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Autopilot

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“No story is a straight line. The geometry of a human life is too imperfect and complex, too distorted by the laughter of time and the bewildering intricacies of fate to admit the straight line into its system of laws.”
 –Pat Conroy

This isn’t the blog post I’d intended to write, or when I intended to write it. This should, theoretically, have been Monday’s post, but Monday was a holiday, and, since I’ve been dealing with a bout of insomnia, I’m on the punchy side of things. This will pass in time, but, in the meantime, there comes that moment. Sun comes up after a long, sleepless night, and I’m faced with the mixed emotions of a) looks like I made it through the night, and b) now I have to function like a normal human, only on no sleep. The best way I’ve found, when my brain won’t track with what I want it to do, is to go on autopilot. Do what I would normally do if I only had a brain. Cue the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Or was that the scarecrow? Honestly, after the last couple of nights, I have no idea.

Enthusiasm carried me through my breakfast meeting with N, my local writer friend, where we hashed out our plan to keep ourselves and each other on track with our current projects. Slightly less enthusiasm and a second cup of tepid tea (Dear Panera Manager: water that was hot at 5:45 AM is no longer hot at 11AM. Is it that hard to pay attention to the water carafe while checking on the coffee urns?) got me to the library with Housemate, and my first crack at this post, which ended up  mostly as an explanation of what it’s like to be up all night. I stayed with it, in hopes that I would bore myself to sleep. No such luck. Lunch helped some, and there were a couple of minutes of slightly lower than usual eyelids, but then I hit the “need to do something or the whole day is gone” stage.

Cue autopilot. As I’d said to N earlier today, my brain knows that, when I take a picture of my workspace, and post it to my Instagram, then I’m committed. Accountability works for me. I can find loopholes if I’m only accountable to myself, but tell somebody else? Have to do it, then. So, though a bit later than usual, and with absolutely no idea what to write, here I am. I have no idea why the computer refuses to post the picture of my actual current workspace, but this morning’s picture will do. Okay, it says, here we are, in front of the keyboard, the whole Internet knows we’re writing, so off we go. Not that it’s always going to be my best work, but at least I’m in the neighborhood. Much better than getting to the end of the day and then kicking myself through the entire sleepless night that I didn’t get anything done.

Speaking of those sleepless nights, I’ve been thinking of going nocturnal until the insomnia passes. Steer into the skid, as it were. I don’t like not sleeping, and trying to make the sleep I’ve missed during the day is dicey, apart from the odd nap, (which is usually very odd indeed) but if I’m going to be awake all night, can’t I at least get something productive out of it? That doesn’t seem like too much to ask, but we are talking about the creative process here. It’s not always going to make sense.

Maybe that’s part of the whole deal. Maybe these sleepless nights, moving from bed to recliner to kitchen stool, to fuzzy blankey on the floor in front of the heater (Skye’s favorite place for me to hunker, I’m sure, as she is my fuzzy shadow on these midnight wanderings) is time when my story brain is working things out without cluing the rest of my brain (heh. Rest. I see what I did there. Unintentional, but it can stay.) in on the process. I wouldn’t rule that out, and Hero and Heroine are very much welcome to come keep me company when the sandman won’t.

Barring that, well, I have that nice tall stack of library books. We’ll see how it goes.

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Story Brain Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty did not tell me what to write about today, so I am going to have to wing it, or, in my case, paw it. I do not have any wings, because I am a kitty; only paws. I use them for walking.  Only birdies have wings. Also bats, and some insects. Maybe also Pegasus (I do not know the plural form of that word, but it is a horsey with wings. I am not sure if they are real or fictional, but I do not want to find out by meeting one. They sound scary.)  I think Anty letting me say whatever I want today shows a great deal of trust. I will try to show her she did the right thing.

Most of this week can be divided into domestic tornado management and writing. Anty also found time to get to the library, along with Mama, and bring home a bunch of books. Eight of them, which is a lot, even though Anty says it is a reasonable amount. These are the books:

Anty picked them all. Mama did not find any books she especially wanted to read, but she wants to read some of the books Anty picked, when Anty is done reading them. So far, Anty is close to mostly through one. One. Anty needs more reading time. I would suggest that Anty try using some of the awake-in-the-middle-of-the-night time for reading, but the last time I did that, she looked at me like this:

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That is not something I want to go through again, so that was the last time I will make that suggestion. Anty is doing laundry at least once tomorrow, so that is two hours of potential reading time right there. If it does not turn into writing time, that is. Which it might.  One important thing to know if you have a writer in your life is that pretty much any time can turn into writing time. That comes with the territory, and does not only happen when they are in front of a computer or have a notebook at hand (although Anty usually does have at least one notebook within reach.) Many writers, including my Anty, do not have an off switch. Sometimes, it would be useful if they did, but they do not. At least mine does not.

