possibly pointless blabbering

Course Corrections

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This is one of those posts I started several times, erased, started over, thought about, thought about skipping, realized I was out of writing quotes I had not used yet, muttered bad words, etc. I ingested candy corn, which I have recently discovered I do not hate, learned the hard way that the maker of said candy corn does matter (live and learn, right?) checked on under-the-weather-family member, almost tripped over Skye, almost tripped over Skye, almost tripped over Skye (cat people, you know how that goes) and finally came to the conclusion that this is One of Those Days.

We all have them. In my case, day could have gone on Schedule A or Schedule B, but life happened, and we ended up going on Schedule C, which meant no schedule, because nobody had counted on Schedule C, and I Hate Days With No Schedule. Hate, hate, double hate. Seriously bothers me to the point of irritability. Can I get a ballpark figure on when anybody wants lunch at least? Desired menu items? Give me something, people? No, nothing? Oookay. This is why I have an office (which does not, contrary to popular belief translate to “storage area.” We’re working on that.)

I work on a daily to-do list, which makes time a lot easier to manage. Days like this require course correction. Grousing about how things are not going the way I wanted them to go only takes me so far. It does not get the current ms written or the completed one edited, nor does it write blog entries. If there is one writing related thing on my list that I can control today, it is getting this blog entry written and posted. Sometimes, life is going to get chaotic, and the only sane thing to do is to call a time out. For me, that means getting away from the chaos and retreating behind office door. One of these days, I am going to have to make a new Writing Cave sign. Even on days when I’m not able to get to the keyboard, I can write in my longhand notebooks, both all purpose and for each project. Staying in touch with the stories that way and the discipline of putting pen to paper helps a lot on days like this.

Creativity starts, for me, with showing up. Butt in chair, pen on paper, and, as a former writing group facilitator often said, the process begets the product. In short, get the pen on the paper, keep it moving, and content will come. I’ve found that almost always works. Sometimes, trusting ourselves as writers is scary business, hypercritical gremlins picking at our clothes and whispering in our ears how we’re not good enough, they’ll all know we’re only faking it, don’t quit the day job, other writers do it better, and, in fact, so well that there’s no need for us. They’re wrong, of course, but we still hear them, and it’s still a big nuisance.

The notebooks in today’s picture were all purchased or received with love, and begun with good intentions, whether attached to a particular project or as an all-purpose book. Each one of them has some to several pages, but not more than 25% (math is not my strong suit, so probably an even lower number than that) filled with…something. Either I realized I was going in the wrong direction, that book wasn’t as good a fit for its intended content as I thought it was at first glance, or I flat out wasn’t feeling it anymore. In any event, there they sat, stuffed out of the way so I wouldn’t be reminded of Yet Another Failure.

Until today. There I was, at my desk, casting about for something to photograph, and there was the tiny pink Moleskine, my attempt to satisfy my longing for its full size version (and to be a handy dandy reference for one of those back burner historicals.) This led to the spiral pink notebook (similar reason) and the red-violet with the silver heart (too cool on the inside, with blank and lined pages both) and the blue deconstructed Studio Oh! book that I started using as a catchall book for Her Last First Kiss, then set aside when I found the right one. The Papaya! Art “Fearless” (hah) book that I’d forced myself to write anything in, then abandoned because that felt forced and plain and downright disheartening…you see the pattern here. I did, too, and stared down this sampling of notebooks that didn’t  (not the only ones, by any chance) and had a revelation. They weren’t ruined forever.

Nope. What are we talking here, a few pages? I love all these books. They’re pretty. Why do they have to be abandoned because I made a mistake or two in the early pages? News flash: they don’t. It’s okay to rip or cut pages out, glue them shut, staple, tape or paper clip them together if I think I might want to refer to them in the future, and start all over, fresh and brand new. I’d be thrilled if I were to receive brand new copies of these as gifts, so why not give them to myself? I can start fresh and fill them with the sort of art and writing I do now. I like that idea.

