possibly pointless blabbering

Return of the Robot Revolution

annabowling Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Have to go Through It Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This has been an interesting week, but then again, they always are. Otherwise, I would have nothing to write about, and that would not make Anty happy. She counts on me to take care of Friday posts for her, which I am happy to do, because I am a very devoted kitty. I do an excellent job of following my humans around the apartment and sitting in the worst (they say worst, but I think they really mean best) places, right in their paths, to show them how much I love them and want to be wherever they are. Also, if they have to go past or over me, that means they will see me and remember it is time to feed me. It is always time to feed me, because I have a special food schedule. I eat little bits throughout the day. My humans tried giving me only breakfast and dinner, but I was not okay with that. I prefer things my way.

That is something Anty and I have in common. Tailoring the way things “should” be done to the way they actually work can be a very good thing. Like with me. Because of my special paws, I do not climb or jump (but do not worry, I am fine. I can walk and run and play -I love to bat crumpled paper around the hardwood floor- like any other kitty.) so using a litterbox is confusing for me. Anty, Uncle and Mama do not ask me to do that. Instead, I have my pee spot and a couple of poop spots (I have to give them some variety, don’t I? Plus, I don’t like to poop when people are watching.) and always let them know when I did something, so they can clean it right away. No predators have found us yet, so I think it is safe to say my plan is working. You are welcome.

Anyway, Anty has found this is very true in reading and writing, as well as my personal habits. By going with her gut in her reading preferences, she has found she is reading more, like she wanted to be, and does not feel all that pressure to keep up with current releases. Not that she is not abreast (that is my vocabulary word for the day) of current publishing trends and news; she likes knowing what is going on in the market, very much. She is checking the mailbox daily for Romantic Times Book Reviews, so she can see what is going on this month. wwRight now, she is reading a mix of realistic Young Adult novels and classic historical romances. She wishes Goodreads had a classifier for rereading, because that would make updating her status a lot easier. It also would be nice if it did not show books she has already read as books she is still reading, because that bothers her.

I have digressed. Anty is working on a post about how she uses sticky notes, part of which will require her to get out her plotting board. That is fun and scary at the same time. Fun, because she will get to play with sticky notes and move things around. Scary, because then people will see what she is doing and they might not like how she is doing it. Maybe they will not like her. I try to tell her that is okay. Uncle and Mama and I will still love her, but she is a writer human, and prone to these insecurities. Maybe she will make a picture with Scapple, because then she can draw lines between the boxes. She cannot do that with her plotting board, but she could, if she had a white board. She used to have a white board (but it was not white; it was a picture of white clouds in a blue sky) but I do not think it made it with us during the move. She will figure it out.

This week, Anty has had another article on XOJane.com, this time about what it was like to take care of her papa, her own anty, and Uncle at the same time. I do not remember any of that, because I was not born yet, so I cannot tell you anything that is not in the article. It is here and looks like this:

xojane

Anty did not think she would like writing personal experience articles -she is a fiction writer, after all- but she does, and plans on writing more of them. It is kind of like blogging, only more people read it, and publisher humans give her money, which she can turn into cat food. Or maybe other things, like notebooks or maybe another computer, but I think she should get the cat food first. It is important. One important thing Anty has learned from writing these articles is to dive deeper into the emotions. Picking what details to share (Uncle says she has left out a lot of the good parts, but Anty reminds him there is a word count she has to respect with these things.) This means reworking some things in the historical, that she has already written, which does not make her happy, even though she knows it will be best for the book and the characters.

Although Anty would really prefer to have the whole book come from her head to the page, perfectly, the first time, she is coming to understand it does not work like that. The process of writing, like the process of caregiving, or cleaning out her papa’s house, is something Anty has to go through, to get to the other side. If that means making a big mess first, then that is what she will have to do. It is okay. I still love her. And cat food. I love cat food.

Speaking of writing, Anty has to do that now, so she will need the computer, which means that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain,

Very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Wednesday Night Blabber

annabowling 2 Comments

Some days require a lot of gummi bears. I have some gummi bears. Make of that what you will.

I’ve started this entry multiple times, tried some inspirational quotes, erased them, started again, more times than I am comfortable confessing, but it’s Wednesday, and Wednesday’s post needs to go up, because discipline is important. I need the structure. Without it, I’m going to wander off and spend the entire afternoon rearranging my TBWI crates. That’s To Be Written In, which means notebooks, and yes, I have more than one. If the zombie apocalypse does come, I will be all set when it comes to notebooks, but I will also probably be the one who leads the raiding party on the Moleskine store in NYC. I have my priorities.

