goals

Time of the Season

annabowling Leave a comment

Welp, we are officially in the Christmas season around here. Thanksgiving is in the rearview mirror (and it was a good one) and the question of where the heck do we put a Christmas tree in this new apartment has started to bat itself around, especially as I am in a moving furniture around phase. My pillow pile is probably on its way out, as it’s not quite the same with the bookshelf-turned-desk here. Also, Real Life Romance Hero likes to keep the bedroom toasty (as in thermostat. The rest is nobody’s business.) so this may be me moving to winter quarters. Probably.

There is most of a huge (I am not exaggerating on this) pumpkin pie In the refrigerator. In a household where one person is watching their sugar intake, and another isn’t that keen on sweet things in general, this pie may outlast us. Any Albany area friends want to come over for pie? We also have tea, and I will let you play with my colored pencil, while we talk about books. Reading or writing, I’m good for both. There is also tea.

Anyhoo, it’s Monday, which means that I am getting ready for a 7PM Skype chat with Melva, where we talk all things Chasing Prince Charming, and plot the next week’s work for Drama King. Odds are very high that I will be having my end of the conversation here, at the kitchen/dining room table:

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This is also where I do the majority of my planning, though it’s sometimes on the other side of the table. Feel free to mentally flip the image for an idea of what that looks like, because that would be accurate. The planner I’m using right now is going to go down for a long winter’s nap, maybe in December, definitely in January, to come back in the spring, with all pastel colored inserts, standard size instead of the current A5. It will most likely be succeeded by this one, which I had no intention of getting until I saw the whole line on clearance, and then, well, things happened:

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The art isn’t exactly my style, but I like to mix things up, now and again, and I love the feel of the fabric cover. I like the challenge of trying something new, and diving all into it, but not completely on my own. I like to have some sort of guide I can refer to, when I feel uncertain. (Everybody say it with me now) It’s like that with writing. I don’t think I would have ventured into contemporary romance on my own. (We will not speak of my first time travel effort, which is still burning off its half life.) Writing it with Melva, though, that’s a whole different animal. Though we come from two different backgrounds, we know each other’s voice, and things kind of fall together. I have not, as of yet, given any thought to trying to lure her over to the historical side (come to the historical side; we have comfits?) but never say never. The future stretches ahead.

That future does include getting back to my solo historicals, and that’s both exciting and scary. On the one hand, the longer one spends away from a manuscript, the longer the road back may be, but, at the same time, time and distance can also offer perspective. How that works, I am not exactly sure, but I do know that switching between being two different writers (or one and a half?) does give writing a sort of hybrid vitality. Focusing on one genre can make the other one seem fresh and exciting again, when I get back to it, and there are benefits to both going it alone, and having a writing partner, ready to pick up the ball and run with it, when I’m not sure where to go next.

This time of year is my favorite-favorite, for a lot of reasons, and this year is extra special. This year, I have a book contract again. This year, I am working on two novels at the same time, one with a partner, and one on my own. To be fair, I was doing that last year, too, but this time, I have the added boost of knowing that I can do both. I love the idea of figuring out what Melva’s-and-my brand is, setting up our website, and connecting with our readers, who may not be the same as my readers or her readers, though I hope there will be some crossover.

When I set up the new planners (yes plural) for the coming year, there will be a section of the writing planner that is dedicated to future projects. There will be workshops in the works, and I look forward to going forward as an author and a half. Right now, a lot of it looks like utter chaos, but making order from chaos is kind of my things. Spread everything out in front of me, see what wants to go together, and then make it happen.

I am one thousand percent sure that the coming year is going to have its fair share of surprises. Hopefully, most of them will be good.

Desk-ish

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Coughty-cough months after moving into the current apartment, and I finally have an actual desk, set up in the common room. Well, desk-ish. Technically, it is a bookcase. There are precisely zero books on it, which does not do much toward my goal of neatening the room, but for my ease of and attitude toward writing? Huge improvement.

Right now, I am perched atop the ergonomic “kneeling” chair, that I have had for hm, let’s see, basically forever. Long ago, I had visited a family friend/successful author, and she told me to sit at her desk, in her kneeling chair. I needed some instruction on how that sort of chair worked, and I was hesitant to put  my bottom there, because this was where the magic happened. This was where she sat to create the stories that enthralled me. My butt was not worthy. She insisted, though, so I parked it, and….oh. This was where the magic happens. 

Skip forward a few years, to when I worked retail and plunked down a chunk of one of my earliest checks, to get that same sort of chair. Not only was this an emotional/aspirational touchstone to abovementioned butt plunking, but my spine had a very clear memory, and extremely strong opinions about sitting in a kneeling chair. These opinions were strong enough that the whole “id doesn’t have a back, can nobody else see that?” thing faded into the background.

