A Heart Most Errant

People I Know Are Reading My Books (and it’s weird)

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“My mother says she’s going to buy your book when it comes out.” Housemate told me this, last night, during our weekly grocery run. My cart stopped in mid-aisle. Housemate’s mom (we shall call her Hmom) does not, as a rule, read, and she has never, to my knowledge, read romance. Best as I know, when Hmom does read, it’s old Hollywood biographies, and Chasing Prince Charming is…not.

“Your mom knows this is a romance novel, right?” I asked Housemate, trying to sound casual. Housemate assures me Hmom does. She wants to see what I write. Um, she does know there is adult content in this book, right? She does. This led into a discussion of how I am usually the first one to say that I find it funny when people get squidgy about women of a certain age reading mature content, because, well, they are mature. Since Housemate is older than me, she is literally living proof that Hmom knows what sex is, and was having it before I was born. She was married for multiple decades, and so there is very little chance that Melva and I are going to shock her.

Neither, for that matter, is there a lot of sex in this book. Neither is sex the entire point. That would be erotica. I write love stories. Contemporary or historical, alone or in collaboration, I write love stories. Romance. Sometimes there is sex on the page, sometimes there is not. It all depends on the story, and on the line and/or publisher where the particular book appears. I know, very well, that Hmom knows what love is, so I should be fine, but, still, this is the first time I have ever been squidged about knowing somebody I know in real life is going to read one of my books.

This has not come up with Hmom before, because history is not her thing, and has not come up with others, because I have not had a lot of romance readers among my IRL people. For those about to comment, “hey, I know you, and I read your books,” A) thank you, and B) I mean people whose reading of my books would squidge me. Housemate? Total non-squidge. Real Life Romance Hero does not read my fiction, and, anyway, I prefer to leave his reading of my anything on the high note of the time he came out of the bathroom, with a copy of a newsletter that I then wrote for, asking if I had read this amazing article (I think it was about Star Trek: The Next Generation) and if I knew who wrote it. I told him I did. It was me. We will leave his reactions at that, because let’s face it, hard to top that one.

Pastor squidge is not even a thing. My pastor knows what I write, and, while I don’t think he’s going to read any of my books, his wife or mom might. His daughter, well, check back in seventeen years. His mom’s only admonishment was that she wishes I would write a Victorian romance, because that’s her favorite era. Miss Lana, if I ever write a Victorian, that book will be for you. I do have one Edwardian, Never Too Late, which is as close as I have come so far, but who knows what the future holds?

Right now, I am watching the email for both the release letter from The Wild Rose Press, and word on my submission of A Heart Most Errant to another house. We will see how that goes, but it feels good having stuff in the works, and it reminds me that I really do want to add a submission/release tracker to either my traveler’s notebook or my writing planner. I had originally planned for this post to be about refining my visual aesthetic, which ties into author branding, aka what kind or write I am, both on my own and with others.

That’s going to be a different post, because a) Hmom reading my book (Housemate assures me that yes, Hmom plans to actually read the book, not just buy it and have it, and b) I want to take my planners down to the bones and build them back from the ground up, closer to the way I want and actually use them. insert profound comment about how starting the second half of the year being a good time for a new start here. Speaking of which, it is now time for the actual fiction writing part of the day, so I that’s it for this post. At least one reader is waiting.

Typing With Stuffed Paws: Bookish Updates Edition

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Greetings, foolish mortals. Sebastian Thunderpaws Hart-Bowling, once again, coming at you with all the stuff from the week that was. Before I get into the stuff Writer Chick wants me to talk about, I have even bigger news. This week, I had a fan meetup. That’s right. Writer Chick had a surprise friend visit, and that friend wanted to see me. I was not in the room where they were, so Blonde Chick asked Writer Chick to go get me, and Writer Chick did, and that turned into my first ever photo op.

Anna’s note: “Blonde Chick” is Sue Ann Porter.
She writes stuff.

Writer Chick insists that the speech bubble was my addition to the photo, but please. That face says it all. That is proper excitement there, people. Blonde Chick and Writer Chick talked about life and books and writing and how they want to do a video blog about something called Poldark. I wasn’t paying attention until the part where Blonde Chick said she wanted me to be in the video and apparently, I may be getting a hat out of the deal. Sweet.

They’re all Buried Under Romance…

Okay, on to the compulsories. Writer Chick was doing a lot of Buried Under Romance stuff this week, talking to the other chicks who do stuff there, about how they are going to do things in the 2.0 version. She also wrote her weekly blog entry, which is here, about big stories that come from small presses. Keep a sticky note on that small presses thing, because it will come up later in this post.