:time warp:

7:37 PM

Still Wednesday. That is a good thing. I’ve recently joined Habitica, which combines two of my favorite things: list-making and gaming. I am in serious Sims withdrawal, due to the moribund nature of my old laptop, the inability of new laptop to handle the game, (which is okay, as she was purchased to be a writing machine in the first place) and still planning on a desktop that I can use for gaming. Sims Freeplay is fun on my phone, but it’s not a game-game, and I am feeling the lack. Okay, back to the point. Normally, I would say that some days, the stuff doesn’t come, oh well, go watch Ink Master and give myself a break. Still sound advice, but…I’m in a party, and when we all meet our goals, we all reap the benefits, and when one of us falls behind, we all feel that as well. Or that’s how I understand it. I’m still new. At any rate, being accountable to others gives me the push to knuckle down and get it done. It’s still the same day, I know how to write, so this can still happen.

Real Life Romance Hero texted me from the park during this writing session that wasn’t. I asked him to come hang out. He suggested we play hooky and let the brain free-float, in hopes things will fall into place. It seems to have done the trick. A change in perspective, some filling of the creative well, and we’re back in business. Also, there are fireworks. I do not know why there are fireworks, but I am highly in favor of fireworks I can see from my comfy chair.

Picture above is what my computer sees most days. Me, staring both at the screen and at the story world (for fiction) or into the recesses of my own mind (for nonfiction. Pen in mouth is optional, but earphones are not. Notebook is at hand for the scribbling down of miscellany, making lists and crossing things off as I complete them. Some days, the words come faster than I can get them down, and my fingers tangle, trying to stay current. Other days, like this one, they need to be wooed, with seasonally appropriate beverages, the occasional baked good, a walk in the park, maybe go out for a movie, curl up with a good book, or listen to the same song on repeat for an hour or so. Possibly some abstract doodling.

It’s different every time. Which, in retrospect, is probably a good thing. This may be a late night, and that is okay. I’d rather get things done earlier in the day, but, today, that’s not what happened. Today was a full house day, with errands to run. Tomorrow will have a more normal work schedule for everyone, including myself. In the meantime, adapting is, if not always fun, a challenge. What do I need that I don’t have? Do I not know the characters well enough? Did I hit a historical snag? Is the tone of the piece wrong? Do I need more gummi bears? (Okay, that one is almost always yes.) Maybe I need to go to the movies; not merely watching a DVD, but immersing myself in the whole experience, popcorn and coming attractions and all. Come to think of it, the answer to that one is almost always also yes.

So there we are. still Wednesday, I’ve had time with Real Life Romance Hero, and also with Housemate, devoured dinner, now checking things off my list with Master Chef on the TV and evening emails to answer. Not the best or most profound entry, but, as Real Life Romance Hero reminded me earlier, they can’t all be gold. But they do have to be written. That, I can do.

Typing With Wet Claws: Back to School Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is September now, even though it has been very hot all week, and will still be hot for a few more days. This is not ideal for those of us with built in full length fur coats, but Anty and Uncle assure me that things will cool down after that. I will remember they said that, in case they are wrong. If they are, I will give them baleful looks. I am very good at giving baleful looks. I practice by watching Anty when she is grumpy.

Anty is not grumpy right now, although she has her moments. It is back to school time for young humans, something we cannot ignore, as we live in a neighborhood where lots of almost-grown-up humans live while they go to school. Anty and Uncle met when they were almost-grown-up humans, in a school very far away, in a place called California, where it is summer all year long. I am glad they escaped. Anyway, the start of a new school year does not mean that only students get to learn new things. It is for everybody, as I am learning (see what I did there?) from things that are going on this week.

While Anty loves planning and organizing, sometimes she can get a little too into it and cross the line into micromanaging, which means nothing actually gets done. She is learning now that sometimes, stepping back and seeing where and how things would naturally happen can make planning how they should go, that much easier. Like today. Usually, Anty is all “go, go, go” from the minute she gets up. Wolf down breakfast while checking email and trying to cram too much into one day because things have to get done, pinpoint what she most wants to avoid…whoops, I was not supposed to say that part. Sorry.

Anyway, today is different, and I can take credit for part of that. This morning, I found a new place to pee, while Anty was in the bathroom. If you are new here, I should mention that I was born with special paws, which means I do not climb, which means I do not use a litterbox. I have a pee place, and that is normal for me. I do not often change it, but today, I did. Anty looked all over to see where I had peed, because it was not in my regular spot, but then she did find it. I had peed right in front of the bathroom door, on the linoleum. She said I was a very good girl because that would be easy to clean. While she was doing that, I pooped, also on the linoleum. Suffice it to say this interrupted her planned routine. You are welcome.