We do not have any pictures of the Anty Has Story Brain look, and that is probably a good thing. Mama and Uncle and I have learned to recognize it, though, and I think some of the humans who work at the coffee house. Twice, this week, Anty has had a coffee house human remind her that her tea is right in front of her and she can sit down now.  Some of them know it because they are writers, too, and give the gentle prompt as a matter of professional courtesy. The best way I can describe that look is sort of blank, staring off into some place that is not there.  Maybe I should say it is something non-writers cannot see, because merely because something happens inside a writer’s mind does not mean it is not real. Making things in their heads become real is a big part of writers’ jobs, so it is no surprise that it happens when it happens. Sometimes, often in the car, Mama will notice Anty is too quiet, and ask “are you writing?” Almost always, Anty says that she is. Once, Mama asked, “How are Hero and Heroine?” Anty laughed, because that was where her story brain had gone.

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a very small portion of story brain

 

Anty says that, at least for her, story brain is a sign that she is on the right track, and the characters are doing their parts. It is like a movie in her head that plays itself and she has to get it all down. Maybe it is somewhat like recapping TV shows, except that there is no remote to pause things and she has to do it all in her head. I think the inside of Anty’s head is probably very messy, filled with pictures and sounds and bits of movies and snippets of songs, remembered smells and parts of ideas that started out as something else, but took on their own form after they swam around with all the other stuff for a while. I can imagine it is very easy to get lost in there at times, and that is why it takes Anty a little while to come back from it when she has to do things like go to the grocery store or figure out where Uncle’s sweater went.

Story brain is a lot better than lack-of-story-brain. Anty wrestled with that for a long while, and it was not pretty.  I am not sure that story brain is that much prettier, as her office looks like a tornado hit it. More books are coming out of boxes and going into her bookshelves, moving around so books she wants easiest access to, like the library haul, above, are the ones she can get to fastest, and books she never ever looks at can get ready to go to new homes. Right now, she needs books that will help  keep her moving forward in telling Hero and Heroine’s story, and those that don’t, need to go away. She says I can share pictures when she gets things neat again, but not right now.

Right now, Anty needs the computer back so that she can write more about Hero and Heroine, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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

Midweek Rambles and New Book, Take Two

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I dwell on love stories, on characters who struggle hard to become the best people they can be, who defy the odds to grab the brass ring of honor, and earn their way to a committed, healthy, loving relationship.

–Grace Burrowes

This isn’t the blog post I set out to write. I thought it was going to be, as my now-weekly Tuesday morning meeting with local writer friend, whom we shall call N for now, lit a spark, and when she asked if I knew what I wanted my writing focus to be this year, I didn’t even have to think about it. Her Last First Kiss, duh. I haven’t loved a story like this in a long time, and haven’t felt confidence in my own writing in longer than that. I was going to write about focus and purpose, and then I put fingers on keyboard and it all fizzled.

My first instinct was to apply a favorite bit of writing advice, and change my seat. In this case, that meant switching from words to images and photographing the notebooks and legal  pad I am currently using to work on this project. There were several pictures taken before the one I used, and no, you cannot see them. You cannot see the picture of my office desk that was fine, except for the jarring addition of two legs covered in light wash denim, because my computer tells me I don’t have permission to alter the picture I took with my own phone and emailed to my own account, so that I could crop it, but whatever, I will survive. You cannot see the beautifully arranged and edited shot of open notebook pages, which I really like, because that has text I’m not ready to share yet, and I am not opening my old laptop and doing the do-si-do of transferring the picture to jump drive, waiting for the old laptop to boot, blurring the text in Photoshop Elements, transferring that to jump drive and then uploading that. If I go through all that trouble to boot that machine, forget it, I’m playing Sims.

I am giving that serious thought right now, because I set aside all the resources I’d need to get the work I intended to do at the coffee house this afternoon done, and then left one hundred percent of them at home. D’oh. Including phone, for obligatory workspace picture. Double d’oh. Is it Friday yet? No? Phooey. I want Friday. I want Friday and a pizza and a bag of gummi bears as big as my head (the bag, that is, filled with regular size gummi bears, not one giant gummi, even if it is skull shaped.) A bottomless cup of Lapsang Souchong wouldn’t hurt, either. In short, I’m tired and grumpy. Best thing I can do at this point is to craw inside a good book and trust that I will un-grump in time. (Though the pizza really would help.)

I’m not sure how much I want to talk about Her Last First Kiss at this stage of the game. I’m not sure I’m ready to even “speak” my hero and heroine’s names here. That’s new for me. I’m a talker, and there is no surer way to kill a story than to not tell anybody anything. Not sure where the reticence is coming from here. Maybe they need placeholder names so that I can talk about them without talking about them. I may need to clear that with them first.

Both my hero and heroine have trust issues, and, as I often find true in my stories, there are a lot of identity issues for these two. Hero (will he let me call him Hero? He certainly doesn’t think he is one. He’s never done one heroic thing in his life. Really more the opposite. Not cowardly, exactly. He’s not afraid, in the usual sense of the word, but he does acknowledge that there isn’t a good reason for him to exist. He doesn’t matter. He’d like to matter. He’d like to belong.) and Heroine (Pfft. Heroine. Look at the romance writer, throwing around those fanciful terms. She’d think I would know by now, after the time I’ve already spent with her, that there aren’t any such things as heroes, of either gender. Heroes believe in things. Heroes have causes. All right, she has a cause, but it’s a moral obligation, not an ideal. There’s a difference.  She’s protecting her own. She doesn’t have any ideals. She wouldn’t know what to do with them if she did.)  collide in their first meeting, and the fallout is messy. It gets messier.

