writing

On Missing the Boat and Learning to Swim

annabowling 2 Comments

There’s a lot I want to say today, and I’m still figuring out how to say some of it, so I’m going to throw a bunch down and hope it makes sense. It’s Monday morning, there’s winter weather headed our way here in NY’s capitol region, and my to-do list is scribbled out on my paper mousepad, plum-hued fountain pen ink scrawled atop black gel pen, two round, fuzzy inkstains that show I’m still getting the hang of this fountain pen thing. Husband and Housemate are out of the house, Skye hugging the heater, and time for me to get on with my day. Some of what I want to get out of my head will, no doubt, end up in my free writing notebook. Two pages of that, as early as I can make it in the morning, every weekday, no excuse, no editing. I find that essential to getting my brain into gear.

Blogging is a close second. I want to be real here, and honest, and I want to -well, crud, what’s the word?- keep things suitable for public consumption. Sometimes, that can be a fine line, and as much as I’d like to know what’s going on in the minds of my readers  when they read the day’s offering, that’s not a realistic expectation. Once in a while, (okay, more than that) I am going to put my foot in my mouth. Not the easiest thing to accept, especially on days when I wear heels,  but part of the human, and writerly condition. Which is as good a place as any to make a segue.

I have missed a lot of boats. I am probably going to miss a lot more. Humans do that, and writers, with our teeming hordes of insecurity, are maybe more likely to do that than others. Maybe creative types on a broader spectrum, but I can only speak from where I am at present. I was twenty-three, newly married, and smack in the middle of an undiagnosed depressive episode when my first rejection letter arrived. The sample I sent had issues. Nothing happens, the editor said, as I still remember, all these years later, but it took me years to remember the other part of the letter. The good part. The “send us something else” part. I didn’t send anything else. Maybe today, I would have plopped myself down and written something else (the book where nothing happens was all I had at the time; I’ve written more since) but, barring my mastery of time travel (the art itself, not the time travel romance that I will figure out the right approach for at some point; writing Her Last First Kiss now, so others have to get in line) going back and changing that is not going to be an option.

There was the opportunity to write an American Revolution historical romance, and that is still something I want to do, but I got to a certain point, and I couldn’t. I’m not going to try and do a differential diagnosis here on that one, but I couldn’t, not that way, and not then. The book wasn’t true anymore (writers of fiction, you know what I mean here) and I was too ashamed to say anything. What was wrong with me? The waters closed over my head. Blub, blub, blub. No more bubbles on the surface.

The time travel, too, diluted by so many other voices that I could no longer hear the hero and heroine who had once been so clear that they flat out quit the story I’d originally planned for them and demanded to be in this one. Collaborations that didn’t pan out, but still have their places in my heart, but may or may not ever come to be, in any form. Miscarried stories by the dozens, and I love them all, still. There are times when “just keep swimming” (sorry, Dory) isn’t going to be enough. There are times when the arms are tired, legs feel like lead, there’s no sight of shore, and that life preserver? Actually a cannonball. These things will happen. Even so, we keep on going.

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ink in the water….

The title for this entry came to me this past Saturday, while I was at the Capitol Region Romance Writers meeting, watching the documentary, Love Between the Covers, which I highly recommend, no matter what your experience with the romance genre might be. I have never been so proud to  be associated with the women and men of this genre and this industry, all different and diverse, and yet united beneath the same umbrella.

The next day, hunkered inside due to insane wind chill, I cleaned and inked the vintage Mont Blanc I’d found in a box of my dad’s stuff a while back. I hadn’t known I’d need to clean out the old, dried ink before I could fill it with new (metaphor much?) but, thanks to N, I got the chance to do exactly that. Watching decades-old ink, activated by warm water, flow out, mesmerized me. Here were the remnants of my dad’s writing. Notes, most likely, businessy things, maybe some of his philosophical ramblings on yellow legal pads, interoffice memos, maybe a letter or greeting card or two. I didn’t expect the quiet wonder of that, the feeling that it is a changing of the guard for this pen.

It’s mine now. The ink inside is plum instead of black. I think this ink wants to go into those purple notebooks from my last video blog. but still not sure what the focus of those books will be. Or maybe that’s for my purple Pilot Varsity. Or maybe I need to stop being so precious about what ink goes where (but it bothers me to use the wrong ink, so that’s probably a tall order for right now.) but that’s okay, because I have time.