Of course, when I got said chair home, it was not the best of matches for the desk I used at the time, nor was it a good match for the antique secretary desk I could finally claim as my own, in our most recent apartment before this one. I went through a couple of improvised alternatives, until a lovely reader/RWA sister gifted me with a fabulous office chair with high back and comfy seat, which I fell deeply in love with, and will use again when I can get it and the secretary desk out of storage, likely in the next apartment. I didn’t know how I was going to use the kneeling chair in our current place, until another friend gifted us with a gorgeous kitchen table. (No, you do not have to give us furniture to be our friend, but we probably will not say no, either.) As we had come to the point of figuring out who would get to use the folding chair, an additional chair became a necessity.

The kneeling chair was at the front of one of the storage units, so home it came. Now, it is the most hotly sought-after chair in the apartment. Go figure. Real Life Romance Hero turns it the other way around, to watch television. He used to hate this chair, but now finds it comfortable. Housemate used to use it as a place to change footwear, but a cushion for the folding chair greatly cut down on such instances. Note that I did not say eliminated. Even Sebastian will randomly appear on seat or knee rest.

On Saturday, Housemate and I ventured into the dark wilds of the large storage unit, to retrieve winter clothing, and, hopefully, this particular bookcase. I knew exactly where I wanted the bookcase to go, and Housemate figured out how to make it fit. I surveyed the bookcase, deciding what was going to go where, and my gaze drifted to the monitor, on the coffee table, in my pillow pile corner. Hm. What if the monitor were on the top shelf, and the keyboard were on the second shelf? Third shelf would be enough space for my knees, and maybe the printer (testing that one out later) and what the heck, let’s see how that works.

As it turns out, I had the same reaction as when I plopped my butt in that long-ago other kneeling chair. Oh. This is where the magic happens. I am physically comfortable. I don’t have to strain back or eyes. I am facing the wall, so I am not distracted by anything anybody else is doing in the rest of the room. Granted, I am writing this at a time when everybody else is out of the house, so there are no interruptions. I don’t have to use headphones. I don’t have to maneuver around any other bodies in the kitchen, when I want more tea. I go through a lot of tea when I’m writing.

Also when I am not writing, but this is definitely a writing day. Melva and I have this week to get the final tweaks done to the manuscript of Chasing Prince Charming in to our editor. Our editor. I had to type that again, in bold, because it is a beautiful phrase to see, after a long spell between contracts. After that, we have a few rounds of editing, filling in art sheets, and other stuff to be done, that contracted novelists do. We also have a draft of Drama King to write, because A) it’s fun, and B) writing the next book is key to keeping this author thing going.

There’s also the whole thing about getting back in the groove with Her Last First Kiss, and keeping an eye on the next thing I want to do with historical romance. This is going to require a lot of organization and planning. Convenient, then, that organization and planning are two of my hobbies.  Okay, those and art journals, but they collide nicely, so I think I am going to be all right. I also think that, this time, computer desk and handwriting/art desk are going to be two different things. There will, in time, be a new photo for the end of blog posts, but today? Today is for actual writing work. I think that’s a pretty decent way to start a week.

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Typing With Stuffed Paws: Snow Day Edition

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What up. Sebastian Thunderpaws Hart-Bowling coming at you. There is snow on the ground. A lot of it. Writer Chick loves snow. Like really, really loves snow. This is not dampened by the cold she has had all week. Dude isn’t feeling that hot at the moment, but Writer Chick managed to get a load of laundry done. I, of course, am in favor of fresh laundry, as it is warm, and ideal for napping. Those of us who are of the stuffed persuasion can internalize the heat and stay toasty for hours.

As usual, Writer Chick did the blabbity-blab on Buried Under Romance, on Saturday. This time, she talks about saving a good book for a rainy — or snowy — day. Little did she know how appropriate that would be. If you want to read more, it’s here, and this is the picture if you need to find it that way, or appreciate her book and mug photography skills.

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Speaking of reading, which is something Writer Chick is very wont to do, we move now to her Goodreads challenge. Writer Chick has been doing a lot of napping, this cold week, but she did make a respectable library haul, and historical romance actually dominates. That’s for another post, though. Right now, she is ninety-one percent of the way to her goal of ninety books, with eighty-two books read. Skye would be impressed. Me, I just report the numbers. Then I nap.

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weekend reading and then some

Besides being a sick week, in which Dude proved himself a pretty decent nurse/personal chef, Writer Chick had her first week as a contracted co-writer. This involved a lot of thinking really hard about getting up and going to the computer. Sometimes, she actually made it. These are usually the times when she managed to get the really strong tea. Anyway, the times she did make it to the computer, she talked with Other Writer Chick, and they talked about Stuff.

