writing

Typing With Wet Claws: Successfully Extended Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

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

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

and it looks like this:

bur

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

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

and it looks like this:

goodreadseet

 

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

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

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

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

skyebye

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

 

 

 

One Way or Another

annabowling Leave a comment

This morning, I finished filling my fifth morning pages book, so I think it’s safe to say that I’ve found something that works to keep me writing every day. Even on days when morning pages are the only thing I write (and there are some of those, especially when in the grips of the Cold That Will Not Die) I have written two pages, first thing in the morning, and my mother was right – the more I do, the more I want to do.

Yesterday, Real Life Romance Hero asked me what I was planning to do for the day. My first answer was “figure out how far behind I am, and make a plan on how to get current.” My second answer was “That or watch Netflix from a blanket fort.” RLRH said something along the lines of “you can’t write anything if you’re dead,” which I took as a vote for the blanket fort. In the end, I split the difference. No Netflix was watched, alas, but I did have a nap, and I did write. I also found out that the options for getting Internet connection on my office computer are:

 

  1. Move the modem.
  2. Move the computer.
  3. Get a wifi signal booster.

 

The first two options crossed themselves off the list in an astoundingly short amount of time:

  1. This house was built around 1890, when the Internet was not anybody’s top concern, because the Internet did not exist. Therefore, there are a limited amount of outlets, which means the next available outlet to which we could move the modem was :drumroll please: about five feet in an office-ward direction, but also took it out of the living room, where all the rest of the devices get the majority of their use, and it made absolutely no difference in the signal in my office, which is to say none.
  2. Moving the computer would defeat the purpose of having the computer in my office, which is where I want to be doing the majority of my work. I prefer using my desktop for big chunks of work, in my comfy office chair, behind my closed door, because family knows that closed door = working. Also, my poor, beleaguered eyeballs are much happier with the big monitor, and, with the closed door, I am far less likely to fall prey to distractions. The only places I could move the whole setup to, if I had to move it, under protest, would be A) the dining room, and B) the living room. Dining room could be possible if absolutely needed, but there is the matter of prewar ceilings and burned out overhead lighting. Also, the dining room is tiny and has only one outlet. Living room would put me in the same middle-of-everything spot I am with the laptop, so no.

Clearly, the wifi booster is the obvious winner here. Part of me is curmudgeon enough to want a plan B, in case my office truly is a dead zone and even the booster doesn’t do the trick. As a once-upon-a-time friend once said, I would need a tech manual to operate a butter churn. I am not the most technologically minded person on this (or probably any other) planet. I am also reminded of a writer’s workshop I once attended, where the presenter asked everyone in the room who considered themselves an optimist to raise their hand. I was literally the only person who did not do so. So, the presenter asked, would I identify as a pessimist? I took a third option: realist. A thing might work, or a thing might not. Both outcomes are possible. If I plan for both outcomes, then I’m prepared for either. In this case, the booster will pinch the pocket a bit, but I will be able to do everything I want behind my office door (Virginia Woolf really was on to something with her whole room of one’s own thing) or it will be a noble experiment, and I will find some way of moving the entire setup into the dining room when I want Internet.

The realist in me does not mind either outcome. I’d prefer the former, but if it’s the latter, then so be it. Whatever gets things done, gets things done. Those who have been reading this blog for a while know I’m ansty. Getting back on the horse can be one hell of a ride in and of itself, but, when one is finally back in the saddle (mine happens to be a very lovely office chair) one wants to actually have something to show for it. In my case, books.

I’ve called my office my Hobbit Hole in the past, and that still pretty much rings true. Get inside, shut the door, music on, notebook or computer file (or both) open, and watch me go. it took long enough to get to this place that I want to stick my flag in it and go full steam ahead. If that means moving machinery around, then that’s what I’m going to do. I’d prefer not to have to do it, but if that’s what it takes, well, okay, then. Hero and Heroine, and Guy and Girl want to meet all of you, and the only way that can happen is if I write (or co-write) their whole stories.