Tying this all together now, the jumbled mind, boats missed, inspiring movie and meeting, ink spiraling into water, hitting my stride for this phase of this book – it’s alchemy, sometimes. All I know to say right now is that yes, sometimes we will miss the boat. Yes, sometimes life will knock us down. Yes, sometimes it will then kick us in the gut (guys, feel free to substitute “n” for “g” before the “ut”) but this is when I haul out my favorite Japanese proverb: fall down five times, get up six.

Get up. As soon as you can, get up. Take a rest if you need it, and ask for help up if you need that, but get up. Pick up the pen. Sit down at the keyboard. Put something on the page or the screen. Because there will be another boat. If it doesn’t come to the dock, swim out to it. Do it tired. Do it scared. Do it hurt. Do it confused. Do it uninspired. Do it, and the rest will come.

What Do You Want Right Now?

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I started this blog entry multiple times, with multiple approaches, and none of them worked, though all of them were true. This morning  had an exceptionally good three-hour writing stretch, when Hero and Heroine met me for breakfast, and we chatted, the three of us, at the kitchen counter, me perched on my stool, pen in one hand and phone with Pinterest board open in the other. Spotify playlist played through my earbuds, but it was their voices I heard, their heads poking over my shoulder, real and alive and chomping at the bit.

Surprised the heck out of me, that flow hitting when it did, but, when I came up for air three hours later, the pages filled with my chicken scratch going every which way (writing otherwise than with the subtly printed lines of a Paperblanks book? Shock horror!) and littered with pink and blue Post-Its, there was a good chunk of story in bullet point draft. No angsting, no agonizing, merely story.

How did that happen? I can’t point to one thing, but I will put a highlight on two things. Okay, three, as discussions with critique partners always jog some sticky stuff loose, though that ties directly into the two things:

  1. What does (character) want right now?
  2. Make a decision.

Super easy, those two. Instead of angsting about everything, take a step back and observe. Character X was doing one thing. Then they were done doing that thing. What thing did they do next? Odds are, they’re going to fulfill a want. In the first scene in question for me today, Heroine wanted Hero to not die in her study. To have him not die in her study, that meant he had to 1) stay alive, and 2) not be in her study. Both easily accomplished by getting Hero out of her study.

Okay, cross the threshold, and he’s technically out. Where to put him, though? Well, what rooms are available? Can’t get lost in too many options (one of my biggest bugaboos) if there is only one option.  So, we have only Room Y? Put him there.

POV shifts to Hero, once he is in room Y. So, he’s there. Now, what does he want, right now? When in doubt, refer to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Since Hero is soaked to the bone wet and freezing, a pretty safe bet is that he wants a) out of those wet clothes, and b) to be warm. Remove wet clothes, wrap in blanket and wait for hot water to be brought up to him. Eighteenth  century here, so it’s going to be a while. What does he want next? This particular hero is an artist, and he had his things with him, so check on the inks, check on the pens, check on the papers that are not drying in Heroine’s study. Phew, that thing is okay. Drat, that one isn’t. Can’t…find…the…other…thing. Calm down, it’s probably drying out downstairs. Etcetera and so on.

The movie in my head flitted between Hero’s scenes and Heroine’s, inserted the right servant who can tell Hero the thing he needs to know but can’t see. Hero has some feelings about this new information, and feelings about those feelings, Heroine sees something she wasn’t supposed to see, and has some feelings about that. Each learns something new about the other, and want to know more about that, but Mutual Friend Character, you ruin everything. (He really does.)

I learned things, like how Hero -an artist, duh- thinks better when doodling, a perfectly natural way to insert Heroine’s predilection for firearms, and  how to get Hero and Mutual Friend Character to a place where Hero does something good (but not good enough, though he’s working on that) and Mutual Friend Character does something dumb that will bite him in the behind later in the story.

Three hours later, I set the pen down. Did a wee bit of notebook hacking (need to do a wee bit  more, at that) and jotted a couple of notes so I’d know where I left off when I came back to this, which I promised myself -and Hero and  Heroine- (Mutual Friend Character can go suck rocks because he is being a doodyhead here) would be as soon as humanly possible. There’s a little ache to leaving the characters when it’s time to take care of other things, but we do not  have a self feeding cat, and domestic management skills were in demand, and I am the designated domestic warrior queen, so had to take a break there.

