Reading

There Are No Reading Police

annabowling Leave a comment

I had plans for today’s blog entry, and I am going to ignore most of them. Apparently, the fact that I have them is enough for me to dive in with some measure of confidence, so will file that away for future use. Today, I’m snappish and grumpy, which is a sign of not enough sleep and feeling crowded, so, after I get this off my plate, it is time for a big ol’ mug of tea and some time in Sims 4. First, though, you get this.

Yesterday, Housemate and I went to the library. I headed straight to the romance section, and, within minutes, had my arms full of these:

 

tbr281216.jpg

“Nothing to read” will never be one of my problems.

Okay, not all of these. The last four. Use On the Jellicoe Road as the dividing line. That’s my third time trying to get into that one, and this time, I am going to make it. I get bogged down in the first fifty pages, but I’ve been told it’s worth it to make it through, so this is the time. :raises fist to sky (not Skye) for emphasis: That was another trip, though. This one was only for romance novels. One anthology, What Happens Under The Mistletoe, because I am helpless in the face of Christmas anthologies during the tucked away week (I am reading one right now on my Kindle, as a matter of fact) and it jumped off the shelf, recognizing its mistress. Okay, I saw Meredith Duran’s name on the cover. That helped. The Highlander, by Kerrigan Byrne, whose voice and use of emotion made me weep when I first discovered her, and the latest two installments in Elizabeth Hoyt’s Maiden Lane story world. (A book for Alf, finally, at last, pace yourself, girl, you have to read the other one first.) Respectable hunting trip, this one, especially as I hadn’t been expecting to take home anything at all, but that’s how these things tend to go this time of year.

My first thought, when I walked out of the library with four books in my bag was, “wow, their security is lax.” Uhhh, no, that wasn’t it. Don’t steal library books. Check them out. My actual first thought was “I have no right taking out four new books.” Because I have a full TBR shelf at home. Because I have a fully loaded Kindle. Because I have a storage unit with oodles of books in it. Because I have books yet to read for posts I am committed to write for other sites. because I am behind, oh woe, so behiiiiiind (please read that last word with an echo, if you can) on my own writing, as well as reading goals. Because a million things, really, but then my second thought cut off my first one.

My second thought was, “forget that. I have every right.” I have every right to read whatever books I want, whenever I want to read them. I have every right to drown myself in historical romance, should I want to do so (and I totally do) and gobble more, more, more, more, until it oozes out of my pores and onto the pages I create. There are no reading police (and, if there are, I do not recognize their authority.) Read what you want, when you want, however you want it. Nobody else has to like it. Probably, nobody else cares. Maybe those who follow me on Goodreads (I’m here) or read my posts on this blog and other sites, but that’s it.

There are no reading police. Whatever genre you love, great. Read it. Breathe it. Gobble it. Swim in it. While I stood there in the romance section, a trio of teenage girls stood behind me, in a nearby section, giggling over how silly the books in that section were to them, to the point of grabbing books and giving each other playful shoves. Even with all that, they left with at least one book, even if it looked “dumb” to them, or if they wanted others to think they found that sort of book beneath them. Part of me wanted to turn around, take the “dumb” book from them, flip it over to read the blurb, and say it looked interesting; I’d take it if they didn’t want it.

I didn’t do that, as A) I had enough books of my own, and wanted to get home and decide in which order to read them (hint: it’s depicted in the image above) and B) hey, these young women are reading. When I was their age, I lived with a single father, who was adamantly against the romance genre on principle, but it called to me and I answered the call, and have never regretted that for one single second. I remember what it was like to sneak around the library, tucking what historical romances I could find from the spinner racks under my arm. I don’t know these young women, I don’t know what brought them to that section, if this is a new genre they are exploring, or one they already love, but think others might form opinions of them for it. I don’t know what the “dumb” book is, or if they really do read books to mock them, but I do know how I felt, walking downstairs with my own carefully chosen haul.

 

I felt more complete, as though I’d gone to the shelf, found pieces of myself that I’d been missing, and put them back into place. Maybe that’s what these young women were doing, whether they knew it or not. It’s none of my business what they read or why they read it (unless they are reading my books,. which they totally should do, because there’s a new Kat Von D palette at Sephora, but that’s beside the point) but I’m glad they were there. Read on, heroines of tomorrow. Whatever the heck you want.

Typing With Wet Claws: Christmas Eve Eve Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today is Christmas Eve Eve, the day before the day before Anty’s favorite day of the year. it is also the birthday of a fictional character that has lived in her head a really, really long time and probably wants to get into a book at some point. Anty thinks about things like this a lot. Today, Uncle is helping me hold still for my picture because I kept moving around when Anty tried to get the picture. I did not mind much, because that meant I got Uncle scritches. He gives the very best ones, because he is my Uncle.

