Signs of (Writing) Life

March 9, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I am in my comfy chair, next to a soon to be opened window, cup of tea at the ready, headphones in, blog window open. I had a post typed out, but accidentally trashed it when I got up to take pictures to go with said entry, so I’m going to babble here, stick the pictures up anyway, and see where that takes me.

Today, our temperatures here in upstate NY should top 70. The waterfowl are back in the lake at the park. On my walk home from my meeting with N yesterday, one of the male Canada geese (should I be calling him a Canada gander?) rather pointedly strutted his stuff for the benefit of the Canada goose ladies. Waterfowl romance season, it would seem, has begun. It feels early for that, but if goose love is in the air, it must be spring.

In less than two weeks’ time, I will have filled my morning pages book. I started this one on October 26th. I’m looking forward to writing the last word on the last page and starting a new notebook (I have a few candidates in my stash already) but I’ll miss the gorgeous pages inside this one. Pretty pages make me want to write more, and knowing there is a set place where I must stop helps me focus on what I want to say in that space.

Hacking my plain cardboard binder for Her Last First Kiss clicked like wildfire. I love when colors and textures suggest themselves, and it’s easy to see where one choice flows into the next. This is my story bible, with all pertinent information gathered in one place, easily accessible. Times and distances between locations (and noting when our historical people would need to change horses matters, people) and who went to school where, owns what, and employs whom. My best way into this sort of thing is to let myself blunder blindly ahead and, after I smack into a few (dozen) walls, I’ll find what works, and then get to it. Housemate has threatened me with bodily harm if I attempt to use a regular binder again, though there is still some hacking to do.

I need to Mod Podge the cover that slipped oh so easily into the plastic pocket of the old binder (but then I never wanted to use the old binder because the plain white bothered me, so tradeoff there) and there are no pockets to hold loose papers. I can buy those at the office supply store, though, stick some coordinating paper on them, and glue the kraft envelope on the inside of the back cover, to hold smaller ephemera. I blame Moleskine for giving me a need for back cover pockets on pretty much all notebooks, including binders.

I’m working, I promise

These babies are all set to be my constant companions for this week, as I’m prepping for a post at Heroes and Heartbreakers. I did want to increase my reading for this year, and to write more book related posts for H&H, so I’d say I’m doing all right on that front. Who needs sleep when one has books? Seriously, if that could be worked out, I would be a very happy camper. In the meantime, blocking out reading time as though I were studying for a college class is the best way for me to make sure the work gets done. Family has been informed that, when my nose is in these books, I am working.

Reading that is not related to any posts (as far as I know) also needs to happen, because that also fits under the umbrella of “study.” I’m very curious about Kerrigan Byrne’s The Highwayman, and have heard wonderful things about it, so can’t wait to start that. Elizabeth Hoyt’s latest Maiden Lane novel is an auto-read, so that’s going to happen, especially since it fits with my immersion in all things Georgian. I’m still determined to get back on the Bertrice Small horse (and the fact that the book I picked, The Border Lord’s Bride, is number two in its series means I will have to go back and read book one, A Dangerous Love, because that’s how I roll) and I’m still devouring realistic YA like a starving hyena. Seeing notice of an upcoming David Levithan release in the current issue of Romantic Times Book Reviews magazine made me literally squeal (Skye is used to this kind of thing) when I read it in the upcoming releases section.

Okay, there’s the magic 700 word threshold to call this blog entry good enough and traipse off to century 18 with Hero and Heroine. See you later, Liebchens.

In a Bind(er)

March 7, 2016annabowling 2 Comments

Sticking with your own style is incredibly important. It’s exactly what you should do. You should never allow someone to talk you out of your natural style or water down your writer’s voice.
— Nat Russo

Right now, I am in my comfy chair, duck blankey in my lap, cup of tea at the ready, disposable fountain pen now empty. Maybe I’ve been using it more than I thought I was, or maybe I hadn’t checked how full it was when I bought it, but there I was, this morning, in the Laundromat, furiously scribbling notes for a scene for Her Last First Kiss in my pocket sized Hero notebook, with a ballpoint pen. One scene I knew had to happen pushed itself to the front of my brain this morning, and “something has to happen here” turned into a heated exchange between two characters, which may end up getting physical, (I did not see that coming, but Hero’s berserk button gets pushed, and yeah, he might) and propels him into Heroine’s path at a critical moment.

This is what I’ve been going after with all those miscarried stories, all the methods that didn’t work, for the times when the story takes on a life of its own, talks to me, pushes through the whispers of Hypercritical Gremlins and tells me “this is how I go. This is what I look like. Here is what you do next.”