If that can be true about the physical notebooks themselves, it can also be true of the stories that go inside them. Okay, my first try at Book X didn’t turn out the way I wanted. I walked away, or it did. Maybe we decided on a mutual break, but there are still some parts, a character, an idea, a relationship, a setting, whatever, that hasn’t gone away, no matter how deeply I tried to bury it. Why not take that bit and make it into something new? What would I be losing? Nothing. What do I have to gain? Books, my friends. Big, sprawling tales of love long ago, and happily ever afters for all.

Sometimes, course corrections can take us to where we were always meant to be.

Now it’s November…

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I’d meant to get this up yesterday, but life intervened, turning the day to family things, but that fits with what I meant to write anyway, so I am going to consider that a point of illustration. Anyway, it’s November now, and I am not Na-No-ing. Old news, and for those wishing I’d shut up about that already, I will, in a bit. Which is to say, probably December, because there’s no denying NaNo is everywhere. I’ve done it, I’ve won it, I’ve lost it, I’ve gone a few rounds with it, lost a few books to it, and have some interesting scars to show for the battle, but, in the end, there is one thing that NaNo gave me that I will always treasure. It gave me the knowledge that I am enough; the way I work is enough. I don’t need to conform to somebody else’s process or beat myself up for not doing so. As a writer, this is what I do every day (the writing, not the beating up, though that, too, some days. A lot of days. Working on that.) so a special month dedicated to it? Good for some, but I’m working on some things over here, so not for me at present.

This week, I’m looking at three things. First is Her Last First Kiss, which is hopping around between bullet points and research topics as the puzzle pieces come together. This is what I do, dive headfirst into the primordial ooze of a story and splash around until order forms, and then have a blast organizing the whole deal. It’s going to be rough, it’s going to give me fits, but, in the end, I can do what I do, and there will be a rough draft. Then I get to smooth is out and make it pretty. I can do this. I have done this. I am doing this now and will do this again with the next book and the next book and the next, repeat until dead.

Second is the novella with Collaborator Melva. This is our beach ball that we are passing back and forth, no pressure, just fun. We each get to play to our own strengths in this one, draw from each other’s, and stretch enough to make it a reachable challenge.

Third is my postapocalyptic medieval, Ravenwood, which may get retitled (and probably billed as medieval, never mind that the Plague does count as an apocalypse, but probably more on that later.) A call for submission has come up, and I do have a completed ms sitting right there in my flash drive, so a good once-over and off it shall go. I won’t be devastated if John and Aline come riding back my way, but if they do find a new home, I will be thrilled.

For the first time in a long time, I feel on firm ground where writing is concerned. This has come as the result of a LOT of writing. Some good things, some bad things, more free writing notebooks than I would care to count, filled with whinges about how hard writing is and things I wish I’d done and things I wish I hadn’t done. It comes from a ton of reading: the year I devoured every Barbara Samuel (and psuedonyms) I could find; my big fat YA summer-that-stretches-into-autumn (David Levithan, may I have your book babies, please and thank you?) and my current foray into 90s historicals and  one dead laptop (well, really two, counting the one RLRH inherited) and one new one and recapping TV shows. It’s working on the next incarnation of From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction (coming in 2016, because this fall got crazy) and, by dint of that, taking a closer look at why I love what I love and how I can use those elements in my own work, and picking others’ brains and trusting myself and diving into piles of stationery and notebooks and picking up old habits that worked in the past but I gave up somewhere along the way because of “supposed to’s” and “should” and and and and and…well.

Fall has always been the time of year when I get my super powers back. I feel more energized with the shorter days, when the world gets tucked in for the night, nice and early. When hot chocolate and cider flow, and Thanksgiving is soon to be upon us, and there are sweaters and boot socks and colorful leaves, and a crisp snap to the air. It’s time for curling up with a good book (or ten) under an afghan, with cup of tea at hand, and, since I am me, a notebook (or ten) on the other hand, because I have to multitask even when reading. It’s November. I’m back. I got this.