Some of that Stuff included a scene that the publisher humans would like them to put into the book, where it was only implied before. All I am going to say is that the action of that scene would require turning around any stuffed animals in the room with the human characters. I have not read the scene in question, but it is my understanding that there are not any. Yet another instance of stuffed erasure in contemporary fiction. W are real, we are cuddly, and we will not be ignored. We’d make more noise about it, but, well naps. Some of us have squeakers, though. That floppy zebra in the other room? Squeaks like a new pair of shoes on freshly cleaned linoleum.

Another thing Writer Chick and Other Writer Chick had to talk about, was who they are, as a writer. Singular. Writer Chick writes historical romance on her own, and Other Writer Chick writes contemporary with a strong suspense element, and humor, on her own, and when the two different writers collide, it makes something entirely new. That comes with a lot of new questions.

One of those questions is about their combined author brand. Both of them had put a lot of thought into their individual author brands, condensed into catchy taglines, that let readers know what kinds of stories lie between the covers. Together, though? That’s something new, and they are working on figuring out exactly what that is. They already know they are going to need a joint website, which means they are going to need to pick out colors, motifs, a look that tells readers what they might find from this particular tag team.

That’s where I got to find out what it sounds like when two different writers make the “uhhhhh” sound at the same time.  Writer Chick made some notes, and Other Writer Chick made a suggestion that they get their individual brand statements together and see if they can combine the two. We will see how that goes. Writer Chick is going to give this another go once she has full brain back, which should be in time for their weekly Skype session, but that isn’t even their main concern.

That’s kind of evenly split between working on the expanded scene for Chasing Prince Charming, and moving along with Drama King, because they always have to keep looking at the next book, while this one is getting ever closer to publication. There’s also the matter of keeping each other accountable on their different solo projects, because if they can drag each other through one book, they can drag each other through more books.

Maybe drag isn’t the word, but you get the picture. Thankfully, Writer Chick’s penchant for planning and notebooks is super useful when it comes to keeping things like this straight. She will probably have more to say on that. As long as her notebook covers are soft, and the paper is crinkly, I’m good, and, in the end, isn’t that all that really matters?

Oh look, squirrels.

SebastianWindowBye

 

 

Love Scene Time

annabowling Leave a comment

For the last few days, my main occupation has been putting sweaters on, and then immediately taking them off again, then falling asleep in unexpected places. This means one ting. Cold season has arrived. Add massive amounts of tea, many bottles of water, and a blanket that comes with me when I move from pillow pile to couch and back again. Not exactly the way I intended to  spend the first week after signing a new book contract, but it’ll do.

This morning, I saw this outside the window:

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first snow 11/18

Snow has always been, and will always be, my favorite weather, and the fact that, because we live in a complex now, shoveling is not on the agenda. Every car for itself when it comes to clearing off personal vehicles, but I am still counting this as a win. Skies are clear, so the dusting is all we are likely to get for today. For mid-November, I can take that. Since this is also the day when tat first glimmer of brain pierces through the cold fog, I am taking this 9these, as I mean both the snow and the glimmer of brain) as a good sign.

This means climbing back into the writing saddle. Now that contracts are signed, the clock begins ticking. Melva and I now get to figure out how we write a completed love scene, together, and we have a date when said love scene has to be done. I have never co-written a love scene before, so this is going to be a new experience. I have already accepted the fact that this is probably not going to be possible to write with my fingers splayed across my eyes, horror-movie-watching style.

Melva and I have shared a lot over the years, as critique partners, conference roomies, and friends. Put it bluntly, we are both well stocked with blackmail opportunities, but, then again, neither of us could afford said blackmail, and we each know where the bodies are buried, because we helped move them. Writing a love scene together, though? That’s new.

Not that we’re squeamish/prudish. We are both grown women, happily married, and have been reading romance for long enough to, well, know what we’re doing. Granted, my own love scenes have, to date, been of the fade to black, maybe a leetle beyond, variety. Her Last First Kiss is going to require me to follow my hero and heroine into the bedroom, because that’s a part of the character development, and part of the romance. , and not including that part of their story would feel incomplete.

When Melva and I first conceived of (pun very much intended) of the story that would ultimately become Chasing Prince Charming (spoiler: our heroine catches him) we did address the issue of love scenes. Our plan was to cross that bridge when we came to it, and do what came naturally, which we also hoped our characters would ultimately do. Isn’t that the whole idea? We had the option of telling the story in a sweet fashion, without any love scenes whatsoever, but we knew we didn’t want to go in that direction. Meg and Dominic taking the very big step of becoming physically intimate, and what led up to it, were too important to leave out of the story, and, so, love scene time. It’s Meg and Dominic’s first time, true, but it’s also Melva’s and mine.

This is also my first time writing a contemporary love scene, as well as writing with another author. Everybody involved is probably going to learn a new thing or two. Both of us agree that we want the love scene to be exactly that; it’s more about feelings than body parts, and the scene needs to move both the story and the relationship to a new level. Thankfully, since we already have the whole book written and contracted, what we have here is a matter of connecting the dots. That came out more salacious than it was intended, but that’s par for the course when Melva and I write together. There is sometimes unintentional blueness, we are scarily on the same page, and things somehow manage to fall together.