Part of that is moving my binder materials into the right binder. They’re in a white binder right now, which may possibly bother Housemate more than it bothers me, and plain white anything usually does bother me, so that’s saying something. While I do hold with the old Japanese proverb that a poor workman blames his tools, there’s something about having the right visual setup that clicks with my brain.

Scrapbook paper is for covering the section dividers in my story binder. Pastel sticky notes match the paper that is color-coded for each section. Index cards are for listing scenes and shuffling them around. Sticky index cards? I’m not sure what I’m doing with those yet, but they are super cool and I will find a use for them at some point.

I love the visual component of writing. If I know what the story looks like, not only the faces of hero and heroine, their clothing and such, but the story itself, there’s a thrill that goes with that. While I’m putting together this new binder, Hero and Heroine are over my shoulder, giving advice (Hero is an artist and Heroine likes to manage things, so they have a lot to say) and the story itself simmers on the back burner of my brain. I love that.

Later, I’ll add pictures as needed, maybe song lyrics, maybe lines of poetry or favorite quotes. I’m not sure yet. The physical act of setting up the binder, moving from the plain white temporary binder (Housemate has informed me she is taking said plain white binder away from me once I do transfer everything, so I can’t use it again.) to its permanent binder that has never belonged to anything else. This new binder, plain cardboard, is a blank canvas -the clean sweep I thought I would find in the white binder- ready to be personalized -more layers- and it feels right.

Last week, N asked me if I would write a second book about Hero and Heroine. That’s a tricky question. First, I write romance, so a direct sequel with Hero and Heroine would need to provide some new obstacle for the love relationship, by that time, the marriage. For the second, I’m so in love with this story right now that I don’t want to think about any others. That’s a good place to be. Then there’s also the question of what the market will bear. I don’t see a lot of direct sequels with the same couples, though there are some serial stories. This doesn’t feel like one of those. I naturally think in standalones anyway, and always have. Do I have ideas? Yes, but this book now. The date is on my calendar, June first as my target for my bullet point draft. Let me get there first and then we will see.

Right now, when I spend time with this story, my heart leaps. The papers and stickies and all the rest are part of the puzzle. I love touching them, moving them around, throwing everything down in haphazard fashion and then making order out of chaos. I like structure, and I like intuition. This way, I get both. Onward.

Typing With Wet Claws: Plot Pants Puzzle Edition

March 4, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty is on a tight schedule today, with hunting for food (she hunts at a place called the “supermarket”) and writing things. She has some research to do for some upcoming articles, and then there is book work, which she thinks really ought to come first (I agree) but she also likes to be the strangest person in the Laundromat, so she likes to do the laundry early. Laundry time is very good time for Anty to sort through ideas in her head, and, if she has her headphone in, and keeps her head down and pen moving on the paper, people generally leave her alone to do exactly that. Well, sometimes, almost-grown-ups ask her how the machines work. If the owner is there (he was not there today, but the custodian was) she will chat with him some.

This week, Anty has a lot of feelings about what happened to Morgan and Garcia on Wednesday’s Criminal Minds, (or what will apparently not be happening between them in the future, because the writers decided to…what? Oh, sorry. Anty says no spoilers, so I will stop there.) but she did not have to write an article about that, so I cannot give a link to an article that does not exist. What I can say is that she and Uncle had a grumbly conversation about it yesterday -they are both on the same side, so it was not an argument- which showed Uncle’s impressive grasp of romantic arcs and character dynamics, as well as genre expectations and creative choices that limit options once a path has been chosen. Spend enough time around Anty, and these things tend to rub off on a person. Or kitty.

As Anty’s mews, I spend a lot of time around her. Pretty much all of it, except when she leaves the house, since I am an indoor kitty and only leave the house when it is v-e-t time. It is not v-e-t time now, so I have an up close and personal view of her creative process. When writers get to know each other, they will often ask if they are pantsers or plotters. That means, do they make things up as they go, with no firm plan (or a very loose one) or do they plan things out ahead of time? Anty has come to learn that she has to give a different sort of answer to that question: she is a puzzler. That does not mean she stares at a blank screen or page and puzzles over what comes next. Well, not all of the time.

these all fit together

What it does mean is that Anty does not always work from beginning to end. That may sound crazy to some -it did to Anty, at first- but that is how her brain works. Finding things that look like her story also help give Anty visual cues. Since Hero in Her Last First Kiss is an artist (she wanted him to be a musician, but he said no; Anty did not mind too much, because when characters tell her she got them wrong, that means that they are alive inside her head, which is a good thing.) the visual cues are even more important. They are another piece of the puzzle, and working in notebooks that look like the story helps her feel connected. That is why she is going to hunt at the craft store for some toile patterned cardstock so she can make better dividers for the binder where she keeps important story information. I like that, because I get to play with the strips of paper from the bottom of the cardstock; they are really fun toys. Anty holds one end and wiggles it, then I bat the other end with my paw. Sometimes, I get so into it that I even go back on my hind legs. Since my balance is sometimes special, sometimes, I fall over, but I get right back up, because I like to play that game. Falling over is worth it.