Typing With Wet Claws: Almost Anty’s Birthday Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This is a special week, so I wanted to have a special picture today. Tomorrow is Anty’s birthday. In case you are wondering how much Anty likes her birthday, it is very close to this:

Because I was born wild, with no humans around to record these sorts of things, we do not know my birthday. The shelter people said I was about ten months old when Mama and Anty brought me home, so we count ten months back from the day I was adopted and use that when a vet needs to know these things. Anty is also adopted (I do not know how people shelters work when getting human kittens to their parents) but she does know her birthday and even the time she was born. That was eight in the morning. Anty was a morning person right from the start. Her mama and papa got a phone call very soon after that, to tell them Anty was born and it was time to come get her.

The way the story is told, Anty’s mama had to go on a plane by herself because Anty came sooner than they thought she would come and Anty’s papa still had to be at work. One would think humans could be more understanding about things like that. They probably would be, now, but this was a different time. Family lore says that Anty’s mama got very worried on the plane ride back, because she fell asleep on the plane and when she woke up, she could not find Anty. At least not her face, which should have been sticking out of the blanket in which she was wrapped. Anty was all right (as you may have guessed, because she is here now) and had squiggled herself down to the very bottom of the blanket. I do not blame her. When I was first brought home, I huddled in the back of my carrier, too, and I was a big girl of ten months. Anty was only three days old and had no idea what was going on.

She likes to think she has learned a few things since then. Like how to write good stories. She did teach a cat how to blog, so that is something. Anty really likes birthdays in general. They do not always have to be hers, which is good, because birthdays are one to a human every year. She gets  equally excited about Uncle’s or Mama’s birthdays, and she even likes my adoption day (that is in December, and she says that allows her to tick “Christmas kitten” off her bucket list. I am glad I could help her with that one.) This one is hers, though, and she is glad that it happens in her favorite time of year, October. The days get shorter, nights get longer, leaves turn pretty colors and pumpkin flavored things are everywhere. It also means Halloween and Thanksgiving are coming up, and then Christmas, which is her favorite day of the whole year, even more than  her own birthday. It counts as a birthday, though, and an important one for people who believe the way our family does.

This birthday is Anty’s, however, and, for her, it is the start of a whole new year. She likes to mark the start of a new year with new notebooks. Here are two.

Future story receptacles?

Future story receptacles?

Both of these notebooks are blank right now, but they will not be that way for long. The solid blueish notebook is a Moleskine, and has a soft cover and dotted pages. That will be a new thing for Anty to try. Well, she did try dotted pages once, but the pages were a funny whitish color and hurt her eyes, so she had to give that notebook a new home. She is interested in trying the dotted pages on Moleskine paper, which is a nice, soothing ivory.

The other notebook is by Punch Studio, which makes very very pretty stationery. Anty has been accumulating a lot of Paris-themed stationery, but here is the funny thing; she does not have any Paris-set ideas right now, so she is not sure why. She knows why she collects peacock-themed stationery (they are very pretty birds and probably taste good, because they are related to turkeys. I have recently started eating turkey, in case you are wondering, but Anty collects peacock things because they are important for a future book.) but the Paris thing remains a mystery.

There are some other things in this picture, taken on the desk that Anty had wanted fro her own since she was a very young human kitten. Now it is hers, so that is another life goal reached. The stuffed bunny in the corner is Happy Bunny. He says “let’s talk about me” when Anty squeezes him. She says he is good for focus. The big square thing is a stress cube. It is good for squishing when Anty needs something to do with her hands. Sometimes that is a lot, during the part of writing when she stares at things that are not there and has to think really hard. The fact that there are sticky notes and papers around these books are proof that they are going to be written in very very soon. The solid notebook will become her all purpose computer bag book once the current one is filled. As for the pretty Paris book, she does not know. It has pretty page inside, three different designs repeating. Anty thinks this might be a good book for morning pages, as it is easier to write on pretty pages than completely blank ones. She is not sure yet, though.

