possibly pointless blabbering

To NaNo or Not to NaNo and Happy Albanyversary to Me

annabowling 2 Comments

 One of the questions that is probably troubling you at the moment is this: How do I know whether I’m a writer? And the question can only be answered with another question: Well, do you write? If you don’t, you’re not. If you do, you are. There’s nothing else to it.
–Nick Hornby

This is one of my all time favorite quotes, but one of my all time favorite writers, and, this time of year, it’s especially apt. We’re ten days out from the start of National Novel Writing Month, and I am not signed up for it yet. I don’t know if I will be, and I may not know until the starting pistol has indeed been fired. This is not entirely a bad thing.

I love the support in NaNoWriMo, love my local group, have met friends through last year’s journey…but the book? Well, I wrote it. Did I make 50K? I don’t think so, but the truth is, I don’t remember or feel like going back to check. The whole thing felt and feels as appetizing as a snack of wet cardboard, so that’s a sure sign that something about that whole particular endeavor was not right for me.

This year, I want to have a different emphasis. Not so much focus on word counts, but on what counts. For me, that’s telling the story, and listening to the story so that I can tell it. Does that always conform to hitting a certain amount of words on a particular day? No. Does that mean the story moves forward? Yes. Are those always the same thing? Not always.

I did Camp NaNo this year, and won that. Had fun doing it, too, and I suspect being able to set my own word count goal helped somewhat. Confession: I am not a word counter. I can tend to obsess if I do keep that in mind, and end up in a fetal position under the dining room table, clutching a stuffed fish (plush) and muttering something about Zwieback. It’s not a fun place to be. In the end, I suspect I will do what is best for me at the time I need to make the decision. In either event, I will be posting and documenting here, because pretty much anything is more fun for me if I can blabber about it.

Washington Park sunset

Washington Park sunset

Two years ago today, my family packed up our entire lives and departed the old country for the brave new world of Albany, NY. My only regret was not being able to convince all our beloved CT and MA friends to move with us (or for that matter, FL, CO, MI, etc; if I could ever have everybody I love in one huge room, that would be paradise.) I cannot say how good it feels to be home. I want my writing and the books that come from it to be home as well. Same with this blog.

It’s all a process. It’s also a journey. Some twists, some turns, some whoa-what-is-thats, but I have to trust that it’s going to take me where I need to be.

Typing With Wet Claws: Skye’s introduction

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Skye O'Malley, the kitty, not the book.

Skye O’Malley, the kitty, not the book.

Hello. I am Skye O’Malley, the kitty, not the book. My friend, Bailey, helps out his mom, Sue Ann Porter,  with her blog, so he thinks that I should do the same thing. My mama does not write books or have a blog (she plays with strings that turn into sweaters and things,) but my Anty Anna does, so I will help her.

Most days, my mama and Uncle (Anty calls him Real Life Romance Hero) are out hunting, so Anty hunts from home. Usually, she’s on her glowy box, which looks like this picture below now, because she killed the first keyboard and then had to get a second one. That second one sits on top of the first, and sometimes tries to type things on that first keyboard on its own. I do not think she wants it to do that, but her characters do not always behave themselves either. Writers must be used to disobedience.

i1035 FW1.1

In case you want to know what it looks like where I work (I am a professional mews) this is what Anty sees when she looks away from her glowy box.

Workstation of the mews

Workstation of the mews

Anty says not all of those notebooks are there all of the time, and they really are not. She does use a lot of paper, though. If I am a really good kitty, I get to play with some of it. I like to stay close in case Anty needs some inspiration, or wants to pet a kitty with her foot. In case she wants to feed a kitty, I am one, so it’s only considerate that I stay close by so she doesn’t have to go far. I like to think of myself as a very considerate kitty, so when Anty is home, I make sure to stay as close to her as possible. Unless it rains or I  hear the cat zamboni (the people call it a street sweeper, but I know better) – then I am under Anty and Uncle’s bed.

Typing with wet nails, really...

