possibly pointless blabbering

Conference Recap, Part the First: Friday

annabowling 2 Comments

In more ways than one, but we’ll get to that. NECRWA’s annual Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference was this past weekend, and while I’d planned to blog about my experience immediately, life reminded me there is more going on than writing – but it does remind me how much I want it, so that’s all good.

Robin Sparkles, in action

Robin Sparkles, in action

Every conference starts with a road trip. Since my move to NY, this now means two hours with Housemate, en route to MA, where I make the switch to my longtime conference roomie, the lovely Melva Michaelian, who writes on the cozy side of romantic suspense. Two more hours on the road, nattering about works in progress and life in general, and then we get to walk the red carpet (only the literal one, more’s the pity. There was a carpet. It was red. No press, though. It was only a color. :hangs head: We strutted anyway, luggage in tow.)  Technically no traffic jams, and we did not get lost, so this was a successful journey.

Since we had forgotten (whoops) that the workshop with Lauren Dane was actually the master class and had needed to be registered for in advance, Melva and I ensconced ourselves in the bar, where we ran into Laurie Gifford Adams, who writes YA, and is a former chapter sister to both of us. Laurie brought along her critique partner and our new friend, Dorothy Callahan, who writes time travel and paranormal. Melva, Laurie and Dorothy headed off soon after for the first workshop of the afternoon, but I had other plans.

Offices happen anywhere

Offices happen anywhere

One of the reasons I was excited about bringing the new tablet to the conference was exactly this; writing. A scene pounced me, and since writing is kind of the whole point of being a writer, I sat out the workshop and settled into this lovely hot spot to dip into story world for the next hour. I like the office program that came with the tablet, except for one tiny omission. No quotation marks. None. I only found this out when I opened the document. Curious, that. A hotel full of writers is probably the only place where one will hear, “oh, are you writing? Sorry, catch you later,” in a genuinely happy voice. I think I could get used to that.

Bringing Robin Sparkles (yes, I name my electronics, so will be using her name and the word “tablet” interchangeably) to the conference was like bringing a new baby. Lots of coos over how tiny and pink she is, what she can do, how we found each other, etc. Some good advice from more experienced tablet users on life with tablet, and a good deal of trial and error, though I think we did all right for our first time out. The onscreen keyboard is a lot easier to get used to than I thought it would be, but my fingers are still gigantic, and there is probably a stylus in my future. If you hear any salty language from this corner of the world, that’s me trying to get Spotify to load.

But enough about me. There was, indeed, swag. Pens, bookmarks and postcards abounded, as well as some other creative ideas. I love the small book of sticky notes, and the stress cube is sure to get some use. Letter opener is always useful (for contracts, checks, fan mail, etc, right?) I will never say no to lip gloss, purse-size pack of Band-Aids is essential, but the star of the swag for this year? Flash drive. I’d needed one anyway, and bloop, there it is. Mini size, so it fits in my coin pouch. Perfect. Honorable mention to the pen shaped like a paintbrush, front and center below:

The requisite photo of swag

The requisite photo of swag

Just the books:

TBR

TBR

Megan Frampton gave  a wonderful workshop on the changing rules of the romance covenant. I really wish there were recordings of the workshops available, because there was so much information and discussion that I’d love to be able to go over it again. Does anybody else remember when athlete or rock star heroes were verboten? Now they’re hot. Age gaps, in either direction, characters with histories (or without) and persons of color in various subgenres, and more. An hour really wasn’t enough to cover the topic, but “you can’t do that in romance” can usually be rephrased as “depends how you do it.” If stepsibliing romance can be a thing, I think I’m not that far out there with my historicals (which do not contain romances between stepsiblings, fwiw.) Word is that Victorian settings have now overtaken Regency as the most popular era for historicals. I’d be interested to see the figures on that. Non-19th century historicals are still a harder sell (Challenge accepted!) though there was some discussion of medievals being on the rise. :pets Ravenwood:

Keynote speaker at dinner was the fabulous Sabrina Jeffries. I’m always excited when there’s a historical author as one of the speakers, and was doubly so this year. Her tips on writing through the hard times are a huge part of what kept my head above water when caregiving, grieving and settling relatives’ affairs (not the romantic kind, trust me) threatened to engulf everything else. The woman does know a thing or two about this business, and she has a great attitude. Her talk on creativity and how marvelous it is that we can make up stories and people and worlds all from our own imaginations was a lovely boost of encouragement. I had to give back, and let her know, when I bumped into her at breakfast the next morning, that I actually loved her historical set in Siam, lo those many years back. She said she’s looking to reissue it in ebook form, and I told her I hope she does. I’d love to read it again.