Which is pretty much how things can potentially go in a love scene, the sort where the characters take over, do their own thing, and let us write it down for them.  That kind of thing doesn’t feel scary at all. More like business as usual. It also reminds us to keep our brains open, and a notebook on hand (that notebook part may be only me, but when don’t I have a notebook at hand, anyway?) to catch ideas for the couples from  subsequent books, because they’re going to need love scenes, too, and this kind of thing is different for every couple, even if they are in the same series.

This also means that I get to start cobbling together a series bible, to keep track of whos where and doing what, mapping out romantic arcs and the like. Since stationery is one of the great loves of my life, a very close second to romance writing, this is also on my list of awesome perks of writer-hood. It will also gibe me topics for a few blog entries, which is, with the current cold-induced brain fog, a very welcome constant.

Writer friends, what’s your best tip for writing love scenes? Reader friends, what makes a good love scene for you? Stationery nerds who are only here for the deskscapes, the turquoise pen is by Jane Davenport.

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Typing With Stuffed Paws: Post-Birthday Edition

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Hey. Sebastian Thunderpaws Hart-Bowling< Cat Regent, coming at you for another Friday blog. Writer Chick was kind of busy on Wednesday, because it was her birthday, which is basically her second favorite day of the year, which is second only to Christmas. Which is also technically a birthday. She will probably make some extra blog posts, or toss them my way, in the next week or so, maybe more, because the holiday season has technically begun. Writer Chick counts from her own birthday. I get that. I would, too, if I knew what my birthday was. Best guess, it was somebody’s birthday, or Christmas, which we have already established is technically a birthday. So there’s that.

Okay. So. Somewhat looser edition of the weekly roundup stuff, because Writer Chick has to get some work done on Drama King, because schedules and writing and all that kind of stuff. She also needs to make sure this week’s Buried Under Romance post is ready. Last week’s is on feeding the hunger for reading a particular kind of romance novel. If you’re interested in finding out what that is, or just like clicking links, that post is here, and it looks like this:

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Still crunching some numbers about the whole Goodreads Challenge thing, and things may move around a little, because somebody, and I am not going to say who (it was Writer Chick) did some (and by that, I mean a lot) of one-clicking late at night and now has a bunch of new reads lined up on her Kindle. We are not going to talk about the shelf full of library books, but this is the time of year when staying inside and reading (especially with a super cute cuddle buddy, preferably orange and stripey,) to share in the experience, is a very appealing option.

One book Writer Chick really liked recently, was What If It’s Us, by Becky Albertalli, and Adam Silvera. Writer Chick still has to write her review, but it’s got two authors she likes, and it’s like a YA rom com in book form. So far, she has read eighty out of ninety books for her goal for the year, which puts her at eighty-nine percent of the way there. That’s pretty decent progress.  There may or may not be a library and/or bookstore run this weekend, because birthday weekends are kind of a thing around here.

Something else that is kind of a thing this time of year is NaNoWriMo. Writer Chick has a complicated relationship with NaNo. She did think about it this year, but it’s going to be a NaNot for 2018, and she is okay with that. Writer Chick does like the idea of starting something new, but, right now, it’s all about getting the current WIPs to the end of their drafts.

For her work on Drama King, that means a lot of contact with Other Writer. For Her Last First Kiss, that means a few different things. part of it is reconnecting with the characters, their story, their time, and writing on her own, rather than with Other Writer.

That can be kind of scary, but, once she gets started, it gets to be fun. Being between cats (of the peeing type) can be a tough thing for a writer. It requires a lot of cat videos on You Tube, which help part of the issue, but not all of it. Like reading a lot of books helps get back in the historical romance vibe, buuuut the only thing that is really going to get it off and running is the actual writing of historical romance.

Fortunately, Writer Chick already has a plan on this one. N, her Tuesday morning writer breakfast buddy (who, it should be noted, has three cats of the peeing variety, herself) is kind of in the same boat, with her manuscript. The solution? Sit across from each other, in public, with paper and pen, and Write The (Expletive Deleted) Book. Plus, they get to visit, and have bottomless cups of caffeinated beverages. Writers often run on caffeine.

That’s going to be it for this week. Sunbeam is in the window, and the mini roses smell extra delicious today.

SebastianWindowBye

 

Typing With Stuffed Paws: Going Medieval Edition

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Yo. Friday again. That means Sebastian time. You’re welcome. This week, I’ve been helping Writer Chick with her writing this week. Here, you can see me checking on her pen storage and morning pages book. Writer Chick is going to need a new morning pages book, around the first of November, so she is now interviewing candidates. Dude says the humans call this “shopping.” Potato, potahto. Whatever it’s called, what Writer Chick puts in this kind of book gets her in gear to do other kinds of writing during the day.

