miscellaneous

Typing With Wet Claws: Anything Can Happen Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty and I would first like to thank everybody who asked about Uncle’s paws. They are doing much, much better, and things are getting back to normal around here. At least as normal as possible, with a writer in the house. Then again, I have always lived with a writer in the family, because I was born wild and then lived in the shelter, and this is my only family, so I do not know how it is for others. Maybe I should say normal for us. There was that one day, though, but I will tell you about that later. First, I have to tell you about where you can find Anty’s writing this week, apart from here.

As always, Anty has her Saturday Discussion topic at Buried Under Romance. This week, she talks about what anchors us to a certain kind of story. Anty will admit she was tired and loopy when she wrote this one, so it might be worth reading for the entertainment value alone. Uncle says Anty gets very entertaining when she is extra tired. That post is here, and it looks like this:

bur270117

Anty also had a post at Heroes and Heartbreakers, where she talks about how great Mogul, by Joanna Shupe is. Anty always liked the Gilded Age (a long time ago, in NYC. Anty lived in NYC when she was a very tiny people kitten, right after she was adopted, but it was not as long ago as when Miss Joanna’s books are set.) so she is always happy to see historical romances that use that setting. She thinks there are not nearly enough of them. Maybe Anty should write one of her own someday (but not now, because she is already writing two other books, and she knows her limits.) That post is here, and it looks like this:

handhmogul

 

Now that my obligations are fulfilled, we can move on to the rest of this entry, specifically the part about me. When I have a sick human at home, I work as a nurse as well as a mews. That means I need to sit very very close to the human who does not feel well and shoot love beams at them. If I could jump or climb, I would get up on the bed with them, but I have special paws, so I stay on the floor and send my love from there. Sometimes, when Uncle needs to rest, and other humans are moving around,  he closes the bedroom door. That makes me sad, because I want to be with him, but I understand where he is coming from on this one. Sometimes, I like my door closed, too.

We had one of those days this week. Uncle had asked Anty if she could please be home to let in Landlady and another human, who might like to buy the building. Anty said she would, and she was, but what she did not know what that it would be a whole bunch of humans. Some of them wanted to take pictures of the rooms (including where Uncle was resting, but they said they were sorry to disturb him.) Some of them wanted to turn faucets and light switches on and off. Some of them wanted to open and close all of the windows and doors (not at the same time.)  Some of them wanted to do other things, and none of this fit in with Anty’s plan of a quiet afternoon, spent transcribing her notes.

Because the front and back doors had to be open a lot, Anty put me in Mama’s room (that is where my food dishes and water bowls -I have two of them- are kept, so I would not be hungry or thirsty)  and closed the door, so that I would not go where I am not supposed to go. Most of the time, I am a very good kitty, but, sometimes, the landing outside the front door gets too interesting, and I want to see what is out there. The problem is, I am not allowed to go out there, because past the landing, there are stairs, and past the stairs, there is another door, and past the other door, there is outside. I do not particularly want to go outside. I lived outside before I was rescued, and it was not that great. I also have never experienced stairs, so the humans want to make sure I do not get any surprises in that department. With all those strange humans (and I only knew Landlady; the rest were all new to me) milling about, Anty thought it was best if I stayed in one place.

Anty also thought it was best if she stayed in one place, too. I am glad she did, because her place was outside the door of Mama’s room, so I could smell her. I like it best when at least one of my humans is very close to me. I am their near girl. All the while I was in Mama’s room, I heard Anty’s pencil scratching on the pages of her notebook. Anty loves writing in her notebooks, and, this time, she shut out all the chaos going on around her and worked out what she needed to change for a scene she had written. While she does not want the apartment swarmed by strange, noisy humans, every day, it did remind her that, if she connects well enough with the story, she can write through pretty much anything. That is a good thing to know, because, in this family, anything can happen.

Anything, including Anty wanting to get back to her story worlds, so that is about it for now. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

 

 

skyebye

Until next week…

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

 

 

Pilgrimage

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Yesterday, my Beach Ball collaborator, Melva, and I made our meant-to-be-monthly pilgrimage to the NECRWA chapter meeting. The topic this month, appropriately enough for January, was beginnings. I did not take  any notes during the presentation, because I spent the entire time working on notes for the Beach Ball, in the detachable pages of my all purpose Moleskine, with my newest favorite and now indispensable tool, a mechanical pencil. Melva and I talked out a couple of scenes we didn’t fully have a handle on, on our own, but when we put our heads together, boom, there they were. So, I wrote stuff.