Friday evening wrapped with the second annual fireside gabfest in the lobby. Last year, it was me and Jodi Coburn (that’s us from last year, below,) whom I met over a crowded dinner table when we found out we had the same all time favorite historical romance novel. If that’s not an instant bond, I don’t know what is. This year, we were joined by Melva, Laurie and Dorothy.

photo

There was much chatter about what we were all writing and reading. I drooled over Jodi’s story binder (so stealing her spreadsheet idea) and at one point, we all whipped out our mobile devices to share photos of our furbabies. All too soon, it was time to head to our respective beds, because there was still Saturday ahead of us. Tomorrow, as they say, is another day.

Theoretical Schoolbusses

annabowling 1 Comment

“Hard is trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece, with no instruction book, and no clue as to where all the important bits are supposed to go.”
― Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down

Sometimes, I feel like there’s a bus. A schoolbus, more specifically, one of those long yellow ones that roll from September to June, look bright against the greys of a rainy day and fit in with the explosion of red, yellow, orange and brown on bright autumn afternoons. The bus is one of those. In pretty good condition, I’ll allow, with the seats inside clean black leatherette or pebbly vynil or whatever else they might be made from these days. It’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual schoolbus. This is a theoretical schoolbus, you see, because I am going to tell you a story.

Kind of. this is one of those loopy, off-leash days, where I am going to get some kind of structure from the loopiness, and blogging and discipline and yeah yeah yeah, working on book, put the pizza outside the door and slowly back away, please and thank you. Still with me? Okay, good. So, there’s a theoretical schoolbus. It came by my dad’s house lo those many years ago, when frustrtated extroverted writer me was stuck out in the no man’s land between suburbs and rural area (seriously, the neighbor behind that house was a dairy farm, yet the town also had a private school, and I’m drifting. This is what comes from too much caffiene and not enough structure. Focus, Anna.) and it picked me up on the day when I decided that was it; I was going to write that book.

I had no idea what I was doing; I wasn’t in RWA yet, didn’t know any other writers in person, apart from a dear family friend, who was very kind with my rambles and questions. I had one writer friend with whom I bonded through snail mail, and my heart hammered against my ribs as though it was trying to bust out. Looking back, I think it probably was. So, I set up three TV trays around the living room chair that reminds me still of the captain’s chair in Star Trek: The Next Generation (chair long gone, but I remember it clearly) put a vynil record (cast recording of Camelot) on the record player, programmed (this was a fancy-for-its-time player) and dove in, armed with a fierce love of historical romance and the need to do this thing. As I said, I had no idea what I was doing. That was probably a good thing, because that let me scamper at will, off-leash, higgledy-piggledy, wherever the story took me that day.

Do I remember which of two possible books I was working on that day? Nope. They kind of blend, and I can’t say I’m not mixing some memories here, but that’s an occupational hazard for us ficiton writers, and not always a bad thing. Anyway, let’s say I wrote one book (that now lives safely in a storage unit, where it can’t hurt anybody) and after I knew that one had to be put aside, wrote …hmm…a pretty good deal of another. How many of us remember every stop our school bus made on the trip to school and back, lo these many years later? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I rode that bus. I learned. I made mistakes, fell down, got up, dressed bruises, kept going. Knew when to walk away from a book that wasn’t going to work, figured out what I can do and what I can’t. You know, the usual. Fast forward a few years. Sold a book. Sold another. RWA. Critique partners. Groups. More writing.

Then the bus dropped me back off. Huh wuh? :blinks: :looks around in utter confusion: What the heck was I doing back in front of the metaphorical house in the middle of a metaphorical school day? Detour to full time caregiving, and then, as it usually does, another bus, bright yellow against the grey, came chugging down the road once more. Flashed lights. Stopped in front of my house, now several years and a different state away from the first one. Opened the doors. I put one foot on one step, hoisted the backpack I’d been scared to look into onto my shoulder and climbed aboard.

My magpie self is still devouring inspiration, its appetite that of a starving creature. Cover versions of songs I know, done by singers who take a completely different take on an old favorite, realistic YA novels that deal with mental illness and suicide (n.b. – I have so far started two of my published works with characters about to take their own lives; I did not plan that, nor are the two stories in any way related. Points to anybody who knows which two.) endless searching for desktop wallpapers with the right visual feel, going on movie binges where the connections between movies make no sense to anybody but me, analyzing favorite fannish OTPs (One True Pairings) to see if I can spot patterns, making lonnng lists of reading jags to go on once I’ve finished this current reading jag. That’s for a start. It does feel like I’m taking myself to school, and, like a dog following a scent trail, I don’t know exactly where this is going to end up, but I do know that it’s taking me where I want to go.