Some of that writing turns up on Buried Under Romance, in Writer Chick’s weekly Saturday Discussion post. This week, it was all about curiosity in reading.It’s here, and looks like this:

Gorgeous featured image on this one, amirite? If I were the poo-ing kind of cat, instead of stuffed, I’d want to look a lot like that. Only more handsome, but I’m already there, so that part would be moot.

Speaking of reading, Writer Chick is now eighty-eight percent of the way to her Goodreads goal of reading ninety books in this calendar year. She has read seventy-nine books, putting her eight books ahead of schedule, and it is only October. I foresee success in her future, unless I am lying on top of the books she wants to read, in which case…okay, she will probably pick me up and move me, because I am stuffed, but whatever.

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A Memory of Love, by Bertrice Small

Writer chick is also making good progress on her goal of reading more historical romance, and, lately, she’s been concentrating on re-reading books she remembers liking, but hasn’t read in a while, and a bunch of those have turned out to have something in common.  Her last three historical romance reads have been by Bertrice Small, the author who got her interested in historical romance in the first place, they have all been standalones, and they have all been medieval. She also has a medieval historical romance quintet, the Graistan Chronicles, by Denise Domning, on her Kindle, and a bunch of Terri Brisbin medieval novellas on her phone, so this is becoming kind of a thing.

Writer Chick has already written one medieval romance novella, herself, and if you want to read a part of that, you can, in New York’s Emerging Writers: an Anthology of Fiction. Writer Chick’s novel excerpt, “Ravenwood,” is in there, and she has the whole book ready to roll, and resume submission rounds. Even though she hadn’t expected to write anything else related to that story, now she is thinking that, maybe, that might be fun to try in the not too distant future. If you read the excerpt and like it, consider letting the publisher know.

It’s not big a stretch. Writer Chick’s medieval hero left his best bro in an abandoned abbey, filled with plague survivors. That isn’t really as mean as it sounds. Book Dude did what he had to do, and Other Book Dude was fine with it, so I’m going to call that solid. It’s also part of what Writer Chick likes about the whole medieval romance thing. The world was rougher, then, depending on who one asks, and there is definitely enough history to influence the plot.  Castles, villages, wars, picking up after a giant up-ending of life in general, and rebuilding again. As. Many. Times. As. It. Takes. Writer Chick can relate to that.

So, how does this tie into the Georgian era stuff she’s currently writing? First, going from 1066 to 1766 (which is still fairly early in the eighteenth century) gives Writer Chick a whole lot of history to play with, here.  Seven. Hundred. Years. How great is that? So. Much. History. So many things that can affect the love stories, that there is not even a chance of running out of ideas that could actually have happened. So many love stories, as well, that she can tell, for generations to rise and fall, time to pass, children from previous books to grow to adulthood, and all of that good stuff. She’s kind of into all of that.

She’s also kind of into getting the current WIPs done and on their ways, so that she can get to the new, shiny stuff. This means there is a lot of planning she can do, to make that kind of thing happen. If you have guessed that this is going to involve pens and notebooks, you are right, but that’s for Writer Chick to tell. Dude wants to take a nap, and if you think I’m not going to get on in on that, I don’t even know what to say in response.

Catch you next time.

SebastianWindowBye

 

 

 

Anna-ticipation

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Right now, I am sitting on my pillow pile, lap desk in my lap. Outside, it’s grey and intermittently rainy. There is a package of pens (not the ones pictured) on its way to me, possibly arriving today. My tea mug is empty (again,) and, as soon as I finish this entry, I can get up and make more tea. It may possibly be chai. In the later afternoon, there will be groceries. This may or may not expand my tea choices. It may also expand my pen inventory, but that is a risk I am willing to take.

This past weekend, I attended our monthly CR-RWA meeting, where Jean C. Gordon took us through her Gone in Sixty Minutes synopsis workshop. Now, I have one eye on my notebook, as I go through the Monday stuff, because I want to get back to what I was doing on Saturday afternoon.

I’m not usually excited about writing synopses. Writing a whole book is, somehow, easier than giving a brief summary of what the book is about, and what it means for the two lead characters. Do not ask me why. All I know is that, usually, when I hear the word, “synopsis,” I immediately forget the entire book, stare blankly, and mutter something that sounds vaguely like “ummm….”

This time, however, I’m much closer to “this is super cool, and I can’t wait to hunker down and get to it.”  I even like the idea of writing the synopsis before writing the book, and may have to give that a go at some point.’That may be close to what Melva and I are doing with Chasing Prince Charming right now. I used Her Last First Kiss for the hands-on part of the workshop, as well as reconnected with a once upon a time critique partner, about resuming that relationship, and, now, that it’s time to get back into the serious business of making book (literally) I feel more…grounded may be the best word. I was not expecting that, but I will take it.

