goals

Typing With Wet Claws: I Did Not Eat My Brother Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I am sorry to say that I have to open this week’s post with some sad news. Last Friday afternoon, my fish brother, Tuna Roll, was all done being a fish.  I had nothing to do with it. Uncle came home before Anty, and did not see Tuna Roll at first. I followed Uncle into his office, because he is my favorite, and I love him the most. He looked at the bowl, and then looked at me. “Tell me you didn’t,” he said. I told him I did not. I do not jump or climb, because I am a floor girl. Then Uncle saw what really happened. Tuna roll was a good and pretty fish. He was very blue. He was a good swimmer, and he loved his plant. We will miss him. Anty and Uncle say that I may get another fish brother in a couple of weeks. I will not eat him, either.

Aside from that, this was a decent week for Anty’s writing. As usual, she was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, kicking off a month of spooky romance talk with a look at the books that arguably started it all, the classic gothic romances. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURgoinggothic

Because last week’s episode of Outlander was an odd-numbered episode, Anty got to recap it for Heroes and Heartbreakers. This was a very special episode for Anty, because it was all about Christmas, which is Anty’s favorite holiday, and it had two love stories in it. That post is here, and it looks like this:

Outlanders3e5recap.jpg

Now is the part of the post where I bring you up to date on Anty’s Goodreads reading challenge. Right now, she is one book behind, having read sixty-nine out of ninety books, but the weekend is here, so I fully expect her to get back on track by the next time she checks in on this front. If you would like to follow Anty’s challenge, it is here, and, right now, it looks like this:

GR131017

almost on track…

Anty finished reading one book this week, Southwark, by Jessica Cale. This book is relevant to Anty’s interests, because it is set in one of her favorite periods, the English Restoration, and it is very gritty. Anty loves when historical romance is very gritty. Her review is here, and it looks like this:

GRtyburncale

Anty looks forward to reading more books by Miss Jessica, and is always on the lookout for new books set in the Restoration. If you know of any good ones, please put them in the comments, and I will pass them along.

I can also pass along that, this week, Anty wrote her first scene for Drama King, and sent it in to Anty Melva. Now Anty waits to hear back from Anty Melva. Anty’s scene is really the second scene, since Anty Melva wrote the actual first scene that is in the book, but this is the first scene where the hero and heroine actually talk. I am pleased to note that the hero does consider his poor cat, waiting at home for dinner, when choosing his course of action. That alone means that this book is off to a very good start.

Drama King is not the only book Anty is writing, however, and, this week, at her critique meeting with Miss N, Anty heard those words that make her remember saying bad words in Panera is not polite. Those words are, “when do you think you’ll get back to writing (new chapters on Her Last First Kiss)?” and they come from Miss N. Anty did not actually say the bad words, but she knows that, when Miss N asks that question, it is because Anty has probably done about all the planning (or re-planning) she needs to do for this section of the book.

Overhauling half of an entire book is not something a writer goes into lightly, but, sometimes, it has to be done. This sometimes includes things like writing out calendars by hand for all the time in which the story could take place, and using those calendars to figure out how long things would take, from travel times, to how long it takes to make a new  human, and when the existing humans would be aware that the new human was underway. Because Her Last First Kiss is historical, that means Anty also has to figure out things like what foods are available when, how much moonlight there would be on a particular night, how long a party can last, and what things a human might accidentally leave behind when they have to leave a place in a big hurry.

Thankfully, Anty has most of that in place, so now it is a matter of making sure she really does have all of her metaphorical ducks in a row, and then getting back to business. Once she has everything straight, she can tell the story, without having to stop and check. That is one of the occupational hazards of being a puzzler, like Anty. Some writers are plotters, who decide how the whole story is going to go, and then follow that plan. Others are pantsers, who create as they go, with no plan. Anty is somewhere in the middle. She love to plan, but sometimes, her story people have other ideas, and she will see scenes that are not always in order. That is okay, because Anty loves to organize, so this means she gets to write everything down on index cards and make sure she has no holes in the storyline. Then she can go right through to the end. She likes that part of the process, too.