In case you are wondering if Anty really does type some of these entries with wet nails, she really does. Her trick is to use only the pads of the fingers and not the actual nails. She says she learned that in high school and it still works. I love the smell of nail polish, so if she really is typing with wet nails, I am sure to be extra super close. I am calling my posts Typing With Wet Claws, but if my claws are wet, it is because I licked them. I am a very clean kitty.

Is that good for our first time together? Bailey said that first impressions are important.Hopefully, my posts will help Anty. She says if she sells a lot of books, I can get more toys. My favorite toys are Post-It notes that Anty is done using. I don’t think she is being entirely selfless by promising to buy more Post-Its, but it is worth a try.

Until next time,

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

Every Keyboard Tells a Story

annabowling 2 Comments

i1035 FW1.1

That’s the keyboard on my actual laptop right there.  Note the missing H key, multiple keys where the markings were rubbed off, fingernail marks carved into the key that used to say “N.” We won’t discuss things periodically cleaned out from in between the actual keys, or things spilled on them and hastily wiped away, usually accompanied by fervent prayer.

This keyboard (and the laptop it’s attached to) has seen three different states, two different homes, been my companion through three distinct phases of my life (before, during and after the bottom dropped out of my world and I went from writer to caregiver to last family member standing to writer once again.) It’s been dropped, fallen from improvised “desks” made from overturned wastebaskets, balanced on knees sweating in summer heat or swaddled in hand-knit afghans (or my special snoflake fleece blankey nobody else is allowed to touch) and seen a plethora of libraries and coffee shops.

It’s seen the starts of novels, completion of a few, fiery deaths of others, while still others slipped into quiet comas. Some of those will come back, some will sail off into the sunset without me, and I am okay with all of that.  Yet more stories are still to come, and I am looking forward to meeting them all. How many more get to be on this particular keyboard or laptop, I’m not sure, but I’m looking forward to the adventure.

There have been games played on this computer; three different iterations of The Sims franchise, four if we count the Sims 4 demo, and a couple of forays into Second Life. Movies watched, countless YouTube videos, episodes of favorite TV shows, pictures composed and edited. New friends met, final farewells said, willingly or not, when certain chapters closed. New hellos yet to say to what’s still ahead of me.

It’s been a wild ride these last few years, and, in a way, it’s fitting to see the machine that saw me through that much coming to the end of its own journey. Not there yet, but the time is coming, and I’m okay with that.  New adventures are ahead.

One of which is blogging. I’ve had this blog for a while, in various incarnations, but I’m still getting the hang of it. While I do blog elsewhere, it’s easier to write about an external topic. Writing about me, about my own writing, that’s a whole different story, pun intended, but I’m here, and I have a brand new keyboard, so we’re good to go, this old friend and me.

i1035 FW1.1

 

The Story of H

annabowling 2 Comments

i1035 FW1.1

I think I’m holding up fairly well, all things considered. The saga of my Not a Cance in Ell adventure is now complete. Parts one and two are here and here. Over the weekend, after slicing my finger on the prongs of the now long-absent H key, the whole key stopped working. First, it took four or five pounds to get one H, which could as easily be a whole line of them: hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Which then needed to be backspaced or deleted, which was annoying because I would want them later. As I’ve said before, H is a very important letter.

There’s personal pronouns: she, he, him, her, them, their, all in heavy demand when writing stories about relaitonships (another H) word. Home, heaven, hell, hurt, help, hover, and several hundred more. Though I do my best composition in longhand, smushing the handwritten pages up to the screen doesn’t work. I worked out time share with both hubby and housemate (more H words) on their computers, did some work on the old desktop and started pricing towers. For personal emails to friends, I substituted an * when I needed an H, so thanks to all who put up with me during those days. I don’t know why it took me a couple of days to figure out I could get an external keyboard, but one quick trip to Staples and then I’m back in business.

