writing

The Gift of January

annabowling Leave a comment

Second week of the new year. We’ve had some arctic cold, a bunch of snow, a few domestic tornadoes, but, hopefully, they will soon be winding down.  I’m starting thus entry far later in the day than I had planned, as we have a full house today. Real Life Romance Hero is eager to get back to work, and Housemate is down with a winter bug. Skye is ensconced in her favorite spot in front of the living room radiator, possibly dreaming of how she will finally catch the mousies that live in my phone, the next time I load one of her cat games. Light snow is falling outside, and, by Friday, the subzero temperatures will be replaced by the near-tropical forecast around the fifty degree mark.

Welcome to January. When I went to set up my planner pages for the coming week, I didn’t want to stick with the same color palette that had seen me through fall and this much of the winter. I’d wanted to use a more Christmassy color scheme for December, but, as December was pretty much a poop show, I never got around to that, but it’s January now. There’s a new calendar in the kitchen, RLRH is on the mend, and my schedule is filling with things like critique and writing dates, scheduling a Skype session with Melva, a thirty day writing challenge, and, generally, a return to a focus on the writing life.

JamuaryColorScheme

The sugar skull does not actually appear in my planner. It’s a sticker I slapped over some notes that are of no interest to anybody but me. I’ll fill in the actual events and appointments for the week later; the blog entries due (one, still, from last week) and times when, as per instructed in the workshop, I need to shut the door and do nothing but write.  Last night wasn’t about the planning, or the writing. Last night was about the January-ness of the next three weeks.

I hadn’t thought about January-ness much before. Last night, though, it was all about rifling through my stash of markers, to find the perfect mix of colors that would ground my brain in this particular part of the year. “Icy” colors weren’t right. I didn’t want to feel oold when I looked at my week, or at each individual day. I want to feel present and want to look at the page, want to do the things I have written on it. For some, this isn’t important, but, for me, it is. The right colors help me feel grounded. I am here. I am doing this. Marking off the sections for each day, each heading, stenciling in the letters (my days of the week are in Dutch) and numbers is part ritual, part recreation.

What it is, mostly, is foundation. While I’m normally a December kind of gal, this year, it’s all about January. Kind of cold, but I like cold weather. Kind of gray, but gray is one of my favorite color. This time of year is for new beginnings, and resolutions, and getting (back) in gear, and I can very much identify with all of that. Maybe it doesn’t come with as many sparkly lights as the Christmas season, but I do have a string of white fairy lights that will, at some point, be going up around my desk area. January does, however, come with calendars and planners, of which I highly approve.

Right now, the only writing tracker I have going is titled Did You Write? One box for each day. If yes, it gets filled. If no, it gets an x. So far, it’s all solid colors. I’m calling that good. Said colors started out in an icier palette, which put me too much in mind of Disney’s Frozen, which I have not seen, but the colors from my planner; those feel right. Those bring the January-ness to the fore, and make me want to fill in those boxes.

The start of a new year has a lot in common with getting back to normal life after a crisis. Some of the dust takes a while to settle, but the whole start as you mean to go on thing has a lot going for it. Even if I’m not feeling it on a particular day, that hour (at least) with the door closed, when I cannot do anything but write, that’s as important as the rest of the things on my schedule.

That’s the gift of January; the barrier of a closed door, the open page, the invitation for imaginary friends to come and do their things, no matter how crazy “real” life has been. How crazy it still is, for that matter. For me, this January comes wrapped in warm greys, soft blues, and muted greens, in pages and possibilities, and the invitation to, for at least that hour each day, leave the “real” world on the other side of the door. January sticks a stake in the ground, to mark the importance of story time, and my dedication to it. I think January may become one of my favorite months.

TheWriterIsOut

Typing With Wet Claws: Uncle Smells Like Vet Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for the first Feline Friday of 2018. It is very cold here, in New York’s capitol region. Yesterday, we got a lot of snow, so much that Anty and the writer friend she was supposed to meet for lunch had to move that meeting for next week, because the humans had to stay home and stay safe. Tomorrow will be very, very cold, so Anty and Mama plan on staying put (Uncle will probably have to go to work) with blankets and hot drinks, and, hopefully, some books, but that is not the most important thing I want to talk about this week.

Normally, I have to talk about Anty’s writing first, but this week is an exception. This week, Uncle got very sick, and Anty had to call special humans to come and help him get to the Right Now People Vet. Anty put me in Mama’s room, with two bowls of water, before they came, so that I would not get in anybody’s way, or get too scared. I could still hear things, though, and Uncle smelled very sick. It took seven humans and a special chair to get Uncle into the carrier, and then to the Right Now People Vet. They kept Uncle there for two nights, to make sure that he was really okay. They did a good job, because, yesterday, Uncle came home. He did not smell sick anymore, but he did smell like vet.