What she is sure of is that it is time to read Critique Partner Vicki’s chapter, 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…

Crabby Monday

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This blog entry exists because I want to cross something off my to do list. It’s one of those days where writing related things are getting done, but the actual writing has been scarce. Not anybody’s fault, as domestic tornadoes happen when domestic tornadoes happen. This is one of those days when inspiration takes a back seat to discipline. Which means, in short, butt in chair and fingers on keyboard and/or pen to paper.

I’m sitting in my favorite coffee house right now, a cup of cold tea in front of me. It was hot when I ordered it, but it, like me, today, is pretty much kind of there and that’s it. Blah. Not what I was going for, for either of us. I will credit the barista with leaving the infuser in the cup and giving me a generous splash of skim milk in the cardboard cup so that I could let the tea, a delicious chai I get almost every time I come here, brew to perfection and then add the right amount of milk. That’s not exactly what happened, my apologies to the tea.

This is one of those parts of writing that is not exactly glamorous. Meh. Cold tea, blank brain, tired body. Still, the idea of totally blowing off the day bothers me. It rankles. Doesn’t fit. I mean, I could. That’s within my grasp, and, some would argue, within my rights. Part of me would actually like to do that, but then it runs straight into the part that rolls its eyes. OMG, are you whining about how hard writing is again? No wonder it’s been a while since your last book release. Sit down and do it. It’s easy. What, you can’t? Must not be a writer, then. There, there, you tried. Failed, but tried. Now go  home and put away the laundry and…mmm nope, that’s about all I’ve got, but I will flip through this list of anxiety triggers while you wrangle the laundry and then we’ll see which one we’re going to go with for the rest of the day. How does that sound?

Actually, not very good. Not very good at all. True, not every day can be a perfect one, and the slower days do get balanced out with the days when everything seems to want to come out of my head at once. There are times to produce and times to take in so that I can produce later. Even on those days when story brain says “nope,” there are still things I can do. Crit a critique partner’s chapter, discuss the next steps for the novella (partner and I there agree we are wrapping the end of the beginning and are pumped to get to the beginning of the middle) and write a blog entry. Not too shabby there, even if I am spending most of the entry blabbering.

Let’s see, what else? Conversing with some writer friends via email and discussing the use of angst in romance (a favorite topic) and trading songs that make our hearts hurt but also create plot bunnies. My favorite contribution for that discussion would be “Accidental Babies,” by Damien Rice:

Somewhat related to Her Last First Kiss, as there is a love triangle of sorts in that one, though my heroine wouldn’t say she’s in love with the other gent, but there is some fondness there. The mood fits, though, and it makes my heart ache the way my heart needs to ache for my hero’s situation at a crucial point in the book, so been listening to this one quite a bit, but haven’t actually moved it onto the book’s playlist, but that will probably happen soon.

So. Getting around time to wrap this sucker up and call the entry done. Likely also time to stick my nose in a good book and refill the well. Mondays are going to happen; that’s a fact of life. Okay. They happen. The adventure comes with what I choose to do with them. If putting out is an issue, then it’s usually time to take in. Even spending time in favorite places can count toward this. The brick walls of the coffee house, the street-level windows, eclectic tables and seating, the ever-changing flow of other guests; these are all good things. I am looking forward to the month progressing into Daylight Savings in the not too distant future, when I get to look up from keyboard or notebook and watch the day fade into night. Those evenings when I can go to the coffee house in daylight at walk home at night, still on my regular twoish hour stint, that’s the good stuff. I can pin my sights on that and keep moving toward it.

In the meantime, this entry is here. I did it. Novella progress is moving forward and partner and I agree on where the next step goes. Chapter critted for critique partner, and I can shoot her a note saying I’m brain-free today, but would love to brainstorm tomorrow. Then…maybe reading, maybe adult coloring book, maybe movie. We’ll see. What’s important is that this entry is here.