This is where Tuna Roll’s Thought of the Day would have gone, but, because Tuna Roll was all done being a fish, we will make it Tuna Roll’s Parting Thought:

0825TunaRoll

RIP, Tuna Roll; you will be missed

 

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

skyebyenew

see you next week

 

 

Carrots, Sticks, and Nibbles

annabowling 5 Comments

One thing I have learned about the way I write now, is that I am extremely self-bribeable. Today, the carrot on my stick is a chapter of Genuine Fraud, by E. Lockhart. In the alternate universe where I am in charge of everything, my plan for the day would be to snuggle on the bed with a fuzzy blanket, this book, and an endless supply of hot Lapsang Souchong tea. Throw in some shortbread, and my fully charged Kindle, so that I can gobble Tyburn, by Jessica Cale, after I finish Genuine Fraud. I am not, however, in charge of everything, but I am in charge of getting done what I need to get done today.

Some days, productivity comes on its own, I zip through the to-dos, and, especially now that it’s fall, and days are growing shorter (thankfully; these earlier dusks make me feel alive. I’ve always been that way. Early sunset feels like the world being tucked in for the night, with flannel sheets and handmade quilts.) but other days, not so much. Other days, and this is one of them, I need a carrot on that stick to move forward. One carrot, so I can focus on getting to that treat after I complete one task, instead of looking at the elebenty bajillion that swarm over my head, in chaos and motion. I highly suspect they are breeding, because there always seem to be more, every time I check.

That’s one of the reasons I am notebook-mad. Corral those suckers between their own covers, assign them colors and images, and assure them I’ll give them my full attention when it’s their turn. That seems to be working, so I am going to stick with that. I grabbed Genuine Fraud from the shelf, knowing nothing but that it was the new book by the author of one of my all-time favorite YA novels, We Were Liars. I didn’t want to know anything else, and actually preferred to go into this book completely, 100% blind, because the author’s voice is worth it. I trust the author, know ahead of time I cannot trust the narrator, and I am fine with that. For Tyburn, well, it’s called Tyburn. Sold. I am crazy in love with seventeenth century England, which was a huge motivator in writing my own Orphans in the Storm, though there is very little of that book set in England. Tyburn? Gallows? Yep, I’m there. Darker historical romance with a heroine who is a prostitute at the start of the story, and a tutor hero who has a side hustle as a highwayman? Shut up and take my money.

So. Carrots. One of the downfalls of being in charge of one’s own work is that, sometimes, one does need the additional enh (universal sound made when one cannot…quite…reach a desired object) factor. Some days, that’s write a blog entry, read a chapter. Research an article, read a chapter, do a thing, read a chapter, etc. At the end of the day, the stuff is done, and more chapters have been read, so everybody’s a winner. So far, that is the plan for the day.

What I did not plan for, was an email from my co-writer, Melva Michaelian, letting me know that one of our queries has obtained a nibble. There is a publisher who would like to see the entire manuscript. Cue simultaneous celebration and nerves. What if they don’t like our baby? What if they do? Whoa, whoa, cool your jets, babe. This is a good thing. This is what we want to have happen. The Fraud Police have not (to my knowledge) been dispatched to my current location (if the doorbells rings in the next sixty seconds, I will jump through the roof, fair warning. Eh, if it rings any time, I will jump through the ceiling. It’s a prewar doorbell that buzzes through the walls.)

Not going to lie, it is exciting getting a nibble, that “okay, let’s see what you’ve got. I like what I read so far and want to know more.” Consider it the book version of a test drive. Somebody whose job is to find books people want to read thinks that maybe ours has a chance of being one of those. For someone in the process of getting back on the horse, that’s a nibble on ye olde carrot, and it does serve to add a bit of strength to the pull.

Another email brought comments on one of my chapters, from my newest critique partner, which reminds me I need to get my comments on their chapter back to them, which means better get cranking on the rest of the tasks for the day. Onward.