Melva and I agreed that we both do our best work on the Beach Ball on these drives, two hours there and two hours back. We both talk fast, ideas pinging off each other like the silver ball in a pinball machines, flashing lights and bells going off all around us. She drives. I write notes on what we create, together, transcribe them when I get home, and I send the neat, orderly pages her way.

The pages I write in the passenger seat are not neat or orderly. they are a swath of bullet points, scrawled in mechanical pencil, with smudges from erasures and the odd eraser crumb wherever it falls. I have only recently discovered the joy of mechanical pencil. When I use pencil, I can erase instead of cross out, which means I don’t have to lose any space when something better comes along. Yesterday, I ran out of lead before we ran out of road. I could go on with some other writing implement, but I couldn’t reach my tote with my seatbelt still in place.

Melva said there might be some pencils in her purse. My left hand curled nervously around the red Bic Cristal I keep in my raincoat pocket for dire emergencies such as this one. I hadn’t wanted to use ballpoint in this particular Moleskine, my first ever 8×5 Volant, moss colored cover, perforated pages, so that I could write on any project on the go, take out those pages, and transcribe/file them where they actually go, but we were on a roll, and I didn’t want to break the flow.

Thankfully, Melva was right. She did have pencils. The first, I snapped the lead three or four times, as I put pencil to paper, but then I changed to the other. Cue choir of angels. Melva informed me that said pencil was school issue (she is a college professor) and not sold to civilians. Figures. I will purchase others.

We covered a lot of ground on this trip, both literally and figuratively. We joked that we should rent an RV, drive to California, from NY, where I live, or MA, where she lives, and by the time we reach the other coast, we’ll have a first draft done. Then we’d turn around and revise on the way back. Either that, or we drive around in big circles until we have a book. What matters is that we filled  a bunch of pages on this trip. Today, those pages rest.

Today, I write on Her Last First Kiss, a scene that was not in the original draft, but makes narrative sense. Maybe more importantly than that, it will be fun. I hope it will be fun. It’s got Hero, it takes place in a sort of setting I always find fun to write, and I know N is expecting that puppy, so I had better get it written today, but that doesn’t mean there has to be pressure.

What it does mean is that I unplug, settle in with open notebook and take pencil or pen and word-doodle. No, that’s not right. Story-doodle. I’m doodling story, even though I use words to do it (using interpretive dance would require rearranging the furniture and possibly obtaining proper footwear.) I need to make a few wrong turns, double back, get the lay of the land, before I can finalize my map and then follow it to my destination. There may be a few side trips and loop-de-loops while I get my bearings, make sure this scene feels/sounds like Hero, not some random placeholder character. I definitely don’t want him sounding like Guy, who made himself very much at home in my head for most of yesterday. I think that makes my brain their time share, but I am fine with that.

 

 

 

Wrong Turn, Right Path

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I am a planner. I like to have at least some idea of where I’m going, or I’m going to feel edgy (and not in the good way) until I have some sort of boundary clearly marked. Once I know, okay, good. That’s settled. Now I can go nuts within those boundaries, if desired. This is one of the reasons that I have added planning to my morning routine, after morning pages. Two pages of whatever is in my brain, with the right pen for the right page spread (this is an important part of the process, trust me on this one)  then open my planning notebook.

The notebook I use for this purpose, a magenta leatherette Markings notebook, with grid pages, has been through a few wrong turns itself, before it found its true use. I’d originally purchased it to be my all purpose notebook, the one that would go with me everywhere, catch the brain droppings as the came to me, and I had every expectation that it would. After all, I’d used three other notebooks with the same format, from the same maker, same sort of pages, one after the other. Burgundy leatherette was first, then black, then turquoise, and I was most excited to try the pink one. The cover felt all buttery soft in my hands, I loved the grid pages, soft grey on a soothing ivory, and I’d used those three notebooks prior without a hiccup, so this one had to be the best of them all, right?

