writing

Typing With Wet Paws: Dresser Climbing 101 Edition

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Tails up, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome, and this is Typing With Wet Paws. It’s been a big week around here, and for a few reasons. First of all, I have been having the BEST time with Aunt Linda’s new mattress. It is something called Memory Foam, and it’s super fun to play on. It is a bit of a challenge because Aunt Linda is on vacation this week, and she picked the best place in the world to go: here, as in our home. It’s pretty great. The mattress also came with a big, long box, which I have thoroughly investigated. It is so long, as a matter of fact, that the humans have to store it upright until it goes to recycling, but rest assured, I have been all the way down to the end of it and back out and it was awesome. 10/10, would explore again.

Chilling on my cat tree

You’re probably wondering about the dresser climbing. I am getting to that. In doing so, I will have to talk about Mama Anna’s writing. She will probably like that. Cool. So, anyway, my house, aka big cardboard box, is next to Mama Anna’s desk, and in front of Mama Anna and Papa’s dresser. They keep people clothes in it (and catnip in the third drawer.) Well. For a while now I have been letting Mama Anna know that I would like some catnip, please, by scratching at the drawer where she keeps that catnip. She is usually pretty quick on the uptake.

Where she might be lagging a tiny tad is that I also have another agenda: I want to get to the top of the dresser. Mama Anna says that she and Papa keep things that are Not For Kitties up there, but I am not discouraged. A couple of nights ago, Mama Anna was playing Sims, and Papa was playing his game. I saw my chance. By the time she noticed what I was doing, I had all four paws (plus my tail) off the box (of my house)and was headed upward, reaching for the next drawer up.

Mama Anna told me “NO” and she was so loud that Papa and Aunt Linda came to see what I was doing. Pap was kind of proud of me, but he still didn’t want me to be on top of the dresser because of the Not For Kitties things. (they are things like medicine to help Papa stop smoking)

So flash forward a couple of days later, when Mama Anna has her weekly chat with Aunt Mary. One rthing you need to know about Aunt Mary (besides that she has excellent taste in kittycats and gives the best special mouse toy presents) is that she is very smart when it comes to historical research, as in the stuff that really did happen. She and Mama Anna talked for almost double their regular time this week, part of that being Mama Anna blabbering about one of her historical manuscripts to Aunt Mary, and then

Photo by Burak Kebapci on Pexels.com

Mama Anna was telling Aunt Mary that she was debating one of two ways to have a Thing happen in this particular book. Since it is a Thing in a time period Aunt Mary is familiar with, they had a lot to say about this. In the middle of it, Mama Anna stopped because IDEA. If Character left a Thing that was happening Right Then to go make sure Another Character was okay (she wasn’t) then it is obviously a Day Things Can Happen, so Character and Other Character can do a Thing, too. Aha. Then it was a bunch fo names and dates and family trees. I can’t make sense of much of it, but I know Mama Anna was really super happy about it, and she made a LOT of notes afterwards. Now Aunt Mary is her historical research consultant. Aunt Mary gets to name the occasional supporting character as thanks for her work.

It was also during this long chat that Aunt Mary snitched to Mama Anna when she saw my ears and paws come into frame, aka preparation for ascent on Mt. Dresser. So now I have another pair of eyes on me. No matter. They all have to sleep sometime. Where’s your favorite napping spot?

Headbonks!

Storm

Strange Connections

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First of all, I may possibly have Irish blood. I think. My birth mother’s last name could be of English or Irish origin, so we can be fairly sure it’s some sort of British Isles or thereabouts in my bio-ancestry. This has very little to do with today’s blog, except for the fact that A) it’s a starting point for me to blabber, B) I remember being at the house of MJK, well, she was nine, like me, so it was her parents’ home. It was a Victorian house with three stories and a wraparound porch and a triple (or quadruple?) garage that used to be a stable. They still called it the barn. No horses, only cars and a lawnmower, I remember being disappointed about that, even though we were in the middle of a lovely town in Westchester County.