Even so, the movie in my head kept playing. Totally random life advice, not based off anything that ever happened to me, especially not today, no matter how good the book thing is that you just that second figured out while plunging the bathroom bowl, do not raise the plunger above your head in victory. It cannot end well. Don’t ask me how I know this. I just do.

I’m not saying the rest of the book is going to be the writing equivalent of skipping barefoot through a field of daisies (I’d probably step in cow poop or something, anyway) but those two bits above are a good place to start. What does my character want, right now? Make a decision. Maybe it’s the wrong decision, but that’s what first drafts are for, innit? (See? Dialect. That was a decision.) If it doesn’t work, then do something else.

I suggest locking hypercritical gremlins in a closet. I think Hero and Heroine might have done that for me while I was rooting around the pantry for tea.

 

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Typing With Wet Claws: Mostly Writing Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Lots of stuff going on this week, so I will get right down to business. No pawing it for me on this one, which is good, because I was running out of ideas.

First, Anty is very excited for February sweeps on TV. That means she will have more recapping to do, as more shippy moments happen, to pay homage to the month dedicated to romance and attract more viewers to the various shows. Last night’s The Big Bang Theory was one of those episodes. Anty recapped big romantic doings for Sheldon and Amy, and Raj could  be the point of a love triangle? That is food for discussion, for sure. Anty’s recap is  at Heroes and Heartbreakers here, and looks like this:

 

SHAMY

When Amy Met Meemaw…

 

Tonight, Anty also gets to recap the new episode of Sleepy Hollow. I cannot put a link to it here, because it has not happened yet. Anty will share the link on Facebook and Twitter when the post is up tomorrow. Anty hopes Ichabod and Abbie can find each other again, because that is kind of the whole point of the show. The rest is really framework.

Speaking of framework, Anty is wrestling with her Scrivener. Miss N spent all of Tuesday morning showing Anty how to use Scrivener more efficiently, which Anty greatly appreciates. I also appreciate Miss N very much, because she has four kitties in her house. Well, her and Mr. N. He lives there, too. But this is not about the kitties. This is about Anty and Scrivener. Those who know Anty very well joke that she needs a tech manual to operate a butter churn, and that is not too far off. Her Scrivener setup had become a big fuzzy mess (and not the kind I make, either) so she needed some help. I think Anty needs to talk to Miss N again, because, while Anty likes the idea of starting a fresh document with only the files she will actually be using, she somehow found a way to botch the setup of what she sees on her glowy box screen.

Here is what Anty would like  her screen to look like, and what all her other documents look like already:

ScrivenerRIGHTRIGHT

 

See the index card at the top of one side of the screen, and the nice pink box at the bottom? That is what Anty wants the new document to look like. That is not what the new document looks like. The new document looks like this:

ScrivenerWRONG

See the big white box at the side of the screen? Anty does not like the big white box. First, it is a big white box. That makes her nervous. Second, she does not remember how it got there, or how she can make the index card and smaller box (she knows she will have to make it pink; it will not be pink all on its own. She is okay with that.) go away. This is why Anty prefers to write longhand, but she needs to use the glowy box because that is how things work in the writing business, so she is going to have to figure this out. I would help, but there is a reason there are no computer manuals written by cats. I do not think I need to explain that, so we will leave that there.

Anty did not know, until Tuesday, all that she could do with Scrivener, so, since Miss N helped her, it is like she has a new toy. Knowing where all her files are makes Anty a lot more confident, and she will not be distracted by lots of things that she does not need any longer. This will also make it more fun to write, and that is very good for everybody. I do not need to tell regular readers of this blog what having Grumpy Anty means. Nobody wants to have Grumpy Anty. Happy Anty is much, much better.

If setting up files this way works out, Anty will move some of her other manuscripts to this new format, and then maybe have an easier time dealing with those. She is excited about that prospect. Since it is time for Anty to get the computer packed to go write at the coffee house (probably with some real index cards, color coded, along for backup) that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

 

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

 

 

This is What You Get

annabowling 2 Comments

Originally, I’d meant to bang out a quick video blog and get on with my day. The fact that you’re reading this is proof that didn’t happen. Well, the video part happened. Over twenty takes, as a matter of fact, ranging from eight seconds to six minutes, but each one ended with me scowling at the screen, muttering some variation of “I’m not doing this” and hitting the button to stop the recording. A few roundsI don’t think you missed much. Skye insisted on staying out of camera range, no matter how I tried to entice her to join me, and, no matter the list I’d made on what topics to cover with my blather, my brain went blank. Took me a while to get the message that this was not a video blog day, but I finally did.