Thursday Rambles

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“Be willing to expose yourself to your readers. Plumb the depths of your own experiences and emotions in order to make your stories authentic. Don’t hold back.”

— Madeline Hunter

Wednesday’s post was going to be a special midweek update from Skye, but a domestic tornado chain touched down, here it is, Thursday, and Skye will be able to make her regular Feline Friday post tomorrow, so this one is all on me. Which would be lovely if I had any idea what I had planned to write here in the first place. Keeping the discipline of thrice-weekly blogging is one of my goals, so here I am, and my complete lack of focus means that I am going to babble and trust that some sense will come out of all of it at some point.

I will admit that, in a not that long ago romance writer’s conference, I had the great good fortune to be seated at the same table as Madeline Hunter at one of the meals, but did not get to talk to her. Despite my best attempts to peek at her name badge, I couldn’t get a good view, and the noise level was high, so shouting across a big round table wasn’t the most practical thing to do. Point is, I was at the same table with Madeline Hunter for an entire meal, and did not get to talk to her. This will haunt me to my grave. Either that or until my next opportunity, because these things do roll around again.

Granted, due to the lack of a clear name tag sighting, I didn’t know who the new arrival to our table was, and her only answer to a tablemate’s question of “what do you write?” (universal writer to writer icebreaker there) was “historical.” If I had known, I would have loved to talk with her. I still remember, long, long ago, when Madeline Hunter first came on the scene with well-received medieval romances, and feeling betrayed when she switched to Regency. I’m all for writers writing in different eras, and, in fact, I encourage that. I’d like to see more of it. What hit me hard at the time was the loss of a writer who used the medieval setting in all its grit and glory, leaving for more populated Regency assemblies.

There are multiple reasons a writer might switch time periods. Medievals have been declared dead multiple times since I started reading romance novels, let alone writing them. I don’t recall if it was that same conference, though it may well have been, where I pitched my own medieval, with a working title of Ravenwood, to a very interested agent, who said she loved my voice, quoted my own lines back to me, and assured me she would totally read this book for her own pleasure…but she couldn’t sell a medieval in the current market. Did I have a Regency?

I was working on one at the time, and told the agent that. She said great, send it when it was done, but don’t rush. She wanted the same level of polish as she could see in the medieval. Well, dear readers, I can say that I tried. I love the characters in that once upon a time Regency, love the conflict, love the resolution, but, as Critique Partner Vicki pointed out, I hate writing Regency. Georgian seems to be my natural default these days, so, when I do go back to that manuscript, everything will get bumped back a few decades, to fit within my natural reach. It’s going to take a while to get to that point, as I have the current novel and novella that need my attention, and I’ve blabbered on this subject before, so I won’t belabor the point.

Does this post even have a point? Does it need one? It’s written, that’s what, or mostly so, and I’ve had a few discussions, at various places on the interweb, about writing historical and how and why and all that. Defining what makes a particular period appeal to a particular reader or writer is far above my pay grade, so I’m not going to try (today) but here’s what I do know: I need to feel the era. To us, it’s history. To the characters, it’s life. Barring time travel (and I have a time travel waiting to burn off its own bad juju – this may be payback for all the jujubes I inhaled as a kid) the characters don’t know how the war is going to turn out. They don’t know they’re inching up on another ice age, or that the thingamahoozie is going to be invented two months hence, thus changing the world forever. They don’t know any of that.

What they do know is that they want the same things we do; home, health, shelter, food, companionship, purpose, love. All that good stuff. The way they get it, though, that’s where we find the differences, and what historical characters can and cannot do are influenced by any number of things. I find that endlessly fascinating. It’s easier for me to climb into a character’s skin and move around in their world if that world strikes a chord in me and plucks me like a stringed instrument so we can make beautiful music together. No doubt that can happen in any number of settings, and there are probably some I haven’t ever thought I’d employ that, someday, I will. For now, it’s Georgian, and, for today, that’s one blog entry down.