One of my favorite memories of my From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction (now called Play In Your Own Sandbox, Keep All the Toys) was when one student shared her experience of co-writing her long form fic with a friend who lived 200 miles away. Every Friday night, she would dismantle her big early 80s desktop computer (this was long, long ago, obviously,) pack it in her car, drive 200 miles to her friend’s house, where she would unpack it, set it up there, and she and her friend would spend the entire weekend writing. Then reverse the process, go back home and do the responsible adult thing from Monday through Friday night, and do it again the next weekend.

I don’t know what happened to that student, though I hope she’s still writing. What I do know is that if she can do that, I can do this. The walk from my office to the dining room is not as far as the journey from sobbing my guts out because writing wouldn’t come. Tomorrow, i start my sixth morning pages book, interestingly enough another copy of the same book that inspired me to start writing morning pages in the first place. Kind of feels like leveling up, in a way, with both of these things happening at the same time. This spring, I will be co-presenting a workshop on blogging. I am writing one book I love, and co-writing another. I have a nice queue of posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers that I can’t wait to share, and we are in the Christmas season, which is my favorite-favorite time of the year. All pretty decent, all things considered.

 

 

 

I am a Weeble

annabowling 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

Sick Day

annabowling Leave a comment

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

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

bowlingfallbackintime

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

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

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

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

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Turn Off and Tune In Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

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

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

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

and it looks like this:

01bur

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

skyebye

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

 

 

First Things First

annabowling Leave a comment

This is where I am today, likely for a large part of the day. The origina text of this entry was handwritten (all right, “by zombies,” if you must. This is my blog, and I can use whatever tense or voice I see fit when I am writing it.) in vintage number two pencils that were once my father’s, on scrap notebook paper rescued from a rolling file cart that was once Housemate’s and now is mine.  The reason why is that my brain works better this way.

Staring at blank screens, no matter how often I have done so over the years, is not my idea of fun. Give me a sheet of writing paper, however, and some means to make marks upon it, and my brain breaks into something not entirely unlike a Bollywood dance routine. Right now, I am on my fifth notebook for morning pages, thirteen spreads away from needing a new one. That will be number six. I don’t remember the exact date I started this practice, without getting up to look, but I do know that I am glad I did. I get myself to my office as close to first thing in the morning as I can manage, plop my bottom in the chair, open the notebook, and I write. The subject does not matter, and I am the only one to see those pages, period.

Today, I finally sketched light pencil lines on the line-less page, and, right away, I felt as though I had sunk into a warm bath. Relief. Rightness. Home. I wrote about a morning, yesterday, when everything had gone wrong, from a missing wallet (eventually found) to not one but two friends losing beloved pets. About getting caught in the rain on my way home from my usual Tuesday breakfast meeting with N. About the long PM conversation I had that afternoon, with an author I admire for many reasons, and the feeling of connection and a seed of a new idea that conversation started.

One of the things we talked about was reading, so I had that on my mind when I wrote these morning pages. That gave me the idea for another sort of morning pages; reading pages in the morning, in addition to writing them. When I was little, I tried to convince my mother that there was such a thing as wake up stories, and she needed to read me those as much as she needed to read me our nightly bedtime stories. They were married, I think my reasoning was, or siblings (hopefully not both at the same time, ahem) but my efforts to persuade her to read to me in the mornings as well as at night were only sometimes successful. Now that I am the mommy (as in adult female head of household; I do not have children) why not add wake up stories to the routine when possible? Today, I did. I finished writing my morning pages, made a second cup of tea, turned on my Kindle and read. Warm bath feeling, all over again. This was right. This was food.

After that, I wanted to write, but I didn’t want to turn on a screen and touch keys. The internet could wait, and so it did. I took out some scratch paper, and a bullet point list of the day’s tasks flowed out like water. My brain salivated at the thought of putting physical pen to paper, and, so, that’s  my day.

Pen and paper, here in my hobbit hole in the morning, tappity tappity on the pink laptop out in the great wide world (aka coffee house down the block) later. I like this, going with my natural inclinations rather than against them. I don’t remember where I read the suggestion to write out blog entries in longhand (perhaps to photograph and publish that way?) but I always wanted to try it. Again, why not? The blog police are not going to come and get me over this. That’s when the scrap paper and pencils fused in my brain, and I couldn’t wait to get started. We will see how this goes, but the proof for at least today is already here – I wrote this. A piece of writing exists now, that did not exist before, and I did not have to smash my head against a brick wall to make it happen. I like that. I like liking that. I may be on to something here.