What Happens To Everybody

annabowling 2 Comments

I’m not getting philosophical here. That’s literally what I wrote at the top of the page in my notebook this morning, while the laundry spun. We are on day elebenty billion of a heat wave, though it’s almost October, I am wearing a white sundress because we are on day elebenty billion of a heat wave near the end of October, it is laundry day, and, for someone who has used the hashtag #gothlaundry on more than one occasion, one wears what one has on hand. None of this has anything to do with writing, but it does have a lot to do with why I wrote those words on the top of the page.

Original intent was to read, but, if I can’t muster more than a “meh” for the newest book by on of my all time favorite authors, it is obviously time to do something else. I did not bring any lettering stencils with me, so that left writing. Yesterday, N and I spent our critique time talking about direction and the outlining and/or re-outlining we both need to do for our respective WIPs. Outlining for her, mostly re-outlining for me. Change one thing in one chapter, and then whoosh, it affects the rest of the book. Even when has already written that book, or thinks one has written that book. It’s humbling.

Author and historical consultant, M.P. Barker, also a friend and, for many years, invaluable critique partner, calls this the mushroom effect. Pull up one floorboard to fix what one thinks is a minor issue, and whoops, there’s a whole farm of mushrooms underneath. Or something like that; I should probably get her to explain this better, but that’s basically the gist of it. The goal is not to burn down the house (note: M.P. Barker’s husband is a firefighter, so this may verge on an unintended pun) but to fix the floor. So, deal with the mushroom infestation, then get back to fixing the floor.

In this case, a generic character becomes a specific character, and logistics of who can be where and do what, when, call into play not only calendars, but phases of the moon, what Hero might have on his person at a given moment, travel times, what servants do what jobs, and, on the large scale, what happens to everybody.

This means everybody. Everybody. If they got a name, they get a fate. Though Critique Partner Vicki wants me to kill off two characters, there’s no reason for either one of them to die in this story, and, really, letting them live with themselves is the worse fate, anyway. Question is, where do they do that living? What about the servants? Supporting cast? Various relations, whether our hero and heroine are close to them, or not? When hero and heroine go on a sea voyage, who goes with them? As writer buddy H terms them, these are fancy rich people, so when they go somewhere, they are going to bring people with them. Hero’s valet, heroine’s maid, other people to deal with the stuff that has to come along with them, and does the one family member who goes with them get their own servant, or do they share with their relative of the appropriate sex?

This is the part of second drafting where the keen eye of a critique partner catches dropped threads, when questions like “what happened to the teacup?” (Spoiler: nothing of note happens to any teacups in any of my books so far, other than that people drink tea out of them. Presumably, people also wash them, because that would be disgusting if they did not. This is only meant as an example.) This is also the part where the author looks at the page and says something like, “Huh,” because they kind of wandered off after their character set down the teacup. There was a duel or something happening next, (there are no duels in any of my books, either, at least not so far) and the fate of a teacup is not the most pressing issue at that moment, except that it is, or, more accurately, it can be.

Bertrice Small once said that, if you have one thousand readers, nine hundred, ninety-nine of them are not going to catch those dropped threads. She also said to write for the one reader who will, because they will let you know about it. Seeing as she had over sixty titles to her name, and a Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement award, I think she may be onto something. Hence the notebook page, which will get transcribed, printed on green paper (you bet I color code all this stuff) and put in the notebook that I now need to completely overhaul, because I always set these things up wrong the first time.

I don’t mind the tearing-down-to-the-studs part of a book. Actually, it’s one of my favorites. The grunt work is done, and now I get to fine tune things. Sometimes, a lot of things. Sometimes, that does require tearing down a load-bearing wall, to keep with the renovation theme, but I’m okay with that. By this point, I know the characters better, and, when asked which servants are going along with our hero and heroine, it’s not all that hard to think about who would want to go and who would want to stay, who would have run off, and who says forget the whole thing, I’m marrying this other servant and opening a shop of our own.