Before I talk about anything else, like the fact that I peed on my catnip mouse -I did not actually pee on the mouse, but it did sustain collateral damage. I will talk about that later.- I have to talk about what Anty wrote this week, because that is our deal. As always, Anty has her Saturday Discussion post at Buried Under Romance. This week, her topic was the big books, the ones that don’t have to go on a coffee table because they could be the coffee table, they are that thick. Unless they are e-books, then they are a file, and I do not know of any coffee tables that are files. Except fot the ones in the Sims games, because those whole worlds are files. I think. Anyway, Anty’s post is here, and it looks like this:

 

burbigbooks

Anty likes big books and she cannot lie…

Speaking of big books, Anty read a couple more this week, and then wrote about them on Goodreads. One of those books was The Twelve Days of Dash and Lily, by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. It is a YA book, and the sequel to Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares, which is one of Anty’s all time favorite YA books, and one of her favorite Christmas books, which means she was very happy to learn that this book existed, and even happier to read it. Her review can be found here, and it looks like this:

12daysdashlily

 

 

Anty also read Dark Champion, by Jo Beverley, which is a medieval historical romance. Jo Beverley only wrote four medieval novels. Most of her other books are Georgian, which Anty loves, and Regency, which is very popular, so having these medieval is a real treat for Anty. You can read her review here, and it looks like this:

darkchampionbeverley

Anty has also been working on her own books, of course, but I am not allowed to post parts of those here. That is for after they are done and published. Then that would be called “excerpts.” Writers like when people (and kitties, I assume) share excerpts of their work. Maybe I can do that with the books Anty already has out, in the new year.

Right now, it is still the old year, and Anty is getting ready to celebrate all that comes along with that, for humans and kitties alike. This is the part where I can talk about whatever I want. I will start with the catnip mouse part. Regular readers will know that I have special paws, so I do not climb or jump (I am okay, though, and I can walk and run and play perfectly fine.) I do not like to use a litterbox, because I do not like the sides, so I picked a special spot on the floor to do my liquid stuff, and that is the only place I do it. Ever. I am very consistent about that.

Because the house we live in was built a very, very long time ago, (if Anty wrote a book set in the year our house was built, it would count as a historical) the floors slant, and, sometimes, when I make my liquid stuff, it flows in a downward direction. That is what happened this time, and, this time, the catnip mousie Anty got me got caught in the flow. This was not a big deal to me, because I do not care about catnip, and I do not care about toys that do not move. If a toy is moving, the it is fun to catch it. If it is not, then meh. Where’s the challenge in hunting prey that is already dead? That is why Anty and Uncle are talking about getting me toys that move on their own, or with help from my humans. I will be interested to see what sorts of toys those are. I suppose I will find out on Christmas morning.

This is the part where I relate something in my week to the business of writing. That is one of the duties of a good mews, and I want to be a very good mews. What stands out to me most is the part about prey. Sometimes, a writer will have an idea that will only go so far. After it stops moving, and it will not start moving again, it might then be time for the writer to find something that is still alive and work on that. If a fictional character, for example, is still hanging around the writer’s head after double digit years have passed, that might be a good place to start. Right now, Anty has plenty that is moving on its own, but if she gets stuck after that, she will know where to look.

Anty says it is time to wrap things up because she needs the computer now, so I guess that is about it for this week. Whatever holiday you are celebrating (or have celebrated) this season, I hope that it is (or was) a good one. I will share all about ours next week. Until next week, happy holidays, and I remain very truly yours,

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

skyebye

 

Time After Time

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My original concept for this entry was to write about my adventures as a historical nomad, and that’s still probably where things are ultimately going. First, though, a slight detour. When I logged into Facebook this morning, it showed me my daily memory, a link to my first Hypercritical Gremlins post, here:

https://annacbowling.wordpress.com/2015/12/21/hypercritical-gremlin-interview-part-one/

Technically, it’s the Hypercritical Gremlins’ birthday. Okay, not technically, as they did exist before I gave them a name or a voice on my blog, but funny thing about that; giving them blog space took away some of their power. They’ve been mostly quiet of late, and I consider that to be a good thing. I finished my initial draft of Her Last First Kiss, and Melva and I are a good chunk of the way into  the Beach Ball, so yeah, I think letting the gremlins out once in a while actually has some benefits. Happy Birthday, guys. I’d lob a cupcake into the closet for them, but A) I do not have any cupcakes, and B) if I did, I would not throw them into closets. Maybe a couple of pieces of hard candy will suffice. Spirit of the thing, more than the letter of it, and all that stuff.

Back to historical nomad-ness. Vagabondary? Whatever I want to call it, I’ve always been that way. When I was but a wee little princess, I lumped all historical eras into what my father called “the olden days.” I seriously thought that was how it worked, which was A) kind of confusing, and B) partially explains how it made perfect sense for me to reenact the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet with my Jane and Johnny west figures. I want to say I was maybe four? Five? At any rate, young. I grew up on fairy tales, and my dad’s strong interest in the 1920s. We lived in Westchester County, NY, where relics of the Revolutionary war were commonplace; stone walls built by the Dutch settlers still marked land boundaries, and the town itself had been burned to the ground during the war, but for one house (Can a historical romance writer hear that and not get ideas about why that one house was spared? No, she cannot.) and there is a fence around the Bedford Oak, which is more than five hundred years old and still hanging in there. Talk about living history.