That work isn’t for today, though, because Monday is for doing Monday things. Getting ready to Skype with Melva, making a grocery run, transcribing longhand pages. Keeping one eye on the clock, because I know when the mail carrier brings our building’s mail, and there is a very good chance that there may be pens in there. Not that I know exactly what sort of pens they are going to be, because this is from a pen exchange on a Facebook group for pen enthusiasts. I am also getting a bunch of pens ready to send off to my exchange partner, someone whom I know very little about, other than their address and taste in pens. Sometimes, that’s all one needs to know, only enough to take care of the task at hand. If that hand happens to be holding an awesome pen, well, that’s a plus.

As usual, the weekend included some craft store tourism with Housemate. This time, I cracked open the marker paper insert I’d been wanting for a long time, open as soon as I got it home, whipped out some markers and stamps and stencils, and started throwing stuff onto pages that were not the first page (excellent art trick to get over the reluctance to ruin the first page of a new sketchbook/insert.)

Again, this is kind of similar to something Melva and I are doing with our first draft of Drama King, and what a combination of talks with N, Saturday’s workshop, and a few other factors, have me wanting to do with  Her Last First Kiss. Maybe one of the pens in the pen-ding delivery will find its purpose in doing exactly that.

I already know what my reward, at the end of the day, will be. Right now, I have one re-read of a classic historical romance for my before-bed reading, and one brand new contemporary YA, by two authors who always hit the mark, on my phone, to nip into when I have spare moments. Both of those are the kind of read where I find myself thinking about the characters during the day, hoping they don’t do anything interesting without me. They usually don’t, Other people’s characters are usually better behaved than my own, and happy to wait for me before they get back into the action.

Not so with my own imaginary friends. Getting up to stuff is pretty much in their job descriptions. They’ll run off the planned route, on a whim, make decisions and take actions that I did not authorize first. Oftentimes, they come up with better stuff than I do, and maybe this is what they will do, tonight, when I am scanning the shelves for no sugar added applesauce, or cruising the pen aisle for fun things to toss into a package I will mail out later this week.

It’s important to stay in the moment, and do the thing in front of us, but, sometimes, casting a glance at the horizon can be an excellent reminder of where we’re going, and why we want to be there.

Intravenous

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A few years back, I had several big life changes happening at the same time. A long-time friendship ended, there was a serious illness in the family, and  I’d had to helm an interstate move of three adults and one cat who did not sign off on any of this. Needless to say, all of the above did a serious number on the ability to create. I have multiple Moleskines filled with random ramblings, trying to make sense of everything, but fiction? Not so much.

Those changes also did a number on my ability to sleep, so there were more than a few times that I said to heck with it, slip out of bed, and plop myself in my recliner, in the dark of pre-dawn, underneath a hand-knit blanket, and plug in my earbuds. I’d kick back in the recliner, eyes closed, and let the music play, Skye kitty nearby, to send love beams my way.

The songs on that playlist didn’t pertain to any one particular novel project. It wasn’t the time for that. What it was time for, was to feel. There were a lot of sad songs on that list, loss songs, and songs that were just…big. Meat Loaf.  Mary Chapin Carpenter. Elton John.  Snow Patrol. HIM. Others.

Lying in that chair, under the blanket, one thin wire connecting me to the thing that I needed to have pumped into me, reminded me of sitting with my father during his dialysis sessions. By the time the sun came up, I’d have enough to get up and start doing things. In time, I started writing fiction again.

I remember those mornings, sometimes, when I find myself facing a blank page, or looking askance at my to-do list. On those times, I’ve found that it’s usually time for a creative transfusion. This morning, that included watching Bob’s Burgers, in my pajamas, while eating oatmeal, and then meandering a few feet to the left, to the kitchen/dining room table, and mess around with some of the art supplies that had been sitting in their moving boxes for far too long. watercolor, ink and stencils layered onto the paper, guided by instinct. The language part of my brain went on the back burner, my conscious attention divided between the backlog of TV shows I’d been putting off watching, and the images that composed themselves, as overthinking was the farthest thing from my mind.

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And then…because there always is an “and then,” because that is how stories work, the tips of my ink-stained fingers tingled and itched to get at the keys. This entry wanted out of my head and onto the page, because after that (see previous comment about the inevitable “and thens”of every story) it would be time to rad Melva’s next scene for Drama King, and, after that, I can work on my own, and tomorrow, N and I get back on board with our mutual butt-kicking, for my historical and her contemporary. I am keeping one eye on library notifications, because I have some classic standalone historical romances on their way to me, to help stoke this historical fire. By which I mean get me back into historical mindset, because A) as much fun as co-writing the contemporaries is, I need some historical transfusion, and B) we are now in October, which means full superpowers should be going into effect, and I want to go at this as strongly as I can. There is also C) the fact that love beams do indeed come across the Rainbow Bridge, and writing between cats is, in fact, different than writing with a physical furry shadow.