Anty is like that with writing. At one point, she thought that being punster was the ‘real’ creative path, and she tried that, but she soon felt like she was lost in the middle of the ocean, and did not know what was going on. Some of the stories during that time did not make it. Then, she tried plotting, and that worked better, but the stricter she tried to be with it, the more restrictive it became, and then she found that she could not move. Well, write, the same as when she tried to pay strict attention to word count. I think those actually happened around the same time.

This week, she played with index cards and listed scenes, then transferred that to her binder, color-coded, so she could see where she was missing things and what had to happen when. It literally can be a puzzle, when she sits on the floor with her index cards, or puts sticky notes all over her plotting board. When she can see what is missing, then finding out what goes there is a lot easier. That is probably why she has lots of sticky notes all over her notebook pages, because when the puzzle pieces start fitting together, they really start fitting together. Something that comes clear to her about the end of the book could fill in a hole about something she did not know near the beginning, so she can go back there, put down a sticky note and come back to it on the next pass.

I do not mind this at all, because it means more paper for Anty, which means more toys for me. Granted, I am in one of those learning how to play again phases, but Anty says that fits with her relearning how she works best. I guess that means we are in sync. That is about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Until next week…

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

Leap Post

March 3, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Not sure where I’m going with this, but an extra day in the month (all right, last month, technically) calls for an extra post. Right now, I am in my comfy chair, lap desk in my lap, a pile of pale yellow sticky index cards (how did I ever forget those existed; not thrilled with the yellow part, as that’s my least favorite color, but sticky index cards are the closest thing I’m going to get to cross breeding my office supplies) and Skye kitty snoozing in a sunbeam. Real Life Romance Hero is taking it easy after a hard week’s work, and I have the binder for Her Last First Kiss wedged between my hip and the arm of the chair.

In a bind(er)

Okay, not anymore, because I took it out so I could photograph it. I take a lot of pictures these days. Scrolling through my Instagram feed, I see it’s mostly my workspace and Skye, with a smattering of local food, current reads and art supplies, the odd bit of scenery and, surprisingly early this year, waterfowl. I did not expect to see ducks on Tuesday, but there they were, a pair of mallards, contentedly paddling their way along the greenish water I had last seen as a solid sheet of ice. Late winter/early spring in upstate NY is a curious thing, which I have come to accept.

Now that I’ve started talking, I have to keep going until I hit the magic number of 700 words. That’s the deal. Discipline is a big part of the writing process for me. Counting my words doesn’t work in the drafting process. Give me a pen and some paper and let me loose, and we’ll do the math when I come back up for air. I’m not going to pretend I’ve got this all figured out. It’s a long trip back up onto the horse when I fall off on things like this, but I do know that try/fail, try/fail, try/succeed works in actual writing as well as it does in fiction, though the real life version does not always play nice and follow the rule of three. Usually exactly the opposite.

I’ll haul out the old Japanese proverb here: fall down five times, get up six. Or sixteen. Or sixty. Or six hundred, if it comes to that. There’s a sweatshirt I saw once, in an ad (funny what pops up on one’s Facebook sometimes) showing clothing marketed toward drill sergeants, that said:

Sweat dries
Blood clots.
Bones heal.
Suck it up, Buttercup.

Summer, the heroine of my time-travel-in-limbo, immediately told me that was her favorite sweatshirt (she’s never been in the military, but she is a competitive dancer, and the words suit her, so okay, she can have it) and the words stuck with me beyond that. I don’t know when I’ll get that story written. I will, though, and it will likely be a far different tale than the one I’d found myself irretrievably stuck on, but, right now, I’m writing this book. Hero and Heroine’s book. Head down, eyes on my own paper. Keep on going until The End.

In the words of Elvis Costello, every day, every day, every day, I write the book. Monday through Friday means morning pages. By my count, I will need a new morning pages book in two weeks. Thankfully, I have a few candidates in my stash already. That fat stack of index cards turned into a page with scenes listed. Which turned into Scrivener files, which are easy to nip into an blabber upon. I actually like rewriting, so this isn’t staring at giant blank white wall, a strangled “uhhh….” rumbling in my throat because I’ve forgotten how to English. I’m a talker. I talk. I need to talk more.