We also made frequent trips into NYC, where the turn of the century (and prior) architecture still holds echoes of times long past. Not all that different from where I currently live, in Albany. A five minute walk will take me to Washington Park, where continental army soldiers drilled. The name, Schuyler, is everywhere, and yes, those Schuylers, Hamilton fans. I remember, once, when my mom levied the worst possible punishment (no idea what I did, but she had her reasons) for teeny me -I had to sit facing a blank wall and not talk to her for x amount of time- I was allowed paper and crayons (likely for her sanity more than my amusement) and spent my time figuring out what the planets would have been named if the names were taken from different pantheistic  mythologies than what they were. This was entirely my own idea, and I was pretty heavy into mythology when I was in about first grade, so it was probably then. I remember asking her if there was any kind of grownup job that involved reading myths all the time, and she said no, there was not. Guess she forgot about “writer,” because that’s where I landed. Stories are, and always will be, my happy place, even if that place moves around a lot.

I popped my current paperback read, The Queen’s Christmas Summons, into today’s deskscape because of the sheer strength of the grabby hands I made at it as soon as I saw it on the shelves at Barnes and Noble. Standalone (as far as I know; if it’s not, please do not disillusion me; it’s Christmas, or nearly so, and I do love my standalones) Christmas Tudor Romance. Did Amanda McCabe (another historical nomad, as she’s written Tudor, Regency, and 1920s so far; must investigate further) read my diary? No, she did not, because I do not have one, but if I could have designed the perfect concept for the sort of book I was in the mood for when I went to the store that day, that would be it, to the letter. There may or may not have been happy dancing right there in the aisle. (Okay, there was.) The Tudor era was the first one I fell in love with as a setting for historical romance, and I chased after it like a madwoman. Not used a lot these days in historical romance (and whyever not, because it’s perfect for it, but that’s another topic) but I love it all the same. Ditto for a later discovery, the Stuart > English Civil War/Interregum> Restoration era(s,) which I touched on in Orphans in the Storm.

My Outcast Heart, my first published novel, is set in 1720 Bedford, NY, where I spent the first ten years of my life. and still a favorite place to visit. Queen of the Ocean took me to 16th century (technically, my first Tudor era romance; I did not even put that together until right now) Cornwall, and Never Too Late brought me to turn of the twentieth century (aka Edwardian.) England and Italy.  Her Last First Kiss could be set nowhere else but Georgian England, which seems to be my current default, back to the era that surrounded me in my childhood, even if it’s on the other side of the pond. I still have my postapocalyptic (oh, tell me the Black Plague wasn’t an apocalypse to the survivors, and we are going to wrangle) medieval romance to finish editing, and I don’t think my historical travels are going to end there.

TLDR (too long, didn’t read) version: I love history. I love romance. I love historical romance, in all its various eras and places and tying myself down to one is not going to work. So, I don’t. Love is love, in any era, no matter how hard life might have been. Isn’t it in the hardest times that we need love the most? Must’ve worked, because we’re all here, so people did fall in love and make more people back in the olden days, or there wouldn’t be any contemporary folk.  That whole “proof of a thousand loves” thing: I’m sticking with that.

Typing With Wet Claws: Happy Anniversary To Me Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This is a very special edition, because yesterday was my ninth anniversary of getting adopted and becoming a pet. I was ten months old when Mama and Anty came to the shelter to get me. I had been living there since I was six months old. Before that, I was wild, because I was born that way. I did not stay that way, though, because the rescue people found me when I got hurt by a car, and they took care of me until my humans could find me. I did not know what was happening on my adoption day. The rescue humans put me in a carrier, like when they took me to the pokey place. I did not want to go the pokey place and see a vet, but that is not what happened.

What happened was that Mama and Anty came to the shelter. They did not know I was already in the carrier, so they talked about how much they wanted to meet the kitty they were going to take home. They talked about how Olivia, their other cat, had gone to Rainbow Bridge, and how sad they were because of that. I did not want these nice humans to be sad, because that made me sad, too. I was already sad, so that means I got sadder, but the story is not over there (obviously, because you are reading this.) The rescue humans showed Mama and Anty where I was, and then they got happy, because of me. They asked if I wanted to come live with them and if they could call me Skye. I think my response was something like, “um, okay?” because I still did not know what was going on, but other humans who came to take kitties to that home place were always happy. Happy humans are my favorite kind. One of the rescue humans helped put my carrier in Mama’s car, and Anty called Uncle at his work to let him know I was coming home. She told him other things, too, like what kind of kitty I was (Maine Coon, which I still am) and what color I was (brown tabby) and that I had a ginger spot on my head (it is the only orange fur on my whole entire me) and that I was scared but still a good kitty.

Everybody was very patient with me while I got used to being in my new home. Anty even thought it was funny when I tried to nurse on her toe (Anty says we miss one hundred percent of the shots we don’t take) and now it is one of her favorite Baby Skye stories. She says that adopting me crossed “Christmas kitten” off her bucket list (maybe that is one of the reasons “Skye Bucket” is one of her names for me?) but being adopted by my humans crossed “get a home” off mine. It is a good home.