Goodreads Challenge

No graphic this week for Writer Chick’s Goodreads Challenge, because we’re burning daylight and I don’t feel like making one, but Writer Chick has most assuredly come from behind and burst out ahead. Like five books ahead, but that is not entirely accurate, because she has yet to record a couple of recent reads. On record, Writer Chick is now forty-nine percent of her way to her goal of reading ninety-five books, with a total of forty-seven recorded books so far. The actual number is higher, so she is hovering right on the halfway point, and needs only read a book and a half a week to make her goal on schedule.

Won’t be long now, …..

Chasing Prince Charming

Writer Chick and Other Writer Chick have signed off on the finalest final that ever there finaled galley of Chasing Prince Charming. Editor Chick said okay, and it is now out of their hands, and soon to be into yours. All Writer Chick and Other Writer Chick have to do now is to wait for the release letter. Also get cracking on swag and promo and getting that website up and running. Also writing the next book, because readers are going to want more, and also they are too far into this thing to back out now. It says right on the cover page or something that this is Book One in the Love by the Book series, so the Chicks better get a move on if they don’t want to look lame. Lamer? Lame. Moving on.

Submissions

Yeah, you read that right, and if you guessed that this is where that sticky note from above goes, you are right. One of the Buried Under Romance Chicks told Writer Chick that a certain indie author had started her own press, and Writer Chick had to check that out. So, Writer Chick did, and, while chatting with her friend, actually got into A Heart Most Errant, did the edits, wrote a cover letter, and sent it off. Keep an eye on this space for more news. If this place is not a match, then Writer Chick is sending it out again. If this works, she may have to conscript that friend into chatting with her while she writes other query letters. When something works, I say stick with it.

For me, what always works is a decent nap, preferably on fresh laundry, Writer Chick’s keyboard, or that newspaper Dude was thinking of reading. Clearly, I am going to have to get my beauty sleep to keep up with all the stuff going on around here. I do take my Cat Regent duties seriously.

Peace out,

Typing With Stuffed Paws: General Update Edition

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Greetings, foolish mortals. Sebastian Thunderpaws Hart-Bowling here, coming at you with all the stuff from the week that was. Since this is the second weekend of the month, that means it’s Writer Chick’s marathon weekend, with volunteering three times in two days. She likes all three opportunities, though it does mean time gets crunchy on second Fridays.

With that in mind, I have been instructed to get the compulsories out of the way as soon as felinely possible, and get to the important part. That would be the part where I talk about what I want, but she didn’t define it that way, in so many words. Then again, that never stopped me, so here we go.

As usual, Writer Chick was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. If you want to know if there are any benefits to not-reading, the link in the caption will take you there.

Do they even exist?

As far as Writer Chick’s Goodreads challenge is concerned, she refuses to even look at Goodreads, period, because she cannot and will not face no reading reports for three solid weeks. Granted, that happens to even the most dedicated reader, but she’s pretty salty about it, and has hopes that a YA anthology comprised entirely of scenes where the protagonists meet their love interests, will quickly put an end to the reading drought.

In case you’re wondering what has been keeping Writer Chick from doing all the reading she wants (apart from physics and law enforcement) allow me to drop a clue, in the form of the following image:

Writer Chick, hanging with some of her besties.



Basically, she’s writing. Since she and Other Writer Chick have a couple of weeks before they become galley slaves, they are seizing the opportunity to buckle down and make up for lost time working on Drama King. I completely support this endeavor, because that is the book where one of the characters is a badbutt orange boy. Not stuffed, but still a step in the right direction. Writer Chick took this picture during a Skype chat with Other Writer Chick. The pens are so she could get Other Writer Chick’s input on a color scheme for their combined brand/website. Other Writer Chick gave two thumbs up, so those are the colors they will be showing to Graphics Chick.

This week’s Skype session was especially productive, because they not only agreed on the color scheme and tagline for their combined site, but plotted an important section of the book, involving the handsome orange badbutt boy character. They also found, through their usual babble, that changing one supporting character, only a little bit, that clarified the overall theme of the book, and set up not only an almost-love-scene (with the hero and heroine, not with one of them and the supporting character) but one of the leads’ peak of their own character arc. That talk went on so long that Writer Chick’s phone battery drained, and she had to finish her thought in email.

Planner setup, Ikea-style

The picture above accounts for the rest of Writer Chick’s time. Taking a look at the calendars, both writing related and home/family, drove home the need for getting this chaos under control. Hence the construction of two planners, visually Very Different, so there is no getting them confused. This also helps Writer Chick prepare for the inevitable branching out into a planner/pen and paper blog, and possibly, as some have requested, maybe designing some planner fillers/inserts of her own, possibly even in exchange for currency.