Time to wrap this puppy, as I have stories to write, so I will end it with this: keep going. Do what works, stop doing what doesn’t. Stick duct tape over the Hypercritical Gremlins, because they are not allowed to talk to you like that. Make a thing where there was no thing before. More often than not, the more you do, the more you will want to do. My mom was right on that last one, but I’m still right on the wake up stories. (Sorry, Mom.)

 

 

 

 

The Room Where It Happens (well, kind of)

annabowling Leave a comment

In light of current events, the setup of a romance writer’s office may not amount to a hill of beans, but romance writing, well, that’s a whole other story. Pun intended. This morning, after giving it a valiant effort, I have finally come to a few decisions:

 

  1. Working in my office, rather than the living room is a must, especially when other family members are around.
  2. My laptop is incompatible with my secretary desk, unless I can trade my body for that of an especially limber contortionist. I am rather fond of the body I currently inhabit, that is not going to happen.
  3. Old desktop is incompatible with the internet, and, given the fact that my office is at the opposite end of the house to the modem, it is possible that a new desktop might have the same problem.
  4. Word still works perfectly fine on old desktop, which means I do have a computer on which I can write, and the secretary desk is still good for writing longhand, which is my favorite. I have my phone for Spotify, so music is going to be there, even if internet isn’t.
  5. All of which points me in the direction of writing happens in the office, internet happens outside of it. I can live with that.

Pause here to retrieve phone that plummeted to the carpet, because I contorted wrong. Phone is undamaged, my nerves slightly behind that. I wanted to be so much further than I am right now. Further in my career, further in life, further in a lot of things. I’m not. I’m here, and here is where I can take the next step towards my goals. I love this blog, I seriously do, and I love blogging for Heroes and Heartbreakers and Buried Under Romance, and other venues, but the girl who snuck her mom’s copy of The Kadin under the bed in the guest bedroom is politely clearing her throat and tilting her head toward the virtual bookshelf with four titles that have my name on them. She says they are lonely and want some friends.

I am with her on that one. I am her, so that’s pretty much a given, only I am the version of her with life experience, a better knowledge of what constitutes emotional storytelling, and has read a whole lot more historical romances than cracking the cover on that very first one. I’ve seen things. The switch from epic sagas to lighter fare as a norm, the prevalence of one era over all others, rather than a wide spectrum, the shift to series rather than standalones, and it’s easy, almost too easy, to feel like some sort of dinosaur/unicorn hybrid when core story and current market aren’t exactly seeing eye to eye.

Those things may be facts, but here’s another one: I’m a romance writer. That’s what I do. That’s what I am. Even if I were to have some sort of gaurantee that I would never, ever, sell another book, never, ever make another cent from the writing of said books, I would still write them. I can’t turn this stuff off. I’ve tried. I was miserable, so, obviously, that’s not the solution.

What the solution is, is to show up every day, and, at the end of it, for there to be more of the book on page or in file than there was when I got out of bed. That’s it. Standard left foot, right foot kind of thing, and, before I know it, bloop, there it will be, The End. The Hypercritical Gremlins have been quiet as of late, partially because of the triple layer of duct tape over their mouths (it is tremendously satisfying to apply such) and partly because the events of the past week have reminded me that we need romance fiction now, more than ever.

We need the happily ever afters. We need the hope. We need the community. We need the assurance that, if we stick together and put others above ourselves, we can make a difference. I’ve never been one to want my HEA’s at the level of woodland creatures doing the housework, and the now-united lovers never, ever having any more problems throughout their entire lives. On the contrary, I want them to face everything that life has to throw at them, be it wars, natuaral disasters, family drama, the ravages of time, whatever, together. No matter what. As long as they’ve got each other, they’re going to call that good.

So am I. Right now, I’ve got two lovers in Georgian England, Hero and Heroine, completely convinced that they have no choices, no paths open to them but the ones they currently walk…And Then. And then, on one rain-soaked evening, their worlds collide, and the impact of the crash propels them both in a new direction. With the Beach Ball, Melva and I have a woman who’s angry at having what she does best taken away from her, and a man who offers an alternative that is both intiguing and completley out of her wheelhouse.