It does not, however, get me out of talking about Anty’s writing (she let me go first this week because it was my adoptiversary.) As usual, Anty has her post at Buried Under Romance to share with you. This week, she talked about romance novels and related items as holiday gifts (if you have gifts yet to buy for reading friends, books are good ones. Especially Anty’s. Anty gets really happy when people buy her books.) That post is here: http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/12/saturday-discussion-the-gift-of-romance.html#comment-9289 and it looks like this:

bur121216

 

Anty also has a new post at Heroes and Heartbreakers, where she talks about six of the shippiest moments on This Is Us. Anty loves writing and she loves This is Us, so this was a fun piece for her to write. Is your favorite couple/moment listed? (My favorite moment was finding out that Clooney, the cat, was okay and even got extra pettings. I hope that was not a spoiler.) That post is here:

http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/12/best-this-is-us-moments-of-season-one#comments and it looks like this:

 

handhthisisus

But can we really feel too much? Really?

Another thing Anty wrote about this week was something that helped her pursue three goals at the same time: reading more historical romance, feeling more Christmassy, and writing more about what she reads. That is all because she read My First Noel, by Danelle Harmon, who is a favorite author anyway, (and a very nice human, even if she does have dogs and a horsie. rather than cats.) This book was Miss Danelle’s first time writing in the inspirational genre. Anty was all over that from the concept alone. Her review is posted here:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1839106619?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1 and it looks like this:

goodreadsharmonnoel

 

 

If you would like to see all of Anty’s reviews she posts on Goodreads, you can find them here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/8485744-anna?shelf=read. If you have read any of Anty’s books so far, and would like to write a review of them, or you are interested in reading them, you can find them on her “I Wrote It” shelf, which is here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/8485744-anna?shelf=i-wrote-it. Anty would like to say thank you to all the new Goodreads friends she made this week. She is always up for more Goodreads friends, and has plans to make her “I Wrote It” shelf bigger in the coming year. I will keep you all up to date on that front, as I am very dedicated to my duties as a mews.

That is about it for this week, so I will give the computer back to Anty so she can play with her imaginary friends, and make more books for you to read. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

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

 

Historical Romance Reading Rambles

annabowling 8 Comments

Welp, the original topic of this blog entry went out the window. I was going to post about not making my Goodreads reading goal, only to find out there were books I’d read in 2016, for which I did not record a date finished, so my count went over and above the goal. This surprises me. I didn’t think it was that many, but pretty decent showing.

My reading has been almost evenly split this year, between historical romance and realistic YA, with a handful of contemporary romance/women’s fiction thrown into the mix, and some grace notes of general fiction and graphic novels along the way. My goal for 2017 is to go back to my first love, and have historical romance comprise the majority of my reading for this coming year. We’ll see how that goes. I feel kind of funny about that, and kind of funny about feeling kind of funny about it.

The YA binge I’ve been on for the last year or so has brought a lot of new voices into my reading experience. I love the intense emotions I find in these novels, which often deal with serious changes in the life of the protagonist. I love that the genre has a good amount of standalone novels, which I have been sorely missing in historical romance. One story, complete in one volume, has always been my favorite, and I’ve been reading long enough to hazard a guess that things are not going to change in that regard. So, finding another genre in which I can get that sort of story is a good thing.

Historical romance, though; that’s still my first and favorite, and I feel guilty that I haven’t been reading as much of it as I would like to be. Right off the top of my head, I can think of a couple of reasons. If I am going to read linked books, which can seem like the only choice when shopping in mainstream markets, then I have to start at book one. This is not negotiable. That’s how I roll. To me, it’s one story, in multiple volumes, and skipping around is not going to do it for me. It’s like walking in during the middle of a movie. I’d be all “who’s that guy?” and “what’s she doing here?” and “why does everybody keep talking about how they’re not going to discuss XYZ?” If I have no idea what XYZ is, I also have no idea why it’s a big secret; I’m not intrigued, only annoyed. I also think I was born without the Regency gene. I checked. It’s not there. Go figure, most popular setting in my favorite genre, and I don’t get it. Sure, I’ll read books with this setting, but my heart is most firmly lodged between the end of the Wars of the Roses and the end of the American Revolution (Oh, Hamilton, you came at the right time.)

Not that this doesn’t mean there aren’t other settings out there. Did I put a double negative in there? I am not going to backtrack and check, because burning daylight here, and I want to get some of that actual writing into the day. Long story short (pun totally intended) what I’m planning on doing for my 2017 reading is to find and join a historical romance reading challenge (if you  know of any, dear readers of mine, please point me in the appropriate direction in the comment section, or drop me an email.) and make a conscious effort to hunt down books with the elements that make me do grabby hands at the mere mention of a book’s existence. Such as:

  • standalone story; no prequel, sequel, spinoff or companion, complete in itself
  • historical setting between 15th-18th centuries
  • historical verisimilitude: characters need to be people of their time
  • darker rather than lighter tone
  • authorial voice that grabs me; I’ll know it when I hear/read it

 

None of this means I’m going to eschew books that don’t meet the above criteria (but, again, if a book ticks every box on that list, give it to me, and give it to me, now. I need it.) I remember a time when I used to blaze through 400+ page books in a day. That seems like another life, but, then again, why can’t it be this one? Historical romance is what I love the very best, and yet I feel a disconnect. That means I need more. It has to be a priority. Hence the search for a challenge, because I am competitive like that. If I set a goal, then I am going to reach that goal, thankyouverymuch. Plus, I get to read books.