Putting a regular keyboard on top of my laptop keyboard took some getting used to at first, but now, apart from portability, it feels very natural. I like the click of brand new keys, no prongs to pierce my fingertips, no crumbs (as of yet) to get in the way. Nothing sticks, and I can keep on going without having to pause to  insert an asterisk. Small things make a big difference, and losing the use of a single key brings that to light in a very big way.

Having a new keyboard is also exciting because it makes me look forward to starting over with a new computer. A recent discussion with a writer friend about clearing the decks resonated. When I set up a guest account on my housemate’s computer, it was a fresh start, literally no old files under my name to clutter the current work, no pictures, however lovely or inspirational, to distract me from my work. All I could do, with a limited amount of time I could use that machine, was set up the bare minimum and get to telling the story. Which, after all, is the point of this entire endeavor. Tell stories, because that’s what I love to do best.

The last few years have been challenging, and in many ways, I’m not the same person I was when this much-loved laptop was shiny and new. There have been many goodbyes, many hellos, a change in geographical region that was, at once, taking a leap and coming home. So, it makes sense that new stories would come, and the thought of telling those new stories on a new machine, unencumbered with the past, excites me in a way I hadn’t expected. I do have to thank that dearly departed H for helping to bring me to that point. The key itself now sits in a place of honor on the desk I coveted since childhood, a reminder of the past to make a bridge to what is yet to come.

The adventure is only beginning.

From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction

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FanficFantasticFic

It’s now officially September, and once again, time for From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction over at Savvy Authors. I’ve always loved back to school season, even when I’ve been out of school for quite some time. Discounted school/office supplies (notebooks, notebooks, notebooks) are always welcome, but if I’m teaching my favorite online workshop, it’s even more appropriate. Even though it’s only the first of the month, and temperatures here in Upstate NY are going to be flirting with 90 for the next few days, I cannot tell my brain it is not yet fall, my most productive season, so when the chance to teach aligns with Back to School, I’m a happy camper…er, teacher.

It’s kind of funny calling myself a teacher. In another life, I did study early childhood education in college, but the most important thing I learned from those studies was that I didn’t want to pursue that profession. Nope, writing was going to be it for me, and really, I should have seen the signs. The way I couldn’t wait to run home from class and bang out a few pages of an “epic” historical romance novel on my electric typewriter. Dating myself here, I know, but that was state of the art back when the dinosaurs roamed. Diana R, wherever you are, I will always remember standing in the grocery store parking lot in Montpelier, VT, and feeling warmed down to my frozen toes when you told me how badly you wanted to visit the fictional European country in said manuscript (which now resides in a storage unit, where it cannot hurt anybody.)

That first novel was written before I even knew what fan fiction was, but in retrospect, the influences were clear to see. The story structure came from a favorite author whose epic historicals still hit the bestseller lists today. The hero was inspired, physically, by an actor on a show I wouldn’t miss for love or money, and the heroine had her start as a character I thought would be an interesting match for his character. Everybody got transported into a very vague version (alliteration intentional) of Tudor England (and fictional European country) and I threw absolutely everything I loved onto those pages. Angst, pathos, intrigue, star crossed lovers, and a love that would not bow, no matter what life threw at it.

Not much has changed in that last aspect, because writing those early stories, both fannish and not, taught me a lot about what elements go into a story that is mine, not anybody else’s. Tropes, types, and techniques are all useful tools, but the heart of the story comes from the writer’s loves. People, places, things, scents, sights, sounds, music, favorite books, movies, TV, even the whole shipping culture is a natural breeding ground for great romance stories. Sharing this journey with others always fills me with an extra dose of enthusiasm to put ink on paper and tell another tale.

Seats are still available, so hop on over to Savvy Authors and settle in; I’d love to see you there.

http://ce.savvyauthors.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=Calendar.eventDetail&eventId=1938

Throwback Thursday, Historical Romance Division

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Wild Bells to the Wild Sky by Laurie McBain

Wild Bells to the Wild Sky by Laurie McBain

It’s that time again.  Wild Bells to the Wild Sky, by Laurie McBain, is one of those books. The all time favorites, the ones where I have only to hear the names of the hero and heroine -in this case, Lily Christian and Valentine Whitelaw, how perfect are those?- to immediately reimmerse myself in their romance and adventure. 