Feeling off center can be a good thing sometimes, a chance to recalibrate balance, reassess what’s most important. Change direction when needed, and full speed ahead. All I know for sure is that I’m doing what I’m meant to do, telling these stories, and the right way to tell them is the one that gets me to the end. As long as that happens, anything goes.

 

 

 

Origin Stories

annabowling 1 Comment

This weekend, I missed National Fountain Pen Day, and squeaked in under the wire on #FallBackInTime. The first holiday is rather self-explanatory, and we’ll get to that one, but I want to work backwards today. #FallBackInTime comes each year at the day we set our clocks back, and readers and writers of historical romance are invited to post pictures of themselves with a favorite historical romance novel and add a comment about why we love the genre. This year caught me by surprise.

Part of that is because it was a hectic weekend, and part of it was because I was in a crappy mood from said hectic weekend, and had to have go-out-and-do-stuff therapy on Sunday afternoon. I got home, feeling much better, but bone-tired, and checked my phone. Those are a lot of hashtags from my fellow historical romance people. What’s up with that. Oh. #FallBackInTime. Umm… :looks around, weary body at war with desire to participate: I grabbed the nearest book (Kindles are kind of tricky for shots like this) and snapped a selfie.  This is not, for those interested in such things, my favorite historical romance novel; I’ve only recently started reading it (and stay tuned for highlights of my rant on lack of reading time in recent weeks) but Bertrice Small is the first genre historical romance writer I ever read, and the one who got me into this beautiful mess in the first place.

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I read and write historical romance because falling in love is always an adventure.

One of the things I like most about talking with SF/F writers is that most of them have a specific origin story; that a-ha moment when they first connected with Asimov, Bradbury or LeGuin. That never happened to me, at least not with those authors, but I know that moment. I found parts of myself in Small, Sherwood, and Woodiwiss. Though galaxies far, far away never called my name (on occasion, one would aim a friendly wave from a polite distance) the long ago part, that had a big, sparkly sign with my name on it, jumped up and down and waved its arms to beckon me over.

Those centuries far in the past felt like home right from the start, and they still are. When I wrote fan fiction inspired by SF/F franchises, even those stories were pretty much historical romances with blinky props. Even with the modern setting of the Beach Ball, which I am co-writing with Melva Michaelian, it’s set in the world of historical romance publishing. Historical romance isn’t as much a what-I-do as a part of who-I-am. For those who think the genre is only about wallpaper history or girls in prom dresses, or that it’s all about the sex, I say oh no, no, no, no, no, no. In historical romance, the woman always wins. The woman gets to tell  her story. She gets the guy, yes, but more than that, she gets the right guy. One who respects her and cherishes her and considers her wants and needs as important as his own. Shoot, she gets a guy who likes her. He’s not all she gets, either. She gets what she’d have wanted even if he didn’t exist. She gets a say in her own future. She gets to use her talents, speak her mind, win the war.

When I was eleven years old, I stole my mom’s copy of The Kadin, by Bertrice Small, set in sixteenth-century Scotland and the Ottoman empire, and read it under the brass bed in the guest bedroom. Right away, I knew I’d found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life. So far, so good.  I may have been on the young side to get the romance part, but I’d always loved the fairy tales with romance in them best, so I figure I was hardwired for that stuff. The world of the story blossomed around me, and watching the heroine, Janet (later renamed Cyra) grow and change and fall in love, that lit a fire within me. I wanted to learn how to write stories like that when I grew up; still working on that one, but I like to think I’m making progress.

Trends in publishing are ever-changing, and romance is a huge, huge umbrella. Big, sweeping historicals with bold heroines and epic timelines are still my favorites, though there are countless other variations, but historical romance is my home. If I received or discovered any super power under that brass bed, when I fell into the voice and the history and the time and the place and the characters and the story, it was the ability to come as close as mere mortals can to traveling in time. It’s been said that we are each the result of a thousand loves, and that holds true for historical romance novels as well. Each love story is a moment in time, when two people find a part of themselves in each other; who they are, who they want to be, who they always were, but never had the courage to declare. When a family, whether it remains only those two people, or becomes the start of a dynasty that spans centuries, takes its first breath. Play it all out against the pageant of history, and I’ve found my happy place.