MJK and I went to CCD together (after school religious classes for Catholic kids in public school) The Catholic school was closer to the K family’s house than to mine, so there were times Mama MJK would pick us both up and my mom would come get me from there. Also, my mom and Mama MJK got along well, so they probably considered it convenient that their kids got along, too. As for MJK’s little brother, SK, eh, he was a couple years younger, an energetic lad. All of this comes to mind because I was there on March 17th that year, and we thought it was absolutely hysterical that the weather for the St. Patrick’s Day parade in NYC (I have a lot of initials in this post) did not fit with the season as we saw it. Snow. I remember seeing women holding some sort of banner, in shiny green leotards and I am going to guess pantyhose/nude tights.

We must have seen it on TV or in the newspaper, and I want to say it was the Big Thing for that afternoon. It’s funny the things that stay with us. Right now, I am reading The Woman Behind the Attic, by Andrew Neiderman (aka the VC Andrews ghostwrite. for the last few decades)

Official VC Andrews Biography

While I can’t say I am a fan of the ghostwritten books, the true Andrews canon has a special place in my heart. I remember it being passed around the halls of my school when the books first came out, and even though Foxworth Hall from the Dollenganger series (Jacobean mansion) or Whitefern, from My Sweet Audrina, probably have extremely little with the house I lived in when MJK and I went to CCD together, my brain insists on slotting rooms from that house into those stories. The attic ofr the Flowers in the Attic fame, will always first call to mind my father’s art studio which was also my playroom, and not an attic at all, but the window that looked out on the woods beyond somehow melded with the window on the cover of the book. Don’t ask me how this happens. I don’t make the rules.

For Whitefern, I will need to reread Audrina to remember what the house looked like, but the stairs, on which Important Things Happen will always be the L-shaped stairs from the second story of my childhood home (where the studio/playroom was.) I have no idea how my brain connected those things, as I was several years out of that house when I read those books, but it’s in there, and in there deep. like the memory f being in that kitchen on that day, and the sting of witch hazel on my scraped knee (not the same day, I don’t think, but that same room) or the fun memory games MJK’s dad would incorporate into her birthday parties. The staircase going up all three stories also inserted itself in my reading of Diana Gabaldon’s comments in her Outlander companion, about here being an hombre at the door.

Long story short, writer’s minds are messy places. Aladdin’s caves. There’s also the fact that one of my research rabbit holes is rebooted or spun-off TV shows and their lore. Who knows where that will end up? Wherever it is, I look forward to the journey.

How about you?

Anna

Is This Thing On? aka signs of life

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:taps mic: Is this thing on? Okay. Hi, or hi again. I have been pill-bugging (has nothing to do with unauthorized medication, but rather emulating a pillbug insect, aka laying low) Those who have taken Depression and/or Anxiety 101, you’ll recognize this. Anyhoo, hi. Today’s task is to write a blog entry, so here we are. It’s a cold, slightly cloudy day here in NY’s Capitol Region, though because it is now March, it is also pre-spring. I am normally a fall and winter gal, but I am quite happy to say buh-bye to this past winter. This is a fancy way of saying that I am in spring cleaning mode.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

For today, that means putting away laundry and making some sense of my writing area, which, like Real Life Romance Hero’s office area, is in our bedroom. I am also eyeing a corner for a potential comfy chair because I sorely miss having a comfy reading chair, and one of my big goals for this spring is to get back to a normal reading and writing routine. Melva and I are moving forward with Queen of Hearts, having a lovely time of it, and she gave me a much-needed kick in the pants for the historical romance side of things during our chat this week.