There are still moments, though, where it all feels like a LOT, and the idea of a blanket fort (in this weather, one with central air conditioning would be a must) holds great appeal. Greater, though, is the appeal of getting it all on paper -has to be paper for me- and getting it all out where I can see it, because that makes the excitement greater than the fear.

TheWriterIsOut

But I Don’t Feel Like Writing

annabowling 2 Comments

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say most of us have been at this point at one time or another. If you’re a writer who has never been there, wait. It’s coming. Consider it an occupational hazard. My desktop is an autumn theme, because I need the reminder of what season we’re really in, even though the weather report says we’ll be hovering around ninety degrees for most of the week. This is not my favorite weather, or my family’s favorite weather. Possible exception for Tuna Roll, since he is a tropical fish, but that’s one for, three against. We are not, however, in charge of the weather.

There’s the matter of current events, there’s anxiety, there’s the matter of not wanting to blabber my way through one more topic-less blog post and shake the generic you-can-do=it pompoms, at myself or anyone else, so I’m going with where I am right now, which is wishing Monday came with a snooze button. There’s the doubt over the Outlander recap I sent off last night. Did I forget something important? Did I get someone’s name wrong? Did I miss some essential Easter egg those who have read this far in the books will be buzzing about today, because I am farther in the TV series than the books, and, if I am farther in the TV series than the books, what am I doing writing about it, anyway? Ironically, the next thing on my list is to write another piece about Outlander. Funny how these things work.

I like lists. They give structure. I like to know where I’m going, and lists can serve as a roadmap for the day, especially on days like this one. I will now date myself and reference the Vicki Lawrence sitcom, Mama’s Family.  In one episode, Thelma, the Mama of the title, applies for a part-time job. The interviewer asks her if she knows how to answer the phone. Thelma, in a deadpan voice, says no.  When it rings at home, she runs around in circles, screaming “What’ll I do? What’ll I do?” Of course she knows how to answer the phone, which translates, in this case, to of course I know how to write, because I do. See? I’m doing it right now.

As I am going for that two hour block of the most important tasks first, that’s what has to get done, even when I don’t feel like it. That’s true for any job. Work starts at a certain time, and the worker is there, or the worker does not have a job for much longer. Since my goal is production right now, this means butt in chair, do the thing at the top of the list, cross it off, do the nest thing, cross that off, drink water, take breaks, and remember it doesn’t have to be perfect. It only has to be written.

That’s the hard thing. I want it to be perfect. I want to somehow get everything in my brain onto the page, preferably by willing it there, and have it have happened double-digit years ago. Not the most realistic desires there, especially that last one, but those are where I am today. I’m also here, at the desk, with an idea, and moving forward. A million single steps add up to arriving at one’s destination. The worst thing for me, the very, very worst, is not knowing what I’m doing. Tried pantsing, doesn’t work for me. Nor does strict plotting, though I’ve tried that, too. That leaves puzzling, which can be downright irritating for someone who likes to have a clear roadmap, but my imaginary friends are prone to taking the scenic route when I didn’t tell them they could. Ingrates.

Eventually, we’ll work it out. We always do. We kick and we fuss, sometimes them, sometimes me, sometimes all of us, and then, usually when I get up to do something else, bam, there it is.  This often works with writing my nonfiction posts as well. Not all who wander are lost and all that good stuff. It’s too hot today to make tea, so I am doing this without caffeine. The coffee house down the block has, sadly, closed, so I am now in the market for a new other place to write. This makes me grumpy, because I liked that place, but we will dub it “plot twist” and move along. Check this blog entry off the list, and move on to aforementioned Outlander piece, then transcribing handwritten pages for Her Last First Kiss. 

After that, it may be time for more handwritten pages, time to step away from the screen and the temptation of Facebook, the distraction of current events and checking the weather and checking the word counts and checking this and checking that and checking the checking and slip into the story world for a while. Time to write the story as though I were the one reading it (does that sound weird? It sounds like it should sound weird.) and watch the ink swirl onto the paper as my imaginary friends and I head off on the next adventure.

