatever. Baloney. I still has blue sticky stuff, so I slapped some on the back and then affixed the sign to the door. My office may technically now be the King’s Head Pub, and I am fine with that. We even have a pub cat instead of a pub dog, and I am fine with that, too. The two Georgian era prints I kept from my dad’s house and had wanted since I was a wee little princess, do need to wait for command hooks to come home before they can go on the office wall, but when they do, up they go. The right time is now.

This means I'm allowed to have pub food at home, right?

This means I’m allowed to have pub food at home, right?

Doing things like this gets me excited, makes me want to dive headlong into the story world, climb inside the characters’ skins and see through their eyes. Writing longhand with a fountain pen, at least initial notes, is another way I find I can connect. Today, I also added another notebook to my shelf of the usual suspects on top of my desk’s hutch. It’s one of those story ideas I’ve been on and off with for years, and, as the flip side of the bulletin when story ideas and characters and settings and such have been in my head for long enough that they are old enough to vote, drink, marry or join the military without parental approval, they probably aren’t leaving, period. Better for me to get their rooms ready. That feels right.

Today, I met my Ravenwood editing goal a lot earlier in the day (for the day, not the whole project) because I wasn’t focused on word count or verb tense, but telling the story and living in that story’s world. This afternoon, I jump to Georgian England and Her Last First Kiss, and I’m excited about that, too. I don’t consider myself old, ugly or miserable, but dusting off things I love and displaying them proudly in the now, that’s a piece of the puzzle sliding into place. The road to The End, on both of these current projects, and others, has never seemed clearer.