No typical shot of my workspace, either, because I left my phone on the kitchen counter when I left the house, despite my reminder to not repeat yesterday’s blunder of not bringing the computer cord, which was why there was no entry yesterday. I did bring the cord today, so there’s that. As to what this entry will actually contain, at the moment, I have no idea.

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This is what my workspace sees.

There are days when I start out with the best of intentions, to-do list made, and then – wham. I hit the wall. Some days, that’s earlier than others. Is this one of them? I’d like to think I would know something like that by now, but I can’t say one way or the other. What I can say is that I am doing the most essential thing; I am showing up for the writing. There will be a blog entry today. I will write my Buried Under Romance post for Saturday. I will work on Her Last First Kiss. I will probably have to hit the supermarket afterwards, because :shifty eyes: aliens broke into our freezer and ate the last of the strawberry ice cream while I was doing take elebenty bajillion of the video blog, but that is not an entirely bad thing. I can listen to selections from Hamilton and Hedwig on my walk, which definitely counts as creative well-filling.

Here’s the deal I made with myself today: I babble here for about seven hundred words, minimum, and whatever I have at the end of that is what goes up. Then on to the Buried Under Romance entry and I get a break. Novel work may happen in longhand, because I will likely have had enough of the screen by that time, but it does have to happen. Not sure, at this point, if I’m going move all my novel stuff to a new Scrivener document or ruthlessly slash the one I have down to the bare bones, but things are going to get moving. I am sick to death of not having  a new book out, and there is only one way to fix that particular problem. I have to write the book.

That’s scary. That’s daunting. What if I get it wrong? Who’s reading me anyway? Not Regency, not series, not wallpaper, no dukes, no wallflowers, so does that mean no readers? Eh, possibly. It’s entirely possible that nobody will read any given book. It’s also true that I don’t have to please every reader; only my readers. :beat: Both of them. Okay, all three. Realistically, it’s probably more than that, but I am in the midst of one end of year earning statement funk. This is a competitive game, and these are older titles I have out. In publishing terms, I’m basically starting from scratch, which can be exciting in its own way, but right now, it’s aggravating.

I’m motivated, though. Common wisdom has it that one needs five books to break out and get attention. Five books is also one of the milestones CRRWA has for recognizing notable achievements by members, and nets said member a padfolio as a reward. I am enough of a stationery junkie to need that padfolio. Sell or publish a book merely to get stationery? Challenge accepted! We all have our motivations. Mine happens to smell like paper.

Monday Morning Coming Down

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“The really good idea is always traceable back quite a long way, often to a not very good idea which sparked off another idea that was only slightly better, which somebody else misunderstood in such a way that they then said something which was really rather interesting.”
–John Cleese

 

No idea what to blog about today, but I’ve hit that point on my to do list, this is the time I have for blogging, so I am going to jump in and ramble. No plan, no agenda, merely brain droppings, which will  hopefully stave off the hypercritical gremilns.

NOPE, WE’RE STILL HERE!

Le sigh. Okay, well, at least I’m not alone, then. Hi, guys.

WE READ YOUR YEARLY EARNING STATEMENTS. OLD NAVY IS HIRING.

We’ve talked about that.

ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU SUCK? WE HAD TO GET A MICROSCOPE OUT TO READ SOME OF THOSE NUMBERS. WHICH IS PROBABLY THE MOST YOU’VE BEEN READ IN A WHILE.

That’s not what we’re talking about here.

YES, IT IS. IF YOU WERE ANY GOOD, YOU’D BE RAKING IN THE DOUGH, HAVE YOUR COVERS PLASTERED ALL OVER SOCIAL MEDIA, AND OUTSELL HARRY POTTER.

Harry Potter is YA fantasy. I write historical romance. That’s not even the same genre.