Why read and write historical romance? For me, it’s only natural. I kind of like that product of a thousand loves thing. Let’s go with that.

Typing With Wet Claws: Urrrrgh Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This Feline Friday is a little bit different, because it is one of those days. Anty did not get a lot of sleep last night, so she is extra grumpy today, which is not helping the fact that this is an urrrrghy day overall. Not that she is wearing overalls. Those are not her kind of thing. They are not my kind of thing, either, because I am a kitty and am covered in fur, so I do not need clothing/ I am very, very fluffy. But this part of the post is not about me.

Normally, this is the place where I would put Anty’s latest post at Buried Under Romance, but I cannot do that this week, because the site was hacked. That is not a happy thing. I guess somebody really does not like romance novels. I do not understand why. They make Anty, and many other writers and readers, very happy. Miss Ezrah, who is the webmistress at Buried Under Romance, is working very very hard to make sure the hackers are defeated and Anty, and all the other people on that site, can post again as soon as possible. In the meantime, here is the page where you can read all of Anty’s Saturday Discussion posts so far: http://www.buriedunderromance.com/author/annab and the top of the page should look like this:

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Please note that the picture on this screenshot is of Grumpy Cat. I did not plan it that way, although I am always happy to further the career of other cats in social media, but that is not the big thing I am here to talk about today. The big new is that it is now official, that Anty will be co-presenting the Blogging Isn’t Dead workshop, along with Corrina Lawson and Rhonda Lane, at this year’s Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference. That will be April 7th and 8th, in Burlington, MA. If you are there, Anty would love to say hello. Miss Corrina and Miss Rhonda are very nice, too, and Anty is happy to be working with them. The official roster of programs and presenters looks like this:

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If you would like more information, such as how to register, so that you can go to the conference, and hear Anty, Miss Corrina, and Miss Rhonda talk about blogging in person, then you can find that information here: http://necrwa.org/blog1/conference/

Even though I write pretty much one third of Anty’s blog posts (at least at this site) for her, I will not be attending the conference, because I am a kitty, and kitties like to stay at home. I would like it if Anty stayed at home, too, so that she could feed me, but I have Uncle for that. He gives me big dinners, so that is not a hardship. I am sure Anty will give me the chance to impart some of my wisdom. At these conferences, people have come up to her and told her they like my blog. Those people have very good taste. Maybe Anty will hunt down a new paw print rubber stamp (we had one in the old country, but it got lost in the move) so that I can give autographs. My actual paws are staying at home, because they are part of me, so any such autographs would be symbolic. Maybe Anty could draw a paw print. She has been known to do that on greeting cards.

Anyway, that is the good writing news for this week. Other than that, this has been an urrrghy week. Anty is glad that she did not try to do NaNo this year, as she would be a nervous wreck by now (which is to say, more than usual) because word counts and domestic tornadoes do not generally mix well. Anty is not worried. There is a calm after every storm, and if there is one thing she has learned from al the urrrghy experiences, it is that the writing will be there. With all the notebooks Anty has going, I do not doubt that at all. Sometimes, the writing takes a little longer, and that is okay, as long as it still gets done, and Anty will make sure that it does.

This has been a day that helps Anty see how important conflict is in writing. She wanted to be well rested for all she had to do today, but she did not get a lot of sleep. Okay, Laundromat time is good for resting (but not sleep) and reading and quiet time, but even though Anty was early, it was not quiet or peaceful. Okay, she would nap when she got home. Well, that was the plan, but we also have a sleep-deprived Uncle at home, and Uncle likes to walk around a lot when he is at home. Since we have old floors, this is noisy. Anty went off to get Uncle’s pills from the pharmacy, but there was a complication there. She fixed that, then wanted to get a calm lunch at Panera, where she could write, but she forgot one important thing It is across the street from a major hospital, and it was lunch hour. Anty had to wait a long time for a table, and then it did not have an outlet for her computer. Also, the Diet Pepsi dispenser was empty and she had to settle for caffeine free. Anty could use some caffeine. Really, a lot of it. She would have ordered tea, but the sign on the hot water dispenser said it was filled at 6AM. Not helpful after noon.