Going Off-leash

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Mostly, you probably need to go deeper. Deeper, deeper, deeper. You should know everything there is to know about your characters and your settings.
–Barbara Samuel

The new tablet came home on Friday. I’d love to say that I’ve been hauling her (yes, my electronics are gendered) everywhere and been writing tons more, but there are a couple of things I have noticed before that can happen:

  1. Those keys are tiny.
  2. My fingers are gigantic
  3. I think part of the port where the cable plugs in to connect the tablet to the keyboard came out with the plug itself and I’m not sure how to get it back in there.
  4. The onscreen keyboard isn’t that bad, actually, and I am a technological wimp.

But I have been taking baby steps. First public wifi outing after church on Sunday, and things went smoother than I had expected. Still haven’t found the best place in my favorite coffee house to sit with the really short power cord, but then again, the battery is all new and powery and shouldn’t give me any problems in that regard. So far, I’ve mostly watched YouTube, checked my email and swiped my gigantic fingers around (and oddly enough, I have pretty petite hands when I’m not holding the tablet, so I am thinking this is situational) the screen, usually with some variation of “wait, what, were are we going? This thing is fast.” and/or “Where do I tap?” No doubt that I’ll figure it out through trial and error and possible desperate appeal to any tech-savvy collegians hanging out in the same coffee house, but there is a learning curve.

Learning curve as well with Her Last First Kiss. For a long time, writing had felt like trying to move a boulder up a hill by beating my head against said boulder. Now, I’m letting the characters lead, and the places they take me…where they want to go, they don’t have maps, or at least no maps I’ve ever read. It’s both exciting and scary. Imperial Russia? Colonial Canada? Madhouses? Hero who is basically the eighteenth century equivalent of a former child star unable to reconcile himself to life as an adult (and let us not forget self image issues, because that’s a biggie) and a heroine trying to treat intensely personal things like business matters because that’s easier than facing the Big Scary Feelings? I’m not sure I signed up for that.

It’s fitting that this book is being written at the same time I have this tiny pink piece of technology in my posession. They both scare me a little. Both big responsibilities but also tickets to an awful lot of fun. It’s the off-leash part of the writer park (which I imagine would be like a dog park, but for writers; the water fountain would likely dispense caffienated beverages, and there would probably be more chairs) – no more excuses. Even if I only have the touchscreen keyboard, boom, transcribing anywhere. I can have my story playlists with me without lugging the whole laptop and external keyboard with me everywhere. (Though if I end up having to plug this external keyboard into the tablet…actually, I probably wouldn’t mind that, because normal sized keyboard, so never mind. That one’s good.) Check research online in the park? No problem. Edit at the laundromat? Easy. So what’s stopping me?

One foot in front of the other, bend down, thumb the clasp on the leash and let that puppy run. Let the characters lead. I don’t know a thing? Well, look it up, Sherlock. This isn’t a history textbook. This is a romance novel. It’s a love story. It happens to take place in Georgian England. That’s their Now. That’s their Here. That’s their Normal, so it has to be normal to them, and painted so that it reads that way to the reader, but the love story is front and center, where it belongs.

It’s not a nice story, because I don’t want to write a nice story. I want my heart to break, along with my hero’s and heroine’s, because I know that it’s going to be put back together in the end. I want to take two star-crossed lovers who have given up on love and help them find their Happily Ever After, after all. Chuck off all the lies they’ve believed, for far too long, the ones that have held them back and become who they were always meant to be, as individuals and as a couple.

There are risks to take when trying something new, but once I catch the scent of a place where I can dig in deeper, I want to shove my hands elbow-deep into the soil of character and story. Why are they like that? What secrets are they hiding? How can I bribe these very private people to give up what they most want to keep hidden? Becuase it’s worth it all, I promise, promise, promise. Getting to the heart of the story, the heart of the characters, that’s where the life is, for characters and writer both. For the readers, I hope, as well, but that’s a way aways yet. For now, I’m letting this (figurative) puppy -and myself- off the leash, to run as we will.

I Have No Idea, or, Roadmaps

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“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
– Arthur Ashe

Not ideas, because I am not O  at a loss for any of those. I have index card files, seriously, so I am not going to run out any time soon. Not every idea is going to be written, but each one of them has something in there that I can use in some form. Even if what I glean from that is “never pitch a book idea you pulled out of your :ahem: self after not sleeping for three days straight because the pitch session just took an awkward turn. Not that that ever happened to anybody I know. :cough: But ideas, yes, lots of those.

What I’m talking about here is those days when I have no idea what I’m doing. I hate those. People who know me know that I’m a planner. I like to know what is going to happen, when, not to mention how. I love to-do lists, and the only think I like better than listing tasks is crossing them off. Maybe prioritizing, because that’s actually fun, especially if I get to play with highlighters.