Mandatory Midweek Post

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I want to know that there’s something just beyond MY ability, that I can eek (sic) out one day that can move people like I’ve been moved.

–Ben Folds

I’m grumpy today. Kitty with tummy trouble will do that to a gal, and coming on the tails of a Monday and a half, especially with a gorgeously cool and rainy day that I would love to spend reading, especially (yes, two especiallies in one sentence; it’s that kind of day, and it’s my blog, so hush) now that we have a comfy cushion on our windowseat, the temptation to give this day a certain digit and slack off is strong.

Here’s why I’m not. In a word, discipline. I am the first one to turn into a whimpering ball of jelly when I look at the publication date on my most recent book. I am also the one in charge of the publication date for my next one. I have a novella scene due to my collaborator tomorrow, so I need to get that down today, at least the bare bones. I can do the bare bones, even when I’m grumpy and have one eye on kitty doings. Not consciously drawing on Anne Lamott’s one inch picture frame, but it’s similar.

Organizing and making lists works incredibly well for me. I don’t have to write the entire book today. Shoot, I’m only writing part of the book, because Collaborator Melva kicks writing butt and we are so much on the same page (pun intended) that it’s scary. It doesn’t have to be perfect. If I’m off, she’ll tell me, and we’ll fix it, together. What it has to be is written. That’s it. Bullet points are fine. Present tense is fine. I can fix bad, but I can’t fix blank. (Thank you, Nora Roberts, for that one.)

“Do what you can do, when you can do it,” is  a phrase I learned while caregiving, and it applies to writing as well. Life is going to happen. Cats are going to throw up, phones are going to go to the great charging station in the sky, and grumpy days are going to happen. These are the times I like to focus on what I can do, rather than what I can’t, or haven’t, or didn’t. One of the items on my bare bones to do list was write today’s blog entry. I had nothing when I started, unless fretting pet-aunt mode was an option  (on a writing blog, it usually isn’t) and Skye is currently hanging out in her regular rainy day spot under the bed in the master bedroom. She has a bowl of water, and I’ll keep an eye on her. The other eye has to be on the writing.

This isn’t my favorite entry. I’m blabbering, but it’s honest. It’s where I am. That’s something I’m working on strengthening, in both fiction and nonfiction. I have Ben Folds’ new album playing, a mix of his usual music and a symphonic orchestra (my love for pop/rock combined with an orchestra knows no bounds, really it doesn’t) because his work is always good for jump-starting my own. Getting to those deep emotions and the insecurities characters like to hide from the world, because those are things that will prove them weak, get them rejected, make them vulnerable. Those are my jams. I love that stuff. In romance, I can throw basically anything at my characters, as long as they end up happy and together at the end. Since I write historical, that means I can use wars and natural disasters and political upheaval, and all of that ready made good stuff to cause bumps in the road to Happily Ever After.

Being a character focused writer means that I can play with the voices in my head when I don’t know what we’re going to be doing today. That’s a good jumpstart again. If I don’t know how they’d react to X, then that means I don’t know them well enough, most likely, and we are going to need to have some tea and a good long talk, them and me. We’ll get through it. Bullet point by bullet point. There will be another day when I blaze through multiple scenes without breaking a sweat. Taking this day for what it is, doing what I can, and then refilling the well is the best way to get to that new release, the next article, and hey, look right there. I wrote a blog entry. Cross that puppy off the list and let’s get back to that novella scene.

Monday Junior

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Focus on writing the story you want to tell. Don’t worry about how many words, what genre, and especially about people who tell you that you will never make it. They’re not important. Finish the thing and try to do your story justice.