This book has huge servings of both. Set in the Elizabethan era, largely on a deserted island, Lily and her brother grow up wild and in seclusion. Lily, her mother, and a family friend are the sole survivors of a shipwreck, the sole inhabitants of the island…until mother and friend produce Lily’s brother, that is. Ahem. Then fever takes the parents, and Queen Elizabeth sends courtier Valentine Whitelaw in search of the missing party, and then things really get interesting. 

History, intrigue, romance, fabulous locations, a clever heroine and dashing hero, gorgeous descriptions, and one of my top five historical romance endings of all time make this book one I go back to time and again. 

Since we’re waxing nostalgic on Thursdays, here are a few recent things I’ve been up to: 

Guest Post at Savvy Authors: From a Certain Perspective, It’s All Fan Fiction: From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction begins on September 1st, so I’m delighted to get to blabber about the useful tools we can find in the books, movies, tv and music we already love. Drop by and try a fun exercise to combine old favorites in new ways. 

Outlander “Sassenach” recap at Heroes and Heartbreakers: Cue incomprehensible squeeing, Jamie and Claire are now on the small screen, and I’ll be recapping each new episode as it airs. How cool is that, I get to watch Outlander and say I’m working. 

 1 Line Wednesday on Twitter, always a highlight of my week. 

 

What are you reading? 

So. This is me.

annabowling 8 Comments

authorphoto

It’s been rare, in recent years, for me to like any picture of myself. Which is okay; it’s been a funky few years, filled with changes, some welcome, others very much not. Life will do that, and when life does do that, it affects the writing life as well. Maybe I’m not cut out for this, we think. Maybe all of that writing stuff is behind me and taking care of family/doing the day job is where it’s at from here on out. We’ve all had thoughts like that, I’m guessing, from time to time. It makes for a disconnect of sorts, between the worlds in our heads and the world that everybody else can see. Tricky, to say the least. 

This doesn’t apply only to the face in the mirror, but the words on the page as well. It’s a weird place to be, yourself but not yourself. Things should work, but they don’t and it isn’t that the voices in our heads aren’t talking, because they are, but they somehow found a secret language they don’t feel like teaching us for the foreseeable future. It’s the same as looking in the mirror, understanding that yes, that’s what others see, but it’s not us. It’s not real. The problem is, getting the real of the insides of our heads out into the everybody-else-can-see-it world. 

For the physical, this is easy. Take better care of self, learn a new updo, swap out clothes of displeasing colors for those that make us happy. Try a bright/dark lipstick, play with accessories, dress the body you’ve got instead of a past or future one, learn what makes you feel and look good now. For the writing, there’s no foolproof plan. I wish there were. The closest I’ve been able to come is “read, read, read, and write, write, write.” There’s still a part of my brain, equipped with a bullhorn, screaming, “no, you can’t talk about this. You’re not successful enough. You’re not allowed.” This voice needs to be quiet, because this voice is wrong. This voice is looking in the wrong mirror. 

Yesterday, I spent some time with Sue Ann Porter and another friend, in Sue Ann’s beautiful front garden. I needed an author photo for my upcoming From Fanfiction to Fantastic Fiction workshop at Savvy Authors, and I didn’t have one. Well, I did, but it’s old enough to get married or join the military without parental permission. That wasn’t going to do. To quote a sweatshirt marketed at drill sergeants, “sweat dries, blood clots, bones heal; suck it up, buttercup.” I popped my camera in my bag and surveyed the perimeter. 

Fountain, good. I like fountains. Sue Ann and I roped another friend into being my stand-in so I could check the composition, then we took pictures. This picture, I like. This is me. This is a woman who writes romance and writes about romance. This picture can be attached to the work I am doing now, because when I look in this mirror and on these pages, what i see fits.