Life, especially the writing life, doesn’t always work that day. Sometimes, the nonwriting life takes a good long look at a writer and says, “Writer, you are now officially my puching bag.” Whompity whompity whomp. Nonwriting life can have a mean left hook. Domestic tornado chains whip through what should be a fairly productive writing day. Sick family members, financial hiccups, domestic duties that require immediate attention, lest the universe implode, and the like are not going to take a break because we’re making good time on the work in progress, or a blog post due.

Which is where today’s ramble comes in. Yesterday had its challenges, and there was no way on earth I was going to give up my time with Her Last First Kiss, so Monday’s post got moved to Tuesday. I probably had some vague notion (or maybe a not so vague one) about what I wanted to cover in this blog post. Something about notebooks, maybe? A Camp NaNo update? How much fun it is to be splashing around in the shallows of a new book, and then, without meaning to, diving down deep and finding ohhhhhh, that’s why that thing was in that scene. I may not have known what I was doing at the time my hero picked up a china dog in a shop (and a scene I didn’t plan), as a gift for the heroine, but he did, and that’s what matters. He knew she would like it, even if I had no earthly idea, bu a few chapters later, when she finally admits a Deep Secret she will only trust to him, it all makes sense.

i1035 FW1.1

We’ve been in our current home for about two and a half years now, Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate and Skye and I , and only recently did I finally get around to employing an arty idea I’d had while apartment hunting. I’ve tried scrapbooking, and it’s really not for me, but I love mixed media art, and anything even remotely notebook-related. About a week or so ago, I took out the map we’d used in finding our home, so that I could memorialize the search with art. I covered the cardboard box that my new computer cord came in with part of that map, and now use it to store pens and a small notebook. Easily portable, unique and personal. It reminds me of the writing desk the hero of Her Last First Kiss counts as his most prized posession. His is wood, not cardboard, far more durable than what I have, and he sure as anything wouldn’t have made it himself (carpentry is not his thing) but the connection, that’s there, and it’s strong. Through all of his travels, my hero counts his writing desk as his true home, and I can relate to that.

Today has been one of those punching bag days. Yesterday was another. This post exists because I don’t like having to push back Wednesday’s post because I haven’t yet done Monday’s post, and because posting is one thing I can control when nonwriting life starts lobbing stuff at me. Sit down at the keyboard and blabber about writing? I can do that. I may not know the exact topic when I set out on the journey, but that’s okay. I know how to write. I’ll get there.

So it is with the art and discipline of writing a book. It’s been a while since I’ve had a hero and heroine talk to me this clearly ( things,perhaps, only other writers will understand) amd I am not going to squander that. Maybe I don’t know where we’re going for a particular session, but I trust them. I trust that I know how to write a book. I’ve done it before. I can do it again. I am doing it now. Sometimes, we need to make the maps while we explore, then follow them later.

Typing With Wet Claws: Evening Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for a slightly later than usual Feline Friday. This is the very first thing being written with Anty’s new keyboard, because the old one died for real. She and Mama went to the computer store to get this one, which will make life much better for everybody involved. Mama said that if she had to share her computer with Uncle and Anty, she would never see her computer again. That would make Mama very sad. Everybody is much happier now that Anty can use her own computer again. We are all waiting for the computer store to tell Anty she can come and get her new tablet. That should not be too much longer. Mama thought that maybe the computer store might have gotten the tablet in and tried to tell Mama it was there, only she could not ge that message because she was not on her computer at the moment. It was not there yet, but it will be there, soon. Once Anty gets her tablet, then she will be able to write and do research in a lot more places. She will be less grumpy, and that is a good thing.

Anty was very grumpy this week, because both Uncle and Mama were sick at the same time. Then Mama got better, but Uncle was still sick. Then Uncle got better, but his hunting schedule changed. I was very happy to have him home during the day more, but by the way Anty whimpered and twitched after a few days of thinking one more day and then she could have the house to herself (and me) that might have just been me. Anty loves Uncle, but the house is where she works, and the way she has been at this book, she wants to be working a lot.

That is not easy when the computer keyboard dies, and the keyboard built into the computer does not have an H key. There are H’s in a lot of words Anty uses when she writes. Him, her, he, she, them, they, the, and a lot of other words, like hold (I do not like to be held, so I do not mind when she cannot use that word.) There are no H’s in cat or kitty or Maine Coon, so she could have written about me instead and probably have had a lot less stress. She is a romance writer, though, and I am fixed, so I kind of see her point.