I’m into the six hundreds now, and Skye is waiting on my left (her signal for “I really want your attention, Anty, and did you notice what time it is? Answer: treat time.) so time to wrap this up. Hypercritical Gremlins are grumbling behind their blanket in my office closet (blanket is hung over the hanger rod in lieu of a door) and, more importantly, the cat needs to be fed. To haul out another old proverb, (Japanese again, but don’t quote me on that,) the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Open the file. Open the notebook. Put something down. Anything will do. As a former writing group facilitator often said, the process begets the product. We got this.

Flowing Into the Next

March 2, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Yesterday, I ran out of white index cards. Yesterday, I saw two mallards swimming in the lake. when I walked home through the park after my weekly meeting with N. I’m not saying that ducks and index cards are related in any specific way, but that’s what came first to mind when I opened the window to write today’s blog.

Today, I danced in the Laundromat, listening to my Broadway selection playlist while I waited for the dryer cycle to complete. Today, I had a brief chat with the Laundromat’s other patron, because I always peek to see what book someone is reading, when caught doing so out in the wild. This time? Shanna, by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. I gave Other Reader a thumbs up and told her that was a great book she had there.

Other Reader responded that she loved everything she’d read by Ms. Woodiwiss, but this wasn’t the whole book. Someone had thrown it out somewhere, and a chunk was missing out of the end. Readers who love particular books know how big the book is, and this did not look anywhere near thick enough to be all of Shanna. I loved the determination in Other Reader’s voice when she informed me her next step would be the library, to pick up or request a whole copy of the book. I heartily approve of such actions.

Oddly enough, or maybe not, the book I was reading at the time, Angel in a Red Dress, by Judith Ivory (aka Starlit Surrender, by Judy Cuevas) is also falling apart. It was like that when I got it from the library, chunks of pages unglued from the spine (it’s a paperback) and part of me wants to ask the librarian if I can just have it if it’s going to be destroyed for said falling-apart-edness. Sign of a well loved book, to be sure, and I know, I could go buy my own copy, and probably will, but we’ve bonded, the two of us (but I’ll still do the right thing and return it; I’m not a savage, well, not in that respect.)

I got to page 338 of this particular edition, and I gasped out loud when certain information was revealed. This was one of those “I-did-n0t-see-that-coming” and “of course, how did I not know that all along” moments at the same time. This is a book that makes me gasp and choke and sniffle and want to bash heads and want to hug the pages back together and a number of other reactions non-readers would never understand, but readers and writers do understand. This. This is why I do what I do. This is why I write historical romance. This is what I’m aiming for when I open notebook and/or computer file, every day.

This is why I sat down yesterday, after passing the ducks on my way home after meeting with N, popped Me and Earl and the Dying Girl (okay, I had to watch the movie then, because it was my only chance before the library wanted the DVD back) into my old laptop and got out my stash of index cards, a black Sharpie, and wrote a short description of each scene I know is in Her Last First Kiss on each card. I ran out of cards before I ran out of scenes, which surprised me, but this does mean I get to buy more index cards. They look solid there, in their pile. Hefty, even. Substantial. Like a real book, because they are, encapsulated, the foundation of a real book.

It’s been a while since I had that feeling. The miscarried manuscripts never got to that stage, never put down that root. Maybe because I didn’t know that particular root needed to be there, but, once I started, there it was. One scene spilling into the next, into the next, into the next. Color coding the scenes, when I copied each one onto a sheet of graph paper, with felt-tipped pens, showed me where I have multiple chunks of Heroine scenes. What’s Hero doing through all of that? X, obviously. I’ll figure out the particulars of that later. I’ll know what I need to know, when I need to know it.

What I do know, right now, is that the focus, for me, doesn’t have to fit any prescribed shape, method, or form. Only what works for me. Life is going to happen (the alternative doesn’t make for a lot of writing, really, so good thing there) but as long as I move from Once Upon a Time to They Lived Happily Ever After, it’s all good. Ducky, even.

Leap Day

February 29, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

There’s no feeling like showing off the notebook one has hacked into a planner, with days blocked off and numbered months in advance, and then remembering this is a leap year. Which means an extra day in February, which means that throws off the entire numbering system, which is a problem, because ink doesn’t erase, especially on top of colored pencil. Yeah, small problem there. Easy solution, though, because correction fluid works beautifully in said situations, and, with a flick of a felt-tipped pen, the numbers fall quickly back in line.

That’s about all I’ve got on that one, not as much material as I’d thought. One of the tricks I’ve started doing in my planner, when I have a blog entry slated, is to jot down a couple of possible topics ahead of time. I am pretty sure I did that for today, but I left the planner by my comfy chair, which is where it lives. I am going to say it’s the leap day that threw me off.