As if that weren’t enough, Writer Chick is still debating whether she wants to participate in Camp NaNo this coming month, and she has some brainstorming to do for a submission to a historical fiction anthology. There is also that small (aka very big) matter of consistently moving forward with draft two of Her Last First Kiss, and, once Chasing Prince Charming has a release date, get back to editing A Heart Most Errant.

Yeah, I’m tired just typing that out, so it’s naptime for me. Catch you next week. Peace out.

Tales of the Accidental Truck Driver

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This morning, I accidentally applied for a job as a truck driver. Real Life Romance Hero and I are both looking for side hustles, and I wanted to show him how a job=seeking app worked, and, thanks to slippery fingers and a sensitive touchscreen, I got two beeps, alerting me to the status of my applications. One of those ads was for a truck driver.

I am not a truck driver. I am not anything driver. I write romance novels, and I write about romance novels (romance in movies and TV is also right up my alley, if anybody needs web content.) I play with pen and paper, a lot, but, when the literal rubber meets the literal road, I am not in the literal driver’s seat. There is good reason for this. Two of them, actually. Left and right eyes. To be completely transparent, it is mostly Lefty’s fault, while Righty picks up most of Lefty’s slack, but gets tired sometimes. This understandably does things to ye olde depth perception, which is kind of important when aiming tons of metal down long stretches of highway at advanced speeds. For those curious about the other accidental job application, that was for a work at home gig, and if those people get in touch with me, I’ll hear them out, but that’s not pertinent to the topic at hand.

The whole truck driver thing is actually kind of funny, because, when I was but a wee little princess, long haul truck driver was on my long list of possible future occupations. My main reason was that I loved going on car trips, watching the scenery change, and imagining stories about all the other people, in all the other cars. Where were they coming from, where were they going, and what were they going to do when they got there? I may also have had a slightly romantic view of the whole concept of “truck stop,” and, as a young teen, I may or may not have had a few characters floating around my head, who spent a good chunk of their time in exactly that sort of vehicle. I may also, in high school, have expanded that into a three=act play, two acts of which got staged readings in English class. For those curious about my grade for that assignment, I got an A+.

Which brings us around to the topic of writing historical romance fiction. I fully accept that today is  domestic tsumani day (any day that starts with accidental job applications is pretty much doomed in that direction) On this kind of day, the whole concept of sitting high above the flow of traffic, music of choice playing as loud as I want it, caffeinated beverage at hand, and, let’s be real, a four-legged companion in the passenger seat -who wouldn’t want to get paid to take car rides with a dog?- is pretty darned appealing. Get in the truck, and just go. Watch the scenery change, imagine who’s going where, what they’ll do when they get there, who knows where they’re going, who’s hopelessly lost, and who is currently arguing with their passenger and/or GPS about whose directions are going to get them where they wanted to go, if that’s where they end up at all.

John DeWarre, the hero of my medieval novella, A Heart Most Errant, is probably the closest I am going to get to the image I had in my early pubescent head about the life of a nkight of the road. That’s because he is one, a knight-errant in fourteenth century England. He doesn’t have a truck, because it is fourteenth century England, and he doesn’t have a dog, but he does have a horse, creatively named Horse. That’s because John is not creative. Not even a little; he’s a soldier, even if he’s not at war, and  has no master. He’ll still carry out his duty anyway, grumbling his way around a post-plague wasteland.

No story if that’s all that happens, though, right? Which is where Aline comes in, talkative, optimistic, and willing to risk it all on a one in a million chance, because, hey, those odds are better than staying where she is when her and John’s worlds collide. The plague wiped out the life she’d known up until that point, so girlfriend seriously does not have anything to lose here.  Once she and John get on the road, they do not lack for adventure, and getting their story out to readers is not going to lack adventure, either.

TheWriterIsOut

Their story is my first road story, but probably not my last. Writing road stories does scratch the itch of mental wanderlust, and, let’s face it, has fewer chances of engine trouble, travel delays, or weigh stations. I have my music of choice playing right this minute, got the four-legged companion covered already, as Skye is my faithful mews, though she will abandon me in a not second, if Real Life Romance Hero becomes available. He is her favorite, and she loves him the most. As for caffeinated beverage, it’s probably about time to make another cup of tea. Spoiler alert: it is always time to make another cup of tea.

History, Romance, and Historical Romance

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Right now, I’m sitting in my office chair, The Goo Goo Dolls playing in the background, and water bottle at the ready. Skye is curled against the office door, propped open (the door, not Skye) with a blush pink mini milk crate filled with art supplies. I have an ice pack for the finger I burned on the skillet while making sausage for breakfast this morning. My brain is still rather think-y, mostly about writing, the romance genre, and writing in the romance genre.