Moving along. A couple of nights ago, Uncle came home from work and asked Anty if she would like to go and have dinner with only him. I had special time with Mama. She ate pizza and I ate cat food. Uncle and Anty had Chinese food and said that I could share pictures of their dinner.

i1035 FW1.1

People food

This is all people food, so I do not know what it tastes like, but Anty and Uncle said it was very good, there was a lot of it, and they brought some home. Uncle said it would not rain while they were out, but Anty remembered how, on their second date, he told her the sprinklers would not go off on them, but they did. She brought an umbrella. It rained.

This week, Anty took care of our family a lot. I was only trying to help her when I started to eat my own throwup, but she wanted to take care of the cleanup herself. I do not mind too much. Food does not taste as good the second time around.

Writing on the glowy box, without the letter H, is not the easiest thing in the world (although I think typing with paws is harder) but Anty is not dissuaded. When she is between external keyboards, she uses an asterisk (it looks like this: *) to represent the letter H, and keeps on going. Some of the people she emails think this is funny and others think it is extra work to have to translate all the *’s to H’s. For those people, Anty suggests cutting and pasting into Word, then doing a search and replace.

That is what she is going to do with the pages she wrote yesterday. She did not think she was going to be able to do much, but then Anty SueAnn asked if she wanted to do virtual sprints, and Anty said yes. Then they both wrote as fast as they could (Anty can still type pretty fast when using an * instead of an H) and Anty got into the story. There are a lot of *’s, but now she can make them H’s again. That will be very helpful. The new keyboard has all of its letters and all of its keys. We will see how long that lasts.

Time for me to give Anty her shot at the new keyboard, so I will see you next week, unless she needs me to blog for her sooner. One never knows. She has the conference to prepare for, Camp NaNo to keep up with and the tablet could be here any time now. I’m pretty sure it’s cat.-sized, and it does have its own keyboard. Plus, I need to prepare for my interview with Anty SueAnn’s pet, Bailey.

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Typing With Wet Claws: It’s Not Easy Being Mews Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is finally feeling like spring here. That means that it is not freezing all the time, and I can watch birdies through the living room window while Anty and Mama have their breakfast. Uncle gets up a little later, and I have his breakfast with him in the kitchen. Everybody gives me kitty food when they get their people food, so I am not going to complain.

This week, Anty began Camp NaNo. That is a time when humans who write try to do a lot of writing in a short amount of time. That is like NaNo, except it does not make Anty as stressed, because she can decide how much writing she wants to do. Really, how much writing she wants to tell people she does, because she does a lot of writing. It’s the counting the words she does not like. She likes the actual writing fine. I am glad I do not have to count things. My job as a mews (see what I did there?) is to sit very very close to Anty and send out love beams. That is inspiring, I think, although I do not know how effective it is when it comes to making her put more kitties in her stories.

Yesterday, she put a dog in her new book. Only a china dog in this scene, but I looked at her outline. There will be a real dog later. She said the characters put the dog in there; she didn’t. I am not too sure about that. I know that characters are people who live inside Anty’s head, so maybe she should talk to some of them about having cats. There are horses in this book, but that is mostly because horses dragged the people carriers around in the times Anty’s stories are set. I have never met a horse, so I do not have a firm opinion on this, other than that it would not be too hard for Anty to maybe mention a barn cat or two when one of the horses is in its stable. I think that is fair recompense for all my hard work. If that is okay. Anty is most dominant in our pride, so I cannot tell her what to do, but I can make suggestions. Also look very very cute. I am good at that.

tools of the trade

tools of the trade

Anty has been doing a lot of writing this week, which keeps her busy, and that is a good thing. As you may be able to see in the picture of her keyboard, we have some casualties. There is now no letter at all on the E key, the Q key now looks like a broken O, and the L is pretty much a scratchy line. Anty says she may write letters on those keys with a silver Sharpie, but she knows what keys are where, so I do not think she is going to do that anytime soon. Also, people need to kiss on TV more, so that Anty can write about that and have more posts up on Heroes and Heartbreakers. She is part of this post on bloggers’ best reads of March, which has lots of ideas if you do not know what to read next. A word of warning: Anty’s pick is a very thick book that makes a loud sound when it is dropped. Loud sounds are scary. At least she read it by the bed, so I did not have to go far if I wanted to run under the bed for some reason. She is considerate that way.

goth laundry?

goth laundry?