Some of the things that have been swimming round my mind as of late:

  1. I miss Romantic Times magazine. The O.G. version, before it was RT Book Reviews, preferably in the newsprint era, tabloid size era a plus. I never made it to their annual conventions, but oh the pictures they shared for those of us who weren’t able to be there in person. I’m talking themed parties, sometimes controversial costumes, writers and readers mingling at will. It’s been said that if RWA conferences were university, RT conventions were Spring Break. I will have to take others’ word on that. I remember DM’ing my friend, Trish, who had been there, to ask if it was really true, that the founder had announced that it was all done-zo at the conference itself. Sadly, it was.
  2. Speaking of those RWA (Romance Writers of America) which while still a controversial organization on the national level, the local chapter meetings were a place where, once a month, I could get up close and in person with other career-focused romance writers. The romance part is important, as is the career focused part. Put them both together and it’s community. My local chapter voted some months ago to dissolve, and now I feel…floaty. I know there are also other organizations available for those missing that kind of company, though I am still finding out where those might be. Suggestions for online resources gratefully accepted, and DMs are open.
  3. This is the time of year that I would normally be getting ready for the New England RWA conference, the place where Melva and I conceived of the Love by the Book series because we were early for breakfast . We are currently writing book number three in that series, and have tentative plans for future books as well as other projects. Conferences are also a place where one could network and find others in one’s own subgenre, aka Extroverted Romance Writer Christmas, and not going to lie, the swag is a huge plus. Though I am delighted to know that the coveted purple pens in Hannah Howell’s swag contributions are Pentel RSVP, easily available and come in a lot of colors.
  4. It’s a good thing I love planning. Not only does it go along with the nitty gritty (pun intended) of making one’s home tidy and aesthetically appealing, but in getting all of those too-lng ignored projects in order and prioritized and researched and all of that good stuff.
  5. It’s also good that I am a blabbermouth. A very extrovert thing that I do is that talking and thinking happen often at the same time, as in thinking something through means talking it through, so I will probably be doing more blabbering, either here or on You Tube, but that’s another day.

For today, it’s this post, listening to things I’ve meant to listen to for some time now (my YT to be watched list is mighty) and then spiffy-fying my space. There will probably also be tea.

How’s your week going?

Anna

annabowling 1 Comment

How did it get to be February already? I did not sign off on this. I also did not authorize the dearth of planner/journal decorative items that are wintry but not Christmassy. I love Christmas; it’s my favorite holiday, but I can’t for the life of me make myself use poinsettia and evergreen stickers on January spreads. Good thing it’s now February and I can break out the Valentine’s stuff for the next four weeks. February is too soon for the traditional spring florals. Those can come out near the end of March, though I like to go rain themed for April. Very specific theme, I know, but I did learn how to draw an umbrella for it, so that helps a good deal.

Anyway, it’s Thursday. I’m babbling. Even though it’s not spring yet, I am in strong spring cleaning mode. Since Housemate has a bunch of vacation time she has to use in March, we may use that to bust out some important items out of stuff jail. I’m talking furniture – my beloved secretary desk, a headboard Real Life Romance Hero and I inherited from Maman (Housemate’s mother,) and some things from Housemate’s storage as well. This will, in time, include my all-time favorite romance novels, my Bertrice Small collection first and foremost. I am very much looking forward to putting those back in their place.

Last week, I was able to add to my desk area (pictures to follow) a gorgeous end table from Maman, fiving me another surface next to my temporary desk, meaning I now have someplace to put not only my tea (very important) but reference materials, handwritten notes/drafts, etc, and keep things I love around me. Things for planning and journaling will probably end up in a different area than things for writing fiction, but it is all a work in progress.

This week, I had a wonderful conversation with Melva, and we are back on track with Queen of Hearts, to be followed by edits on Drama King. We also talked about some possible projects for the future, though we are keeping our focus on the stuff in front of us. This now brings me to time to get babck to historiccal romance, which can be…trickier.