There’s also the transfusion of last month’s Connecticut Fiction Fest, this past weekend’s Albany Book Festival (as an attendee, not a participant) and enough pages logged already in my reading tracker to put me two weeks ahead of my goal for October, on the first day of the month. Today, I got a transfusion of cartoons at breakfast, and cop shows at lunch, all the cups of tea I couldn’t have while the cold sore was in town, (totally making up for that now) and the agreement of all family members that now would be a good time to decorate our for-now apartment.

We still plan to find a pet friendly place some months from now. We can spend those months living out of boxes and staring at plain beige walls, or we can have some fun and put our stamp on the place. Expect progress pictures, as we go.

Such is the way a new normal begins. Do what you can, when you can. When it’s a struggle to put out, it’s time to take in, as much as it takes, for as long as it takes. Creative transfusions can come from old favorites, or the  most unusual sources. For me, I like to throw it all in there, and see what sticks. Sometimes, the enthusiasm for writing will wane, especially when there are big life changes, even when the desire, or even the need, to write,  hasn’t gone anywhere.

Even as the enthusiasm can ebb, it can also flow. Sometimes, that’s at a trickle, and sometimes, after a big enough or effective enough transfusion, crash in like a tidal wave. Usually, it’s somewhere in between.  I have a list, in my bullet journal, of things that I know make for good transfusions: Spotify playlists, secret Pinterest boards, favorite movies, books, and TV. Taking the time to set up a Sims world exactly the way I want it, then spend long weekend afternoons, playing through generations. Hauling my beloved antique rocker (I don’t know how old it is, but it’s older than me) out of storage, and setting it up in my corner of the living room. It doesn’t recline, but it rocks, and that’ll do.

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Number One With a Bullet (Journal)

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For a long time, I resisted the term, “bullet journal.” I know one reason is that the word, “journal,” has always squicked me out, and I have no idea why. Ito does, though, but that’s what the thing I had already been doing for years before I found out that it was a thing, is called, so using the commonly accepted term means that I get to find more resources, and other people who share my interest. That’s not the point of this post, though. That’s me, babbling my way through a first paragraph, because a first paragraph means there is something on the page, and it is no longer blank. Boom. Writered.

The above paragraph is also me, not wanting to get up and retrieve the longhand notes I wrote for this entry while doing laundry yesterday, so I am relying on my undercaffeinated memory to get me through. After I’d stuffed a load of wet washing into the dryer, I asked myself what I could talk about, right now, that made me happy. The first thing that came to mind was this stuff:

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My forever loves

In the past, I’ve always set up binders the way I thought they should be formatted. I’d put together pretty papers, scrapbook paper to cover the section dividers, and have sections for story, hero, heroine, villain when needed, and miscellany, and then, the one thing that was uniform across the board. Never. Use. Them. For. Embarrasingly. Long. Periods. Of. Time. Sometimes, forever. Obviously, this approach Does Not Work. For me. It probably works perfectly for somebody else.

For me, instead of a useful tool, I get aesthetically pleasing monuments to failure. I love setting up the notebooks, and looking through them, and thinking of what I could put in there, which actually does a lot for y creative process, but using the books themselves? Not so much.

When I first stumbled upon the traveler’s notebook system, aka a bunch of smaller notebooks inside one unifying cover,, bells rang, angels sang, and the same thing clicked as the thing that clicked when I hid under the brass bed in the guest bedroom, with the copy of The Kadin, that I’d filched from my mother’s nightstand. Yes. This. So what’s the difference?

I’m still trying to figure that out. The main physical difference is that the traveler’s notebook inserts aren’t held in my brings, but by elastic bands, and all I have to do is slip in notebooks that are already made, in whatever format and configuration I want. Now that we are at almost-October, I am looking at setting up next year’s notebooks, which has me thinking about how I can use this with my writing, as well.

For 2018, my writing tracker consisted entirely of one question: did you write? I would tick this box immediately after writing my morning pages. Achievable goals for the win, pun intended. For 2019, I want to go farther, do more. The question is, how? What do I want to track? Okay, that’s two questions, but still, that’s been on my mind. Do I want to track word count, which is the usual thing, or so it seems, or do I want to find some other method that might work better for me? Number of pages per day? Time spent composing and/or editing? Percentage of the way toward my goal, be it word count, page count, chapter count, calendar date? I may start with all of them, and see what sticks.

One of the beauties of the traveler’s notebook system, is that it’s perfect for frustrated perfectionists.  For added flexibility, I prefer using erasable pens and highlighters. I have heard that Frixion also makes erasable markers, but if I fall down that rabbit hole, I may not be heard from again in the foreseeable future.