Wrong. El wrong-o. Nicht, nein, nope, no way, nuh-uh, sorry, Charlie, not going to happen. To this day, I have no idea why. I did everything “right.” Hacked it to a fare-thee-well, with color coordinated end papers, the proper sizes and colors of sticky notes, even put pertinent information on the front and back pages, so it would be right there when I needed it, but, within days, my enthusiasm stopped dead in its tracks. As in pining for the fjords, the whole deal. This was not how things were supposed to go.

I tried drawing black and white top and bottom borders on the pages, hoping that would give me the structure I needed. Still boring. No connection. I tried drawing zentangle-ish dangles from the top border, adding a dash of color. Who was I kidding? Not me. I tried steering into the skid…er, grid. Break up those pages into boxes, I said. That would fix everything, I said. More boundaries, I said. It would be fun, I said. Once again, nope. Le sigh. Though I hated to do it, I put the book aside. It wasn’t happening. No reason. It wasn’t, and that’s all I needed to know. I can’t tell you what book took that book’s place, but one did, and another, and another, and, in time, I moved it to the special area for notebooks I wasn’t feeling anymore.

The books that were still blank, I culled. Moved them on to new homes, where they could be loved and written in, or at least used for grocery lists and doctors’ appointments. Anything would be better than sitting there, mouldering in resentment. Having cleaned out my dad’s house after he passed, I don’t want to hoard. I want to use. I want to love. The notebooks that already have writing in them, well, they aren’t as easily passed along. Those, I taped together the already-written-in pages, and set them aside. The magenta Markings book was among those, until last week. That was when I wanted a place where I could keep my daily tasks, check them off, and move along, while, at the same time, keeping a record of what actually got done, what got modified, what got carried over to another day.

At first, I looked at the shelf I have of pristine new notebooks. All right, case. All right, cases. I really, really, really love notebooks. Yes, I do plan on using all of them. Yes, I do still need more. Nothing felt right. Then I looked through the stash of notebooks-at-rest. Grid paper? Check. (Pun unintended, but I’ll take it.) Buttery soft cover I have loved and missed, with added benefit of a crack along the spine (notebook wabi-sabi; it’s a thing) and…yes. I took a black fountain pen and wrote the day’s date at the top of one page, which had a two-colored border I’d already drawn, back in that long-ago phase of thinking maybe I could salvage the book for its original purpose. I couldn’t, back then, but this time? Yes. I wrote the date. I drew my swirly-cornered box around the date, set down my headings and bullet points, and yes. Yes. This is what it was supposed to be, maybe all along. Now it’s an essential part of my daily routine.

This is the part where I bring my ramble back around to writing. There are ideas, stories, characters, places, all the flotsam and jetsam of a writer’s brain, things I had hoped at one time would work out, but never did, still floating around, and, now that I’m at a place in both WIPs that I’m comfortable and ready to ask “what’s next?” those floating bits may be arranging themselves into some semblance or order.

I kind of like that, and I kind of don’t. I like it because I like knowing what’s going to happen before it happens, and knowing that there is some sort of writerly primordial ooze in my head is actually an encouraging thought. I don’t like it, because it’s not in my control. That’s not how it works. If that was how it worked, I would not be writing the story of a practical-minded mistress, who is half Russian, and a second son turned not terribly successful portrait painter. If that was how it worked, I would not be co-writing my first category romance, and I would not know that historical-adjacent is a thing (partly because I am making it a thing, but more on that later.)

Time to wrap this, because I’ve gone on long enough already, and the rest of the day will soon be demanding my attention, but there it is. Blog entry written, albeit slightly behind schedule. I can now check it off the list and move on to what’s next. That part, I absolutely do like.

Cold Day and Another Week Begun

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Second week of 2017 underway over here. Well, underway everywhere, but I can only talk about my own experience. This was a full weekend, with volunteer training, domestic warrior queen duties, one of which reminded me why I do not do laundry on Sunday evenings. The alternative to Sunday evening laundry, in this case, was naked family. Since we live in New York, and it is January, outdoor nudity is not an option, so Sunday night laundry it was. I had my phone and my Kindle, and a couple of hours, more or less, to let my brain get things somewhat in order for the week ahead.