Though I hadn’t wanted the first round edits for A Heart Most Errant to have a birthday, well,

Birthday cake covered in white frosting roses, with glittery gold candle in the shape of the numeral one.
Photo by Mohammad Danish on Pexels.com

Yeeeep. It happened. Not that I intend for it to get to the terrible twos, but some years do knock one for a loop. I do have to admit that I am feeling the lack of a local RWA chapter (our local chapter voted to dissolve, though we do have an informal FB group) and being in the same room as others of my kind. I love talking with other readers of historical romance, but the writing of it, well, that’s a different matter.

\Though I know every chapter of any group has its own identity, more often than not, the RWA chapters I have experienced have been very open. Plop self down next to Other Person, chat amiably, find out several minutes in that Other Person is Big Name Author and now you are a writerly version of work friends. There’s also the energy of being in a room full of people who love to write what I love to write, especially when I find a fellow historical romance writer, at which point

Two women, holding drinks and chatting happily
Photo by ELEVATE on Pexels.com

It starts with “what eras?” and goes on from there. Hopefully with an “I loved That Book You Wrote” on at least one side. (Though it be many years in the past, the thrill of hearing “I loved that article you wrote on A Certain Author” across a big ol’ meeting room the first time I introduced myself to a new chapter. If whoever is running the meeting has us go around and introduce ourselves and say what we write, that’s a bonus point I love to find out who writes what. Though there are always chances that a particular chapter will slant heavily towards a particular subgenre (contemporary, erotic, YA, etc) there’s usually a good variety, and one can usually find a kindred soul, or at least be put in touch with one if they do not happen to be in attendance at the moment. An “X, meet Y” email later, boom, connection.

It’ll all work out in time. Writers do tend to find writers (especially when they babble on the interwebs; historical romance writers; hit me up) and the most important part of writing is, well, writing. Butt in chair, pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, etc, etc, and so on until there is Book. Then do it again.

That’s about it for now, but hey, blog post written, so it counts for the week. How are things going on your end?

Anna

Typing With Wet Paws: Digging Out Edition

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Tails up, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome, and this is Typing With Wet Paws. It’s been quite the week over here, and pretty much all of the humans are now in the digging out of the debris phase. Aunt Linda will be going to CT early in the coming week to take care of a few family things. I am not sure if Mama Anna is going with her, but if Mama Anna is going with her, then I am going with Mama Anna. We are a team. Also, I cry when she is gone for too long, and leaving me at home alone while Papa is at work is not one of the world’s greatest ideas. Aunt Linda’s brother, Uncle Bob, will be meeting her there, I think, so I don’t know if having us there would be too crowded. We will see. If we do go, I love car rides, so I won’t be complaining unless I don’t get a good view. Then I will make my displeasure known.

On the domestic front, Mama Anna is grumbling about hauling a bunch of cardboard out to the recycling area. Personally, I don’t see a problem with a lot of cardboard. Has she ever even tried scratching it? Totally satisfying. Humans are weird. I would consider the smell of old pizza to be a plus.

I highly recommend a long winter’s nap.
Photo by Mama Anna

Oh. That reminds me. Since we do live in an area with lots of good pizza, the humans order it a decent amount. Well. It smells really good, and I am a curious girl. Earlier this week, Papa had an unattended slice of pizza, and I thoughtt the sausage on it smelled really good. He didn’t mind when I sniffed it, but touch my tongue to it one time, and all of a sudden, it’s “not for kitties.” Which I know is human for “get your face out of that.” You can guess how well that worked. Long story short, I am not allowed around pizza unsupervised anymore. Papa knows now to watch his plate.

For Mama Anna, this digging out stuff means a lot of reading and writing. This will mean a lot of what she calls brain dumping, which means putting whatever is in her head onto whatever page she has in front of her, whether that be paper or screen. Sometimes she has to blabber a lot before she can get any readable writing out of the process. I like when she is in this place, because I get to stick close to her and be her mews. I am super good at that. When we are getting into a really good writing session, Mama Anna and I snuggle into the big pillow nest on the people bed and settle in with a fuzzy blanket (still not fuzzier than me, though) and a tea or cold drink for Mama Anna, and we are good for a nice long stretch. Speaking of which, I think it’s time to lead her on over there. What’s on tap for your weekend?