All of these things are annoying, but if everything went according to plan, it would not be an interesting story of how Anty found some space to write, after all. She even has plans to Skype (still miffed that has nothing to do with Skye pee) with Miss Vicki, before diving into the afternoon errands. That all sounds very tiring, but Anty will get through it, because it is best for everyone involved if Anty makes sure she gets at least some writing time even with all the aggravation. Non-writing Anty is super cranky Anty, and nobody wants that.

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

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

 

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

 

 

Organizing the Wilderness

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No, I do not mean my desk. Yes, I do know exactly where everything is on it. Yes, there are ways to more efficiently use the space (moving the index card box is one of them; that isn’t where it lives) and I am working on that. Having the big, wide, lovely monitor directy in front of my beloved cubbyholes is not my first choice, but since that is where I can put the old desktop (for now; we will see what happens when the new desktop joins the family) and it’s a small office, one works with what one has.

When left to my own devices, without any accountability, chance to talk things over, or socialization with others of my kind, I will run wild, vacillating between frustration over not getting anything done, and blithely following bunny trails of interest, which result in not getting anything done, which results in frustration, which results in a self-perpetuating cycle, which has got to stop. Clean sweep. Done with the chaos (well, chaos inside the books is good for the story, but that’s another post.) and time to start adding some more layers.

What works best for me when things have gone wild is structure. Set limits. Make goals. I highly recommend some form of morning pages. For me, it’s a two page spread in a dedicated notebook that is not for anything else, ever. Nobody else gets to see the pages once they have been written. These are only for me. Sometimes, they’re about the weird dream I had, a rambling discussion with myself on the pros and cons of getting bangs, ruminating over a conversation I had the day before, reacting to a big twist on a favorite TV show, or blabbering about one of the works in progress. Writing two pages of “ugh, I don’t know what to write here” is perfectly okay, too. The content does not matter. What matters is that I get my brain into writing mode, because once it’s there, it wants to stay, and that is kind of the whole point of the thing.

Once morning pages are done, I’m right there at my desk, so I may as well take care of other writing related tasks while I’m there. Can’t beat the commute of already in the danged chair, right? Each project has its own notebook that is for that, and  nothing else, and I also keep a couple of all purpose books in different locations. If my brain is jumbled, then it is time to write down that jumble and see if I can make sense of it, either during the process, or later. This carries over into writing on fiction projects. If I can’t write the scene I had planned on, I can write about the scene. What would I like to have happen? What is my best guess as to why it is not happening? What do I need? Am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired? If so, fix that, and then come back and try it again. Do I not know enough about the scene? What do I  need to know? Figure that out, and come back. It’s not that I can’t, and obviously need to give up this pipe dream of writing commercial fiction and go back to retail, but that it’s the same as a plumber opening her toolbox to fix a pipe, realizing she doesn’t have her wrench, and then going to get the danged wrench.

With two novel projects going on at the same time, posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers and Buried Under Romance, as well as my own blog, and co-presenting a conference workshop coming up, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Good thing there is an easy fix. Write. That. Stuff. Down. If I can see what I have to do, then I can get a better idea of what has to be done, when, and in what priority. I love to organize, and I’m best at it when I can touch paper. So, if I haven’t covered the day’s tasks in my morning pages, time to get some paper -still figuring out what kind of notebook is best for me for this particular endeavor- and make a list. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are blog days. Tuesday is breakfast with N. If I have a TV show to recap that night, that goes on the list as well.

November is my month for figuring out how I plunge ahead into the thick of things, so I can’t say as yet how I’m measuring  overall fiction progress, but I do know that head down, eyes on my own paper seems to get me through. Work on this scene, this outline, don’t worry about anything else. Concentrate on one thing at one time, set limits, take a break, on to the next thing. Sure, things look overwhelming when they are all one big, fuzzy mess. I once saw a graphic on Facebook that mentioned the writer not having ducks, and them not being in a row. The writer had squirrels, and they were at a rave. That hit home. Yes. I have squirrels. Fortunately, those squirrels can be lured into individual go-go cages. At least that’s the plan. Onward we go.