OK, TWILIGHT, THEN. WE ALSO READ THE START OF YOUR VAMPIRE STORY. GOOD CALL TRASHING THAT ONE.

This is the one time I am going to agree with you.

YOU AGREE THAT YOU SUCK? WE RULE! WOO HOO!

No, I agree that the vampire story wasn’t a story I wanted to tell. It also had nothing to do with Twilight.

OH REALLY?  VAMPIRE YA ROMANCE IS HOT. IT SELLS. TWILIGHT IS THE ONLY ROMANCE NOVEL A BUNCH OF PEOPLE KNOW. YOU WRITE ROMANCE? LIKE TWILIGHT?

Really. I don’t think my books are like Twilight, but I’ve never read it, so I really can’t say. Why are we talking about Twilight, anyway?

YOU’D RATHER TALK ABOUT HARRY POTTER?

No.

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE CAN ONLY NAME THOSE TWO BOOKS WHEN ASKED TO NAME NOVELS?

:sigh: Sadly, yes, but that’s not my problem.

DON’T WORRY…UH, NO, DO. YOU HAVE LOTS MORE PROBLEMS. DO YOU WANT THEM ALPHABETIACLLY, CHRONOLOGICALLY, OR IN THE ORDER THE BAILIFF READS THE CHARGES?

:stares crossly over rims of glasses: I am not facing any charges.

FROM US, YOU ARE. YOU’RE A NOBODY, YOU HAVEN’T HAD A NEW RELEASE IN A LONG TIME, YOU’VE MISCARRIED ENOUGH STORIES WE CAN COUNT ON BOTH HANDS, AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN THINK OF SOMETHING TO BLOG ABOUT TODAY.

But I’m blogging right now.

YOU MEAN WE’RE BLOGGING RIGHT NOW. INCLUSIVE WE.

Still counts.

HMPH. FINE. WE’LL GIVE YOU THAT ONE. THIS MEANS WE’RE EVEN. UH, WAIT, EVEN IS NOT GOOD. WE HAVE TO BRING UP SOME DEEP SEATED INSECURITIES. CAN WE HAVE A MINUTE?

Sure. :sorts Post-Its collection:

OKAY, OKAY, WE HAVE SOMETHING. YOU MADE YOUR GOAL LIST FOR THE MEETING WITH N AT THE MEETING WITH N, AND YOU’RE PLANNING ON DOING ALL THAT WORK TODAY.

That is correct.

GOOD LUCK WITH THAT. JUST SO YOU KNOW, WE’RE BETTING AGAINST YOU.

Okay. You do you. I have some outlining to do, and then take a crack at a scene.

YOU’VE TAKEN SEVERAL CRACKS AT THAT SCENE.

Getting closer to the right version every time.

SUUUURE. IT’S A WELL KNOWN FACT THAT REAL WRITERS BANG OUT THE ENTIRE MANUSCRIPT IN ONE GO, OR AT LEAST SEVERAL THOUSAND WORDS PER DAY -AND COUNTING THOSE WORD IS SUPER IMPORTANT- AND IF YOU DON’T DO EITHER OF THOSE THINGS, YOU HAVE FAILED FOREVER.

Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.

SAYS WHO?

Experience, for one thing. Romance Writers of America, for another, and any number of writer friends. Everybody has their own method, and their own journey. Finding out what doesn’t work is as much a part of that as typing The End.

WHAT PART IS LISTENING TO BROADWAY SHOW TUNES?

That’s part of the magpie stage.

MAGPIE STAGE? WHAT IS THAT? THE LEAST SUCCESSFUL FORM OF TRANSPORTATION IN THE OLD WEST? BY THE WAY, YOU’VE NEVER WRITTEN A WESTERN.

That’s not by accident, and to answer your question about the magpie stage, that’s when I gather shiny things that catch my attention and dump them all in my creative pot, to make idea soup.

WHICH PART OF YOUR HISTORICAL ROMANCE NOVEL INVOLVES EAST GERMAN GLAM ROCKERS WITH IDENTITY ISSUES AND PHILANDERING AMERICAN POLITICIANS?

No East Germans or Americans in this book, but I do touch on issues of identity, the difference between what’s seen on the surface and exists beneath, and lots of romantic complications. Inspiration comes in a lot of forms, and it’s a writer’s job to dig for the gems. Sometimes, it’s a tiny glimmer from here, an interesting idea from there, flip a concept or two, mix with everything the writer has ever experienced in their own life, and it all turns into something entirely new. It’s an ongoing process.