Headbonks!

Storm

PS (or psspsspss -wee what I did there?) : Mama Anna is already one book ahead of schedule on her Goodreads challenge, with five books read out of seventy-five. Pillow nests are super good for reading.

Me Again

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Hello, all. It’s been a while. I still exist, I am still writing and I do still know how to work a computer. We’ve had a few things going on over here.

Photo by Roy Post on Pexels.com

Within one week, we had three deaths in the extended family. My contemporary co-author, Melva Michaelian, messaged me to let me know her husband, Jerry, had passed. I will always remember Jerry’s warm welcomes when I visited Melva, and his dry sense of humor. He loved his family, his dogs, had a dsitinguished career as a firefighter, and was just an awesome human being.

That same week, the cos friend of close friends (and wonderful human in her own right) also lost her beloved husband, which has of course rallied the entire friend group.

Then our Housemate got The Call that her mother (whom I will now refer to as Maman, my name for her) had passed. Housemate is okay, doing what needs to be done, and Storm and I may take a couple of days to lend a hand (and paw) to clear out Maman’s apartment.

There’s also the matter of cleaning our own, as it feels like we’ve been under a mountain of dishes, laundry, and recycling. Spring cleaning is definitely starting early over here. I will not mention the mountains of emails and snail mails that I need to address, but if I owe you some form of communication, it is coming.

As I said in my weekly chat with my friend, Mary, this is all more than a bit disconcerting when it comes to writing. Still, the only way to write is to, well, write. As a once upon a time writing group facilitator said often, the process begets the product. Put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and keep going. Make bad stuff. Then make better stuff. That’s how it works.

Whether that means, for the immediate present, that I work on things that are in the pipeline, rough out something new, or even dig up old bones of trunked projects, I don’t know. Probably poking all of the above with a stick, because, well, dangit. I like having new books out. Today, more than ever, there are mutiple ways to make that happen.

I will admit that I am feeling the lack of romance writer community right the heck now, especially historical romance writer community. (If you fall into that category, seriously hit me up and let’s chat.) My local RWA chapter meetings were always great for this sort of thing, but, as with many chapters as of late, ours disbanded and now that part of me feels rather…floaty. Thinking of joining an online chapter, or finding an alternative organization, but definitely need it to be historical romance centric or at least friendly. Online is good, in person is best.

I am also greatly feeling the lack of Romantic Times Magazine. Not RT Book Reviews as it was rebranded for the last leg of its run, but Romantic Times, genre right there in the name. At one time, I had a sizeable collection of back issues, but not now, and I am missing them. I loved getting the paper magazine every month, reading through the reviews of new releases, especially with the setting noted right at the top, so I could pinpoint my favorite eras. Also track trends, not going to lie about that. Le sigh. There are some wonderful similar resources available online now, but that particular group, that’s what I am missing.

Anyway, I wanted to get this brain dup out here before it was time for Storm to give the cat’s eye view of the week. I look forward to resuming a more regular blogging schedule, possibly interspersed with vlogs, and most likely still on the two a week schedule, because I like the extra writing time. If you’re still with me after all this blabber, you have my eternal gratitude. Creative journaling has been helping me a lot lately, and I have even started a book journal that keeps me mostly on track with my reading. Apparently having to tick a box is great motivation. Writing jounal is in progress, but more on that later.

How are all of you?

Still me, Anna

Typing With Wet Paws: ‘Twas the Week Before Christmas Edition

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Tails up, and Happy Holidays, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome, and this is Typing With Wet Paws. It’s the week before Christmas here (well, and everywhere else, pretty much, but it’s a regular day for some people, which is cool. I like regular days.) I have not yet made a move toward the Christmas tree, but then again, A) the lights do not blink (Mama Anna wants them to blink, but they currently do not. Harumph.) and we do not have a topper yet. The topper may blink, and that may catch my attention.