I do not like the smell of vet, and that includes people vet, but I do like the smell of Uncle. He came home yesterday morning, in the middle of all the snow. I had been curled up in front of Heater, and then I heard a human at the door. Then the door opened, and it was Uncle. I ran to him, at top speed. He is my favorite, and I love him the most. I was not happy while he was gone. Today, I went to Anty and cried, when Uncle stepped outside for a minute. Then he came back and fed me, and I was happy again. I let him know I do not like closed doors, because I need to be sure that he is okay and that he is still here. I even let Anty know that I do not like her and Uncle being at different ends of the apartment, because I want to see both of them at the same time. I will calm down pretty soon, but, right now, I want to keep making sure.

It is kind of like that with Anty and writing. I am going to save the real start of the year post for next week, because Anty’s attentions have been mostly elsewhere this week. She did post at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, taking a look back and a look forward, at the same time. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURhappynewyear

Normally, this is the place where I bring you up to date on Anty’s Goodreads reading challenge, but this has been a special week, so I will stat off the 2018 reports next week. Anty only got a little bit of reading time this week, and she ended up DNF-ing two different books. DNF, in the reading world, means did not finish. Anty does not like to do this to book, but, this week, that was the right thing to do. Anty does not want to say which books they were, but both of them were anthologies. One was historical romance, and the other was YA. Maybe Anty will try them again, later. Right now, she is reading the new version of a favorite classic historical romance, and that will probably be her first review of the new year.

All told, Anty read ninety-nine books in 2017. Because of all the commotion this week, I did not get an exact percentage of historical romances in Anty’s reading this year, but if Anty did not make her goal of fifty percent, she came close. If I count the historical fiction with strong romantic elements, I think she probably did, but it was close. Part of that is because Anty found a lot of new authors in YA fiction this year.

For this coming year, she will still be reading a lot of YA, but she also wants to tighten her focus on historical romance, and, specifically, the kinds of historical romance that remind her why she is in this writing business in the first place. Because Anty’s second love, after writing, is planning and organizing, she came up with the perfect tool:

bujpreadomggpa;s2018

 

The TBRR stands for To Be Re-Read, and that means reading books that she has already read, that made a special impact on Anty, with an eye to taking note of what, exactly, made that impression, and how it did that. The TFR should probably be TBFR, which stands for To Be Finally Read (or To Finally Read, either way.) Those are books Anty has always meant to read, but never got around to reading before now. There are twelve in each list, one for each month in the new year. The plan is that, when Anty hits a lull, or she does not k now what she wants to read, she can pick one book from these lists, and, by the end of the year, have them all completed. Since that would be twenty-four books, that would also make a nice dent in her goal of ninety books (she is keeping the same goal for this coming year) in 2018.

Mrandmrsgothyclaus2017

Happy Holidays, from Mr. and Mrs. Gothy Claus.

Now, back to writing, because that is the bigger focus. When Anty and Mama came home from the people vet, where Uncle had to stay, Anty immediately put on some special gloves and took a trash bag and collected things that the Right Now People Vet Helpers had left behind. There were wrappers from things they had to unwrap, to help Uncle, and some other things that do not make good kitty toys. Getting those things out of the way was part of getting everything back to normal, so that we could all do what we needed. It is kind of the same thing with writing. Once a crisis is past, it is time to pick up the debris, and get back to business. I think that is a good way to start the new year.

That is about it for this week, but there is a whole year of Feline Fridays ahead. Let’s make it a good one. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebyenew

see you next week

 

Seven

annabowling 3 Comments

If, for any reason, anybody needs to know how many paramedics can fit into the hallway and one very small room of our apartment, the answer is seven. One guess as to how I know. Thanks to aforementioned first responders and the hospital staff, Real Life Romance Hero will be fine, but that was not the way anybody wanted to start off the new year. Though I am posting this entry on Wednesday, it is technically Monday’s post. I will figure out where the Wednesday post goes, later.

Right now, there is laundry to do, and a long-awaited e-book on my Kindle, to read while said laundry is doing its thing. After that, it is time to check on RLRH at the hospital, and, most likely, convey him home. As Housemate often says, at least we are not bored. She is right: we most certainly are not even remotely close to bored. Tired, yes, but not bored.

This may not, objectively, seem like the best time in the world to participate in a month-long writing challenge, but, almost predictably, that is exactly what I am doing. I highly suspect I may be a unicorn in this particular group, as other participants seem to have a wide array of writing goals that do not involve commercial fiction (or fiction at all) but that’s fine. This isn’t that kind of challenge, at least not at this point. We will see how things go, but, so far, two assignments given out, two completed, so I will consider myself off to a decent start. Begin as one means to go on, and all that stuff.

Usually, for me, the big winter holiday is Christmas, and that’s still my favorite. I have every plan of having a more traditional celebration next year. This year, though, it’s the new year that has me excited. A friend and I stayed up, over Skype, on New Year’s Eve, to watch 2017 die. It’s been that kind of year. With a new year come new possibilities. Foremost among those is reclaiming my writer identity.