Due to that interruption, Anty needed a break. She made some tea and read a chapter in a book. Then she played a game on her phone. Then she started making notes about her day, only this time, she’d had some time to think (and some tea) before deciding what to do, when. Besides writing, we have company coming, so she has some domestic things to do. She has found if she switches off writing and domestic things, she can think about one while doing the other, and it creates a comfortable rhythm, without too much pressure. This goes along with her releasing the stranglehold on how writing should go and finding out how it actually does.

While that is all good for the writing process, it is unsettling for a kitty, because Anty is moving things around. She is even going to move a bookshelf today. I will probably hide, especially because that shelf is going into her office. Her office looks like a tornado hit it right now, but it will be better when things are in the places where they actually go. She will share pictures of it then.

Anty says that is all the time I get to blog today, because she needs the computer now, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Shying at the Jump?

annabowling Leave a comment

Wouldn’t you know the one time I leave my phone at home, it’s the time I bust out the super cool printed legal pad? That’s why, instead of a picture of my workplace, you get a picture of what my workplace sees. Apparently, I now have a signature taking-pictures-with-the-computer pose. Could be worse.

So here it is, Wednesday, time for Wednesday’s post, which was meant to be a) a late version of the Top Ten Tuesday post, and b) a video blog, but life happened, and so you get this. I almost chickened out of today’s post for a handful of reasons. It’s stinking hot out, which makes me crabby (I will spare you an encore of crabby me picture, because you get air conditioned me, which is much less likely to cause harm to self or others.) Yay for comfy coffee house in the nice, cool, brick-walled basement of a historic building. I’m tucked away at a new-to-me table in the back, close enough to my favorite seat to still count as being in the general area, with the added benefit of not being directly in the glare of the sun. Comfort, check, can see screen, check, tasty and seasonally appropriate beverage, check. Also important is presence of people who do not share my address, but are not trying to talk to me while I am writing.

Normally, this time of day on a Wednesday, I’d be having a regular chat with Critique Partner Vicki, but, apparently, she has a life or something, so I am on my own. Were I home, I would be singing the Song of the Lonely Extrovert. Real Life Romance Hero is pretty sure that whatever the words are, it would be backed by Kenny G. He’s probably right. Thanks to the internet, though, there really isn’t such a thing as alone, and since there are now over 400 of you who occasionally pop in here (had to count the zeroes there) it does give me the impetus to get something up here, even if all I do is babble. Since babble generally ends up going somewhere at some point, I am okay with that. I wasn’t always.

They don’t call it a writing process for nothing. Critique Partner Vicki and I started having these talks to help pull ourselves and each other out of the slough of despond and get real about why writing got so hard that we were avoiding the very thing we love to do the most, and figure out what we can do about fixing that. One thing I’ve noticed is that things can be going fine, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, I become amazingly skilled at avoiding working on a certain project. The usual modus operandi in the past was to continue avoiding, scamper off to something new and leave a trail of broken stories in my wake. That’s kind of not conducive to a writing career, oddly enough. That means I need to face what I’ve been avoiding. Face that sucker head on, see what it wants from me, and figure out if we can come to some sort of agreement.

This week, it was Her Last First Kiss. Oh, I was good at this. Work on other projects, do housework (a sure sign of avoidance, but it’s needed and I like doing housework; it counts as organization, and things are nice and clean and in order and…yeah, yeah, back to the book. I get it.) pay assiduous attention to social media and the like. We’ve all been there. If you haven’t, wait. We’ll save you a seat. I’d ripped out the first scene, made notes on how to fix it, which means the whole first section, aka everything I have written, had to be ripped out and redone. I did not want to do that. Needed, but didn’t want to.

Okay. Fine. Since I now accept that I do have to write in layers, it’s less scary to look at a page and know that something is missing. That’s fine. Time to make the literary baklava. What else does this scene need? In this particular scene, my heroine is super-focused on this hurricane of a man (not that she’d know what a hurricane was, but that’s okay, this version of stuff goes down exactly the way it comes in my head, modern idioms, comparisons the characters wouldn’t know, etc. I can fix all that later.) tear through her nice, orderly world without even noticing she’s there at first. She hates that. Still, there’s that even more disturbing fact that she does not mind the view, not one bit. Which is bad for this chick, oh so very bad.

Mmhm. Methinks she’d prefer I not know that, not only does she notice this person she’s never met before can barge into her sanctum and start spreading wet papers all over everything, even moving her stuff -and nobody moves her stuff- but that he’s pretty darned nice to look at, even soaking wet and tracking water and mud on her floors? Okay, we’re going there. This is going to involve more than skating on the surface. This is going to involve putting on the metaphorical scuba gear and diving down deep. What, specifically, does she notice about him? The fluidity of movement? the fit of his clothes? That it’s really none of her business what color his hair is when it’s dry, but she still wants to know? That’s good for a start. I can feel her sweats and fidgets now, which is a sign I’m headed in the right direction.