I’ve known I wanted to write love stories since I was far too young to be reading them, and yes, they do have to end happily. Back when I first jumped on board the historical romance train, things looked different within the genre. Books were books, not series, for the most part, and pretty much the entire sweep of history was fair game, the now-dominant Regency setting mostly in its own sphere, that of the traditional Regency. When I first started reading historicals, I loved the idea of a genre devoted to the specific spirit of a particular time, and distinctly remember asking a bookseller where the Elizabethans were. You know, like the Regencies, but the Elizabethan period, when Queen Elizabeth I ruled England. Or Tudor period as a whole; her dad’s era, or her granddad’s, it’s all good.

I remember the bookseller’s answer as well, after a few rounds of variations of “what on earth are you talking about, strange college student who is super into this historical romance thing?” There weren’t any. Historical romances could be set in any period, and, back then, they were, but these slim books with their distinctive covers only covered one historical period, and a relatively short one at that.

Well, then. Where’s the fun in that? Personally, I think there could be a market for that. Historical romances where the history and the romance are intrinsically intertwined are among my very favorites, and knowing where a reader could find stories in their favorite periods makes a lot of sense, but maybe that’s just me. I spent long hours in that bookshop, pulling spine after spine out of the shelves, for a glance at the cover, then a quick scan of the back blurb, looking for my preferred periods. In the rare case when cover and/or blurb didn’t tell me, the first page of the story usually did.

My favorites back then were anything in the 16th-18th century range, then medieval, then Edwardian, then ancient world, then whatever’s left can all mill about together. Special exception made for historical romances set in Australia. There have  never been enough historical romances set in Australia. Coughty-cough years later, my historical hierarchy has not changed, though the first three shuffle around in order from time to time. I think they have some kind of time share thing going, and I remain firm in my position on Australian historical romances. Tell me a historical romance is set in Australia, and then take my money. I need hear nothing more.

It’s a select group of romance novel elements that fit that designation. If either lead spends time in Newgate or Bedlam, give me that book. Star-crossed lovers who somehow make it work? I want that. No, scratch that. I need it. I want the struggle. I want to see our lovers get thisclose to being happy, have it all wrenched away, and then fight like hell to get it back, and, this time, they win. I’m perfectly fine if that takes multiple years, crosses oceans, or takes place on more than one continent. As long as I have a lump in my throat, my heart hurts a little, and I get to fist pump at the end, because the lovers made it, no matter what stood in their ways. Take that, antagonists, you are no match for true love.

There’s a lot to be said for quieter stories, and I have liked some of them, even loved a few. My first historical romance, My Outcast Heart, is a quiet story. My hero is a hermit, and my heroine, a subsistence farmer. Dalby and Tabetha are always going to be special to me, not only because they were my first sale, but because their story could not have come together any other way. I left them happy, healthy, and a wee bit better off than they started the story. Dalby started the story living in a shack in the woods by himself, so the bar was probably low for him to begin with, but still, they ended up together and happy about it, and I don’t think they’d consider their lives small at all. Quiet, yes, but not small. All right, Tabetha’s last name was Small before she married Dalby, but there’s a difference between Small and small.

From there, I took a detour to sixteenth-century Cornwall, and the turn of the twentieth century in England and Italy, before Jonnet and Simon found themselves in the middle of the English Civil War.  Every one of those periods, and the periods I’m writing in right now -the late eighteenth century for Her Last First Kiss on my own, and the modern age for my co-written novels with Melva Michaelian, influence the love stories, so that the stories as they happen couldn’t have happened the same way in any other era.

For me, that’s a lot of the fun. How are these particular lovers going to get what they want, within the world in which they live? How have the lives they’ve led up to the point where they decide this other person is it for them, affected how likely it is they are going to get to be with this person, and what are they going to have to do, or give up, to be with this person? For me, the HEA is all the more satisfying if they have to work hard for it, and take a few knocks along the way. That’s the type of story I hope to bring to my readers, with Her Last First Kiss, A Heart Most Errant, and everything else.

What kinds of historical romances are your very, very favorites?

 

 

 

Plans and Deviations

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If I can get this blog entry written and up in exactly twenty-nine minutes, that means I can still stay on schedule. For someone highly motivated by planning, this is the carrot on the stick. Hitting the page with no particular topic this morning, but am tired of writing about not having a topic, so off I go, into uncharted territory, and, somehow, we will fill the magic seven hundred words needed to call this post done, and then I can have lunch. Sounds like a good plan to me.

It’s Monday, the start of another week, which means that my ideal plan was to spend the majority of Sunday making my weekly and daily planner pages. No, I am not going to talk about making planner pages. That is highly fascinating to people who are into that sort of thing, dead boring for those who are not, and oddly confusing for everybody who isn’t sure if they fall into either category, and isn’t this technically a writer’s blog, anyway?  Specifically romance writing; I mean, really, it’s right there in the title.