This week also means it is time for Anty to get ready to go to the NECRWA conference. I have talked about that before, so I will not repeat myself here, except to say that the whole getting ready thing is not exactly cat-friendly. She does open the closet a lot and take clothes out, which I find very interesting. Sometimes, she puts them back in and sometimes she does not. Ever since she took the bright colors she does not like very much out of the closet, she has more fun playing with clothes. Most of her laundry looks like the picture above. Some of it is Uncle’s, but the stripey things and anything with a skull on it should be Anty’s. Sometimes new clothing comes home when Anty goes out hunting, and it does not smell like our things, until she washes it and wears it, and then it does. Until then, I am suspicious of all new items. I am not entirely convinced that the Skirt of Doom is not going to come back, even though I was the one who made it go away in the first place. Never you mind how. I was never sure if it was on Anty, part of Anty, or, worst of all, if it had Anty. Sometimes, a kitty has to do what a kitty has to do.

Anty needs the computer back, and it is lunchtime, so that is about it for this week. Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Nurse Kitty Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all, Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Very exhausting week to be a kitty around here. Anty was sick, the glowy boxes staged a revolt, and all three humans were at home yesterday. Well, Anty and Mama went out hunting, so that was not everybody all day, but it is difficult for one kitty to be in so many places at once.

One of the most important kitty duties is nursing. Anty does not get sick very often, which is a good thing, but when she does, I am there. This week, Anty only thought she was tired after she got back from the critique group, but then she was hot and cold at the same time, and things ached that should not be aching, and Uncle had to be the one to break it to her. She was sick. Anty does not like being sick, because she does not like “doing nothing” as she puts it. That makes her grumpy. Really, the best thing for the other humans to do in times like that is to give her some books and some movies and make sure she has lots of liquids.

Food, beautiful food

Food, beautiful food.

She did not want food for a couple of days (I cannot imagine how horrble that must be. I always want food. Can I have some food now? I am very cute, if that influences your answer any.) but she has her appetite back now, which is a very good thing. I heard her and Uncle talking about dinner tonight (theirs, not mine, but I will assume my dinner was implied. I would like fish jelly, please.) and they seemed happy about that. She is also putting on real people clothes and even makeup, so I know she is better. This does also mean that she will be leaving the house again to go hunt (I assume she is hunting; why else would she leave a comfortable house with a kitty in it?) and do laundry. There was not a lot of laundry last time, because she only had pajamas on for most of the week, but there was still laundry. Ever since she found out how she can send her manuscripts to her Kindle, she has been taking those along and reading her own work as though she were the reader and not the writer. She says that gives a different perspective and likes to take notes on anything that stands out.

I helped her rest by sitting very very very close to her recliner and sending love beams in her direction. She says that helped a lot. I also helped her watch some movies. We liked The Perks of Being a Wallflower, although it did not have any kitties in it. It had friends and a love story, though, and Anty likes movies with those things in them. Also angst. There was a lot of angst. Angst makes Anty happy. This is not as alarming as it sounds. These sorts of things are perfectly normal for writers. She is open to suggestions for other movies with the same feel. She has already seen The Fault in Our Stars, and liked that one, and is looking forward to Paper Towns. She is listening to the book of that on her mp3 player right now. Well, maybe not right now. I do not know when you are reading this, so she may be listening to something else. Probably one of her story soundtracks, because she is back to writing. That is a big relief. She is cranky when she is not writing.

It is a good thing that Anty loves notebooks. Yesterday, Mama suggested that, since the computer power cords come in two peices, maybe switching the peices around would help them hold a charge. Anty tried that, and Mama is right. Anty now calls these “Frankencords,” and they hold a steady charge, where the other ones did not. New cords are on the way, and may be here as soon as tomorrow. That will make everybody happy. I heard Anty and Uncle talking about a tablet. I got worried for a minute, but it is all right. They do not mean they want to give me a tablet, and they do not mean the pill kind, anyway. The best I can tell, it is a very small glowy box. Maybe even kitty sized. It is hard to tell from the picture on the glowy box. Hm. Maybe they do want to give me a tablet, but the glowy box kind, not the kind the vet dispenses. Either that, or Anty wants to carry a really small glowy box instead of packing up the laptop every time she goes to the coffee house to write.

Speaking of writing, Anty has a new post up on Heroes and Heartbreakers, on the season finale of The Mindy Project. It is here and looks like this:

DANDY
Anty and Uncle get grumbly sometimes about season finales in March. When they were younger, TV seasons went from September to June and that was that. It is much more complicated these days. Personally, I like watching birds through the window. There are no commercials there, but sometimes trucks and busses with ads on them drive by. I guess that is kind of the same thing.

Well, it is that time again. Anty needs the glowy box so she can write, and it really is my lunchtime, 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…

Electronic Ragnarok

annabowling 4 Comments

The robot uprising has begun, at least in my house. It started some months back, with the old printer stubbornly insisting it had a paper jam, though taking the back off and inspecting the are in question reveals that it absolutely does not. Barring some miniscule scrap stuck deep in the gears, we’re stumped. Still, the darned thing insists it’s jammed, and more puzzlingly, Will Not Turn Off, so yanking the plug is the only solution. There is a lovely new printer standing by, which is not compatible with the extant coputers, but a solution to that is on the way in the near future, so we manage.