I love to organize. Taking chaos and turning it into order gives me a thrill, so the process of making my own planner out of a plain notebook has its benefits. Gets the brain firing in new directions. Can I use colored pencil instead of highlighter? Sure can. Which leads to finding out that colored pencils aren’t made from graphite (I should have gathered that, but was still surprised to find out for sure) but wax and pigment, which is one of the reasons the “leads” break as easily as they do. Which leads to noticing that several of the colors I would use if I had them are missing from the colored pencils I inherited from my dad, which leads to making a list of what I’m going to need at the art store.

That, in turn, leads to me wondering if I could use crayons where I’d been using the colored pencils, because crayons are also wax and color. Answer: yes, but not worth it with the regular size crayons; I’d need the big kind preschoolers use to lay down a decent amount of color, and those usually don’t come in all the nifty colors I prefer to use, because, well, they’re made for preschoolers. Which also leads me to remembering my grade school love of fluorescent crayons (side note, I am a proud Crayola snob) and wondering how those would look on those same pages, even though the super bright highlighters, which are kind of fluorescent, are too bright for my eyes when used in large blocks. Without the colored frame, my eyes wander; the frames keep them on task.

I could use a frame on this entry, as my brain wants to go skipping around and try a little of this, a little of that and basically anything other than what the planner says it needs to be doing. Usually, brain consults planner, says “yes, ma’am,” and at least makes a decent effort. That’s not today. I’m fed. I’m hydrated. I’m bathed and dressed, entertained and socialized, and motivated to keep moving forward with Hero and Heroine’s story, but….

There’s always a but, isn’t there? It’s Monday. It’s Leap Day. The sun is far too bright for my comfort, and I don’t like sitting down without an idea of what I’m going to do. The hypercritical gremlins are gossiping in their closet, and if I could follow my heart of hearts right now I would take a nap. That would probably not go over too well at the coffee house (especially since the couch is currently occupied by people who are not me, and whom I do not know) so I may as well actually get some work done.

This is where organization saves my day. There’s lots of longhand to transcribe, and Friday’s work of tracking important objects throughout the story helps keep things moving at the right pace. Pick a place and dive in. I’ve done this book thing before, and I’ll do it again after this current manuscript is done and off to seek its fortune. I’ve been this way before, and it’s only a step on the journey, not a final destination.

Which paragraph above brings me to 701 words, and 700 is the magic number to allow me to check “blog entry” off my list. I do not have to write the entire book today. In fact, I cannot write the entire book today. I can, however, write. It won’t be perfect. It can’t be perfect, but it can be. That’s good enough.

Typing With Wet Claws: In The Pink Edition

February 26, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I look grumpy in today’s picture, because Anty took my picture while I was washing. I think that was not the most polite thing she could have done, but she is dominant, so I guess it must be okay. She might also still be somewhat cranky herself because I, um, did my stuff after everybody was in bed, so she had to get out of bed to clean it. At least I let her know I was doing stuff. I am considerate that way. I am also considerate in talking about her writing things before I talk about anything else. Well, except for what I already talked about, because I already said that.

Anty had two posts at Heroes and Heartbreakers this week. First, she talked about what happened with Ichabod and Abbie, on Sleepy Hollow. Can you believe the monsters of the week got to have smoochy times before Ichabod and Abbie do? Talk about a scary episode. That is here, and it looks like this:

Then, she wrote about what happened between Michonne and Rick on The Walking Dead. Anty says that show is not really about zombies, but about people and human relationships. This episode, it is especially so. That post is here, and it looks like this:

Anty has a lot of articles and posts on other sites, like her weekly discussions on Buried Under Romance. Last week’s discussion was on multicultural romance. Anty thinks books about lovers from different backgrounds can be very interesting, and both couples in the shows she recapped this week would fit into that subgenre. It is here and it looks like this:

She is working on a new page that will have links to all of her posts on other sites, so readers can find them easily. I do not think Anty will mind if I say she is not the most technologically minded person, so please be patient with her.

This picture shows what Anty sees when she is working from her comfy chair. I need to come around to between the Starbucks cup and the notebook and aim my big green eyes over the edge of the desk if I want her to see me. If she does not pay attention to me there, then I go around to the other side, which you cannot see from here. When I go to the other side, she knows I really want her attention. It is usually for food, but sometimes, I want a scratch. That is one thing about writers; they can work pretty much anywhere. When Anty works at home, she is often in her comfy chair, with a special desk that fits in her lap. Sometimes, she will write in longhand at the kitchen counter. When she does that, I like to be a ninja kitty and get reallyreallyreally close, like actually on her feet close. Then it is always a big surprise when she moves. I run away and come right back. One would think she would be used to this by now.