Hero and Heroine have, so  far, dragged me places I never thought I was going to go. The new opening, the one I raced home from my from last week’s meeting with N to furiously scribble with pink fountain pen, very firmly pulled one of my own personal triggers. Not the place I had planned to start a love story, but that is where the story starts. If this book has begun the way it means to go on, I am fastening my seatbelt. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. Which reminds me, I have a carriage accident scene to write.

Backing Up and Moving Ahead

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“You do what you can for as long as you can, and when you finally can’t, you do the next best thing. You back up but you don’t give up.”
–Chuck Yeager

 

Another Monday, another blog entry. Not feeling it today, but discipline and practice are both important, and I find that putting order to chaos satisfies me, so here I am. Morning spent doing housework with help of Housemate. This often consists of her sitting there and letting me chatter at her, as it was today, with me sitting cross-legged on the floor, the box fan in front of me, as I took apart the covers both front and back and cleaned that sucker with grapefruit-scented all purpose cleaner and paper towels. Odds are we aren’t going to be needing that fan for a while, as furnace keeps us toasty warm, and it is January, after all. So, into the newly reorganized closet for our biggest fan. I promise I only do this to mechanical fans, not readers. No reverse Misery-ing here, and, besides, readers are good to have around during all seasons.

The great Christmas ornament harvest of 2016 went well this morning. Good crop, and we hope for an even better return next year. As much as I love the whole process of decorating for Christmas, and will inspect the placement of garland and ornaments (the fact that we use a pre-lit tree is probably best for all involved, lest I get nitpicky about light placement as well; I have in the past.) taking things down is a much quicker and more ruthless process. Down come the lights, coiled, tied, boxed. I pluck ornaments from the tree like ripened fruit, in a matter of seconds. It’s all over in a handful of minutes. This year’s crop is planted in the storage boxes, labeled, and can now germinate for next year. Maybe next year will be the year I finally go for a second tree, which would have black and white ornaments only. Supplemental tree, not replacing the traditional one; I have to have my tradition.

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When I’m at a loss for what to blog about, my guiding phrases of “clean sweep” and “more layers” push me in the right direction. Taking down the Christmas décor and making better use of the closet space fits both of those criteria, as does yesterday’s library trip. Yesterday was a tough day, tired, emotionally drained and frazzled at the same time, and I strode through the library doors with one specific purpose in mind. I was going to grab an armful of romance novels.

I’ve written, recently, about how it’s been difficult for me to read a lot of more newly produced work (part of this, I am certain, is due to my reluctance to jump into the middle of a series of linked books; have to start at the beginning, for me, and there are a lot of series.) This time, I knew what I needed; romance. Historical romance. That’s my reading and my writing home. No matter what happens between Once Upon a Time and Happily Ever After, I know I am going to get that Happily Ever After, so pretty much anything is fair game in between those points. I did end up plucking a current release from the shelves, Cold-Hearted Rake, by Lisa Kleypas, which I started reading as soon as I got home.

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That’s the whole haul, for those who were curious. I’d gone with a vague hope I might find one of the Russian-related historicals on my list (and did, with Forever in Your Embrace) and fingers crossed for a Georgian (but not Regency) setting (When You Wish Upon a Duke delivers on that front) but, apart from that, nothing more specific than wanting a good grounding in my favorite genre. Carla Kelly always delivers on the emotional impact, so that was enough to put the book in my hand, and it had been a while since I’d read a good time travel, so The Last Cavalier fit that bill. If I could hit the snooze button on the calendar so I could snuggle beneath my fuzzy duck blankey and read them all, with endless cups of tea at hand, I think, at this point, I would.

Life, unfortunately, doesn’t work that way, but I can make sure I get some pages read every day, the same way I make time for my morning pages and have to at least touch one of the current fiction projects every day. As K.A. Mitchell, whose wonderful workshop on character relations this past Saturday gave me even more layers to slather on Her Last First Kiss, has said, open the file and change your seat. I have to open the file, or open the notebook. When I do, well, it’s right there. I have a pen in my hand, or the keyboard is right there, too (usually both, in most cases; that’s how my brain works best) and who would it hurt if I took a poke or two at things, hm?

Thanks to a talk with a new writing friend, who listened to me whinge about how hard it’s been to find where I should (note that should, there) including roundabout analogies and a diagram drawn on a napkin with rollerball ink, I am getting the chance to do both the clean sweep and more layers things at one with Her Last First Kiss. What, she asked, was the moment that changed my heroine’s life forever? What permanently took her off the path she always thought she was going to walk in life? Huh. Well. Had to think about that one, and then the answer came out all on its own. When her father left.