Every writer is going to have their own ways to deal with these things, but as with horses (and my entire experience with same is limited to always picking the black horse on carousels, a few toys and a seriously strong crush on Black Beauty dating back to preschool) sometimes, we shy at the jumps. When that happens, we have two options. Go back to the barn and figure jumping isn’t for us, or take another look and devise another approach. Get some more momentum. Come back and try it again. For me, that’s babbling, either to another writer, or on paper. Earlier today, I went through my legal pad stash, to see which one felt the most like this project. Sure, I have notebooks, three of them, and still use those, but a legal pad feels more open to the free form rambling that lets me get to the place I need to be to get the details. Maybe it’s visual. :shrug: Anyway, that’s where I am now. Climbing inside my heroine’s skin, and seeing what she sees, rather than sitting back and telling her what to do. Like she’d listen. Characters are funny that way.

It works for reading, too. In my morning pages, I started listing things I’d been avoiding. Apart from books for review, I’ve been avoiding historical romance in general, and avoiding the Bertrice Small reread I’ve wanted to do since February. One guess what I’m doing with my TBR and keeper shelves later tonight. Get back in there, Missy. There’s no crying in Romance. (Well, except in mine. There is crying in my books. Also a lot of my favorites. I am an angstbunny from way back, and as long as there is that guaranteed Romance HEA, may as well have some fun along the way.)

Allrighty, Liebchens, back to Century Eighteen I go. Talk to you soon.

Another Week, Another Journey of Discovery

annabowling Leave a comment

Another Monday begins another week. This one is going to have some logistical challenges, and that’s okay. Still battling the cold sore here, temperatures are going to be hovering near ninety degrees for at least a week (no, the weather does not care that it is practically September) and today is a full house in Stately Bowling Manor, all humans with some degree of crankiness, so this could get interesting. Already, I’ve wrangled with getting a carefully photographed shot up here, which was not working out for some reason, so we adapt. Go with the all purpose Typing With Wet Nails banner, which I love, and on with the show.

Today, I am ensconced in my office, travel mug filled with ice water at the ready, disposable straw stuck in it to minimize contamination. First things first, and today, that’s getting a blog post up before noonish. Any idea of what to talk about? Not yet. Let me consult the scribbled notes on the page from my paper mousepad.

Lists are always good when stuck for something about which to blog (yes, I do have to be grammatically correct; my blog, my rules.)  Top Ten Tuesday, which I only figured out was a thing in the last few days, is tomorrow, though, so that’s probably going to be that, which may do double duty as a unicorn chow post.

There’s the matter of handling a sick day as a writer (hint; it’s like any other day) and the fact that I still haven’t reread any Bertrice Small novels since her passing and the acceptance that I am flat out not ready yet. When I do, it will probably be a single title, though, instead of an installment in one of her series. I did not do a lot of reading this weekend, though I’d planned on it. Instead, I wrote most of the time, which really is relaxing for me, as long as I do it my way, and shut out the shoulds..

What my way is can change from time to time, and it’s by doing a lot of that writing, that I can see the shifts in patterns. Right now, I’m not as concerned with finding one perfect method to get things done, as I am with getting things done and then figuring out how I did them. I am not ready to turn in my plotter hat entirely (the black netting does marvelous things for my complexion) but I have come to accept that I am more of a puzzler. This goes along with something that surprised the heck out of me when I was in college, studying early childhood education (the biggest surprise was that I did not like early childhood education, which is a big part of why I am not doing that right now) While I had always thought I would learn best (and what I was told by pretty much all of the grownups in my life up to that point) was that, because I liked to read and write, that I would learn best by reading. Following written instructions and all that.

Good in theory, but not in practice. What I found out, while supposedly learning how to enlighten very young minds, was that I fit better in what’s known as kinesthetic learning. TLDR version – I learn by doing. Let me get my hands dirty and mess around and in the messing around, I will figure things out. Discovery learning, some  call it, and I like that term. Sitting outside of the story and telling the characters what they are going to do doesn’t work all that well for me, although I spent far too many years trying to make it be so. Darned old shoulds. What works better is knowing who my story people are, and then putting them where they need to be and letting them do what they do.