–Ilona Andrews

 

Today  is Tuesday, but I am calling it Monday Junior this week. To best explain this, here is a short rundown of my Monday evening:

  • hit same place on head on corner of shelf and corner of dresser, in two separate incidents.
  • found a bug in my crushed pineapple, and remembered, hours later, that this serving had been broken down from a bigger container earlier, so I did at one point eat half a can of pineapple that had a bug in it.
  • decided to make tea to counteract the buggy pineapple, only to have tea infuser open (this may be because the kitchen light was out, we have prewar ceilings and no ladder) and float my last bit of Earl Grey throughout the water. Tea dumped, because now not drinkable.
  • Real Life Romance Hero  washed my mug (into which I had flung aforementioned bug) which I used to make that cup of tea, which had to be dumped out, but I only found out there was still soap in it after I started drinking said tea.

It wasn’t a total waste, as today’s picture evidences. Real Life Romance Hero had received a gift card to a swanky restaurant near our apartment for his birthday a month and a half ago. Yesterday, we finally got a chance to put it into use. Got dressed in real Grownup People Who Eat in Swanky Restaurant Clothes and everything. Food was amazing, atmosphere was perfect, and we had the place to ourselves, so that made for a special afternoon. I went for a walk in the park to ponder over some current writing projects while Real Life Romance Hero watched the news, and came home, expecting a lovely evening of writing.

Insert maniacal laughter here. Normally, a pina colada sundae is the perfect cap to any day. I love pineapple. I love coconut. I love ice cream. Mush them all together, and we should have something special. Add a dead bug (though I suppose dead bug is better than live bug, but not by much) and we have the exact opposite effect. Bleh.Try and follow that up with a soothing cup of tea that fails, not once but twice. Surely, Tuesday has to be better.

i1035 FW1.1

Did I do that?

Well. I will start off by mentioning that Skye kitty puked at my feet while I was making my list of Monday horrors. It was not her first time today. She’s fine; it’s hairball season. This happened at the same time Housemate arrived several hours earlier than we expected her (always good to see her, and it is her house, too, but surprise factor was high) and RLRH, who had been sleeping in, rose at that exact moment, doubling the surprise factor for me, plus cat puke. I am about to give this day a jaunty salute and retreat into Sims 3 and adult coloring books.

Before the cat puke and flinging open of multiple doors at once, my Tuesday so far includes:

  • the two pens I normally keep in my computer bag, for specific purposes, are not in my computer bag, nor are they in my computer sleeve, and I have run out of logical places they could be, which leaves “lost” as the most likely suspect. Not earth-shattering, as they are easily obtained at Dollar Tree, and I am subbing Pilot Varsity fountain pens (there is something about subbing a fountain pen for a dollar store pen, but I am too Mondayed to examine that at present) but still enough to jangle in my current state.
  • Aforementioned festival of doors flinging open, with my opinion asked on a conversation whose topic completely eluded me.
  • New (additional, that is; Critique Partner Vicki is not going anywhere; I love and need  her and she can’t afford the blackmail, so she has to stick around) critique partner not only pinpointed specific issues with project she’s looking at with laser accuracy and helpful suggestions with which I totally agree can make this story So Much Better but also nailed the overall goal I’m going for in my writing, which I had not mentioned to her yet; reclaiming my melodrama, which I love and dearly miss, buried under should and expectations and nonwriting concerns.

This last one is where I’m going to focus, because it’s a good place and an uncomfortable place. It’s good because this is what I want, this getting back in touch with my natural voice and working those writing muscles until they give me some resistance, which is the signal that they are getting stronger. Uncomfortable, because, well, change is uncomfortable. Resistance is uncomfortable. Looking at what we could do better and where we’ve fallen short is uncomfortable. It’s also a necessary step in the journey, and, sometimes, we need to tread that particular path more than once.

So, on a day when I’d hoped to make up for the day before, (though I did get some work done before RLRH and I had our adventure) instead, I’m digging up bones, fleshing out, refining, reexamining, restoring, tearing down and building up until what’s on the page is what’s in my head. My characters deserve that. My readers deserve that. I deserve that. In that perspective, all the crud is worth what it takes to go through, to make the best possible story and the best possible me. Remind me of that when I grumble, okay?

Return of the Robot Revolution

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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.