Sure, she was seven then, and I didn’t want to start that far back, but darned if the whole scene didn’t play itself out on my walk back home from that meeting. I sat down at my secretary desk, with notebook and fountain pen, and out flowed the whole thing. I didn’t have to yank any teeth. Didn’t have to force anything. Huh. I…remember how to do that. Don’t write a book. Tell the story. Remember back when I didn’t know all the rules, but blithely wrote down the movie in my head? Yeah, that.

Clean sweep. More layers. Easy enough when I don’t think about it.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: New, Old, Hot and Cold Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is also Frozen Friday. Our furnace is down (oddly enough, it has nothing to do with fur, although “fur” is right there in the name. Talk about misleading.) and the Heater Human is down in the basement now, working on it. This has been going on for a couple of days (do not worry, he goes home and hunts for parts and things and does other jobs and then comes back; he is not a prisoner.) and we are all ready to be warm again. Although I have a built in fur coat (maybe it is called a “furnace” because it is for humans, who do not have fur, and therefore need an external source of heat?) the humans do not, so they are wearing layers of clothing, wrapping themselves in blankets and drinking lots of tea.

Normally, lots of tea makes Anty happy, and it still does, but it is better when it is a choice and not a necessity. Anty is used to having cold times once in a while; we do live in New York, after all, and Anty has lived in the northeast most of her life. Uncle is from California, so this is a little different for him. I think he will be happiest of all when it is warm again. Heater Human says that if he cannot fix things on this try, he will get another Heater Human to come and  help. Things will be back to normal soon, which is a good thing. While Heater Human is still on the job, he has to ring the doorbell when he wants in. The doorbell is loud, and I hide under the bed when I hear it, in case it is the catpocalypse. (That is like the apocalypse, but aimed specifically at cats. So far, I have avoided it.)

Snuggled under blankets, with a cup of tea, is a comfortable state for writers, especially those, like Anty, who write about times long ago. To them, this would be normal. Cold weather means extra layers of clothing, gathering around the fire (I am sure that kitties made certain to get the prime spots in front of the big fireplaces when there was such gathering to do) and telling stories, making music or playing games. Also art. Anty has found that waiting for Heater Human to report his progress is a good time to take care of tasks she can do with frequent interruptions (writing is not one of those) and not much brain power.

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One of those things is going through some art supplies she inherited from her papa and seeing what can still be used. These tubes are a kind of paint called gouash. They are older than me. A lot older. They should be a very thick liquid, but they are solid. Anty did some research and found out that gouache is a special kind of paint that stays alive even when it is hard, so she had to find out if that was true.

It took some boiling water and some patience, but most of the paint can still be used if she adds some water to it. Now, the challenge is how to get it out of the tubes. Maybe the humans at the art store can help her with that. Getting these paints to work mean that Anty has another thing she can use in her art. The orange page below is painted with gouache, and is now ready to have other things up on top of that.

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Anty is also trying out some pencils, both colored and the regular kind, that were in the same box with the paints and her fountain pen. She thinks of these things as buried treasures. They might have been created a long time ago, but she can use those older things to make new things, from her own imagination now. It is the same way with writing. Sometimes, an idea or a character that did not work at one time, but also did not go away, can come to life at a later date. Sometimes, they can be even better when rediscovered than they were when they were first put away.

Now I have a confession to make. I stopped a lot during the writing of this blog, to investigate the heater below the window seat. It smelled interesting. Very interesting. That is because Heater Human really is a super hero, and made the furnace work again. It is also something older that worked when something new was added to it, which fits with this week’s theme nicely. I could not have planned that better. Now we are toasty again, but I think Anty will still consume the same amount of tea.

That is about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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

A Handful of Dreams and a Blogful of Opinions

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I’ve been reading a lot of older historical romances lately, mainly those first published in the 1990s. Many of these are standalone stories, in the truest sense of the word, not parts of any series, so anything can happen, to anybody, apart from the HEA we are guaranteed by the end of the book. The  hero’s charismatic best friend isn’t exempt from villain status, because no, we aren’t going to need him to be the hero of book two or there, because there is none. One hero, one heroine, one HEA, off into the sunset, done and done. That’s how my story brain naturally works, anyway, and I’d been craving the big, thick doorstoppers I used to devour (and still can, because keeper shelves and UBSs and e-books, yay publishing revolution) so I dove into this subgenre once more, with overwhelmingly positive results.

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One of my best (but not surprising) re-finds was Barbara Hazard. I’d re-devoured her Georgian historical, Call Back the Dream, and wanted to dive into the sequel (I know, I know, I was talking about standalones only a minute ago, but bear with me; this is going somewhere) immediately afterward. I thought I’d packed that in the same box with the original, but then it would have been in the same bookcase. It wasn’t. Instead, there was A Handful of Dreams, also excellent, and completely unrelated.