It’s easy for the writing self to get lost along the way, especially when domestic tornado chains rip through one’s family and debris takes its time in settling. Don’t ask me what it is about this particular year that makes it different, but this year, there was a firm, quiet, “no,” when it came to that getting lost thing, and that is probably why I clicked the button to join this challenge. Okay, that and the fact that I know the woman who’s running it, personally, and I may or may not have started writing one of my novels in her kitchen, once upon a time. Spoiler alert: I totally did.

Today’s lesson was on morning pages, which I’ve been doing for a couple of years now. If I dug into my archive of completed notebooks, I could tell you the exact day. Since there is rather a lot of laundry that needs immediate attention, I am not going to do that (at least not today) but I am going to take a moment to highly recommend the practice of morning pages, and the related practice of a brain dump, which can be done at any time. I will be bringing my traveler’s notebook/bullet journal/should probably give it its own name so that I don’t have to figure out how to refer to this thing with me, so there probably will be a brain dump at the laundromat as well.

There is also an equal chance I will flick my Kindle on as soon as I have deposited the last quarter in the washing machine, and spend the entire time with my attention fully focused on Pirate In My Arms, by Danelle Harmon.  There are a few reasons for this. I stayed up until midnight on January first, so that I could make sure, as the calendar flipped to January second, the date the e-book version of this historical romance, first published in 1992, would be available. I didn’t know that, only a few hours later, I would be reading it while crammed into a corner of a tiny room in the Emergency Department, while RLRH let the medication do its work. When Housemate came to join us, she looked at my Kindle, and asked, “Pirate In My Arms?” I told her she knew me well, and then went back to eighteenth century Cape Cod, to watch a proper colonial maiden and a fabled English pirate find that their ragged edges fit together into one unbreakable whole.

I did gobble this book when it first came out, in what seems like another lifetime, so it’s both an old favorite and a new adventure at the same time. That’s what writing fiction feels like, as I look at 2018. I’ve been here before, but it’s still new. Not sure exactly what to take from that, but to keep going straight on through it, eyes fixed on the ultimate goal. By the end of 2018, I want to have at least one new book out there, in the hands of readers, or at least on its way. It’s been said the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and there’s truth to that. It’s a thousand single steps, one after the other, aimed toward the ultimate destination.

Typing With Wet Claws: End of the Year Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for the last ever Feline Friday of 2017. Next week, it will be 2018, the start of a brand new year. It is very cold here, in New York’s capitol region, so the humans are staying inside as much as possible, which is fine by me, because then they are available to feed me and give me head scritches. I like to be petted on my head only, nowhere else. Their comfy chairs are in the living room, near the Christmas tree, which has sparkly lights, and is very close to the heater. I love the heater. It is my happy place. The humans tried to put the popcorn tin (my Mama’s mama gives us one every year) there, because it is close to all the chairs, but it is my happy place, so sorry, popcorn tin.

Before I talk about anything else, I have to tell readers where they can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs this week, other than here. If you are reading this, you already know about here. As usual, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. This week’s post was about  surprises in holiday-themed romance reading. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURsurprisekoala

Readingwise, Anty is going for broke this year (that is not a dig at her book spending habits, because she is actually pretty good about that, and libraries are our friends) as she is currently nine books ahead of schedule, with ninety-eight books read out of ninety. Go, Anty, go. The one hundred book mark (as opposed to one hundred bookmarks, though Anty would not object to having one hundred bookmarks. Maybe she already does. I have not counted.) is close, and there are still a few days left in 2017.

The books she read this week were all historical romance, which means she has taken my words to heart (pun unintended) about beefing things up in that area (and I do like beef.) and they all take place in or soon after the eighteenth century, and are all Christmas stories. I think Anty is doing pretty well on that front. Here are the reviews to the books she read this week:

 

 

Anty is a little sad that she cannot post her favorite book of the year on Heroes and Heartbreakers anymore, because their run is now complete. She will miss that site very much, but I will be here, to tell you her favorite read of the year, next week. It will be a difficult choice, so she may need to split that into romance and YA. Tbat is one of the perks of writing on her own (well, our, because, let’s face it, without me, she’d have to write all her own posts) blog. She is also looking at other paid blogging opportunities, so I will hopefully be able to share more posts of Anty’s here in the future.

Since it is the end of the year, the future is greatly on Anty’s mind. Most specifically, the future of writing. Because Anty likes money, she already has a short list of sites she thinks might be a good fit for her, and is working on some ideas for posts for those. That is a different kind of writing than writing commercial fiction, which is still Anty’s great love. The commercial fiction, that is. Well, after Uncle, of course, and me. Also stationery. Anty really, really loves stationery. Yesterday, she filled two fountain pens, and is still deciding what use she has in mind for the notebook and pen a writer friend gave her for Christmas. She is still not sure.