In a way, it’s like playing Sims (which I really really super miss, as my gaming laptop is making ever faster circles around that metaphorical drain, so I don’t play as often as I’d like.) One of my favorite things to do, besides legacy play (following one family through several generations) is to make an asylum. One dwelling, with specified resources, a certain number of Sims, but I can only control one. The others will pick what to do, depending on the traits they were assigned. Sloppy Sims don’t care if they’re giving off green stink fumes and the house is littered with dirty dishes, where neat Sims will become very unhappy in the same circumstance and ignore their own needs to get those dishes done. Shy or antisocial Sims won’t like being in close quarters with that many other Sims, while outgoing Sims will be thrilled by having all the company and want to talk to everybody, even if their energy is in the red (very very very tired.) Get the drift?

Once I’d figured out that Her Last First Kiss had started in the wrong place, and I dumped the major players in one room and let them do what they do, then things got interesting. My heroine like things planned out and in order, and the story now opens in her most sacred and personal space, into which the hero bursts in with all the force of a tropical storm, drenched to the skin and spreading out papers that are vitally important to him on every even remotely flat surface, while all heroine sees is the huge mess he’s making. Pretty indicative of how things are going to go between these two, and it also solves a quandary I’d had about how heroine is going to come into possession of one particular paper hero really would rather not have anybody, especially her, see. I knew the paper had to get from him to her, but smashing my head against a brick wall trying to figure out how that could happen didn’t work, but letting them do their thing did.

That came about, not in precise typing in any program, but messy, free-form scribbling on a legal pad (which still gives me the willies that it doesn’t have margins, so definitely switching) and it didn’t even feel like work. That was pure play, but darned if it didn’t get all those ducks happily in a row and me knowing exactly what has to happen next. Which means a new scene and POV switch, and, y’know what? I’m fine with that. Onward.

Typing With Wet Claws: Begin as We Mean to Go On Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This week, I have on my metaphorical nurse hat, as Anty is not feeling well. She did not do a video blog this week, although she wanted to, because she got a cold sore the night before she was going to make her video blog. Cold sores are not very pretty, and they make Anty cranky. This is probably because she cannot have tea or pizza or wear lipstick (I have built in permanent lipstick. It is black, which goes nicely with the creamy fur around my mouth. I also have built in eyeliner. Anty says I am lucky that way.) and because she has to replace all lip products that touched her mouth for two weeks before the cold sore. On the plus side, this means she gets to buy new lipsticks, so that is  the good thing in all of this. Anty loves to get new lipsticks.

This is what Cranky Anty looks like. It is fearsome.

This is what Cranky Anty looks like. It is fearsome.

The rest of it is not as fun. It is very bright and sunny today, so Anty has even less energy. She will probably spend more of the day in her nice, dark office or go to the coffee house, which is in a basement and has brick walls. It is also very cool in there on summer days, so it is a plus. Either way, Anty will probably be bringing legal pads, because she is at the legal pad stage of things.

The legal pad stage has begun...

The legal pad stage has begun…

Anty first discovered legal pads while she was helping Uncle, her papa, and her own anty while they were all sick at the same time. She did not always have room in her lap to hold a notebook open, and legal pads fit nicely in her tote bag. Anty likes pretty legal pads. She will use the plain yellow ones if she has to, but the color is not good on her eyes, and plain white is glare-y. She thought neon colors would be too harsh, but with the right pen, they are actually soothing. Paper, in general, is more soothing to Anty than looking at a screen, especially when she is already feeling less than her best.

The day before yesterday, Anty talked to Anty Vicki, her critique partner, on the computer, about how the book was not moving along the way it should (I think it is because there are no cats in it yet, but does she listen to me on this one? No. I do not understand humans sometimes.) Anty Vicki said that it was because the story did not start in the right place.

Anty did not like that answer at first. She already wrote the opening scene. It gets important information out there, introduces the hero’s conflict and his goals and his backstory…and Anty was avoiding it. One thing Anty has learned over her study of her own creative process is that, if she is actively avoiding something, then she knows she has made a wrong turn and does not want to admit it. That is okay, though, because she has friends like Anty Vicki. Anty and Anty Vicki can tell each other when they are not doing the best thing for the story, and not get offended or upset by it. Which is why, when Anty came to Anty Vicki with a sneaking suspicion that the story did not start in the right place, she already knew, deep down, that she was right.

Anty Vicki asked Anty what was going to happen next after that first scene Anty has been avoiding. Anty told her the next scene, and went on for a  while about how that had to happen and it feels like that’s how it should..aha. Anty Vicki knows that when Anty hits a should, what Anty needs to do is punch it in the face (they actually say a different body part that only boys have. Not-fixed boys, that is. I do not know if all shoulds are actually boys, though,  so I will say face.) and do what is best for t he story. This is still a hard lesson to learn, because when Anty has written something, it has been written, and she would like it to stay there and be part of the book. (I told you she was cranky.)