Please note the pink earbuds in the above picture. Anty works best with music playing, and her music is different for each project. Because Anty has different devices on which she listens to her music, it makes more sense to have a different set of earbuds that stays with each device. Anty did not mean for her electronics to (almost) all be pink, but that is how it turned out, and she’s going with it. The pink earbuds stay with the pink laptop, but before she had those, she had a set of earbuds where the tiny speaker part was pink and the cushions (I do not know what they are called) are black, like the cord. The tiny speaker parts have tiny skulls on them, so Anty really really likes them. She uses them for her phone now, although the phone is white (she will get a case for it, and then it will agree with her pink laptop and pink tablet.) Well, that is, when there are cushions on both speakers. This week, there were not cushions on both speakers.

Anty looked everywhere for the missing cushion, and even took everything out of her computer tote (no small task, that) but could not find it. She had a spare pink cushion, but it would bother her if one cushion was pink and the other was black. Do not even suggest that Mama lend her one of her spare orange cushions. Anty is not a savage. Anty very reluctantly switched those earbuds out for the white earbuds with pink cushions that came with her pink tablet. That all brings us back to my introduction to today’s post. Remember when I told you Anty had to get up to tend my stuff in the middle of the night? That is where the two threads come together.

Because I am a considerate kitty, I pee next to the green chair of evil. It can only be stopped with cat widdle. The previous owners did not have a cat, and they are no longer with us. You do the math. Anty had to move the chair to clean the widdle, and there, in a completely dry and unwiddled portion of the floor, was her missing earbud cushion. You’re welcome. Anty has her cushion back now, but playing with it was fun while it lasted. Do not worry, I will find another toy. I am resourceful like that. It is an important attribute to have, to be a good mews.

Anty needs the computer back now, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

Until next week…

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

More-ning Pages

February 25, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

The rare Thursday entry, the natural product of having Monday’s entry on Wednesday. Blogging three times a week is a discipline that works for me, keeps my brain focused, so when I fall behind, I’m antsy until I’m current again. This entry should do it. Once again, no idea in mind, so winging it for the second day in a row.

Right now, I am in my comfy chair, laptop on lap desk. It’s not raining any longer, though we had a downpour hit shortly before I had to leave the Laundromat, freshly dried laundry in two, Crocs on my feet and raincoat left behind, because it was brilliant sunshine when I left the house. Go figure. “Helpless,” from Hamilton, is playing on my headphones. Very historical romance-y song there, both in setting and content. I have notes for today’s work on Her Last First Kiss, and will likely need to make a timeline, so I can track the progress of important items -what is where, and when?- and I’m looking forward to that.

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morning pages

I normally don’t like to have a lot of bleedover with my notebooks. The notebook above, by Punch Studio (part of my Paris notebook fixation; there is apparently a NY themed version of this same book, and I must have it) is my morning pages book, which means whatever I in my head goes down on that two page spread, and, when I get to the end of the second page, I am done. Doesn’t matter where I am. That’s it for that entry. I got this book in October, and it’s been one two page spread, every day, no matter what. So far, so good.

Here’s the thing, though. Sometimes, those rambles concentrate themselves fairly quickly. Like this morning. I don’t know if it was some alchemical convergence of my free-associating brain, the fact that I had not yet consumed caffeine, the recklessness of putting my Paris travel mug next to my Union Jack mug, which was next to my English muffin pizza breakfast. or what, but novel stuff started spilling onto my pages. I’ll copy it later, into one of the HLFK books, maybe take only notebooks and not laptop to the coffee house later on (though I sweat like an addict in withdrawal at the thought) and track the progression of some objects that are important to the story. Who has the X at what point, what state is it in, and how do we all feel about that?

My blood hums at the thought of this, and -aha, that’s where I’d intended to go in the first place, yay me- diving deep into what needs to be accomplished in a particular scene gives me electric energy. I can do this. I do this. This is what I was created to do. Natural habitat and all that other good stuff. When you’re in the right place, creatively, you know it. I’d originally planned to call this entry something like “Skating on the Surface and Diving Deep,” but if a title makes me cringe, that’s a pretty good indication of what it’s going to to do my readers.

My readers? Ulp. I have readers? That is not what my earning statement says for the last mumblemumble unit of time, but that’s okay. As with any muscle, the more I use my writing muscles, the stronger they get. Which is one of the reasons the disciplines of thrice weekly blogging and morning pages every weekday are disciplines that I want to keep. Doesn’t matter what’s on the page, as long as something is. It’s easy to put it off. Amazingly easy to put it off, but, as my mother always told me, the more I do, the more I will want to do. She was right. When I let myself into Hero and Heroine’s world, I want to stay there. As a family member, as it were, not an intruder or even a guest, which is one of the reasons I know I’m writing the right book, at the right time, and in the right way.

these notebooks have nothing to do with HLFK

at least I think they don’t.