What has definitely caught my attention is that I know what drawer in the people clothes dresser Mama Anna keeps the catnip in, and I want it. I love catnip. That drawer doesn’t close all the way, and I can get my fingers over the edge. I keep trying to pull . I’ll get it one day. The claw marks tell me where I need to concentrate my efforts. Usually, Mama Anna tells me “enough of that,” or “excuse you,” and gives me pets. Then she asks me if I want nip (I always do) and she puts some on my bed or in my (cardboard box) house, and then we are both happy.

Because of reasons, Mama Anna and Aunt Linda are doing their holiday shopping this weekend. I have specifically asked for red dot and wand toys. I trust them to do the right thing. I also plan to share a can of people tuna with Papa. We do that on special occasions. Aunt Linda’s work friend gave me a bunch of fancy gushy food because her cats said “no thank you” to that purchase. There is a flavor that makes me kind of vomity, so those cans will be going to a nice human who feeds ferals near Aunt Linda’s work.

photo by Rheuben Bowling

Aunt Anna has moved the goalposts of her Goodreads challenge. It’s now 85 books instead of 90. That feels much more achievable right now. She regrets nothing. So far she has read 81 books, so that’s only four more. She can totally do that. I’m here for her so she can rub my belly with the hand that isn’t holding the tablet or book. If she reads an audio book, she can pet me with both hands. I prefer that.

As for writing, this has not been the most productive week, as she’s had another human at home for the last three days straight, and her office is in the bedroom and that can get tricky when someone is trying, to sleep while she is making with the tappity tappity. When she writes longhand, she likes to do it in bed while propped up on the whole bunch of pillows they have there. I suppose she could use Papa as an improvised kind of desk, if he is sleeping face down. I’ll suggest it.

What are you guys doing to get ready for your holidays?

Headbonks!

Storm

And Then One Day, You Do

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The art, and probably science, of coming back to oneself, especially as a creative, after a significant trauma, is not a straight line, but more like a manic freeform scrawl, like what one might find if a toddler were given a Sharpie and a blank white wall. It feels like forever. It feels big and blinding and impossible. It’s at once a fever dream and a much-desired goal. How to get there, though? Beats me. I have been through this journey more than once, may well again, as I still have some time in front of me, and each time is going to be different.

it also involves a lot of The Sims, or maybe that’s just me

There are big chunks of wanting to do the things that make a person the unique individual that they are, to get the creative voice to make a sound, but …not. There is knowing the thing, knowing one likes the thing. The thing is right there. One could do the thing. This crawls through one’s brain like a news crawler. One wants to do the thing. One wants to like doing the thing. One wants to have done the thing. Does one do the thing? No. Why?

Season 5 Whatever GIF by Paramount+
Lucy says it best

The easiest explanation I have, for my own individual case, is that there aren’t enough spoons. If you’re not familiar with spoon theory, it’s kind of like the pain scale. Basically, there is only so much energy a person has when dealing with a chronic condition, it’s finite, and putting spoons in one place means they can’t go in another. Sometimes they go to playing Sims for a few months or rearranging the furniture, or constructing planners or whatever happens to fill the need at the time. It’s different for everybody. It also very seldom resembles what the person thinks it’s going to be.

For me, I thought it was going to mean gorging myself on a steady stream of historical romance, preferably from my keeper boxes. Probably Netflix/Hulu binges, and oh the writing I was going to do. I’ve done some. I hired my first indie editor, the fabulously talented Jessica Cale, and got through the first round of edits, which then just…sat. Because. As with the reading. As with the viewing. As with the total lack of listening to music, which has some interesting results for my Spotify year in review. I will also mention the war between a mad race to the end of my Goodreads challenge, or shrugging that off and deciding it is what it is.