On Saturday, I had my (first) fierce cheerleading session with Eryka Peskin, which I would highly recommend. It’s kind of weird to have an appointment where the entire purpose is to have someone tell one how awesome one is and point out what one is doing right, and it’s kind of weird that it’s kind of weird. Yes, I did take notes, and yes, I did post them on the back of my office door, where I can see them any time I need a reminder. If I write something down longhand, it’s much  more likely to stay in my noggin than if I try to remember without, or if I go directly to keyboard. I’ve been learning a lot more, lately, about how my brain works, and how going with that, rather than fighting it, is going to work better for me in the long (and short) term.

This morning, I got up at six, which is about right for me, still wiped from the weekend -I’d intended to use it to rest, but that is not what happened- and determined to get the most out of my day. There’s a ticking clock on one important task, that of my Her Last First Kiss second draft, the scene where Hero and his brother…well, we’ll save that for later. What matters is that I need to show these pages to N at 8AM tomorrow. I know myself well enough that I have to pump the handle a few times before thing start flowing, and I know that I’m going to have to get this draft done by about 3PM, because that’s when I can bribe Housemate to ferry me to the library to get things printed. I still haven’t figured out where the heck the printer is jammed, so printing on the road is how it is until we get that sorted.

One of the first things I did was jot down a list of tasks for the day, on a piece of grocery list paper, but that didn’t look right. It had all of the information, but the visuals? Meh. I can do better. I rescued a magenta softcover Markings notebook, with grid pages, from limbo, and laid out what has to get done today. Is this bullet journaling? Am I doing it already? I’ve tried reading explanations/instructions, but my eyes glaze over and/or I get confused. I’ve been doing whatever this is for a while now, and if a thing is on the list, the thing is going to get done.

isthisbujopage

Mini legal pad is not part of the notebook, but it’s pretty.

I keep the office door propped open if it’s okay to talk to me. This was my view for a good chunk of the early morning:

We start on the linoleum…
…and onto the hardwood

 

Skye hates my office carpet. Hates it. I’m pretty sure she wants me to get rid of it, so she can come all the way into the room and sit next to my feet. There is one sliver of hardwood available for kitty bottom, when the door is open, and she has found a way to wedge herself into it. Normally, she’ll sit in the kitchen, on the linoleum, and stare at me until I get the message (that I should pay attention to her, not the glowy box or my papers) but, this morning, she crossed the line. Over the threshold and onto the hardwood. Not a single toe on the carpet. She has her standards.

The clock is ticking down now, and time approaches when it’s going to be me, Hero, and Hero’s Bro. There’s a small  hand squeezing around  my heart, with pointy fingernails, a whisper in my ear that this is scary stuff, but there’s also a list on my door of things that I am doing right, to remind me I’ve been here before, and I did it okay. More than okay. Awesome. No, I do not want to go out in sixteen degree weather to print pages, but N needs pages for tomorrow, and, more importantly, Hero needs this scene to get to second draft, so that’s what’s going to happen. I mean, I can’t leave him there in first draft land. Besides, when I get on the other side of this, I get to talk about what I’ve written, get feedback, and move on to the next scene. But, first, this. Clear the decks of the other tasks so there’s nothing cluttering my mind when it’s time to dive into century eighteen, and turn the metaphorical thumbscrews on Hero. He’s not going to like that, not one bit, but it has to be enough to send him out of everything he’s ever known, and on the path to his future. Kind of like the writing of same. At least I’m in good company.

 

Waiting on Wise (Wo)men

annabowling 2 Comments

Technically, it is still Christmas until January 6th, but it’s the first Monday of the new year, and that seems like the perfect time to jump back into the daily routine, beginning as I mean to go on. New year, new chances, and all of that. I like the idea of a clean slate. It fits into my clean sweep/more layers mindset, and now it’s time to draw from that well that the tucked-away week filled.

This time last year, I did not have a new planner to move into on the first of the year, and I don’t have one to move into this year, either, but for a different reason. This year, I picked up a seventeen-month planner (how have I managed to ignore these things until now?) so I moved into the new planner in the summer, and am starting the year off by using the stuffing out of this one. The pen for this book is actually a Sharpie liquid pencil (another thing I had no idea existed until recently) and, so far, it’s working. I have long since accepted that I am a planner. I want, even need, to know what I’m doing, and when I’m doing it. Then, within those boundaries, I can run wild. Hey, it works.