WE HAVE SEEN YOU CHAIR DANCING.

I have never denied chair dancing.

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN YOURSELF CHAIR DANCING, EITHER. ALSO, ARE YOU EVEN PUTTING ON MAKEUP TODAY? LOOKING KIND OF PALE THERE.

That’s because I am pale. I’ve been pale my whole life. What’s your point?

THAT YOU ARE A PALE IMITATION OF WHAT YOU WANT TO BE. JUST SAYING.

So, I’m supposed to do what, give up because I’m not at my ultimate goal right this very second?

BY JOVE, WE THINK SHE’S GOT IT. BY THAT, WE MEAN OUR POINT, NOT, YOU KNOW, TALENT OR DEDICATION OR DRIVE OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

Well, look at that, we’ve come to the end of time we have for this entry today. I’m opening my file.

BUT WE’RE NOT DONE YET. UNLIKE YOUR CAREER.

:opens file:

:puts in headphones:

:turns to fresh page, uncaps pen:

I can’t hear you gremlins over the sound of my writing. Later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forging Ahead, Reinvention and Learning to Dig

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We never end up with the book we began writing. Characters twist it and turn it until they get the life that is perfect for them. A good writer won’t waste their time arguing with the characters they create…It is almost always a waste of time and people tend to stare when you do!

– C.K. Webb

 

I’ve noticed, lately, that I often get to the keyboard and find I’m not doing what I intended to do. Like with this blog, today. I’d intended to write this entry (well, not this entry, obviously, because today hadn’t happened yet yesterday) on the regularly scheduled Wednesday, because routine and discipline and all the rest of that good serious writer stuff. I did not write yesterday’s entry because I’d gone two and a half nights with no sleep, and my brain and body were so depleted that I couldn’t focus.  (Apart from Pinterest, but we’re talking writing here.)

Originally I’d planned to make this a video entry, but A) forgot about that until I’d already set up for the afternoon at the coffee shop (video entries are best not made in public) and B) my hair and I could not reach an agreement about what we were doing that particular day, apart from a five minute span around breakfast time. I’d planned to still make this a video entry today, but nobody wants to see me with wet hair (trying my best not to touch it while it air dries with product in, because beachy waves, dagnabit, or at least that’s the theory we are testing today.)

There’s a reason I frequently trot out K.A. Mitchell’s advice to A) open the file, and B) change your seat. That’s because they work. So, when I sat in front of the screen this morning, my brain a muddle, that became a signal that it’s time to mix things up. When I retired the previous version of Typing With Wet Nails and started this new one, I’d come to a point where I couldn’t do the old blog any longer. Finding a new clip for Happy Dance Friday became a chore, and Saturday at the Movies, instead of being fun, made my head hurt. So, it had to stop. Clean sweep.

After clean sweep comes more layers. I’d been to a wonderful workshop by Jeanette Grey on making websites with WordPress, and figured it couldn’t hurt. What to put in it? What’s really in my heart and head. That was, and is, talking about the whole writing experience. I love seeing other writers showing off covers and talking about new releases and awards and reviews, and, trust me, I will be one of them in good time, but then there’s the other side of the matter.

There are all those notebooks I have, months of them, filled with venting about how hard writing had become, how arduous it was to get words on the page, how I despaired of ever fitting into the market, how, maybe, I missed my chance and was doomed to spend the rest of my life (a pretty darned long time, I would hope) as someone who could have been a writer. The voice of an acquaintance at a mutual friend’s book launch haunted me. “I knew the author when I used to write,” she said to another guest, and laughed. I didn’t laugh. I shuddered,

Used to write. I can’t think of more horrifying words. (Okay, genocide, fascism, polyester; but stick with me here.) I can’t not-write, and so the writing is worth the struggles. One of my favorite quotes is a Japanese proverb that says “fall down five times, get up six.” That resonates with me, and resonates deeply. In the last couple of days, two writers of my acquaintance have posted about their own difficulties in keeping motivated. I want to let that marinate before I expound (besides this, that is) because I think this is a fairly common malady.