There is, of course, a sizeable graveyard of headphones and earbuds who gave their lives for good cause, and the debate over “let’s buy a bunch of the inexpensive ones so we have new ones when the old ones die” versus “if we spend the same amount of money on one pair of good ones, they won’t die all the time and won’t need to be replaced” can go on long enough that one party may consider reading the entire text of the Outlander saga merely to keep the filibuster going long enough for another party to consult pricing information to bolster the argument. My mp3 player is not, after all, compatible wiht my music streatming system of choice, and my laptop has decided that it and audiobooks are no longer on speaking terms. Neccessary losses, those, and while some, particularly the purple earbuds with the skulls on them, are missed, we know these things are going to happen.

I don’t remember how long ago it was that Real Life Romance Hero’s ancient desktop finally gave up the ghost, but it wasn’t pretty. We slid in the lovely silver laptop a friend had passed on to us shortly before our move. Of a slightly earlier vintage than the laptops Housemate and I use (those two being identical twins) that machine served him well, until last week, when, by his reports, it took thirty minutes to accomplish what the other computers could accomplish in two. This is not what we want. Set that machine aside, confer with Housemate to create a tmeshare arrangement on her computer, and then…

Then the power cord on her computer stops working. When I say stops working, I mean that even though we can darned well see it plugged in, the footer on the screen says the laptop is not plugged in to any power source and helpfully informs us how much battery power is left.

This, too, we can solve with some creativity. Since Housemate’s computer and mine are identical twins, let’s swap out the cord and see if that works. Success. Enter a couple of days of swapping one cord bewteen two computers used among three users. Takes some doing, but with scheduling and compromise, it works, until the next plot twist, which is that cord going from “the cord that works” to “the cord that usually works.”  A household where Real LIfe Romance Hero is deprived of YouTube, Housemate is cut off from  hidden object games is not a happy one, and, being a writer, computer access is kind of a big deal for me.

So, solutions become a priority. Housemate ordered replacement cords, plural, online, and a new-to-us desktop will make its way in our general direction, after a hiccup of its own, so relief is on the way. Housemate and I will head out later today (after tea, oh so much tea) to see if we can find replacement cords and/or batteries in stock at Big Box Electronic Store, but since the  twin laptops are older models, hopes are not too high. We may bite the bullet and price tablets. Real Life Romance Hero has a cookie theory about his laptop that does not involve chocolate chips (though baking might be good therapy right about now) and will be taking his laptop in for a diagnostic, because fixing beats replacing in such situations if his theory holds true.

Worst comes to worst, we live within walking distance of two public libraries, so there’s backup, and new cords should be here on the first of the month. It’s a good thing I love notebooks. The revolutionaries are recruiting, though. The refrigerator has started making some ominous noises…

Paperblanks Filigree Family Portrait

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Well, it finally happened. After literally months of drooling over and longing for the Paperblanks grande blue filigree notebook, a Barnes and Noble coupon and well managed family finances allowed Big Daddy Precious to come home. Which, of course, required the family portrait above.

Paperblanks, my precioussssss...

Paperblanks, my precioussssss…

I think the reason I’d resisted Paperblanks for as long as I did was because of the plain pages inside. Technically, very lightly lined, but free of ornamentation, and I generally like to have something to look at while I’m writing. Then I learned to draw boxes around things and add curlicues to the boxes, and that generally makes my brain happy, so I no longer had an excuse.

typical planner page

typical planner page

Paper is smooooth, which I love, and  I like the rounded corners on the pages. The covers are beyond stunning, and I suspect that the family portrait is not by any means complete, as there are still other colors and formats to be had.

At present, the small black book (aka Baby Badass Precious) is my daily planner, and the rest are for Her Last First Kiss. Small blue book (aka Baby Boy Precious) was originally going to be my all purpose notebook for this project, but soon found that wasn’t going to hold everything, and I like a larger format. So, smaller books are easier to tuck in my tote or pocket and take my show on the road. The large blue book, (aka Big Daddy Precious) will be taking over from the deconstructed Studio Oh! book I’d been using (Still not sure what purpose that one will serve now; I can’t remove the used pages, and I get funny about switching purpose once a book has been started, so it may be for overflow. Maybe something else. We’ll see. Maybe it needs to go into a resting period. I do still like it, but now that I have a theme going, I like to stick to that. ) and will live on my Secretary desk. I’ve never felt that strong a connection between a notebook and writing surface before, but trust me, these fit.