Okay, technically right under the title. If we’re going only by the title, this could be construed as a blog about typing (or nail care) which would probably have delighted my father to no end. What we get instead, is one romance writer-slash-blogger making her way back onto the bookshelves after a life detour. Anything under that umbrella (and it is a pretty big one) is fair game. Which is useful on blabbery mornings like this one. I am going to leave out the stuff that would actually be interesting if this were a blog about planning (and I have not ruled one of those out, but books come first,) like how my default lettering style seems to owe a lot to American traditional tattoo art. That can probably be explained by my affinity for Ink Master, but is not actually applicable until whenever it is that I have a hero or heroine who actually has or creates tattoos. So far, we are at zero for that one, which means we are stopping this bunny trail now.

One thing I have learned when creating my own planner (I am not turning this into a post on planning, I promise. Stick with me here.) is that deviations are going to happen. Write a first draft, start on the second, and this will become eminently clear. I have, thankfully, banked enough pages to bring to critique session with N that I can put this particular puzzle on the back burner, but there’s that moment when I’m tapping my pencil against the well-worn surface of the now bonus-office-buddy-free desk (please please please be a bonus-office-buddy-free desk) and staring at chapter sixteen of Her Last First Kiss and kind of one-eye-squinting at the screen (also a reminder to visit optomestrist, because eyeballs are kind of important) trying to figure out why this second draft scene is not gelling (note: whenever a writer puts a note that reads some variation of “figure this out later” that writer should remember that later always arrives.) and a particular bit of useful but annoying advice comes back into play.

That bit would be to go back to the last place things absolutely worked. There was a decision made somewhere in there that sent something off on a wonky  track. This is also known as the place where that missing piece is probably waiting, tapping its foot and wondering what took the writer so danged long to get back to it. Sure enough, if Character X had y’d before they z’d, then Character A could be aware of the y-ing and boom, there’s where chapter sixteen wraps.

If this were a planner or bujo or art journal page, I would slap a piece of washi tape over the mistake and move on along. Washi tape does not work well with computer screens, so this requires going back to the previous chapter and making a different decision. It’s an easy fix, so why is it scary? Why the overthinking and avoidance? Why not do the writing equivalent of slapping down some washi tape – backspacing, maybe, or strikethrough, if this is a discovery draft- and keep on going? If I had the answer to that, I would not be pushing the goal date for getting A Heart Most Errant to beta readers back another week, but what I can do is start from where I am, and keep on moving in the right direction.

Boom. Back on schedule. See you Wednesday.

 

Unexpected Journeys

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Some blog entries begin in funny places. This one began in the laundromat. Rainy laundry days are my favorites, even the ones where the laundry starts about the time I would like it to finish, which means I need to use the dryer cycle time to write a blog post in longhand, even if I have no idea what that post is going to be about, and not use the time for reading, even though my reading tracker says I am behind and need to step up my game in that department. This morning, I woke up later than usual, which meant my feet hit the ground in go, go, go mode right from the start. This wasn’t the schedule I’d planned for the day, but it’s the one I got.

When I grabbed a random ballpoint to get some ideas flowing, one of the first ideas that flowed to the top was my upcoming author visit to Buried Under Romance. I’ve been there as a blogger for long enough that I’d have to think really hard to remember when I wasn’t, but, this week, I was asked if I’d like to make an author visit. I said yes, because it’s a great site, and I will take basically any opportunity to blabber about romance novels, especially my own.  I am now on the calendar for September eighteenth. This has me both excited and apprehensive. Since I have anxiety, this is pretty much my normal state, but this is different.

Right now, my first co-written contemporary romance (along with the fabulous Melva Michaelian) , Chasing Prince Charming,  is now under consideration with Carina Press. This means it is one teeny tiny fish, swimming in the same giant ocean as elebenty billion other teeny tiny fish, and the fishing crew will get to it when they get to it. Melva and I can expect to hear back within one third to one fourth of an entire year. Our joint attention now goes to Drama King, where a misanthrope actor who isn’t acting clashes with an uber-optimistic literary agent. When people tell me they didn’t know I also wrote contemporary, my usual answer is “neither did I.” Would I have written contemporary on my own? Nope. Not wired that way, but when Melva and I both got the same idea at the same time, we went for it, and it worked out so well we’re doing it again.

While Melva works on her own solo projects, I get to return to my historical stomping grounds, which, right now, involves hopping between two different time periods. No, I am not talking about time travel at the moment. Right now, I am reading A Heart Most Errant, my medieval novella, for the umpteenth time, one eye on the calendar, because beta readers are waiting, and hey, it wouldn’t hurt to look at potential cover art options while I am procrastina…uh, I mean at it. Is this book going to shove itself past my overthinking and find some way to publish itself? I can neither confirm nor deny that possibility. Right now, my job is to get it ready for beta. I will deal with the rest, later.