What she is sure of, though, is that I will be earning my treats this year with top-level mews duties. This year, Anty’s plan is to get two books to complete second drafts, and to either place one for publication through an established publisher, or independently. She is okay with either method, as long as she gets a new title out there. Anty says this falls into the category of “high time.” I am not entirely sure what that means, but rest assured, I will be here for her. Right here. In easy range for head scritches and feeding. Those are both important parts of the creative process.

The popcorn may fit in there somewhere, but it is not as important as having a dedicated mews on duty, or having a clear idea of what kind of story Anty wants to tell. Since Anty writes genre fiction, that part is pretty easy; her stories are romance. No matter what else happens, or when the stories are set, by the end of the book, the two humans will be together, and happy about that fact. Other than that, anything goes. Since one of the books Anty is writing (well, co-writing, with Anty Melva) does, in fact, have a cat in it, I suspect this is going to be a very good year.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week

 

Not So Tucked-Away Week

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Normally, in our family, the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day is referred to as the tucked-away week. This year, not so much. This year, we have some domestic stuff to wrangle, and our annual gathering with friends, that usually marks the new year, will be happening a bit later; this year, it will be in the middle of February, shortly after Valentine’s Day. For me, that caps the winter holiday season, so that’s ending things in grand style. Until then, it’s a bit of an adventure.

My Christmas historical romance binge continues apace, and my planner now has two full pages, listing historical romance novels to re-read, and to finally read, in the year to come. Writing-wise, big goal is to get at least one book out there in 2018. Finding more freelance blogging work would be fabulous, too, and, once the dust settles, that’s definitely on the agenda. None of that can happen, though, without regular work on the works in progress.

That’s easier said than done sometimes, especially when there are hoops to jump through and processes to follow, and getting a stretch of time when one is both conscious and uninterrupted feels like the true holiday miracle. Note that there was no mention of “inspired” or “in the mood.” Sometimes, the anxiety beast has to run itself into exhaustion, and, when that happens, there isn’t a lot of energy left to get excited about much of anything. Thankfully, though, there is a sort of creative muscle memory, and, if I get a pen in my hand, and some paper in front of me, sooner or later, the two are going to connect. I would say butt in chair and fingers on keyboard, but A) Facebook, B) blinking cursors are easy to stare at for hours on end.

I would be remiss here, if I did not mention the irritation of logging into Netflix for my much-needed Being Human fix, only to find that, sometime in the night, a door had apparently appeared and the whole show walked through it.  Pause here for an audible “humph.” Cue fingers drumming on desktop, and half-hearted watching of a British period comedy that should have caught my interest, but, over halfway in, has not. I may need to brew yet another cup of tea and retreat under a fuzzy blanket with yet another Christmas novella, and, maybe, a new notebook.

Those who know me, know that pens and paper are my natural environment, and, given the same, I will produce something. At the moment, I’m not entirely recalling what the official stance is on the writing of commercial fiction during the tucked-away week. My best educated guess is that it permissible, and possibly encouraged, which I will take as a sign that moving in that direction (possibly after a suitable interval of reading, cat in close proximity, is a good idea, and a likely eventuality.

So far, this year, I have watched precisely one Christmas movie. It was an older Hallmark movie, decently cast, but I have several questions about some of the writing choices. Both my Christmas mainstays, The Holiday, and Love Actually, are readily available, on DVD, as well as streaming. Three, if I count About a Boy, which I do, though, again, I have not watched this year. Okay, four, with the Jude Law version of Alfie. Not technically a Christmas movie as such, but it does have a pivotal plot point at Christmas, so that counts for me. Okay, five, with Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol, which very much is a Christmas movie, as well as the first movie I ever saw, so double nostalgia points.

This year,  the tucked-away week does not feel all that tucked away, but I still like to think that the spirit of it remains, even if concentrated in small doses, instead of evenly spread out across a long, lazy week. There are still plenty of Christmas cookies, and holiday leftovers, which are an essential part of the week, and the new month, and new year, start on a Monday, which is an absolute delight for migrating to my new bullet journal/planner. Maybe that’s the best part of the tucked-away week (even when it’s not so much tucked away)  the looking forward and looking back, at the same time. The putting to bed of one year and the fresh start of the next.

At this point, some bloggers would stop writing, pick up their cat, and sing “The Circle of Life,” but I am not one of those bloggers, Skye is not one of those cats (she is a floor girl) and I was kicked out of robe choir in high school, for having a bad voice (teacher’s own words) in front of the whole class (I did not mind terribly, as I got to read -you guessed it, historical romance novels- instead of singing, while everybody else proceeded with business as usual.) Instead, I will put the kettle on the stove, plop a fresh teabag in my cup, and rest in the knowledge that a librarian will have series three of Being Human ready for me in a matter of days, and I can work my way down my movie list, with Christmas movies nudged to the top. Probably.