 

Does That Mean There Is Quietermilk?

annabowling 2 Comments

Days become weeks
Weeks become months
Months become way back when

      -Kait Kerrigan and Brian Lowdermilk, “Holding On”

During the weekend, I had an idea for this blog entry. Do not ask me what that idea was, because I do not know anymore. I am not even going to try and take a wild guess. Not even a stab in its general direction. That ship has sailed, so what you get instead is blabber, because “blog entry” is the next thing on my to-do list, and sleep was not that great this weekend, which means my mind is a muddle. Which means it is time to impose some order on chaos. Which means making lists and prioritizing.

Today’s quote is from the musical, Tales From the Bad Years. No, I’ve never seen it, but I have been listening to many of the songs from it repeatedly over the last couple of weeks. I haven’t played any Christmas music yet, which is unusual for me. I mean nothing. Seriously. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nada. I’m not not-in the Christmas spirit, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. Maybe that’s because the decorations are still not up. Fingers crossed for tomorrow. Maybe then it will feel real. We’ve had sickies in our house for the last…three weeks? Four? Maybe that has something to do with it. I have Christmas books at hand, and have not cracked the covers on any of them, either.

No, wait, that’s not right. I am reading For Christmas, Forever, by Barbara Samuel, originally published under her Ruth Wind pseudonym, on my phone. I don’t read a lot of category romance, but I would read Barbara Samuel’s grocery list in a heartbeat. Pounce on that sucker like a starving hyena, I would, and that might be underselling my theoretical behavior. We need to make that clear at the outset. Still, I don’t read a lot of category, and the combination of intrigue and Christmas has me in uncharted territory, but the voice is still there, and that’s what I wanted (besides the whole Christmas angle) so that balances things out. Combine that with my devouring of Matthew Quick novels (be forewarned, I may get whiny when I finish the ones I have on hand, because then I will have read all currently published ones; why do I keep doing this to myself, again?) and rationing Dark Champion, the second of Jo Beverley’s medieval historical romances (I do sorely wish she had written more medieval, but there are loads of her Regencies and some of her Georgians I have not yet read. She is, sadly, another one who has left us, so when I am done, I will be done. At least with reading new to me titles for the first time.)

But back to the music. I wish I could say how it was I stumbled across the Kerrigan-Lowdermilk team, but I am going to say it was either Spotify or YouTube. I like to follow bunny trails, of things I might like, based on things I already like, and I’ve been using both of the above frequently as of late, so it’s probably one of the two. When an authorial voice catches my attention like that, I like to hunt down as much of it as I can. When that voice belongs to a songwriting team, and said songs are in the realm of musical theater, that makes my blood do a skippity skip, because that means that there are, somewhere out there, a plethora of different interpretations of the same songs, by different performers.

I love that kind of thing. I can find Actor A’s performance of Song X, take that in, find what I like about it and what I would direct them to do differently, then take in different takes on the material by Actor B, Actor C, Actor D, etc. Gender flipped, with or without changes in pronouns, solos divided into duets or multiple singers, and vice versa. Stage performances, cabaret, concert, professional, student, etc, etc. Bring all of that stuff right on over here, because it goes straight into ye olde creative well.

On the official page for Tales From The Bad Years, (find it here: http://kerrigan-lowdermilk.com/shows/tales-from-the-bad-years) the blurb about the show concludes with “There’s no doubt that the bad years make the best stories.” That resonated with me, and reminds me that it was the very title, Tales From The Bad Years, that told me this was something I had to investigate. I’m glad I did. Though I haven’t seen the show, or read the script, I’ve listened to the available songs, so, if I had to shelve it in a genre, I would put it in New Adult. Again, not a genre, in the contemporary fiction sense, with which I have any degree of familiarity, apart from the Going The Distance series by Lark O’Neal (http://www.larkoneal.com/) -who is also Barbara Samuel, go figure- but I very clearly got the “Yes. That.” reaction, so I’m listening. A lot. Rolling it around in my head, and letting it seep into my heart. We’ll see what sticks, what combines with all the other things that are in there already, and what else is going into the tank at the same time.