Fast forwarding to Georgian times, I brought so many notes to critique session this week that N had to mark the spot on my giant stack of pink pages, to mark where we can pick up next week. I see scene cards and sticky notes and Scapple in my future, and I am okay with that. That’s what a writer gets when a generic supporting character turns into a specific supporting character with a job to do, and a scribbled note about “some social event” turns into a house party that lasts several days, and it is time to start ripping up floorboards and putting in drywall because this story structure is getting significant renovation, and it is getting it now.

The book I will be promoting on my author visit, Orphans in the Storm, is not a brand new release. I wish it were, and I wish it weren’t. I wish it were, because new releases are exciting and fun, and get applause at RWA chapter meetings, and sometimes a special token to take home and cherish, as a visual reminder. I don’t wish it were a new release, because the book I wrote coughty-cough years ago is not the book it would be if I were to have written now.

OrphansInTheStormTeaser

 

The plot would be the same, the characters, and the historical period, but I can think of two scenes, off the top of my head, that I would like to rewrite. One is a love scene and one is not. Neither would be significantly different, but they would be better. I would at least hope I am a better writer now than I was when I first put pen to paper on Jonnet and Simon’s story, able to add a few more layers and finer details than I know how to do back then. That’s how it goes, though, in this writing life. Plot twists happen in life as well as in fiction, and we grow and adapt along with them. Best thing I have found, in my own experience, is to steer into the skid when possible, and enjoy the ride.

 

TheWriterIsOut

Typing With Wet Claws: My Brother Has Fins Edition

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Hi, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty has a lot on her mind this week, so we had better get down to business. She is going hardcore on the whole talk about her writing thing before I get to talk this week. It’s best to go with her on this one.

First off, Anty is at Buried Under Romance every Saturday, so stop by and see her there. This week, she will be talking about the power of romance heroines. Last week, she talked about the power of romance heroes. That post is here, and it looks like this:

0825BURfabio

 

Anty has some exciting things in the works over at Heroes and Heartbreakers. Look for her post on how to tell whether that nineteenth century romance novel you are reading is Regency or Victorian, coming soon. I would put the link here, but it is not up yet. Anty will also be recapping half of the episodes of Outlander this season, alternating with Elizabeth Poteet. Anty considers herself in most excellent company.

On the reading front, Anty is doing pretty well. She has had to add a flap onto her reading tracker in her not-a-bullet-journal, because she already filled all the slots for her August reading tracker, but it is still August, and she still keeps reading books. That is one of Anty’s super powers that comes back in the fall. Stress allows her to read really, really fast.

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Goodreads says Anty is on track with her reading challenge, but she may actually be ahead. One of the books she read this week, Heir to the Sea, by Danelle Harmon, Anty cannot put that on her Goodreads challenge, even though she likes it very, very much (it is actually one of her favorites of Miss Danelle’s, and Anty really, really likes all of Miss Danelle’s books.) because it will not be published for another week or so. Anty read this book as a beta (not betta) reader. She will put up her review once the book is published. In short, she loved it.

Anty also loves me, which is why she lets me talk on her blog every week. Also because I am cute, and pictures of cute kitties always get attention. I am much cuter than my ne brother, Tuna Roll. For those who want to know how I am adapting to not being the only pet anymore, thank you for your interest. I am mostly unphased by this new addition. This may be because Tuna Roll lives in a bowl on Uncle’s desk, and I cannot see him from my vantage point on the floor. I basically have no opinion, as his presence does not affect me all that much. Let me rephrase that. Tuna Roll makes Uncle happy, and since Uncle is my favorite, and I love him the most most most, then I love Tuna Roll by association. We have a deal. I do not try to eat him, and he does not try to eat me. So far, so good.

Back to Anty’s writing for a minute. This week, Anty and Anty Melva are going to have a different topic when they have their Skype session. This time, they are not going to talk about Chasing Prince Charming (spoiler alert; they caught him, or their heroine did) but they will be talking about their second book together, Drama King. There is a cat in this book, and even he gets a happily ever after, so this may be my favorite book of either of theirs, by that alone. It is nice to see my kind represented in romance fiction.

Anty also worked on an important scent in the second draft of Her Last First Kiss. This part of the book is perhaps the biggest deviation from the first draft, but Anty thinks it is a good change, because things get messier. This is the part of the book where the two humans know that they are in love with each other, but they are also convinced that they can never, ever be together, no way, no how. That is what Anty calls angst. Anty loves angst. Characters can never be completely happy until the very end. Anty says not to worry; this is  a romance novel, so that happy ending is guaranteed.