There are a million reasons to quit, but all of them together don’t overpower the one reason to keep at it. I have to write, the same as I have to breathe. There is no off switch for this relentless pull into the story world. That, for me, my natural habitat is historical romance, that, too is organic. The market will change. My need to tell my stories won’t. Logic alone says keep going, and so I do. Muscles grow stronger with exercise, so I keep at it. Fingers on keys, pen on paper, show up, open the file (or notebook.)

When that’s not enough, time to change my seat, change direction. Change my wallpaper. Play different music. Put some goop in my hair. Browse the library stacks. Trust that what I need to go forward is out there, and, if I look for it, remain open to it, things will click. Sometimes that takes a while, and sometimes, it happens in an instant.

With fiction, I’ve come back around to something, I used to do when I’d only first started. Let the characters lead. I’d wanted Hero, for example, in Her Last First Kiss, to be blond and a musician. When he actually showed up, he had red hair and wanted to play with my pens. I tried wooing him back in line by playing the music that was supposed to be his passion; he responded by picking up one of my fountain pens and doodling. Okay, fine. Heroine was supposed to play the pianoforte to relieve stress. Nope. She likes guns.

This brings to mind certain questions- when did all that start? Why that interest? What are you doing with my pens, Hero? These things generally take me away from what I’d intended, but usually to a better place, and I am okay with that.

The good thing about characters being stubborn like this, when they tell me I’ve got it wrong, means that they are real and alive within their world and they are going to  help me tell their story, rather than making me do all the work completely by myself.  I like to think we make a pretty good team.

 

Monday Morning Brain Dump, With Notebooks

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Urgh. Monday morning again. I have shown up at the keyboard, which is an achievement when I’m coming off another night of no sleep. I hate insomnia. Brain races a million miles an hour, but will it focus on something useful, like the WIP? Nope. Not a chance on that one. Late night Pinterest pinning sprees are about as close as I get on that front.

Most recently, I started my Pen and Paper board, which is here. Not enough caffeine in the world to figure out why my computer says I can’t share the screencap I took of my own Pinterest page with myself, so click on the link to see all the pretties. Pens and notebooks, that’s it.

Since I’ve become more serious about my interest in notebooks, I’ve been doing more research, and my wish list is growing. Moleskines are still my workhorse, supplemented by Picadilly and Markings -I really need to do a comparison post/video on those soon- but I have found I’m not as immune as I used to be for the other brands out there.

The newest “must try this or a part of myself will forever mourn” item is this. Leuchtturm 1917 A5 Medium hardcover notebook in berry, with lined pages. Need. I love that the pages come pre-numbered. I love the color, which goes perfectly with my laptop. I honestly can’t tell if the pages are white or ivory. I strongly prefer ivory, but if this paper takes fountain pen ink as well as I’ve heard it does, I am willing to make an exception. I also have a strong thirst for a large Moleskine Volant, a format I hated in the 3×5 size, love in the mini, and now want to revisit in my preferred size, 5×8. Gray is first choice for color, purple second, though there are new colors that look interesting, too.  The books may have to go into a leather cover, because the plastic feel of the books themselves feels off to me, but perforated pages all the way through? I have to give that a try. Maybe blank pages, rather than lined, but lined might be all right also.

There are actually a lot of notebooks I haven’t tried yet, and the whole fountain pen world? Only dipping my toes into that. Which reminds me, I’ve never even held a dip pen, but the mere thought of that makes me feel closer already to the eighteenth century people currently taking up space in my head. Hero and his letterbox and his sketches, (I seriously cannot draw worth beans, and I’d originally wanted him to be a violinist – I also cannot play the violin- but nope, he went right for pen and ink, so here we are) and Heroine and her ledgers (that, I can get. Keeping track of stuff is important) and my natural affinity for longhand make this an appropriate pastime.

Certain notebooks work for certain things, I’ve found since I’ve become serious about the habit, and no, any old notebook won’t do. There was a time when I thought that was the case, and I was wasting time and money and mental energy by using pretty paper (or making plain paper pretty) but I’ve found that’s not the case. It’s a natural and needed part of my process. Using notebooks has taught me a lot about the way I write fiction. Slap something on the page, anything, and get it moving. If I don’t like what’s down there, I can change it. I can rip it out. I can tape it together. I can cover it. I do not have to be perfect on the first try, which is a misunderstanding I’d been laboring under for longer than I care to admit, even here.