Writers are, by nature, omnivores. If it waves a tentacle at us, and if we grab onto that tentacle, it’s going into us. Becoming part of us. Coming out again in some other form that is our version of that. Calling us to come to a higher level. Making us want to be that good. Work that hard. Make something that has the same effect on somebody else, we would hope. We don’t always know what it’s going to do to us when we recognize it, but that moment when we know that yes, that new thing we like, it’s ours now, that’s something we need to hold onto and see where it takes us

The lines at the top of this entry are one of those things that stick. The inevitable passage of time, the reminder that my track record for getting through stuff has been 100% so far, so odds are that’s probably going to continue. Not smooth sailing all the way, because how boring would a story like that be, seriously? The knowledge that a current stressor will one day be a story to tell, of something that happened “way back when,” that’s encouraging. I can work with that.

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Successfully Extended Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I think that I would probably be blogging today, even if it were not Friday, because Anty is in a mood. Anty did not sleep that great last night, and she had to make two trips to the Laundromat this morning. It was almost three. When she came home from the second trip, she noticed right away that there was a particular aroma. That aroma was my um, stuff. A big stuff, actually, right near the apartment door, and exactly where Anty’s foot went when she took her first step inside. Anty leaves her outside shoes on the landing, so she took that step in her stocking foot, and her step turned into a skid. Uncle says he cannot describe the sound Anty made, but he knew it had to be something interesting. He was right.  Anty had to do some creative walking to get to the bathroom so she could put her dirty socks in the next laundry bin, and get my scoop so she could get rid of my stuff. Then she fed me, so it all worked out okay in the end.

Before I talk about anything else, I need to talk about Anty’s writing first. Her most recent post at Buried Under Romance is here:
http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/11/saturday-discussion-making-a-reading-list-and-checking-it-twice.html

and it looks like this:

bur

Anty also posted a review of a book that had a big effect on her, Every Exquisite Thing, by Matthew Quick, on Goodreads. If I ever get a turtle brother (I do not think that is likey, but one never knows) Anty says his name will be Unproductive Ted, because of a turtle that is a book that is in this book. I did not mistype that (even though I have special paws) – there is a book inside this book that is special to the main character and her friends. Anty had to hug this book after she finished reading it, and she went right back to the library, to get two more books by the same author. Those had a similar effect on her, and she will probably talk about that more, later. For now, her review is here:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1823317233

and it looks like this:

goodreadseet

 

Anty is going to find more books by this author, so she can figure out what she likes about his work this much, and how she can incorporate it in her historical romance writing. One of his books, Silver Linings Playbook, was made into a movie, and it won an Oscar, which is the award for really good movie things. Anty is going to watch that movie, too, but she does not know when. She has a lot going on these days, especially now that she and Mama got the wifi booster. The booster worked, and now Anty can talk to the interwebs from her office. When she goes into her office to work, I either wait outside the door, if it is only a little time she is in there. If she is in there a longer time, I will go sleep by her recliner, because I know she will go there eventually. Yesterday, she wrote a chapter for her book with Anty Melva, and got it all done in one go, because she was able to concentrate. Anty said that felt super good. I still think she might want to consider getting rid of that carpet, because then I would spend more time in there with her.

Christmas decorations are slated to go up tomorrow, but it is not out of the question for things to get bumped back a little further if something unexpected comes up; Anty loves to get her decorations up as soon as possible, but she is also a realist. Sometimes, things happen. The decorations will get put up in plenty of time for Christmas, so there is no use getting all concerned about it. In the same way, the books are going to get written, and they are going to find their ways into the hands of readers, so there is no use in getting worried about that, either.

As long as Anty keeps moving forward with both books (and with her posts for other sites) then she will, probably before she knows it, find herself at The End. Then it will be time to write more books. She has to remind herself to focus on this book now (actually these books now, because she is working on two) but that does not mean she cannot make notes and file them away for later. That is actually a good thing, because Anty does best when her tank is filled, and she knows what she is doing. The more she knows before it is time to start writing the story, the easier the writing goes. Anty says the view is pretty good from up there, back in the saddle.

That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

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

 

 

 

I am a Weeble

annabowling 2 Comments

First things first: I do not have high hopes for this blog entry. My cold has officially entered week two. I am currently wrestling with in-store pickup for a purchased item that told me I would have it by the 23rd. It is now the 28th. I very strongly want to show up on the item’s one-weeki-versary with a cupcake and balloons, perhaps party hats, and insist on taking a selfie with the worker who “guaranteed” it would be available on Saturday. Item is in store, but being “processed.” Um, long process, dudes. There will be feedback on this one, oh yes there will.

Today, I have made myself get dressed, put on makeup and head to my favorite coffee house, because the need to do normal things is overwhelming. Note that I did not list “do my hair” in the preparations to leave the house, because I have honestly forgotten what  one does with face framing layers, and it’s only one day post wash. Yep. Been in the house too long. I forgot to ask the barista for my customary splash of skim milk, which means my tea now has a splash of the community half and half. Cookie is less because I am getting down to Serious Novel Writing, and more because I have not had lunch and did not want to cook. One look at refrigerator full of delicious Thansgiving leftovers, and nothing but nope. I am dealing with my laptop’s touchpad, because I was too tired to pack the mouse, and wrangling with the mouse cord is not worth the aggravation.