If you hear a clock ticking around here, that is because Anty has not one, but two beta (not betta) readers lined up for A Heart Most Errant, once she is done giving it a once over. The avoid-y part of Anty mumbled something about “a couple of weeks,” but then it got steamrolled by the part of Anty that makes her own planner from scratch. That part said “great, two weeks it is.” The avoid-y part is now hiding under a blanket fort, clutching a stuffed animal and rocking back and forth while making whimpery sounds. The planner-from-scratch part is ignoring the avoid-y part and breaking down the manuscript into chunks, then going over each chunk once, and only once. The planner-from-scratch part would like to get this ball rolling. I like rolling balls. They are fun to watch. Sometimes, I bat them with my paws. Sometimes.

Since today’s schedule is all upside down, we are still on a break from video blogs. Instead, I will introduce a new feature. I call that new feature Tuna Roll’s Thought of the Day.  Take it away, Tuna Roll.

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Eat more chicken. Or beef. Or pork. Or anything that is not fish. Especially not me. Tuna Roll

 

 

 

Thank you, Tuna Roll. That is about it for this week, so, until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebyenew

see you next week

 

 

 

Autumn Is Coming

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Calendar tells me it’s almost September, and September means my favorite season begins. The calendar says we don’t technically enter into autumn until the 20th or thereabouts, but, for me, it’s sooner than that. Calendar says September first, I say it’s autumn. While it is still domestic tornado season around here, I’m still ready for cooler temperatures, brighter leaves, and earlier evenings. I’m also ready for the new seasons of favorite broadcast/cable TV shows, especially when that leads to more recaps for Heroes and Heartbreakers.

Slightly before this time last year, I bought an academic planner, pictured above, because the images on the cover and pages sang to me. It felt right in my hands. I couldn’t stop flipping through the gorgeous pages, imagining what I’d put on them; critique meetings, RWA meetings, writing goals set and met or migrated, domestic duties, the occasional fun time out with friends, the sometimes boring, sometimes scary necessities of adult life, Even the monthly grids were set out differently from month to month; sometimes horizontal, sometimes vertical, enough variety to keep me interested. Definitely something I wanted to get again for the coming year, plus it replaced my miserable failure at making my own planner out of a blank notebook, and in the middle of the year, too, so extra score on that one.

Then summer rolls around again, the next batch of academic planners hits the stands. Did the same company who made my beloved 2016-17 planner have another version for 2017-18? Why, yes, yes, they did. Fabulous. Pick it from the stand, leaf through the gorgeous pages, allow blood to sing, imagine what I will write on those pages, in what ink, what form of notation I want to use…and then the realization dawns. This planner, too, starts in the summer months. Which are already covered in the planner I am currently using. Cue record player needle scratch. (If this means nothing to you, ask your parents. They will explain.)

Okay. Well, then. We have a pickle here, don’t we? Not an actual pickle. I don’t like pickles. Real Life Romance Hero may have picked me, in part, because, when we are in a situation where my food has a pickle on it, he does not even have to ask. It is his. The same goes for egg rolls. If Real Life Romance Hero is not around, Housemate gets them. If they are both around, then whoever is faster gets the pickle-and/or-egg-roll, though I can’t imagine any dish that comes with both pickle and egg roll, but that’s not the point here. The point here is that, if I got that gorgeous academic planner, I would then have half a year of redundancy. I am not going to juggle redundant planners. I put the gorgeous planner back on the shelf, and resigned myself to waiting for the 2018 planners to come out, and buy something that probably has pages too plain for my liking.

Or…or…I could take this nifty, new, blank dotted grid notebook and make my own, from scratch. I’ve learned a few things about notebooks and bullet journals, and acquired a fair share of watercolor and India ink markers, so, if I go this route, I have a decent chance of my pages looking less like they were designed by drunken preschoolers, using their non-dominant hands. It’s a little daunting, but, hey, it’s domestic tornado season, so slipping one more thing in there might not be that much of a difference.

Melva and I are on our last pass of Chasing Prince Charming‘s final draft, and queries are going out. It’ real. We wrote a book. our “baby” is big enough to go on the school bus, and, hopefully, make friends. That means that, soon, possibly after a short resting period (on the collaborative projects) it will be time to dive into Drama King, and begin the whole adventure over again.

This week, after domestic tornadoes leveled any chance of regular critique meetings for nearly a month, it will be back in the saddle for draft two of Her Last First Kiss, firmly now in the middle-middle, where my job is making the bad things get even worse, lead Ruby and her Hero into the phase of the story, and their lives, where they think all hope is lost, and they’re definitely in love, but with the worst possible person, at the worst possible time, and no good can ever, ever, ever come of it. Not to mention their mutual best friend caught in the middle. I kind of love this book, and part of it is because their lives are horriby, horribly in flux.