The tucked-away week probably started as a way to extend my favorite holiday, Christmas, but turned into its own thing, at some point I can’t and don’t want to pinpoint. More than anything else, it’s a time to pause from all the rest of life and focus inward, on family and friends, imaginary friends included, and gear up to start the new year with a fresh perspective. This year, I am more than okay with that.

TheWriterIsOut

Happily Ever After, Plus

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After inhaling several Christmas romance novellas over the holiday, I think I finally know what it is I like about Christmas romance. The first part is obvious. I like Christmas. I like romance fiction. Therefore, it stands to reason that I would like Christmas romance fiction, but it’s not as cut and dried as that.

In any work of romance fiction, we know we are going to get a happy ending (whether that is Happily Ever After or Happy For Now largely depends on author and subgenre, but we’ll focus on the “happy” part for now.) When we add Christmas to the occasion, everything gets cranked up to eleven. Romance gets HEA (or HFN,) so turn that dial in an upwards trajectory, and bam. Christmas romance brings HEA (or HFN) plus. HEA plus sparkly lights, plus presents with big floppy bows, plus friends and family gathered around the hearth, plus peace on earth and goodwill towards men (and women.) HEA plus grudges set aside, plus sparkling snowfall, plus the music of church bells, plus the biggest feast of the year, plus reunions and reconciliation, plus restoration and second chances, and coming home, in a literal or metaphorical sense.

My favorite minute of the year is 6:01 PM on December 24th. It has been, for years. Stores close. The shopping rush is over. Time to go home, to friends and family, and, for the next twenty-four hours plus, the grind of everyday life gets put on hold. Life hits the snooze button, in a manner of speaking. Christmas has always felt, to me, to be a time set apart. Normally, I refer to the week between Christmas and New Year’s as the tucked away week, because that’s how it feels. Expectations are relaxed, the rush of the holiday is over, and the next thing on the horizon is bidding farewell to the old year, and seeing in the new one.

This year, we have a few things to deal with, so I can’t vouch for how tucked away this particular week is going to feel, but the spirit is there, and is probably something I would want to carry over into a Christmas romance of my own. What could be more romantic than a whole week that fits into that unique slot of time out of time, with drifting snow, glowing candles, the warmth in the middle of winter, the air fragrant with scents of spices and evergreens (even though my historical romance fiction, at least to date, pre-dates Christmas trees, evergreen boughs still count0 and the whole holiday, at its core, based on love, hospitality, and reconciliation?

I think that’s a pretty good place to start.  For all romantic fiction that comes out of my noggin (or partly out of my noggin, as I could not write contemporaries without my writing partner, Melva Michaelian.) HEA-plus. This is not a term I intend to fling around at pitch sessions or in query letters (trust me, “historical-adjacent” gets some funny looks; I have learned my lesson) but it fits the sort of stories I gravitate to, both as a reader and as a writer. It fits, though. Adding history to my romance is already a plus, and I do like to have my historical romance, whether read or written, come with generous helpings of both romance and history, and for the history to shape or at least affect the romance.

This means that it’s not a matter of swapping out the togas of a couple from ancient Rome for an Empire waisted gown and a pair of polished Hessian boots, and presto change-o, now it’s a Regency. For me, that would not work. There’s a world of difference between ancient Rome and nineteenth-century England. Close to two millennia and coughty cough miles, a good deal of water, and an entirely different belief system, not to mention government and class structure, developments in literature, science, the arts, etc, etc, etc. The ancient Roman couple would probably not have a heck of a lot to do in a Christmas story, unless we’re talking the very first Christmas, which could fit nicely into an inspirational historical (or even a few decades after; that would also work) but they would still have a lot of that plus factor. Plus gladiators, for one thing. Maybe one of those flood the whole arena for a sea battle deals, complete with boats and octopi.

Every period has its own unique flavor, which can add to the romance, and I am grateful for that. The possibilities really are endless. Historical characters don’t know they’re in a historical. They think they’re in a contemporary. Those aren’t costumes they’re wearing; those are their clothes. The way things are done is the way everybody does them (apart from those who buck the rules, with varying degrees of effectiveness.)

This is veering away from the Christmas romance topic, but it does nail down what makes these stories special to me. The HEA-plus definitely does expand past only one day out of the year, and it’s more than merely the period in which the story is set. Give me a romance with two damaged people, each of whom has a driving passion that is independent of the developing love relationship, flavored by the world in which they live, and I am one happy camper, no matter what side of the story I might be on for this particular experience.  If there’s snow on the ground, and mistletoe in the doorway, then that’s even better.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Three Days to Christmas Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is really almost Christmas now, because today is Friday, and Christmas is Monday. Anty and Uncle have been doing a lot of human stuff to set up for the year ahead, but they did remember to get me a big bag of treat, so I can forgive them. There have also been rumors of turning on space heater and letting me watch special movies that are made only for kitties, on Anty’s tablet for Christmas. This meets with my approval, but more on that after I get the other stuff out of the way, first.