Yesterday, I inhaled Every Exquisite Thing, by Matthew Quick (Skye will provide the link to my rambling review on Friday) and am now emotionally eviscerated. Also mourning a fictional character, and would compare the events of that character needing to be mourned with events of a similar nature in another book whose title and author escape me, but I think I can take a reasonably good stab at the author. At any rate, there’s a similarity in the circumstances, and I’d like to see if I could work that into a historical romance at some point in the future. EET was YA fiction, and the other book, hmmm, I’m going to say horror. Maybe. With YA elements.

This all makes me want to spend more time on historical romance, and I have high hopes for my next few historical romance reads, as well as a clearer focus on returning to the next scene in Her Last First Kiss, so that’s all good.  I also owe half a scene from the Beach Ball, which I hope to get done in the next couple of days, because a) my collaborator, Melva, deserves a reward for her legendary patience, and b) I want this story to progress, because there is more yet to come.

Earlier this week, I’d braved the elements (and Black Friday crowds) because certain things had to be done, even if what I wanted to do was watch Netflix from my blanket fort. As part of that outing, I had lunch at a favorite establishment with Housemate, and talk turned to work. Specifically mine. I asked her how she’d describe my author brand to someone who had never read me before. Since this is a fairly large people group, this question is extremely relevant to my interests. Her answer involved the phrase, “getting back on the horse” and moving forward (even with setbacks) in the face of adversity, in fiction as well as nonfiction.

“So, basically,” I said to her, when she was done, “I’m a Weeble?”

The gist of her response can be whittled down to, “Pretty  much.”

Okay. I can live with that. Seriously, what’s the alternative? Not getting back up after life knocks one down? Not going on, even if it means dancing on phantom limbs or heading off in a slightly or completely different direction? Yeah, no. Not going to do that. That’s not in me. I tried. It didn’t work. It’s not in my characters, either; not in my heroes and heroines, no matter when or where they lived. Apple trees can only grow apples. I want to grow as many apples as I possibly can, and make them into a whole smorgasbord of dishes.

So that’s where I am on this fine Monday morning, now firmly in the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Decorations at Stately Bowling Manor would have been going up directly after Thanksgiving dinner, but sick me, so tomorrow is the next projected date. As much as it’s irritating to have to wait for things like that, they payoff is worth it. That moment when Real Life Romance Hero and I tell Housemate to turn off all the lights, and we get that first glimpse of the living room lit by nothing but Christmas lights, that’s where the magic is. Every year, we call it the best tree ever, and, every year, it is.

That’s what I’m shooting for when I type (or co-type) the end on HLFK and the Beach Ball. Best books ever. Well, mine (and semi-mine) at least. That’s all any of us writer types can aim for, with each new endeavor. Make this the best one. Fall down? Yep, going to happen. If it hasn’t, then it only hasn’t happened yet. Fall down? Get up. Get back on the horse. Keep going. I guess it’s my inherent Weeble-ness that keeps things going at times, and I am okay with that.

 

 

 

 

Sick Day

annabowling Leave a comment

Sandpaper throat, foggy head, low energy, and coughing fits that make me fairly certain it is indeed possible to cough up one’s own internal organs can only mean one thing. The traditional Thanksgiving week (or at least late fall/early winter) cold has arrived. Yesterday was also the first snow of the season, the holiday lights are up in the park that is literally five minutes walk from my front door. I had planned to walk through said park and take in the lights, while drinking hot cocoa from my favorite coffee house, but that, obviously, is not what happened.

What happened was that I woke on Saturday with that feeling that something was off, but we had Saturday stuff to do, and I am a big old stoic, which meant power on through it. About halfway through errands, well past the point of no return, my body had some choice words for me. As soon as we got home and put groceries away, I flopped. If there is one thing taking a sick day or two is good for, it is sneaking in some extra reading time. I have now officially read all published Bertrice Small historical romance novels.

bowlingfallbackintime

This is both a good and a sad thing. On the one hand, I have now read all published Bertrice Small historical romance novels. On the other hand, I have now read all published Bertrice Small historical romance novels. For new readers (hello, and welcome) Bertrice Small is the reason I got into historical romance in the first place. That moment of cracking my purloined copy (from my mom’s nightstand) of The Kadin was pure magic. Destiny, some might say, or calling. All that I know was that I, even at far-too-young-t0-be-reading-that-book, knew there was something mine in those pages.  One guess as to the topic of my next book report. Bless Mrs. Potter for rolling with it. Also for the A, and asking if I wanted to be a writer, because yes.

Strong heroines, heroes worthy of them, and love stories played out against the pageant of history, that’s what grabbed me then, and what I still love the very best now. Since I’d been saving the very last book I had not yet read by the author who sparked my love for the genre for a special occasion, a sick weekend seemed like the ticket. So, that’s it. Now what? Reading-wise, that’s not a question. I have a stack of library books, a fully loaded Kindle, and fully stocked TBR shelves, so I am not lacking for books to read.