These notebooks don’t have anything to do with Her Last First Kiss (at least I think they don’t) but they spoke to me, and thus, they had to come home. There will be hackage, possibly over the weekend. Hacking a notebook is an intuitive process for me, one that lets me dive happily into the realm of sticky notes and drawing frames, letting color dictate my path, the feel of the book, its covers, its pages, the spiral binding, in the case of the above, tell me what they want to be. Total pantsing on notebook hacking, which makes for a good contrast with how I need to know things about the characters and stories to fully grasp what I’m doing with a novel in progress.

My minimum for these winging it entries is seven hundred words (word count is not a problem with me for nonfiction or editing; go figure) so I am going to wrap this for now. There’s my Buried Under Romance discussion post to write, and then I have a date with Hero and Heroine. I think they’re going to show me an interesting time.

Midweek Rambles

February 24, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Rainy Wednesday here, and the fact that I’m only now getting to the first blog entry of the week should be an indicator of how things have been going. The new addition to my workspace is Hedwig, (thanks, Kara!) who has shot up to mascot status in short order. Lift his head off, and he’s a flash drive. He will soon be filled with novel stuffs.

No idea what I want to write about here, so I’m going to wing it. One of the most vivid rainy day memories I have carried for a long time reaches all the way back to fifth grade. We’d recently moved from Bedford Village to Pound Ridge, and I had a playdate with Elizabeth A, to keep us both occupied and our mothers sane for the rain-soaked afternoon. I remember I had a corduroy pantsuit (it was the seventies; don’t judge me, and yes, my mom picked out my outfit) that day, red with a flower print all over it. The legs were too long, so the hems of the trousers (I preferred skirts even back then, but mom said, sooo…)were damp the rest of the day.

We spent the afternoon in Elizabeth’s room. I remember Barbies and some imaginative play, some discussion of the new TV show we both liked, Wonder Woman, probably my first fandom, though I didn’t know what fandom was at the time. Elizabeth had a Chow dog, who had particular tastes in what interactions he would allow with what humans, but he always liked me. I don’t remember his name, or the name of Elizabeth’s older brother. I don’t remember many particulars of that day, but I remember the day itself, and the memory is a good one. Elizabeth A, wherever you are, I hope you do, too.

On this rainy day, years later, there’s imaginative play still. Now, I call it writing, and it’s work as much as it is play, which suits me fine. No red corduroy pantsuit, thankfully, and I’m writing this from my favorite coffee house instead of a friend’s bedroom, but the day has some of the same feel to it. Not that I know exactly what the connection is, but some things become a part of us, and come to the fore when they will.

Today is also the first anniversary of the passing of Bertrice Small, still a favorite author and my entrée into the world of historical romance. I’d wanted, as many Small fans, to dive into some rereading when we got the sad news, and, at the moment, I’d tried, but I couldn’t make the connection. Not a good feeling, but, at times, the best thing we can do is let the feelings do their jobs. I don’t know when I got it in my head that I would intentionally step back from reading an author whose work had been that important to me, or when the idea arose that I would resume on the first anniversary of her passing. Maybe it’s a form of literary mourning? I’m not going to question that one.

Once I knew I wanted to resume on a certain date, everything fit. I would pick up one of her books on that date, and I would read it, but which one? With forty-nine titles from which to choose (well, less than that, as the Lara books are in storage, and I don’t own the Channel titles) the options were too many. N’s advice, “make a decision,” came to me then, and I did. I decided I wouldn’t decide. I turned to my Lionesses at my Facebook group, The Lion and Thistle, and placed my choice in their capable hands.

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this is the one

Some of the suggestions, I’d expected. Skye O’Malley (the book, not the kitty) is my favorite, and The Kadin was the first historical romance I ever read. I know those books, can quote them in places, so re-reading them would be as much remembering as experiencing the story. The other choices offered, Deceived, and The Border Lord’s Bride, I haven’t read as much. Since my copy of Deceived seems to have gone walkabout (will be reaching out to the library system and/or used bookstores soon) my choice became clear. I hadn’t remembered, until I plucked my copy from my special Small bookcase, that this was the second story in the Border Chronicles, not the first, but since it’s an extremely loose connection, I’m letting that go. I can read the prior title, A Dangerous Love, later, if I want. I did put my choice in others’ hands, after all.