Things do not always work that way, especially for writers who work in layers, like Anty does. Anty Vicki told Anty that no writing is wasted. Yes, Anty did work hard on that scene, and it did happen, but it will come out in a different way. Instead of the readers being there first hand, the hero can tell his version of it when he bursts in on the heroine’s calm, orderly world, while she is having an important conversation with another character. Anty Vicki says this also gets all three sides of the triangle in the same room in the first scene and gets the hero and heroine interacting right away. Anty admits that Anty Vicki is right about that one, so she is now taking the old opening out and putting the new one in. That is going to affect chapters that come after, which is a lot of work, but it is not as much work as avoiding the whole book, so it is okay.

This week, Anty also discovered the Discover Weekly function on Spotify, and found some new songs that she very much likes that way. This one, “Welcome To Wherever You Are,” by Bon Jovi, is going on her Go To Work playlist. She says it is appropriate for what she has learned this week. What do you think?

Anty also gets cranky when I use the computer for too long. I had better give it back to her now. Transcribing the new scene should make her feel better, and we all want her to feel better soon, so that is about it for this week. Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

Until next week...

Until next week…

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

Rambly Ramblings on Writing, Reading and Feeling Like a Unicorn

annabowling 2 Comments

“Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.”
― David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary

Not sure what I want to talk about today, so you’re going to get a freeform ramble, and I am going to trust that I am going to make some sort of sense by the time I’m done. This has been not exactly a domestic tornado day, but it has been a day with a full house, interrupted by Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate heading out a deux on a grocery run. Insert Rant of the Lonely Extrovert here, because even though grocery shopping with the whole household (minus Skye, who stays home because she is smart and also a kitty) can make me crabby at best and anxious at worst, it’s still out of the house and being around people. Alas, being sun-sensitive won out, because it is blindingly bright out there for those of us (aka me) who are pale and not suited to summer, so I am rambling from my favorite seat at the coffee house down the block from our own abode. It’s nice and dark here, within the exposed brick walls, I have an iced smoky chai in front of me, am functioning remarkably well for someone who has been Mentos-free for over a week and it’s time to take a look at the week ahead and what I am going to do with it, writing wise.

At the moment, I’m at the “staring at the twenty-foot high blank white wall” stage, which is not at all uncommon for a Monday, and I know that it does, indeed pass, so not going to stress about that. Note to self: writing about things that do not bother me all that much does not make for sinctillating interesting reading. If I am making myself yawn reading it, then it’s probably going to elicit the same response from readers. Which is not at all what a writer of commercial fiction wants, by any stretch of the imagination.

Had a train of thought there, but lost it. I hate when that happens. I am going to blame the upset to routine. My ideal method of attack is to make a list over breakfast, prioritize, then do all the things, crossing them off as I go. That did not happen today, and I am feeling the lack. I am also feeling vaguely unsettled that three passes through the main library’s romance section did not yield anything I had to take home with me right that second, but I was able to cull an armful of fresh voices and intriguing situations from the YA shelves in a matter of minutes. Under one, actually. I wasn’t counting. After devouring the realm of possibility and, earlier, How They Met, and Other Stories, both by David Levithan, which were a master course in romance (even if some of those romances don’t end well) and emotion, I had decided I’m going to have to devour everything he’s ever written and see what I can mine from it. If this guy can tell a love story entirely through dictionary entries, that definitely counts as innovation.

That innovation was what I found myself hungry for when I scoured the romance shelves. Historical romance is still my genre. It’s still what I love to read most, and what I love to write, and, at the moment, it has me somewhat itchy. Not sure what this is, but acknowledging this itchiness is important. Today, looking at the shelves, I saw, with the exception of older titles, almost exclusively series. I get the popularity there, I really do. There’s a built in following for many writers that way and many readers like the comfort of returning to a known community with familiar characters and such. I do follow some series, but not because they are series. There has to be something else. When I write, I naturally think in standalones, which can make me feel, at times, like a unicorn.

I see a lot of Regency settings. I’ve tried to write Regency. It did not end well, for anybody involved. My critique partner, Vicki, summed it up best. “You hate writing Regency.” She’s pretty smart that way. I do. Perfectly fine historical era, but where other writers get excited about Almack’s and, um, Empire waists, I get nothing. Dial things back a couple of decades to the Georgian era (yes, yes, I know, the Georgian era technically goes up to the coronation of Queen Victoria, but my blog, my rules) and we’re talking a whole different story. Wigs, high heels, embroidered satin, painted fans, makeup that would make Kat VonD jealous, and then there’s the women.