The deal with me getting control of the blog once a week (at least) is that I have to tell readers where they can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs, besides here, before I can talk about other (more interesting) things (like me; everybody loves kitties.) This week, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. Her post this week was about holiday magic. You will have to go read the post if you want to find out what kind of holiday magic she means (hint: there is more than one kind.) That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURholidaymagic

Even though I said I was done with reporting Anty’s reads for 2017, since she has already met her goal, she is kind of kicking backside with the reading, as you can see here:

GRreadinggoals

We will have a few words, later, on the YA to historical romance balance, but, even though this was a very full week for Anty with non-book-related things, she still managed to read and review Things I’m Seeing Without You, by Peter Bognanni. That review is here, and it looks like this:

GRthingsimseeingwoyou

Our Christmas tree, which is now up, looks like this:

Christmastree2017

The snowflakes are a frame for the picture; they are not really inside our house. There is snow outside our house, though, because it is snowing as I write this. We are nice and warm inside, so I do not mind the snow. Anty likes it, and it helps her feel energized. Some humans, like Uncle, find that the wintertime makes them miss sunshine, but, for Anty, it is the other way around. Anty loves when it is cold and grey and snowy. That is a very good thing where writing is concerned.

This has not been the easiest year for that, but there is a whole new year ahead, and Anty is looking forward to that. For the next few days, though, it is all about Christmas. I will make sure that includes time for Anty to burrow under a fuzzy blanket and read some Chrisrmas romances, and maybe watch one of her favorite Christmas movies. She has seen only one so far this season, and it made her laugh, but probably not in the way the creative team intended.

Tomorrow, Anty will do laundry and bake Christmas cookies. These are both very good things for her writer brain, because they let the front part of her brain focus on the thing that she is doing (for example, washing clothes, or baking cookies) and that is the time that her imaginary friends (some people call them “characters”) get to play in the back part of her brain. To some, this does not look like anything other than washing clothes or baking cookies, but writer humans understand that there is something more at work here. Writer humans know that this is part of the writing process, even when it is farther along than a first draft.

Sometimes, this is part of re-connecting with the story after real life demands the writer’s time, and sometimes, it is some special one on one time (or one on two, because romances generally involve two humans besides the writer) with the writer and their characters. Of course, there are times when all it is, is laundry or cookies, which are both good things on their own, but, when it comes to writing, there is usually something else going on, and that is usually how it goes with Anty. When she is baking cookies, then I can be in the kitchen with her, to supervise. Sometimes, she will talk out loud about the story and tell me parts of it. Other times, she is all in her own head, with or without music playing on her phone.

Somewhere in all of that, connections are made that she might have missed if she were actively looking for them. I do not know exactly how that works, but it does. When it is a holiday, that can get magnified, so I would not be surprised if some of that reading time under Anty’s fuzzy blanket turned into writing time instead (or alongside it.) Either way, clean clothes and cookies can only help.

In the meantime, forget Disneyland. The real happiest place on Earth for me is with my Uncle. I do not normally like being picked up, but, sometimes, it happens. This week, it did, and I got to be in Uncle’s arms. I will stay with him longer than I will stay with any other human, because he is my favorite, and I love him the most. Other kitties can have Santa pictures, but I will take my Uncle picture over that, any day. I mean, look at him:

SkyeOMalleyCatWithUncle

Anty, Uncle, Mama and I, all hope that, whatever holiday you are celebrating this season, you are doing it with those that you love. A few good romance novels wouldn’t hurt, either, because those things are all about love. Seriously. I can recommend Anty’s.

That is about it for this week. Until next week, I remain Very Truly Yours,

skyebyenew

see you next week

Heroinecentric

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The image in the desktop wallpaper I am currently using is not me, nor is it mine. (It isfrom Pinterest, and it is here.) The notebook, with the Eiffel Tower and the woman with the red umbrella is, again, not me, not my picture, but it is my notebook, because I bonded with it, sitting there in a travel themed display in Barnes and noble. The notebook was sitting there in the display, I should mention. I was standing on the floor, like a normal person. Like a  normal person. Writers are not normal people. Some of us bond with notebooks in bookstore displays, for one thing. That should be an indicator right there, forming bonds with inanimate objects.

Not that it’s the objects themselves (not all the time, anyway) but what the objects represent, and, if they have one (or more) of the writer’s favorite motifs, then chances for bonding are higher. In this case, both images show a lone female figure, facing away from the viewer, and there is some sort of inclement weather situation. There is also outerwear. Throw those all together, maybe toss in a dreamy sort of filter, and it is a perfect storm. That sucker will draw me like an industrial strength magnet.

I don’t know when I first noticed that I liked this sort of image, but it does fit with my preference for stories, especially historical romance, that are heroine-centric. Not that I’m not into the dudes. Real Life Romance Hero is a dude. In fact, he is my favorite dude, and that includes all dudes who ever duded, hence his status as Real Life Romance Hero. Most of the romances I’m into include a dude, and so do the romances I write. I, however, am not myself a dude (RLRH can attest to this) which may be part of the reason I gravitate to heroines first, most of the time.