As with that long-ago rainy afternoon, I remember the book more in general than in specific, and it’s a different experience. The last time I read this book, it was 2007. A few things have happened since then. My critical mind is along for the ride, and has some issues with tell-y passages and instances of passive voice, but the voice itself, that’s as familiar as I remember, a welcome back to the things that drew me to historical romance in the first place. It’s also made me schedule reading time in my day, something I’d wanted to do, but put off actually doing, but if I want to make time to read all that I want and need to read, there has to be time where that’s all that I’m doing. This is different from pleasure-only reading; it’s also research.

library haul; must organize

In a way, that’s my equivalent of the art student camped out in front of the master’s painting, sketchbook in hand or canvas on easel. What did the master do? How did they do it? That thing that was never recorded, what was it? Can I do it, too? What does it look like when I do their thing, my way? Reading time, writing time, headphones in, laptop on, paper and pen at the ready. Let’s do this.

In Here, I Rule The World

February 17, 2016annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I am in a rotten mood. I mean really rotten. Things started early. I woke, exhausted, thinking it was about 2AM, so glass of water, trip to the water closet, and I’m good for four more hours. No such luck. 6:45. Well, crud. Tend cat, dispense Real Life Romance Hero’s morning pharmeceuticals, perform ritual albutions. Agree to disagree with hair about its direction for the day. Breakfast…okay, breakfast was uneventful, except for Skye leaving a deposit in Real Life Romance Hero’s office, but Housemate took care of that, so the two things even out.

Morning was meant to be for taking care of some routine errands. Obtain clothing from a favorite, reliable retailer. Obtain pen refills from office supply store. Possibly other errands if the first two went quickly. The first two did not go quickly. Both were abject failures, and most women understand the barren wasteland that is a sale at one’s favorite retailer, when there is not one single thing that will fit one’s body and/or color palette. One of those. Housemate fared better, but I left with a case of the grumps. Repeat fruitless mission at office supply store.

Housemate and I did not know Lunch Option A was not going to work out until we were actually there, so went for Lunch Option B instead. Rest of errands had to be put off for unspecified time in the vague future, because I had to get home in time for A) me to make a chat with a critique partner, and B) Housemate to get RLRH to work. No shot at getting in a certain part of the house where I could perform supplementary albutions and renegotiate with hair, and still make it to chat on time, so did the best I could and raced off. Made it with minutes to spare and…open email from critique partner, who could not make chat.

accurate depiction of my mood

This is, of course, the exact second I have my tea ready, notebook and sticky notes arrayed, so I’m committed now, even though I am technically free. We will now cue an instrumental version of “Song of the Lonely Extrovert” to play softly in the background. There are other people in the coffee house, but nobody I can talk to while working, and that makes a difference. Unless the college student scowling at his own laptop is interested in my Scrivener corkboard. I am going to guess that he is not.

I’ve had worse days. Nobody is bleeding or on fire, we have not needed any first responders, and are fed, housed and employed. Even so, the other irritations build. Gaming is a stress reliever for me, and, since my old laptop is currently refusing to play Sims 3, new laptop cannot support it, and we are still looking into other options, I’m going to have to accept the fact that gaming, right now, is not going to happen. Sure, I have Sims Free Play on my phone, but that’s not the same. Not even close. Bleh.

As I told Housemate, what I would like to do is huddle in a corner (under the covers in bed is also acceptable) and mainline ice cream. What I am going to do is crack open that notebook and Scrivener and transcribe some scenes. That, I can do, and it doesn’t require a lot of my brain. Transfer what’s on the page to what’s on the screen. Spend some time in my story world, and deal with Hero and Heroine’s problems instead of my own. I know what has to happen in the tailor scene, but where does the tailor scene actually go? Do I need to plant that plot point seed earlier in the story than where it actually sprouts? How is the balance between Hero scenes and Heroine scenes? Plus the joy of getting immersed in the story.

The rest of the daily inconveniences will still be there when I’m done. It’s not a permanent break from the practical world -one of the reasons I don’t use the word “escape” when I talk about reading or writing fiction; we do still have to deal with those things when we close the book, notebook or file- but it’s a respite, a place where I can order things the way I want, no matter how much time that might take; here, I control time. Heady stuff, when one stops to think about it. Uncap my new fountain pen, open my notebook, and I step back in time, where Hero and Heroine want to know what on earth I am doing to their lives, because it all looks like one giant catastrophe from where they’re standing.

In the end, it will all be worth the trouble. I’ve assured them this book has a happy ending, because that’s what romance novels do. No matter what I throw at them during the story, they will be safe, happy, and together by the end. At the moment, things look pretty sticky for them both, individually and together (not that they’re even thinking much about “together” at this phase of the game, because it’s early days, still) but they’ll thank me for it later. Right now, I’m thankful to them for giving my day some peace. We’ll have to see how the rest of it goes, but, for right now, I rule the (okay, their) world.

Typing With Wet Nails

for the love of romance

writing