The historical fiction shelves (and boy howdy, do I love that our library system has a special sticker for book spines to designate historical fiction) get my interest from time to time, but my problem there, and I do love historical settings best of all -plop me down anywhere from the end of the Wars of the Roses to the end of the American Revolution and I am one happy camper- is that fictionalized biographies are a very hard sell for me. (Unless the topic is Anne Bonny, in which case, give, and back away slowly, mama’s reading) I’d rather read about original characters living in that world than the actual figures, though the actual figures can serve in supporting roles. I saw a few titles that looked mildly interesting, and I do know that some older historical romances of a few decades past have had second lives repackaged as historical fiction, as have some of the authors of such, but…

…that’s where things get unicorny. I want something new, within my favorite genre. Give me one hero and one heroine, in a fully realized historical world, make them people of their time, take me on an adventure and deliver on that big happy ending. Along the way? Carte blanche. (Yes, yes, I know, technically Regency term. Refer above; my blog, my rules.) The best way to make that happen, I know, is to write it myself, and I’m working on it, but there are days when I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to stab things with my sparkly horn for a while.

This may have been one of them, but that’s where the discipline of routine comes in. Monday’s post goes up on Monday. So, here it is. It’s okay if I ramble, because rambling will take me somewhere that stewing will not (and also, I hate cooked carrots, which stews often contain.) I don’t think I’m done yet, but I do have a date with my plotting board and some sticky notes, so wrapping things for now. See you Wednesday,

How Did We Get Here?

annabowling 2 Comments

Still technically morning,as it’s ten minutes to Skye’s treat (aka noon) so, technically, I am posting on time. Besides posting on the scheduled days, I’m giving myself the added goal of posting in the morning, when my brain is the freshest. If, that is, any brain can be fresh during a streak of humid, hot weather. I was not made for summer. Whatever whichever distant biological ancestor of mine did, back in merry olde England or Ireland (my birth mother’s last name puts her ancestry at southwest England or County Cork, most likely, and that name is very common in a part of Virginia where convicts were transported, so I think drawing conclusions is not that much of a stretch) to get booted from the British Isles to American shores (and the south, no less) I hope it was worth it.  Not that they likely had any say in the matter, unless it was a choice between transportation or hanging.

Maybe I’m reading it wrong. Maybe they worked hard, bought a ticket to a new life and were happy to make the change. Maybe it was a long haul of indentured servitude before they got freedom, a change of clothes and a mule. (Yay, colonial research, I use you yet again.) Who can tell? Since I was adopted at birth and don’t know any of my biological relatives, I’m probably not going to know, so I can fill in the blanks at my leisure. To this day, I remember the lovely white-haired Virginian gal at our church back in the old country, throwing her head back and laughing when I told her the name of the hospital on my birth certificate. “Oh, honey, that’s redneck country. You’re white trash.”  Lovely gal was part of an adoption triad of her own, and we had a long, illuminating conversation that day about what it was like to be where the other one was, searching and not searching, and coming to terms with some questions not having answers. I laughed, too, not because any group of people are intrinsically funny (except for comedians; they kind of have to be) but because that answer felt right.

It’s not a concrete answer, not a specific, but it’s close enough. I’ll take it. Going from rural Virginia to a one bedroom apartment in Manhattan at the age of three days must have given me a taste for adventure at a very early age. Moving, at the age of nine months, (okay, my parents were the ones who actually did the moving; I pretty much lay there the whole time) to a town steeped in colonial and Revolutionary history (oldest Catholic church in NY state, oldest burial ground, British burned the town to the ground but for one lone house, stone walls built by Dutch settlers and still in use, thankyouverymuch, library that was where John Jay’s kids went to school, etc) must have imprinted a love of the eighteenth century in me, so I’m not surprised that it’s turning out to be my default setting when writing fiction these days. I can live with that.

Ugh. Brain drifting, which is normal in August humidity, but I kind of need my brain for all that writing stuff. Putting a book together requires brain cells. It also requires notebooks and legal pads and Spotify and inhaling other books and period dramas, and the occasional ice cream soda (replace with hot cocoa in winter, thanks) and a mountain of gummi bears (Swedish fish also acceptable and possibly more conducive if writing a Viking story. I am not currently writing a Viking story, but that would be really cool someday.) Add in a thousand other things, as I am a magpie, and collect various bits of shiny to add to my stash until it all comes together in something that actually looks storyish.