Not that I don’t love the heroes in my (and others’) books. That’s kind of mandatory when writing romance. These are 100% the heroine’s guys, but I have to be in author-love with them, or it’s going to be difficult to get said dudes to their HEA in believable fashion. I need to fall in love with them through the heroine’s eyes, because, let’s face it, she’s really the one who’s in love with them, and it’s her HEA as much as his. Theirs. This is not my day for pronouns, at least not until I have had more caffeine.

As far back as I can remember, it’s been the heroines that are my anchors to stories, whether read or written. The heroine’s skin is the first one I tend to climb into when I write, though there are exceptions. The hero and heroine of Her Last First Kiss came to me at the same time (convenient when they’re considerate like that, and, with these two, I would like to say that they walked into my office, already holding hands, though they don’t even know each other for the first couple of chapters. Time works differently for this sort of thing, but that’s another story.) and there is one back-burnered story, another Georgian historical romance, where the hero crashed what was supposed to be a regularly scheduled writing session for A Heart Most Errant, a medieval, turned the chair opposite me around, straddled it, and informed me I’d be writing about him that day, instead. Can’t argue with a hero like that, though, and, since I write romance, I knew that a heroine befitting him would not be far behind. (Spoiler alert: she wasn’t, and I look forward to getting back to their story soon.)

One of these days, I am going to track down the blog post (and do not ask me on what blog, because, at this point, I am starting to think it was probably a guest post) where Ilona Andrews wrote about teacup romances (books where characters, especially the heroine, could carry a cup of tea throughout the entire book and never spill a drop) and slapping kings (self-explanatory) and probably print it out and post it where I can see it every day, because yes. This. (Well, That.) As much as I love tea, and, generally being British, and generally living in periods when tea was known to and available in the British Isles (and other parts of the empire) they do drink tea, which therefore means that they are likely to carry teacups at some point, if I have a choice between carrying teacups and slapping kings, it’s king slapping, every time. Full disclosure: I have not read any of Ilona Andrews’ novels, as SF/F can be a hard sell for me, but never say never. I suspect I might like the kind of heroine she writes. (They write, as Ilona-the-writer is really Ilona and Gordon.)

There’s one more thing that draws me to these sorts of images, and, perhaps, to these sorts of stories. I love the heroine’s journey. Life was not always as easy for women in previous eras (not that it’s a cakewalk now, by any means) and finding out how the heroine is going to get what she wants, within the strictures of her time and society has always caught my interest. Figures, then, that when I need to figure out things in a story of my own, getting outside and taking a good long wander usually gets things going. So far, I have not been able to convince any photographers to follow me, but, again, never say never. For romance heroines, (and, one would hope, their writers) anything is possible.

Making a List and Checking it Twice

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Somewhere in our family photos, there is a picture of baby me, all of two months old, dressed in red velvet dress, with poofy white sleeves, under my very first Christmas tree. Since that album is in storage, I can’t include that picture here, but I do remember the look of utter befuddlement on my face, the baby version of “WTF is going on here?” Granted, two-month-olds have that reaction to a lot of things, because, at that age, basically everything rocks their worlds, because they are only two months old and literally everything is new.

It has been a while since then. The tree is not yet up in the living room of present-day me and family, but fingers crossed for tonight. We do have the white lights around the arches that connect living room to dining room and Real Life Romance Hero’s office, and Skye frequently has her hopeful/worried look, so, in that way, the circle is complete.

RLRHoffice

This entry is my fifth attempt at blogging today, and, whatever it turns out to be, this is what I’m sticking with, because, otherwise, we edge into overthinking territory, and I am not willing to do that. Not one week before Christmas. Okay, not any other time, but I am going to hang onto the Christmas cause for right now, and trust that it’s going to take me in the right direction.

As of today, I am two stories and change into my first Christmas historical romance anthology of the season. Late start for me, but I did read one independent novella already, so maybe the start isn’t that late after all. I still have my annual viewings of Love Actualy and The Holiday to fit in somewhere, not to mention Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol (which was, incidentally, the first movie I ever saw.) RLRH is doing much better, back at work, and wrangling a few household things. My cold is on its way out, and we are now in the last week before my favorite holiday of the year.

This year is going to be an intimate holiday, with immediate family only, which is fine, because it’s been a stressful few months, and we’re all tired. Since past experience tells me there will be a point where the other humans will retreat to their neutral corners, (no telling who Skye will follow) odds are good that I will have some free time on Christmas day. Part of this, I have no doubt, will be spent watching a movie with a friend, over Skype, and there is every chance that I will, at some point, dress my Sims in ugly Christmas sweaters and make them have a more raucous celebration than there will be in what is commonly called “the real world.”