There’s that pang, though, that this is it. I’ve read all there is to read in this genre by this author. I want to live with that for a while, roll it around in my brain as I continue on. Thought processes while brain is sick-fogged are probably not ones fit for public consumption, but there’s something in there. Bertrice Small has been an influence, absolutely, and, while our books are not exactly the same (she’s written and sold a heck of a lot more, for one thing, and the content is a little, ah, different in certain areas) there was a seed planted when I snuck that book off my mom’s nightstand, and I am forever grateful. I don’t think it’s any accident that it comes at the time it does.

I’ve passed a milestone birthday, first snow of the year, frustrated at being sick when I want to be doing stuff, and yet – there is always an “and yet”- this fits, somehow. Writer people who know the  Hero’s Journey also know that the mentor can never make it all the way to the end. There comes a point where the hero (or heroine) has to go the rest of the way on their own. They’ve been taught all the mentor has to teach, and now it’s their time. A new chapter begins.

Right now, I’m sitting here in my recliner, bundled in pajama pants and hooded sweatshirt, looking out at gray clouds that are not yet done sifting snow down up0n us. This, again, will not be a walk through the park evening. It will, however, be a bundle under the blankey evening, with a good book or two (or ten) and, maybe, depending on how industrious I feel, a legal pad, because the voices in my head don’t take sick days.

Typing With Wet Claws: Turn Off and Tune In Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. As usual, I have to tell you about things Anty wrote this week, before I am allowed to talk about anything else, even though there is a major holiday coming in fewer than seven days. For those of you who were wondering, I am not allowed to eat people food, but I will get a special turkey cat food so I can celebrate Thanksgiving, too. I am very thankful that I live in an apartment and have humans who love me, and that I get to write my own blog once a week. How many cats can say that?

Talking about Anty’s writing is the price I pay, which is not entirely a bad thing. This week, it is a little different, because there was some collateral damage resulting from efforts to get that blog back in fighting trim (that is a fancy, old-timey phrase that means read to go) and some posts did not make it. We will have a moment of silence for those posts. All right, the moment is over. What I can do is point you to the page where you can read all of Anty’s posts at Buried Under Romance. There will be a new one up tomorrow, so we can all look forward to that. The link to all her surviving posts is here:

http://www.buriedunderromance.com/author/annab

and it looks like this:

01bur

Okay, only part of the page looks like that, but I already showed what the top of the page looked like before, so this is a different part of the page. Anty is very happy to have a place to talk about different things regarding romance novels every week, because, trust me, she can go on about that stuff all day. Sometimes, she does.

Which brings me to our topic for this week, here. The first part of the week was not Anty’s favorite part. She did not like the lost wallet part (but she did like the finding it again part) or the getting caught in the rain part. She did not like the part where two of her friends’ pets went to Rainbow Bridge, or when another friend got some news she had hoped she would not hear. There is a lot of noise on Facebook and other social media, and, at one point in the middle of this week, Anty wanted it to stop.

So, Anty made it stop. Every morning, Anty makes tea and goes into her office, to write her morning pages first thing. Usually, then, she will leave the office, turn on her computer and go about the regularly scheduled parts of her day. This week was different. This week, for a big chunk of it, she stayed in her office. It feels calm in there, it is very close to the kitchen (for the making of more tea, which is very important to Anty) and she has all her writing things around her. Well, except for her laptop. That is usually in the living room, when she is home, because the modem is in the living room, and Anty’s office is at the other end of the apartment. Computer connection is not the greatest all the way out there, but that does not, as Anty found out, have to be a bad thing.

Anty likes writing her morning pages, because they get her brain in writing mode, and she does not do anything else (besides drink tea, that is) while she is writing them. On one of her morning pages spreads, she wrote about how she is grumpy because she does not have the reading time she would like to have. That makes it harder to get into story mode. It is like feeding a race horse, or putting gas in a car. To perform, there needs to be fuel. (Also, feeding kitties. Feeding kitties is extremely important. Anty is very good at feeding kitties.)  This week, Anty added reading to her morning pages time, and that worked very well. When Anty took in story, she found it was easier to put out story.

Yesterday, Anty got done with her morning pages, and her morning reading, and felt as though she was not done after all. She took out an old notebook she had started, many years ago (Olivia was the family cat when she got this notebook, that is how long ago it was) to write about her reading process. She wrote two whole pages in that, without even any effort. That felt good, but there was still more she wanted to do. That is when she saw a Picadilly notebook with butterflies all over it. She had been wanting to start a notebook to talk about personal style (that means things like hair and makeup and clothes, and things like that.) She already knew she wanted to use a particular pen and ink with that one, but she had never taken that notebook out of its wrapper. That day, she did, and wrote five pages in that one. If you are following the math, that is two morning pages, two reading book pages and five style book pages. That is nine pages, all before she opened her office door to go get more tea.

Anty will be the first to admit that those pages were not novel work, but what they did was get her in a writing mood, so that when she was done with them, the next thing she wanted to do was write on her stories. Time to open those notebooks and take out those pens and get down to business. She even took notebooks and pens to the coffee house with her, instead of her laptop. Revolutionary, I know, but it was the same thing. Once she put pen to paper, she wanted to keep on going. I think that is a very good thing.

That is about it for this week, because Anty does need some computer time after all, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

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