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I didn’t remember too much about A Handful of Dreams, though I’d first read it when it was fairly new. I remembered the scene where child Sally catches a coin tossed to her by a British soldier on horseback, but didn’t remember if that soldier would turn out to be the hero or not. As I read on, I still wasn’t sure. I did remember, very clearly, the fictional Sally’s abusive first marriage, her return to her family of origin, and her placement as the companion of the daughter of a different soldier.

Let’s say that Sally and her employer’s daughter had different expectations of the relationship and leave it at that. I’m not sure if that might have been explored differently,  had the book been written today, and that’s something I will likely think about for some time. Sally’s employer decides it’s time for Sally to move on, and her situation, as it were, becomes a commodity.

A friend of the family, Harry, Lord Darlington, purchases the care of Sally, and his treatment of her didn’t -on either read- strike me as particularly heroic. He’s a cold father to his children from other relationships, including two marriages, even when Sally expresses her desire for the children to be part of the family. As a work of historical fiction, this works fine, and that’s how I read it this time around. There’s a friend of Harry’s, who also takes a liking to Sally, and there was a good portion of the book where I was thinking maybe I’d misremembered and he was the true hero.

Not going to give away spoilers, because there are two sorts of readers involved here; the ones that are going to track this book down o they can read it themselves, and those who will not, because old book, who cares, or they don’t read romance anyway. Either way, I finished this reread a couple of days ago, and, as much as I’d like to read another romance, my brain is stuck here. Lots of thinking.

Were I to publish this book today, I would class it as historical fiction rather than romance. Sally does find love, and that love is reciprocated. There’s even an acceptable heroic grovel on the part of the gentleman who fills that role, but, in the end, this is really her story and not theirs. I am okay with that. Romantic elements, yes, but this book is about Sally’s life, her struggle to find her place in the world, and the effect the cards she was dealt do have on what she can do.

Sally starts out Irish and poor, in the early nineteenth century. She’s also beautiful, exceptionally so, and that gets her noticed, not always for the right reasons. This is one of my favorite types of characters, where that beauty has its perils as well as its perks. There are those who don’t look below the surface, those who assume a certain set of facial features means a certain personality or mindset, when that couldn’t be farther from the case. Sally’s options are limited. She’s not educated, she doesn’t have a lot of power, but she is smart and she is strong, and she is a woman of her time. That’s important.

Some aspects felt  a little too neat to me, others a bit rushed, and. for a historical romance, there isn’t a lot of emphasis on the relationship that should be the center of the story. I’m not sure I would have chosen the same hero, were this my story to write, but it wasn’t. I’d love to talk to the author, but without contact information, that’s not likely, so some of these things are going to muddle around in my own mind for a while. Maybe some elements will transfer and transform in my own work, but for now, I’m still thinking

Reading, (non)Resolutions, and Hypercritical Gremlins

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“When you are stuck in a spiral, to change the aspects of the spin you only need to change one thing.”
Christina Baldwin

 

Here we are, first workday of the new year, and I’m still not sure what I’m doing. Yesterday, Housemate and I took a two hour road trip to visit friends who host an annual New Year’s book swap. It’s been my favorite holiday gathering for years, and this time was no exception. Several hours of talk with old friends and new, copious amounts of food, and an eclectic assortment of books free for the taking.

I came away with a hardcover copy of  The Tenth Circle, by Jodi Picoult, which I highly recommend. Her voice, her unusual structure of this story, the imagery, use of time and perspective and :fangirl flail: I’ve read it before, after I saw the TV movie, which I found by accident, and want to read it again, in its time, at my leisure, possibly with sticky notes and highlighter in hand so that I can study and rip it apart and put it back together and take something of it into myself on a deeper level than before. I also got two cookbooks for Real Life Romance Hero, of which I know nothing other than that they are cookbooks.

New Year’s resolutions are not my thing; easily made, easily set too high, easily disappointed and left by the wayside, so I’m not going to do that, but I am paying attention to what I do and don’t like about life in general, and the writing life in particular. My two guiding phrases, Clean Sweep and More Layers, come into play here. According to Goodreads, there have been several instances over the past year when I have technically been “reading” one book or another, over a period of several months, when that isn’t exactly what happened.

What really happens is this: I start a book, with all the best intentions. I want to discover this new voice, dive deep into a favorite author’s latest, finally get around to reading a book I’ve had forever. Then the book or reading device ends up in the wrong purse, or in the bedroom when I’m not, or the battery runs down, or I left it at home, etc, etc. I need to read something by date X to write about it for one blog or another. There’s recapping to do. There are domestic tornadoes. I’m too bloody tired. I feel guilty. I feel angry. I don’t deserve to read if I’m such a horrible reader. If I’m that horrible a reader, I’m an even worse writer.

Oh, hello,  Hypercritical Gremlins.

HI, ANNA! CRAPPY NEW YEAR!

That’s Happy New Year.

NOT FOR US.

Why am I not surprised about that?

IT’S WHAT WE DO.

To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?

TRADITIONAL NEW YEAR VISIT.

Oh, okay. That makes sense. Anything specific you wanted to talk about?