Then there’s A Heart Most Errant. This story came about during a time of my life when it felt like the end of the world, so why not revise it during domestic tornado season? I’m looking forward to spending time with John and Aline again. They have the largest age gap I’ve written so far (he’s older) and are very much an odd couple. He’s a grumpy knight with emotional baggage, and she’s a chatty extrovert, who knows her way around a kitchen. There’s an abandoned abbey, friends of the four-legged variety, and, in some ways, it feels like I’ve never left this story. John and Aline have been taking the scenic route the whole time, content with each other’s company (useful in a road story) and now it’s time for me to join the party again. Maybe that’s the “what’s next” for historicals, but does it count if it’s not a new-new project, but one that’s been on hold for a while?

I’m not sure. That’s the slightly scary thing about entering into a new season. I like to know what’s coming. The multiple planners (yes, I cross-reference) might be a clue to that. Even so, there are some parts of a new season, whether calendar, writing, or life in general, that remain uncharted territory. That’s a constant in itself, even if it won’t fit in a neatly bordered box.

Why the Heck Not?

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Do not ask me how I found myself, yesterday, editing a long-shelved manuscript, but I did. Do not ask me what it was that prompted me to check the submissions requirements for an e-book publisher I have worked with before, but, again, I did. Do not ask me how my brain said, “Anna, you could totally send that there. Go open the file, poke it with a stick, and send it off.” I do not have an answer for that, either, but, for the time it took for me to make adjustments I’d known I had to make, for years, my brain was entirely focused on the work, not the domestic tornadoes that have whipped through the week so far, not the hot, sticky weather, not the feeling that I should be oh so much farther along this writing road by now, not anything that was not John and Aline and their road trip from Aline’s plague-ravaged fishing village to a city that may or may not exist (she thinks it does, he isn’t so sure) and it was…nice. No stress, only story. Only fun.

This is the story, originally titled Draperwood, then Ravenwood, now A Heart Most Errant (I seem to be going through a lot of titles these days, and I am okay with that.) I wrote during a time of huge life upheaval, and the story that made me cry actual tears when I reached The End, because I had spent so much time with John and Aline, that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but the story was done. They reached their destination, though it wasn’t what either of them had expected, and they were happy. They were both home at last. Me, at the time, not so much, because that was one journey that wasn’t yet over in real life, but them? They were going to be fine.

They still are. That’s one good thing about checking in on characters one has waved off into the sunset some time ago. Even though I honestly have no idea what prompted me to dust this story off, or set a deadline for taking a chance on submission, after some really good rejections and a resting period, when I did open the file, it felt right. There they were, as happy to see me as I was to see them. Maybe they sorted out a few things while I was busy in other centuries, but if that works, hey, I can deal with that.

I first wrote John and Aline’s story when I saw an issue of RT Book Reviews magazine that featured separate articles on both medieval romance and post-apocalyptic romance. I like both of those things. Could they be two great tastes that tasted great together? Even in the whirl of grief, caregiving and other concurrent adventures, I couldn’t wait to find out, so I didn’t. To the people of fourteenth century England, having the Black Plague sweep through multiple times in only a couple of decades had to seem like the end of the world. The unbelievably high body count wouldn’t be the only casualty of the plague, but buildings burned to eliminate contagion, businesses and professions knocked to their knees due to the loss of people who could do those jobs, and travelers or expats, like knight errant John, who returned from their travels to find there was literally nothing left and nowhere to go.

I have always been drawn to stories about survivors, those who lose everything and yet keep on going, so John and Aline’s story is very close to my heart. Maybe the only answer to why toss a third ball into the mix when I am already juggling two other books and it’s domestic tornado season is that it is time. What do I have to lose? As my Aunt S used to tell me, “the worst they can say is no, and then you’ll be exactly where you were before you asked.” So, that’s what I’m doing. I don’t think I need to know precisely why.

Is this story perfect? No. Will it ever be? Again, no. Is it right, though? Yes. Is it true, though? Again, yes. Not true as in there are historical records to prove that people with my characters’ names actually existed and this is what happened to them, because no, there is not; they were born in my head. What I put on the page, though, is an accurate representation of the story they told me, so I’m okay with that. Sometimes “good enough” is enough of a goal. If this publisher says no, there are others, and if they all say no, well, I’ve been curious about the indie process for a while now.

What I do know is that it’s time. Sure, “post-apocalyptic medieval” isn’t a term one hears every day, but everything we know now was once done for the first time. Though I don’t normally think in series, there is one not-a-monk who has been giving me a sly glance from beneath his hood as I edit the sections where he appears, and, if he has a story to tell, I am here to listen.