 

Some Things, We Know

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One of theses days, I should probably change my desktop wallpaper. Taking bi-weekly (as in two per week, not one every two weeks; they really are new pictures every time) deskscapes allows me to notice things like that. I like this wallpaper, but it’s been up for a while, and if the whole point of taking deskscapes in the first place is to get a shot of where I am working today, but today looks nearly identical to two days ago, that could arguably be defeating the purpose. I like this wallpaper. I like it a lot; wise words in that image, and it fits my aesthetic. I have my open planner on the desk, so the actual date is clear…if one zooms in…okay, and reads Dutch. Housemate did once ask me, in a worried voice, if the big “woe” at the top of my planner page was my mental state. It was not. I write the days of the week in Dutch. Months, too, but they’re pretty close. We’re almost at October, so maybe Abbie and Ichabod can come back for the season. I may need to start scheduling desktop changes. If it’s in the schedule, I’m more likely to do it.

Which is where my initial blabbering turns into actual blogging. Since I’ve been moving my target date for handing A Heart Most Errant over to beta readers, I’ve been looking at exactly what needs to get done, when it can be done, and how much time this is realistically going to take, along with continuing the restructure of the end-of-the-middle part of Her Last First Kiss‘s second draft and the ball for Drama King having landed firmly in my court. Which begs the question, what the heck am I doing?

Well, writing, duh. Obviously. That much is pretty clear. Working on three books at different stages means juggling a lot of balls, and the odd chainsaw thrown into the mix at any given time. So why was this the good decision? I have no answer for that. It happened. That moment when “hey, spiff that old novella and give it another chance at life” idea was not something I’d expected, and I will admit that part of the delay is that  the idea is kind of scary.

The last time I pitched this story was to one of the bigger name agents, who  read snippets of my own work back to me, and told me she would totally read this book for pleasure, but that she couldn’t sell a medieval in this (at the time) current market. My choices were, as she saw them:

  1. Trunk the book and forget it, period. (Not an option.)
  2. Publish independently. (She seemed keenest on this one.)
  3. Hold onto it until the market changes, and medieval are more marketable. (Not even going to try to predict when this would be, but medieval fans are loyal.)

I hadn’t thought too hard about writing medieval romance until the ideas of medieval and post-apocalpytic romance getting together and making book babies came around, even though I’d been reading medieval for years. The idea came when it came.  I did not go looking for it.

Same with my current historical home in the eighteenth century. If I had to pinpoint a moment when that turned into a thing, I would be hard-pressed. I lived the first ten years of my life in a town the British burned to the ground during the American Revolution, so the eighteenth century was literally all around me as a wee little princess, and the big one-oh for me was also the big two-oh=oh for the entire country. As for the British part, our closest neighbors for the first years of my life were Scots immigrants, and my mom’s best friend was a British ex-pat. I sometimes spell certain words with extra u’s, because I was used to that from an early age.

One moment, though? If I had to pick, as in if the life of a loved one were in danger, I would have to say that would be the walk from my dorm to the Marcus Garvey lounge on the Wesleyan campus, during my summer at Center For Creative Youth. Do not ask me what the subject of the day’s class was, because I have no idea, but that’s where those of us on the writing track reported after breakfast. I want to say we’d had something to do with eighteenth century literature, maybe poetry, the day before, and the rhythm of the language was in my head, and characters started talking that way.

First thought: that’s weird that they’re talking that way. Second thought: it’s weirder that this is totally comfortable. I did not immediately begin writing Georgian romance after that. We are not going to discuss the time I tried to write a Regency. Key word is tried. Something clicked, then, or maybe planted itself is a more accurate term, but I remember that feeling, and I recognized it again, this morning. Today was laundry day, which meant laundromat reading time. Which usually means Kindle, but mine was at home, charging, and I had the Kindle app on my phone.  I’d loaded Be Not Afraid, by Alyssa Cole, and, within seconds of reading the first page, bam. There it was.