The other thing, that I know for sure is going to happen, is that I am going to drop in on some of my imaginary friends for their Christmas celebrations. I’ve always done that, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Since one of my goals for 2018 is to write a Christmas story, the first step along that trail is to identify what kind of Christmas stories I like to read. That’s probably the sort of story I would like to write, as well.

So far, I’ve got “historical.” That’s a given, because I am me, and the time period will likely be sometime between the medieval era and the end of the eighteenth century. Out of that selection, I like the Tudor era the best, but not picking teams at this time. Too early in the game for that, but narrowing the scope down to a span of a few centuries is a good place to start.

Since star-crossed lovers who make it work is my all time favorite trope, that’s another likely suspect, and, when working with the shorter length of a novella, having the two lovers have a previous or existing relationship comes in handy. Second chance at love (with the same person?) could fit in nicely here. There are a few couples who have been bopping around inside my head for up to double digit years, who might appreciate a chance to come out and play in the snow, so that would also count as a bit of prep work done ahead of schedule. Which ones, though? That’s the question, and there is ample time to figure it out. This may or may not involve American Idol type auditions in my head (Christmas Romance Idol, anyone?) but I would not consider that a bad thing.

I do not currently own a red velvet anything, and outright refuse to wear puffy sleeves, and the only way I would fit under our current Christmas tree (once we set it up for this year) is if we put it on the window seat and I sit on the floor in front of the radiator (which is actually pretty cozy this time of year) I suspect that I may, on occasion, have the grown-up version of the WTF face from my first Christmas, as I embark upon the adventure of my first Christmas romance. I think that’s part of the process.

I should probably start writing this down somewhere, maybe even in one of the extra special notebooks I’ve been saving for exactly the right project. Newsflash: there may be no such thing as exactly the right project, but there are projects that become exactly what they should be, with time and attention, and, maybe a dash of the Christmas spirit.

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Ten Days to Christmas Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for our regularly scheduled Feline Friday. It has been a quiet week here, as Uncle continues to get better, Anty continues to battle the cold, and Mama gives both of them a wide berth, because somebody has to be healthy in this family. With the lack of human supervision, I have found the winter and holiday frames for pictures, so I will play with those for a while. Nobody here is going to stop me.

Even though I am not supposed to talk about anything else before I tell readers where they can find Anty’s writing on the interwebs (besides here, though even this is mostly me, this week) I do not think she will mind me taking a minute to wish Happy Hannukah to all of our Jewish and Messianic friends. Hannukah is a wonderful time of year, filled with the richness of history, the importance of faith, and, best of all, dreidels, which are the perfect size and shape for kitties to bat around the floor, especially when the humans are all in bed. Our family is not Jewish, so I have not had the pleasure myself, but that is what I have heard from kitties whose families are. Happy Hannucat, and bop one under the couch for me, okay?

This week, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. This week, she talked about the gift of romance, in more ways than one. What ways you ask? Pop on over to Anty’s post, and see. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURthegiftofromance

Now it is time to talk about Anty’s progress on Goodreads. Since she has already read past her goal of ninety books for the year, we can count that a success and start looking ahead to next year. Anty did not get a lot of reading done this week, understandably (although she did make good use of Netflix, and has been taking some good naps) but she did read her ninety-second book of the year, and wrote a review. That review is here, and it looks like this:

GRthedisenchantments

Anty has been eyeing a few historical romances as she battles this cold, so I am sure that she will have more to say on that front by this time next week. Writing should be better this week, as well, as Anty gets her brain back, Uncle returns to work, and the Christmas season kicks into gear. Normally, by this time, Anty is in full Christmas mode, but it has been an unusual week. There are, as of yet, no decorations up, but Anty plans to get things more festive looking by the start of the new week. She had better, because that is the last week before Christmas. She has pulled off better in less time, so I have no doubts. A couple showings of Love Actually and The Holiday, and she should be good to go.

One encouraging sign in that direction is that, today, Anty finished writing in her overflow notebook. Every morning, Anty writes morning pages, and when she is done with those morning pages, she has to stop. Sometimes, though, she does not want to stop, or she wants to do a brain dump at a time that is not morning. That is where the overflow book comes into play. Anty first started writing in this book in 2010.

Overflowbook151217

I do not mean that it took Anty seven years to fill one notebook. She was not sure at first what she wanted to use this notebook for, so she had several false starts. She would write a few pages, feel it was not right, stop, put it away, sometimes for years, and then take it out, to try again. At first, it was lists of things Anty likes, then some other things, and, in time, it became the overflow book. Today, when she saw she had only a couple of pages, she used those pages to set some writing goals for the year to come.

I will let Anty tell you about those in a future blog entry, but she likes that she was able to write down some concrete goals on the last page of a book she started a long time ago, not knowing what the book’s purpose would be. Now, she gets to look through her notebook stash and pick another. I do not think it will take her seven years to fill this next book, especially since she now knows what an overflow book is.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week