READING. YOU BROUGHT IT UP FIRST.

What about reading? (As if I didn’t know?)

YOU STINK AT THAT, TOO.

Uh huh. Do you have any critiera about that?

YOU ALREADY SAID.  CAN WE  TAKE A SCREENSHOT OF YOUR CURRENTLY READING GOODREADS PAGE?

:blushes: No.

HA HA! BUSTED!

Okay, look, we’re not going there.

MAYBE YOU’RE NOT.

Fine. Reading is one of the things I want to change about this year, and both Clean Sweep and More Layers play into that.

WHAT ABOUT THE BOOKS YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO READ? YOU’RE SO FAR BEHIND IN THE BOOKS EVERYBODY IS TALKING ABOUT THAT WE SET ASIDE SPECIAL TIME EVERY WEEK TO POINT AND LAUGH AT YOU.

:shrugs: Well, I guess you can. It’s your time. First, it’s not possible for me to read all the books other people think I should read. Second, I don’t want to; there are enough books I want to read that I couldn’t fit the should-reads into my schedule. The average female lifespan is only so long. Okay, I don’t smoke or drink, stay reasonably active, but my genetic history is a giant question mark, so I am going to use my time wisely and read the books that appeal to me, when they appeal to  me. Reading for pleasure is something I do to feel happy, not guilty. That would take away too much of the pleasure.

BUT YOU’RE MISSING OUT ON ALL THE TRENDS THAT WAY. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY SERIES YOU WOULD HAVE TO READ DOUBLE DIGITS WORTH OF BOOKS TO KEEP CURRENT? NOT TO MENTION SPINOFFS AND SUBSERIES?

If I want to read those books, I will. My natural inclination is for standalone stories, and always has been, so that’s what I’m mostly seeking out at present.

BUT EVERYBODY ELSE LOVES SERIES, BECAUSE THEY ARE SERIES.

How wonderful for them. They must have a lot of books from which to choose. Sometimes, including right now, I want to read one story, about one couple. Nothing at all wrong with that.

EXCEPT THAT YOU ARE WEIRD. REMEMBER HOW IT WAS YESTERDAY WITH ALL THE SMILING AND NODDING -SERIOUSLY, YOU LOOKED LIKE A BOBBLEHEAD- WHEN OTHER GUESTS TALKED ABOUT THE MAINSTREAM AND/OR LITERARY BESTSELLERS THEY WERE ALL  READING. ALL OF THEM BUT YOU, OUTLIER.

I hear you saying “outlier” like it’s a bad thing.

BECAUSE IT IS.

Interesting perspective. Can you tell me more about that?

WE’RE REALLY BUSY RIGHT NOW.

Doing what?

PICKING ON YOU.

Why am I not surprised there? No, no, don’t answer. That was rhetorical. What I’m getting at here is that it’s not possible for one person to read every book there is, so best to whittle it down to those that catch the individual reader’s interest. Anything else feels too much like a school assignment. Last time I checked, you guys are not my teachers.

OBVIOUSLY, WE CAN’T TEACH YOU HOW TO READ LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE.

I don’t want to read like everybody else, and if you insist on pressing the matter, I am an RWA member. I can whip out statistics on exactly how many romance novels were read last year.

WE’RE GOING TO GO BACK IN OUR CLOSET AND TAKE A NAP NOW. WE HEARD YOU’RE MEETING WITH A LOCAL WRITER FRIEND TOMORROW. GOT TO GET OUR REST, YOU KNOW.

Unfortunately, I do. You guys go rest, and I’m sure I’ll hear from you later. For now, I have some writing to do, and then the last few chapters of a delicious historical romance I would actually classify as women’s fiction, but that’s another story. Pun intended.

 

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Happy Mew Year Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for the first Feline Friday of 2016. This is the day when Anty usually moves into a new planner, if she has not done so already, but this year is different. Anty does not have a new planner. I am not entirely convinced she will not end up buying one after all, but in the meantime, she is making her own, out of a notebook she has only partially used. Anty’s two words (well, really, phrases, because they each have two words in them) are: Clean Sweep and More Layers. Making her own planner could be considered a way of combining both at the same time.

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Plain notebook, pre-hacking

When Anty was thinking of getting a Moleskine planner, she thought she might get a red one (and she still might; I am not sure she won’t) so she will be using this red hardcover Picadilly notebook instead. It also reminds her of the red Moleskine in  Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares, which was one of her best reads of 2015.  Anty likes it when things she uses every day remind her of things she loves, so this fits in there nicely. She had used about half the notebook before moving on to others, but she did not want it to go to waste. Now it will not.

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Anty liked the layout of the other planner, so she used that as an inspiration, and used a vintage office supply stamp to put in the dates. It is so old that it does not have 2016 on it, so she will add that later.

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Here is the same layout, with a different color added for each day. With different colors, Anty can tell at a glance which day is which. If they are all the same color, her eyes see it as one big block, which is not helpful. This experiment also reminds her that it is time to get some new highlighters.  She may try adding color with another medium, because highlighters are very bright, and that is not always restful for her eyes.