Yes. This. That instant feeling of not reading a historical romance novel, but actively being in the story, firmly grounded in time and place, inside the skin of a character as real and alive as the people I can reach out and touch. Thankfully, none of the reach out and touch kinds of people were in the laundromat  at that time, but it reminded me why I’m doing this. Writing, that is, not laundry. I know why I do laundry.

It’s that feeling, that instant transportation to another time and another place. That feeling is, and always has been, my happy place, or one of them, and if I can bring that to somebody else, then I will consider it a job well done. I like a lot of historical eras, so I’m not ruling any of them out. I will probably wander like the temporal nomad I am, but setting down and making camp for a while, well, I like that fine. That, I can do.

 

 

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.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Hello, September Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today is September first, not yet autumn by the calendar, but it is autumn for Anty, so that is what counts. Anty is very happy today, because she gets to start not one but two notebooks, and she and Anty Melva had their first session on writing a brand new book, but more about that later.

As always, before I can talk about anything else, which is usually Anty’s writing anyway, I have to talk about where you can find her writing on the interwebs, besides here. She is at Buried Under Romance every Saturday, and would love to see you there. Last week, she talked about the power of romance novel heroines. One of the reasons Anty started reading romance in the first place is because romance is the genre where the woman always wins. That post is here, and it looks like this:

han

Because the old month is now over, the people at Heroes and Heartbreakers get a chance to say what their favorite reads of August were. Anty had to think really hard about this one, because she read a lot of good books this month, and had to limit herself to books that are already published. I do not know how hard or easy it was for any of the other bloggers, but Anty does have a few more books to add to her own TBR list now. That post is here, and it looks like  this:

HandHbestofAug

Now, because it is the start of a brand new month, it is time to see how Anty is doing on two challenges. First, we will look at how she did at Goodreads. So far, Anty is on track for the fourth week in a row. She has read fifty-nine books out of her goal of ninety. Go, Anty. Read those books. Keep going. You got this. This week, she left a review for North of Beautiful, by Justina Chen. She liked that book very much, and has started trying to draw compass roses in her notebooks. There may be a learning curve to that. Her review is here, and it looks like this:

GRnorthofbeautifulChen

Now we look at how Anty is doing on her goal of reading mostly historical romances. The one book she finished this week (to be fair, she had a big week) was YA, and it had a romance in it, but it was not historical, but we need to look at the overall picture.

hr-challenge-2016-badge

So far, Anty has read 59 books, according to Goodreads, and 29 of those have been historical romance. Figuring in for the romantic historical fiction (Beatriz Williams, I am looking at you) that is about a 50/50 on that score, but then we have to also figure in the historical romance novel Anty beta read, that will not be out until next week, and that gives historical romance a slight edge. Go, Anty. You are meeting those goals.

Because Anty insists, here are pictures of the inside and outside of her new morning pages book. The pages in this book are mostly the same, but she is going to use different colors of ink to differentiate the pages, so she will not get un-comfy with pages being all the same. She has a thing about that.

cover of morning pages book
Inside pages. Note sparkly ink.

 

Okay, I think those are all of that kind of update. Now it is time for book talk, and by that, I mean Anty’s books. This week, Anty Melva sent Chasing Prince Charming off to Carina Press, to see if maybe they would like to publish it. The answer to that one might take a few months, so it is a good thing that Anty and Anty Melva are now officially working on Drama King. They had their first Skype session this morning, and Anty has several notebook pages filled with scribbles about things she needs to get done in time for next week’s meeting, so that they can get started with the actual writing of this book. Anty is pretty sure that the writing will go faster this time, because now she and Anty Melva know how they write books together. She also knows that they need to do a better job of keeping track of the parts of the book while they are writing it, so nobody (especially not Anty) has to go digging around in the hard drive for that scene where that person did the thing and the other person found out about it.

Because Anty had to go to the people vet earlier this week (she is okay) she has moved her goal for finishing her once-over of A Heart Most Errant to two weeks from today, September fourteenth. That is a nice round number, a fortnight. That is an English word for two weeks. Anty likes English words. That is probably because she writes in English, but a lot of her stories also take place in England, so there is that, too. There is also laundry to do (Anty will do the laundry, not me; my tongue would get tired really fast) I had better wrap things up, so that means it is time for Tuna Roll’s Thought of the Day. Take it away, Tuna Roll.