And then. Because there is always an “and then” when it comes to this sort of thing. Thing is though, there is no sort of time table, though one would be incredibly useful. Maybe, though, we write it as we go. At any rate, we go about it one foot in front of the other, maybe even plodding through rambly blog posts, or lack of blog posts and it gets annoyingly tedious. Will This Ever End? Maybe there has been some writing, but it’s more like going for a hike with a cartoon style ball and chain around one’s ankle. Doable, and one can technically get to one’s destination, but is one going to appreciate the scenery and/or have a lovely chat along the way? Possibly not so much.

But back to the “but then.” Then one day, one does. Oh, look, I’m reading a book. Oh look, I finished watching a series on Netflix. Oh look, I added something new to Spotify. Oh look, sleep tracker shows a steady bunch of nights that count as decent rest. That’s all good stuff. It’s not one thing. The ball and chain doesn’t drop off dramatically. It gets ground down by a million single steps. Online chats. You Tube videos playing in the background when not looking at the screen. Mindless tablet scrolling, like treading water in an infinity pool, no agenda in mind.

Then one day, the ball and chain isn’t there. It’s weird. Writing is a challenge, and then, one day, it’s …normal? The way it should be? Familiar? Sort of “oh, there you are.” Not exactly the same, because I don’t think that’s possible, but okay. Stepping from one room into another.

Do I know where this is going?

Season 5 Whatever GIF by Paramount+

Not sure, but it’s real, and it’s true, and writing it feels good, so I am going to hit the publish button and then get on with my day. Moving to a two blog a week schedule, one of those Storm’s responsibility, honestly has made a difference in my fiction writing, so I am thinking of keeping the practice beyond December. Not sure yet; we’ll see, but putting the emphasis on writing romance fiction, feels right.

Hmm, probably time for a new signoff graphic.

Pre-Thanksgiving Rambles

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This morning, for my weekly chat with bud Mary, I turned my folding desk around, so that my back was not to an off-white wall, but the rustic bookcase festooned with white fairy lights. Note to self: get more fairy lights. I had every intention of writing a “real” blog post (what is a real blog post, anyway?) but then after an extremely good chat that ended with online ornament shopping and discussion of the big epic novels/miniseries of the 1970s, aka high drama, it hit me that we are on Thanksgiving Eve, which means it’s basically a holiay, and I do need to set up my Christmas planner, because the day after Thanksgiving, is Black Friday, and it’s go, go, GO into Holiday Mode.

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

We do have our tree to put up. This year, beyond the basic colored balls, we have a gorgeous Tudor rose ornament from Mary, and that means it is high time to have some more personalized ornaments on the tree. Cats, writing instruments, that sort of stuff. Can’t go into that unprepared and still face myself in the morning. Which will be Thanksgiving morning.

This year, we are going with a theme of “we tired,” and will be ordering in or getting takeout like the city dwellers we are. Pajamas all day if possible, relaxing, getting current on streaming backlog, reading, and hitting the ground running for full on holiday mode. I will be armed with lists, more lists, and lists of lists. No, I am not kidding on that one. I can take organization to meticulous levels when I have a mind to, and when I am all hopped up on visions of sugarplums and all that other good stuff, well, think of the logical outcome. All of that means that putting thought into a “real” post is not on my agenda.

One of the things I am list-ing is a somewhat loose TBR for the coming year, though I may not wait that long to get started. It all depends on what the library has in store. When I fell down the rabbit hole of V. C. Andrews analysis videos, I glommed hard on to the high drama factor, and what captures high drama than those big 70s epics I mentioned earlier? I was a bit young for those the first time around, but getting a taste for them now, so sprinkling them through the coming year might be something to add to my plans for 2022. Reading high drama fuels writing high drama and I do love my high drama. I know, big surprise on that one.

Anyway, the lure of a pillow fort and hand-knit afghan is calling, with a Kindle full of books, and a paperback Christmas historical romance anthology right there on the nightstand. I have a cuddly kitty and a plentiful tea supply. Also, my brain wants, very very strongly, to go back into fiction mode, and that pillow fort would put me verrrry near a lot of my pens. If you’ve been here longer than five minutes, you know all about me and pens. (Did I mention that I have started to see holiday pen gift sets popping up in stores? Have to say PaperMate is stepping it up this year.