The last couple of days, I inhaled the realm of possibility (sic) by David Levithan. and am nursing a serious book hangover. The depth of emotion, the brilliant beauty of language, the voices of twenty different students at the same school, telling one cohesive story that asks the readers to do some filling in of blanks – :happy sigh: I want to hit the snooze alarm on this one, spend five more minuteshoursdaysyearscenturiesmillenia there, and see what I can take away and put into my own work. It will be something different when put through my own filters, but that’s what it’s meant to do.

I was going to say something here about writing being a sort of alchemy, but then my brain drifted off, and my time for blogging today is done so I am going to leave it at that. My characters need me, and it’s really not in my best interests to leave them unattended on days like this.

Random Monday Blatherings – Jump in and Do It.

annabowling Leave a comment

In my continued determination to keep blogging on the days I have blog entries planned, I am here. Random picture of moi as your image, taken in afternoon light at my favorite seat in my favorite office away from office, Hudson River Coffee House I love that place. Love it. Cool in the summer, warm in the winter, exposed brick walls, friendly staff, excellent tea, excellent food, the owner sometimes brings his dog (can it be considered a pub dog if it’s not a pub but a coffee house?) My tablet still doesn’t want to connect with the internet there, but my phone and my laptop do, so I think I can deal. Not heading there today, because it’s approximately a thousand degrees outside and my pale, sun sensitive self has already been roasted, including my brain, which is why you are getting this ramble.

You are getting it in text instead of video because humidity has not been nice to hair or makeup today, and because I want to make sure I get at least one non-Skye text post per week. Goals, people. They work I like organization and planning. Getting a big furry mess of chaos into shape and  ranked in order of importance always makes me happy. Having a plan means less uncertainty, and gives me a road map.

So why, then, is this a post about jumping in and doing stuff? Doesn’t that go against the whole plan thing? As it turns out, nope. As I’ve said before, my favorite pieces of writing advice from K.A. Mitchell never fail.

  1. open the file
  2. change your seat

Those have not failed me yet. When I don’t know where to start, that places all options as equal (at least in a certain regard) so the first thing to do is make a decision. I am doing something. I am doing this. What the “this” is can vary from day to day. Today, it’s jump in and write a blog entry. Write a blog entry on writing. What counts as writing? Well, writing, duh. That thing I do with my brain and English and some sort of method for preserving what my brain does with the English. Right now, at my desk, I’m looking at the colored index cards I used to give my On Beyond Fanfic presentation, because I’m going to need them for Play In Your Own Sandbox, Keep All the Toys. Which may need some sort of abbreviation. PIYOSKATT? Sandbox? I’ll get there.

I also have the neon green legal pad with similarly eye-searing but different-hued sticky notes on which I am figuring out the layers of a love scene from the hero’s POV. Love scenes are hard, y’all. Up until recently, I didn’t write them. Call it a case of the “shoulds,” but then I had two characters (Angus and Summer, from ye olde time travel) who blew right past me and wouldn’t let me turn the camera away, because that was some character development going on during that intimate moment and that changed things. When I do get back to Angus and Summer’s story, I’ll be starting pretty much from scratch (have to sweep out all the pesky shoulds) but I know that scene will stay, and probably stay pretty much intact, because it feels like them.

Every couple, and every story is going to be different, because they have their own histories, backstories, insecurities, wounds, hopes, how they’re reading and misreading the other. There’s what’s going right and what’s going wrong, what else is going on around them both internally and externally, and that’s not even taking into account who has what where and when. I use a lot of sticky notes, and I prefer to concentrate more on emotions than body parts, though those certainly do come into play. Like I said, there’s a lot here to choreograph, both physically and not, and maybe the sheer amount of things going on could be one of the reasons I held back on this front at first.

Not to say that all romance novels have to have explicit sex. That’s certainly not the case. Inspirational, sweet, YA, (most) traditional Regencies, etc, prove it’s not a prerequestite. I don’t like the term “clean,” because I don’t think a book that does keep the camera rolling during intimate moments is automatically  “dirty.” I think there’s a lot more to it than that. Authorial intent goes a long way. For me, it’s a matter of staying true to the characters and their stories.

In the end that’s all we can do. Tell our stories, and tell them the way they come to us. For me, that’s usually in longhand, with bullet points, lots of crossing out and layer upon layer.  Sometimes, the first thing that comes to me for a scene is something in the middle, so I go with that. What happened before and what happens after, I can figure out. Hero has a limp now when he didn’t before? Okay, how did he get that? Heroine can read and write in a language I never planned for her? Fine, where did she learn? Instead of fretting about fitting things into somebody else’s system, I find what works best for me, at least right now, is to pick a point to jump in and then splash around. The order will present itself, as long as I show up and get my hands dirty. That, I can do.

…and we have blog entry. Looky there. See you Wednesday, Liebchens.