It’s okay to say, “this isn’t working. I’m going to try something else.” The thoughts, feelings, images, words, stories, all of the above, that I want for project X may not come at all on lined paper, but move to dot grid and work in boxes rather than paragraphs and :angels sing: there we go. Pen and paper matter. An old Japanese proverb says that a poor workman blames his tools, and there is some truth to that, but finding the right tool can make the job all that much easier.

 

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Scribbling Furiously Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I am pawing it once again in regard to topic, because Anty is hard at work on Her Last First Kiss. Now that she knows she has an assignment to turn in to Miss N on Tuesday, she is not about to let anything stop her. This can be both a good and a bad thing.

The good thing is that a writing Anty is a happy Anty. She knows where this book is going, and she has the new opening roughed out, so it is now time to smooth that out and show it to an actual other writer human, in person. A writing Anty with a deadline is also a very focused Anty. When Anty does not have a tight focus, she will try and write in the living room, because that is where the glowy box is when she gets up in the morning. The problem there is that the rest of the family has access to the living room, because it is for everybody, not only for Anty, and they want to use the room, too. Since Anty is focused, she is doing more of her at-home work in the office.

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The view from Anty’s seat

 

That room still needs a lot of work. You can probably see the big glowy box screen behind the pink glowy box. That screen goes with a glowy box that stays on the desk (well, next to it) but is too old to run the Internet or, more importantly, Sims. Anty is figuring out how to get a better big glowy box in there, but for now, Anty brings the pink glowy box into the office in the morning, makes a list of what she has to get done, and then she will come out when it is lunchtime. Specifically my lunchtime.  Until then, she can put all her attention on the book, stick those pink things in her ears, so only she can hear her music, and get to work. What comes out of Anty’s head at first is very rough, and needs several passes before she can show it to anybody. With this scene, she grumbles a lot about too much happening inside Heroine’s head. Even I think she is going to have to fix that, and I am a kitty, so I can only imagine what other humans would have to say.

Besides the first scene, the other thing Anty has to do is make a list of all the characters in her book. When they make their first appearance in a scene, Anty has to write their name down on a separate paper (probably in a notebook, or copy it to a notebook from the scratch paper) and then write who they are and what their relationship is to the other characters. She can also put anything else she wants about the characters in that description, but that brings her to a place where she does not want to go.

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I do not think I like overthinking.

 

I am talking about overthinking. Anty is really, really, really good at overthinking. She can think about one thing so much that she gets paralyzed in her thoughts and cannot go any farther on that topic. That has meant some miscarried stories in the past. She does not want to go that way with this book, so she is trying new things to make sure that does not happen again.

One of those things is writing her first-first pages in present tense. For example:

Skye sleeps in the sunbeam.

Rather than:

Skye slept in the sunbeam.

That way, for Anty, the story is something that is happening now, and she can alter it as she goes, rather than something that has already happened, and is set in stone. She did not know she was thinking that way until she talked with some other writer friends, and started reading books for almost-grown humans. Those are sometimes written in present tense, and it is a good way for her to get her brain working and moving forward. It lets her take in more of the scene that is in the movie in her head if it is happening “now,” so it is like noticing rather than remembering.

Once she has that on the page, then she can go back and revise what she has already written. She can put the present tense into past, and see if she can get things out of characters’ heads and into action or dialogue. That part can make her edge over to the crabby side, but it is all for a good cause. She will be better once she has the revisions made and can get some feedback.

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

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Until next week…

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

Talking With Wet Nails

annabowling 1 Comment

New title for video blog posts today . These will now be under the heading, “Talking With Wet Nails,” because it’s catchy, and that’s my best attempt for a title today. Still need to come up with an appropriate graphic, but that’s a problem for Future Anna.

Note that I am not actually doing my nails in this post, because that would be awkward, messy and probably boring. I did, however, stumble into the captions function, so we’ll see how that goes.

I’m hoping to make this a more frequent feature here, as part of my effort to stop being as quiet as I have been lately. This also means I only have to write-write one blog per week, as Skye still has Fridays. Innovative and labor saving. I like that.

 

 

TLDW (too long, didn’t watch) :

Typing With Wet Claws: Story Brain Edition

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

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

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

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

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

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a very small portion of story brain

 

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

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

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

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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