0825TunaRoll

If you have to live with your natural predator, but they don’t climb, you’re still ahead of the game. –Tuna Roll

 

Thank you, Tuna Roll…I think. 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.

Typing With Wet Claws: Welcome, August Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I am coming to you from my sunbeam. It is my favorite morning place, so I did not mind too much when Anty wanted to take my picture there. I can pose nicely when I have a good reason. Sunbeams are good reasons. In the cold weather, this also puts me in front of Heater. I love Heater. August is the best month because it is Uncle’s birthday month. Uncle is my favorite, and I love him. Anty is okay, too. She feeds me and pets me and lets me write this blog, as long as I talk about where to find her writing, first. I had better get to it.

As always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance this week, with her Saturday Discussion post. This week, she talked about some of the various means readers use to keep track of books they have read, and books they would like to read. She even shared pictures of some of her own records, so if you are interested in that sort of thing, you can find that post here, and it looks like this:

BURkeeptrack

Now it is time to talk about Anty’s reading. As of this morning, she was on track with her Goodreads challenge, so she was technically current when I started working on this blog. She had to do house things, though (including feeding me, which is a very good cause) and then it rolled over into one book behind. As a cat, I know a few things about rolling over, and will give her credit for being current, but it wouldn’t hurt to read a little faster during the week. So far, Anty has read fifty-two out of the ninety books she wants to read this year. I would say that is pretty decent progress. Go, Anty.

hr-challenge-2016-badge

Since it is the first Friday of the month, it is time for me to report on Anty’s historical romance reading challenge. This week, she finished reading five books, and four of those were historical romance. That is how to do it. (I would fistbump Anty here, but I do not have fists. I have paws. It does not work the same way with paws. I will ask Uncle or Mama to do it for me.) This brings Anty’s total for the year up to twenty-six historical romance novels read. That is pretty good, all things considered. Keep going, Anty.

The books Anty reviewed on Goodreads this week are:

 

 

 

 

As you might guess, Autopsy of America is not a historical romance novel, or even fiction, but pictures of abandoned places across the United States. Anty loves pictures of abandoned places, and when they are artistic, that is even better. Some people think this makes Anty a little strange, but Anty is already strange; she is a writer. She likes Mr. Seph’s photographs very much, and they kind of play into something else she has added to her work this week.

This week, we had many domestic tornadoes. During one of them, Anty needed some distraction. Since writing and reading are her best distractions, she dug out an old manuscript from her archives, one that is set a very long time ago, in England, after the Black Plague wiped out a very big part of Europe. That includes England, because this was a long time before Brexit. It was also a long time before the European Union, but I am a kitty, not a political historian. Anty figured it would not take too much work to get that book ready to send to a potential publisher, so she is working on that as well, now.

She gave it a different name, A Heart Most Errant, instead of Ravenwood, so that it would be a new thing in her brain, and, so far, that seems to work. It is a new thing and at the same time, the same book she already wrote. This time, she is looking at it without overthinking, and it is not the only fish in the pond, as it were. Personally, I think a pond with only three fish in it is not a very good pond. I do not remember how many fish are in my fish movie. I think I need to watch it again to count, but I know there were more than three. Maybe this time, I can catch the orange fish. He is a tricky one. He looks like he is swimming out of the tablet, but he never does.

Huh? Oh, right. Anty’s books. Hmph. Anty likes having a lot of things going on at once, so I do not think she will mind having three projects at different stages at the same time.  This also helps her not fixate on a particular manuscript being The One, and if it does not sell, she has wasted a year and change of her life, and is doomed forever. At least that is what the Hypercritical Gremlins used to try to tell her. They have been very quiet lately.

Now it is time to let Anty talk, although I do not know why that is a big thing. Anty always talks, and this is her blog anyway, but here we go:

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

skyebanner01

skyebyefancy

Until next week…

 

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.