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After Anty counted out fifty-two pages, so that each week would have its own page, she remembered that other planners also have monthly grids. She had not accounted for those, and she had already started the first weekly page, so she could not put those in the front, or she would have to re-count pages. She does not like counting things, so she put the grids in the very back of the book (or next to the back of the book. Her last page is always her ink test page.)  She used rubber stamps to make the grids. This process has a learning curve, but Anty is smart. She used masking tape to cover the really messy grids and then stamped over that. She thinks she may actually like that better, so she may go back and re-stamp them all that way. This is a work in progress.

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Remember when I mentioned that Anty does not like counting things? Well, this is why. She got the grids all stamped out, some on masking tape, and then counted to make sure she had everything. She did not have everything. One year has twelve months, not ten. Maybe she wanted to leave out summer, because it is her least favorite season? I do not think seasons work like that, but I cannot fault her for trying. Here is a picture of what she used to make the grids, in case you are curious. The clear block lets her see exactly where she is putting the stamp, which is very useful, as her depth perception is sometimes, ah, creative.

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Starting over fresh and adding multiple layers makes Anty very happy. This year, she wants to challenge herself and take better control of her time. Having a planner that is tailored to her individual needs and tastes should take care of both of those things. She will likely change her mind several times and maybe even re-do the whole thing a time or two, but that is how she learns best, so she does not mind. She will probably share pictures of how things progress  on the planner front. If this works well, then she can make another one for next year. She also has a pocket sized version of the same red notebook, but she has not done anything to that one yet, as she has developed more of an affinity for the 8×5 size over the past year. She still has a lot of pocket sized books, though, so we will see what she does with those. Hm. Maybe they are really kitty-sized books and are actually for me? I wonder what I could do with those.

Anty needs the computer because she has to get back to work, so that is about it for this week.  I wish all of you a happy mew year and remain, as always, very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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

 

 

Plannering 2016

annabowling

Here we are, only two days away from a brand new year, and I do not have a planner yet. Neither do I have a wall calendar. I stopped using desktop calendars a few years back, because, well, I didn’t use them in the first place. I had grand ideas about using the daily pages in art, but I very seldom did, so phased those out, and don’t miss them.

Being without a planner, though, that makes me itchy. For the last two years, I’ve used pocket sized planners by Paperblanks. which are, hands down, the most gorgeous exteriors I’ve found on any planners (or notebooks, for that matter.)

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Green book is last year’s planner, black and silver was for 2015, and I would be happy to get another Paperblanks for this year, though I haven’t seen any at the Barnes and Noble where I usually get them. My original plan in going for the pocket sized planner was that I could then carry it around in my purse and/or computer bag, to have it at the ready at all times. That did not happen, either year. Each time, the book lived on my side table, next to my comfy chair, with occasional sojourns to my office desk. So, I’m thinking larger planner for this year.

Before I started with Paperblanks, I liked spiral bound planners with lots of images and quotes inside them. A New York themed planner turned into one of my first art journals, and an Irish themed planner, the last spiral bound (I think) one I purchased, is still waiting for its next use.  I’ve looked at a few of those this year, but haven’t found anything to my liking. The closest I’ve come is a Walking Dead planner, and even that registers meh on my planner scale.

Though I love Moleskine notebooks, and have an as yet unused hardcover (purple!) hanging around, I’ve never used a Moleskine planner, which may be something to consider. Thinking about Moleskines also got me thinking about their cousins, Markings and Picadilly, of which I have several hardcovers. Add to that the brave new world of the dot grid softcover Moleskine I like a lot more than I thought I would, and I’ve started thinking of potentially DIY-ing my own planner from one of those.

Do I have any idea how that would work? Not a clue, though if I’m going to DIY a Moleskine, I could as easily DIY a larger Paperblanks, thus getting the gorgeous cover. Problem there is that I’ve only seen lined Paperblanks, though the website says there are some unlined. With my lack of depth perception (truly, it could have its own show on the comedy network) I need some guidance if I’m going to mess around with the format of a page. The dot grid in the softcover Moleskine is perfect for that, letting me divide the page into whatever boxes I need for a particular use, while not cutting through the words and images (because I am learning to use images now.)

I’ve found I am far more visual than I had previously thought, and I really do need something going on with the page for my brain to stick with it. Much as I love the Paperblanks, if I do go with another of those, I’ll need to alter the innards in some way. Which means I get to tinker with my existing supplies and expired planners to see what might work. A light wash of color on each individual day, so my eyes can easily pick them apart should do the trick. We’ll see how that goes.

For now, I’m still in the discovery stage. Maybe this year will be a different sort of planner, a fresh start to which I can apply more layers. Maybe I will find a way to DIY an existing notebook into a planner (have any of you had experience with that? I’d love to pick your brains) and maybe I’ll find the perfect premade. While I am antsy that I’m not moved into a new planner already (a perfect tucked-away week activity if ever there was one) I’m also pleased that waiting until after the first of the year means getting exactly the same planner I could have purchased before Christmas, at a hefty discount. I have fond memories of the other Barnes and Noble we used to frequent (now closed) and the Moleskines we’d often find on clearance there. I have to admit I almost got a Peanuts Moleskine planner, on sale there, a couple of years back, but couldn’t commit to a whole year of Peanuts. If the planner is themed, it has to be something I love-love, not merely like.