What’s on tap for your holiday?)

Plot Bunnies in the Attic

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First of all, Storm is on heat lockdown (we do plan on getting her spayed) and thus was not allowed to use the computer unsupervised. She kept attempting to log onto Cat Tinder, and we could not have that. Seriously. I found her profile picture.

single black, white, and orange female….

Beyond that, things are going pretty well over here. I was a bit under the weather over the weekend, but feeling much better now, and excited over the holiday season proper being right around the corner. For those of us who are stationery aficionados, that means new planner season is coming. For those of us who write fiction, it’s time to look ahead at the coming writing year. For those of us who are both, that means time to work on a writing planner.

One of those sections is creating a “stuck list,” aka books, movies, TV, other media that usually gets my idea hamster on the wheel and running like they think they are Wilma Rudolph or Usain Bolt.

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For me, the book section includes romance and non-romance books. One of the non-romances, that I come back to time and again, is Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews. As a romance writer, that does give me a moment of pause. Trigger warning: incest, child abuse.

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Dollenganger #1

Though there is an intimate relationship between teen protagonists Cathy and Chris, who are full siblings, under extremely extenuating circumstances, this isn’t a romance. It’s a tragedy. I’ve classified it as horror, of the psychological sort, and it is that, but as I wandered down my most recent FITA rabbit hole (it happens every once in a while) I found myself thinking, as I usually do when I revisit good ol’ Foxworth Hall (sarcasm mode on for that house name) “how would this work as a historical romance?”

Not, I should note, that I would ever want to have a hero and heroine who are full, half, step, foster, etc siblings. Not my thing. The big old house with centuries of heritage behind it, though? Oh yes. The family secrets? Yep. The family dysfunction? Well, of course. The creepy-deepy atmosphere? Um, have you met me? You know this is all Anna-nip when it comes to inspiration. I do have to admit that I had some degree of shock when I saw the Lifetime TV movie adaptation of the first book (there are five in all, number five being a prequel; when I reread, I read FITA, then the prequel, then FITA again, as the prequel is the origin story of the villainess) and very seldom pay any attention to the books in between. That’s just me, though.

My other listening obsession is podcasts on romance writing/reading, of which there are delightfully a lot. Though I don’t recall the specific episode where I heard author Sarah MacLean say that she also always thinks “how would this work as a historical romance?” my brain did catch on that. Fellow author Corinna Lawson once told me, after I’d given one of my very first workshops on what is now Play in Your Own Sandbox, Keep All the Toys, that I tend to “take fantasy inspiration and file off all the fantasy.” She’s not wrong, as I first got my start writing Star Trek: The Next Generation fanfic that read like historical romance with blinky things. I think the same thing might well apply to horror.

I did mention above that I have always classed FITA into horror, and with the discovery of some analyses of the Andrews books (only the actual V. C Andrews, thanks. Not the ghostwriter.) that it also fits into gothic drama, and since most of her stories take place in the south, Southern Gothic elements abound. I love that stuff. I gobble the classic gothic romances of the late sixties/early seventies when I can find them, and some authors who are on my top tier historical romance list, like Valerie Sherwood and Aola Vandergriff, also wrote in this gothic genre. Hmmmm. Hmmm. Hmmmmm.

Romance, though, particularly historical (the tone of my contemporaries with Melva Michaelian are decidedly different and equally natural) with HEAs and dating outside of the family line. Right now, I am at the phase of noting things on my stuck list and leaving them to marinate, to ponder in days to come. Maybe this will come in handy when I revise Orphans in the Storm, which may be on tap for 2022. Maybe not, but it’s always fun to examine something that gets the idea hamster on the move, and that’s a worthwhile end in its own right.

What surprising items might you put on your stuck list?