Baby Boy Precious is now for working out hero stuff for HLFK, Baby Girl Precious for heroine stuff, and they all come together in Big Daddy Precious. May need to keep peepers peeled for Big Mama Precious or some other relatives for overflow.

I’ve only tested three inks so far, but sometimes, that’s all one needs.

Ink Test

Ink Test

Pilot Varsity fountain pen is winning so far, Micron 05 a close second, and I am surprised that the R-2 rollerball, a dollar store find (!) holds its own with the other two. Not much bleed through on any of the three, so I think I’m good whatever way I go with this one. Can’t make myself try a ballpoint on this paper, and it will probably be a while before I put a highlighter to it, if at all.

One parting shot, because I am not going to get tired of seeing how gorgeous these all look together. Methinks the family still needs to expand a bit.

i1035 FW1.1

Classy, huh?

Now to fill them all….

Typing With Wet Claws: Creative Thinking Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Big week at our house, as usual, so that is no big surprise. Anty is very happy that she will be going to three RWA chapter meetings this week. Three. She has never been to that many in one week before. She went to Saratoga Romance Writers on Tuesday (you can read about that here, in case you are new or missed it.) Tomorrow is her day to go to Capitol Region Romance Writers (they are the closest to us) and on Sunday, she goes all the way back to where we used to live (the area, not the house) to go to a meeting of New England Romance Writers. She is gone all day when she goes to that one, but happy when she comes home.

Being around other writers, especially other romance writers, is very good for Anty. She comes home from those meetings all excited and wanting to write more.Sometimes, she comes back with more books. Sometimes, she comes home with snacks. That is people snacks, unfortunately, and not kitty snacks, though that is okay, because I only eat the food Mama, Anty and Uncle give me, and they never miss, so I am fine. This week, Anty came home with flowers. In case you missed them, they looked -and still look- like this.

They're baaaaack.

They’re baaaaack.

Anty getting the flowers was a good thing, because she likes flowers, and she, Uncle and Mama had wanted flowers for the front window (the one I watch birdies through) for a while now. She was happy to get these, and thinks they are very beautiful. There is only one problem, though. They make her head explode. That is very frightening for a kitty. When her head explodes, I run out of the room, because the sound is very loud. Then I come right back, because I am brave and curious. Then her head explodes again. I am exhausted from all the running. That is probably why Anty moved the flowers from the front window and into her office, where she can close the door.

There is only one problem with that. If the sneezy flowers are in the office, she can’t be, and she needs to rearrange the office because a new destktop computer is coming home in a couple of weeks (it is not new-new but it is new to Anty, so that still counts.) This means the flowers have to go, but where? At first, Uncle had a good suggestion. Anty could bring them to a friend who had to stay at the people vet for a while. Anty agreed that was a good idea, and she took the sneezy flowers all the way to the people vet, only to find that their friend’s room was…empty. A nice nurse assured Anty everything was okay and that the people vet said their friend was better and had gone home only a few minutes before. Anty took the sneezy flowers back home and told Uncle they had to think of another place.

Then Uncle had another good idea. He could take the sneezy flowers to the prayer chapel near his work. I should mention that Uncle is Catholic,which does not have anything to do with cats (I know, I was disappointed to find that out, too; it has c-a-t right in the name. That is rather misleading.) even though all the Catholic people I know personally like cats a lot. But some do not. Anyway, Anty was happy to hear the flowers could have a home in the chapel, and went off to write, When she got home, surprise – flowers. She waited for Uncle to come home and asked him why they were still there. He said he’d forgotten it was Lent, and there cannot be any decorations at that chapel during Lent. So much for that.

Anty does not want to throw out these flowers because they are not cut, but are in soil, so they are alive. She says she might take them to her CRRWA meeting tomorrow and give them to somebody there. I hope they are not allergic to flowers, too. Maybe next time, she should get catnip.

Speaking of catnip, since notebooks are like catnip to Anty, she wanted me to share her newest acquisition, her very first 5×8 hardcover Moleskine. Can you believe she went this long without one?

I think the discount helped...

I think the discount helped…

Anty has been very busy this week, not only with meetings, blog posts, and stories, but with her brand newest thing. Today is her day to talk at 31 Days and 31 Ways to Jumpstart Your Life. She is excited to talk about how being creative helps make life better. Tomorrow is the day she posts at Buried Under Romance. If you have never read her posts there, here is last week’s post, about finding new books. Here is the picture she took for this week’s post. What do you think she will talk about there?

what could this mean?

what could this mean?

Anty says this is getting long and she needs the computer back, so that is about it for this week.

Until next week...

Until next week…

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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