As for wall calendars, I’ve learned that those often have to wait even longer. Last year, I lucked out early and found a calendar by a photographer whose work I admire (and frequently appears on Studio Oh! notebooks) but have not seen this year’s version, so no clue what I’ll eventually pick. Real Life Romance Hero has asked for an Old New York calendar for the kitchen, which Housemate and I both second (and third?) so that’s likely what we’ll be getting for family use. I’ve made some halfhearted attempts at making my own wall calendar from blank versions bought at craft stores, but have never made it past January with one of those, so not pinning my hopes on a homemade calendar this year.

Maybe this is all part of where I am creatively as a whole. I’m much more focused on keeping the camera, as it were, on the romance when I write, because that’s what makes me happiest. No matter when or where, it’s the love story that counts the most. Everything else has to serve that, from setting to tone to supporting cast. Getting to that point took me several years, and novels-that-wouldn’t, so maybe it’s the same thing with planners this year. Maybe it’s time to kiss a lot of figurative frogs before I hit upon The One this year. Maybe I’ll stumble into something I never thought about before, and find it’s a perfect fit. Kind of ironic (cue Alanis Morrisette) that I’m not able to plan my planner purchase this year, but it’s also fitting for the creative life, so I’m going to go with whatever comes and see where that takes me.

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Random Skye shot for readers (:cough: RLRH :cough:) who said they missed “the writing cat.”

Treasure Box

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We’re a few days into what’s usually my favorite week of the year, that tucked-away week between Christmas and New Year’s. Jury is still out on this year’s version. Normally, going to the Laundromat is a lovely pocket of time, and doing so during my tucked-away week would make it doubly so. This time? Not so much.

We’ll start with the fact that I had to put laundry in and take it out of four machines before hitting one that would actually h0ld everything and did not have any mystery detergent residue that would play havoc with sensitive skin. Add in a quick dash back home to collect more quarters, because I ended up using the industrial sized washer. On the plus side, clean bedding.  On the minus side, there was the person who asked me if I was taking the week off, and, when I said that was my plan, answered that they didn’t think that was possible. Since I work for myself, my whole life is apparently “relaxing” and I do whatever I want, whenever I want. Yeah, not the way it works, person. Seriously not. Add in another unwanted interaction,  and I was in a foul mood by the time I got home.

I’m not sure what drew me to the small cardboard box in the hallway closet, but I figured I could use some diversion. I knew it had some of my dad’s art supplies -now my art supplies- in it, and art time is usually a good de-grumper. I noticed the paint first, four small tubes of watercolors. Some pencils, of varying vintage and purpose, some tools that look like they’re for carving clay (can check with a friend whose husband is a sculptor) and then there was the pen. Which I may want to call The Pen.

 

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Rather plain at first sight, black cap and silvery barrel, but still a pen. I took the cap off.  Either a fountain pen or dip pen, though I can’t see where I could get the pen apart to check for where I’d refill if it’s a fountain pen. That’s when I examined the nib and found the words that caught my attention. Mont Blanc. Huh wuh? That’s a good pen, isn’t it? Quick check online and my suspicions were confirmed.

White snowflakey/star thing is present on top of cap and bottom of barrel, as well as the clip. “Mont Blanc” is on the otherwise plain nib, and “Mont Blanc Germany” is on the cap, below the clip. I’m not finding what model this is, and not sure where/how to continue the search, but when a fabulous pen falls into my lap, I’m going to take it. Whatever ink may have been in there at one time is completely gone now, and if it’s a dip pen (though I don’t see any evidence of Mont Blanc making any dip pens) then that would explain the lack of ink. This is going to require more investigation. The closest Mont Blanc store I can locate is in White Plains, which is a road trip in itself, but Westchester and tracking down the identity of a super cool pen? This may need to happen.

 

The paints, I think I like on their own rather than together, but this is only my smush them on the page and see what they do stage, so it doesn’t count. That’s still something hard to accept, that I can put something on a page, whether words or colors or shapes, and it doesn’t have to, and as a matter of fact, probably won’t be perfect the first time around, but treasure boxes like these are helping me deal with that.

It’s highly unlikely that I’m going to haul a box out of the storage unit and find it’s full of words, characters, plots, etc (apart from old manuscripts or boxes of books) but that same spirit of playing around, tossing something on the page and seeing what it does -What  color is this, really? What mark does this make? What happens if I get this wet? Can I scratch into it for some texture?- that can only infuse new life. Time to take a few risks again and see what comes out. There may not be gesso for the written page, but there is a delete key. First drafts are meant to be messy, same as laying down a background color; that’s only the base. Many more layers are yet to come before the finished product is ready to be seen.