I’m looking at how I want to track my inspirations, as well, For this past year, I’ve logged pages read, and titles/authors, but, for the year ahead, I think I want to do more. I’m not sure in what sense, but I like the idea of following the bunny trails of things I like, and to see what elements of the books I keep coming back to, time and again. I have some time to figure thig out, try a few different layouts, for both content and aesthetics.

More information is always good, and keeping track of what’s going on, and how it’s going, allows me to notice patterns that I might not have noticed before. When do I do my best writing? When do I need to refill? What refills me the best? The idea of starting some sort of notebook setup for ongoing projects, so that I have everything in one place, gets me excited. As in can’t wait to get to it, excited.

Which is where I like to be, especially when I need a creative kick in the patoot. Does it mean this is a magic shortcut? Not by ay means, but it feels like me, and I will take that, any day of the week.

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Butt in Chair, Pen to Paper

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There aren’t a lot of articles out there on how to get back into the swing of writing after the loss of a pet. Personally, I haven’t found any. Hence the left foot right foot approach of putting butt in chair, and pen on paper. I work best in longhand. I always have. Still, there are times when it’s going through the motions. Writers and cats have a special connection, and Skye was, and is, my mews forever. At some point in the next couple of weeks, we will brig her ashes home. When we move, in time, to a pet-friendly apartment, we will add a new cat, or cats, to our family. They will be their own creatures, and I can’t say, before getting to know them, whoever they are, whether or not they will agree to blog for me. I have no earthly idea what Friday’s blog is going to look like, and I am okay with that. Maybe it will take a break for the week. I don’t know yet.

Last night, I had my weekly Skype session with Melva, to talk about Chasing Prince Charming‘s adventures in submission (we racked up a really good “no,” this week, so I count that as good) and where we are going next with its companion book, Drama King.  I have a rough scene to smooth out, as soon as the immediate fam sorts out a domestic tornado, and, after I get Melva’s next scene, I get to rough out the scene that comes after that. Those whom I have tasked with needling me about Her Last First Kiss, you are doing a splendid job. That kind of thing works well with me.

For the first couple of days after Skye passed, I didn’t have any energy to do anything but cry, or stare at the bleak, cat-less future. Losing a pet sucks, no question about it. I found myself scrolling mindlessly through the internet. Cat videos have been extremely calming, and looking through all of Skye’s photos also helps. I have spent more time than I would care to admit, scrolling through ranked lists that pertain to a daytime drama I followed avidly in high school and college, but haven’t watched even one episode, since. The teenagers I remember are the parents now, and there may even be a grandparent or two; I haven’t looked. There are some things I do not need to know, especially when I am emotionally vulnerable.

Other things, though, have risen to the surface. Over the past weekend, I had a lot of time to myself. Housemate made a trip to Camp Grandma, Real Life Romance Hero was at work, and I gave myself assignments with a stack of new art supplies. I put pens in a new pen case. Playing with pens is always a sure soothing method, which, for a writer, is also one that is readily at hand.

I read some. Not a lot. Some, though, and there were, in fact, more reading-related activities. I’d been following the worksheets N and I are using to connect ourselves to the projects it’s high time we get out there, when I heard about Skye. Things had been going pretty darned well, actually, and then, in an instant, BOOM. Life will do that to a person.

Melva, also, recently lost a pet, and, in our weekly chat, we tossed around the idea of our two cats on the other side of Rainbow Bridge, plotting something together. Could happen. Who’s to say? We commiserated, gave each other a little more time, and made plans to move ahead.

Which is why this disjointed entry is up here. Melva and I talked about how we need to take our own advice, on writing when dealing with real life plot twists. Adjust expectations. Do what you can, when you can, and, maybe most importantly, remember why you’re doing it.

Those of us writing for publication would like to see a royalty check, sure, but I’m talking now more about capturing that initial spark, the one that turned “I wish I could do this” into “of course I can do this.”  As is often the case, thoughts became more clear when I sat myself down with pen and paper, and let the whole matter leak out onto the page.

Back when I was but a wee princess of eleven, I stole my mother’s copy of a seminal historical romance novel from her nightstand, and scurried to my hidey-hole under the big brass bed in the guest bedroom. My mom followed the flashlight beam, but too late. In the first few pages, while the heroine was still an even wee-er (more wee?) princess herself, I was sold. I’d found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life.

Big, thick, epic historical romance, that spans miles (sometimes continents) and years (sometimes decades) and drags both hero and heroine through one heck of a lot of trouble, before the triumph of their HEA…that’s my jam. I want to inhale that now, like oxygen. It won’t fill the Skye-shaped hole. I’ll have to heal around that one, and, when new felines come, they won’t fill it either, but make their own places, on their own terms.

There is still grieving. Other cat people understand that. There is also the steady, inexorable need to make story. Writer people get that. Sometimes the two things happen at the same time, and sometimes, they take turns. I am not in control of how they work that out. The only thing I can control is butt in the chair, and pen to paper. It can’t always be gold, but it can always be. That’s good enough.