So, what does the new year hold? For one thing, lots of historical romance. Actually, that would be two things, as I mean both reading and writing my favorite genre. Last year, I set my Goodreads reading goal at fifty  books. I actually read eighty-nine, so this year’s goal is ninety. I have one down so far, and should be finishing at least one more in the next day or two. The way I figure it, if I read two books each week, allowing two weeks for dry spells/rest/deadline crunches, I’m going to be sitting pretty in the reading department.

Writingwise, this is the year. The last ten have been a wild ride, which could be a book in itself, but I don’t write horror. What I do write is historical romance, and, with Melva Michaelian, historical-adjacent romance. Since I work best with regular feedback, it’s my responsibility to make sure I get exactly that. Today, I will work on the next draft of chapter two of Her Last First Kiss, which I need to turn in to N tomorrow morning. She, in turn, will have pages from her WIP to show me, and the plan is to read and comment on the spot. N asked me to bring printed pages rather than sending in email ahead of time. This is out of my comfort zone, as it will require me to A) figure out WTF is jamming my nifty awesome printer that will not print, or B) hie myself to library or office supply store to print on their devices. Probably B) and then A, but the point is that this is stretching, which is what I want.

Thanks to the RWA critique partner matching registry, I have a good lead on a historical romance critique partner. Not only do we share common interests within the genre, but in other things as well, and even prefer similar historical periods. Next step is exchanging sample chapters and seeing if we are indeed the good fit it looks like we may be, and then onward we go. If I’m being held accountable and receiving regular feedback, it’s a lot harder to tell myself nobody cares, or I’m not making a difference. Maybe the benefits of external validation have something to do with being an extrovert, maybe not, but this feels good. It feels right. It feels as though a piece of the puzzle that got knocked loose during the last ten years is fitting back into place. I like that.

While I was writing this entry, I got a notice I had new email, which, of course, I had to check, because A) I am me, and B) email fits into my social media time, and I am darned shooting sure going to stick to what’s on my schedule on the very first day of having said schedule (seriously, this planner works with the way my brain works, but more on that later.) What was said email? Notice that I had won a Fierce Cheerleading session with abundance coach, Eryka Peskin (who is super awesome, and if you have a chance to be in on one of her challenges, I highly encourage you to take it.)

This morning, I had another notice, on Goodreads, that a new group had been formed, dedicated to the love of historical romance and fiction set in one of my favorite eras, the seventeenth century. That’s the setting for my Orphans in the Storm, and one hundred percent a setting I plan to use again, maybe soon. That’s because my next goal, after finishing both Her Last First Kiss and the Beach Ball in 2017, I need to look farther down the road and decide what’s coming next. Sitting down in front of a blank screen doesn’t work for me, so that means I need to put some feelers out there and see what I’m going to be writing next, after these two couples find their happily ever afters. Because writing historical romance? That’s my HEA. Okay, that and Real Life Romance Hero, because he has truly earned the title, but this is the year to be a little (or a lot) less  “Grace Kelly” (though the party in the video does look awfully fun):

and more in the spirit of this ditty below (language may not be for gentle readers or little ones in the room):

This year,  I don’t feel a letdown at the end of the tucked-away week,  like I have in the past. 2017 is the year I get to cross  “present at NECRWA’s annual conference” off my bucket list, and I could  not be in better company than my co-presenters, Corrina Lawson and Rhonda Lane. It is still Christmas until January 6th, what my father called Three Kings’ Day, which others may know as Epiphany, or the celebration of the wise men arriving at one very special manger. This year, my planner has “ornament harvest” where “take down tree” used to go, because, this year, I’m looking at the new season differently. I think I’m going to like the view from here.

Typing With Wet Claws: New Year’s Eve Eve Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday, the last one of 2016. This has been -well, it still is, because it is not over yet- Anty’s tucked away week, and it is going pretty well, all thing considered. Anty likes to use this time to collect herself and rest and refill her creative well, so that she can come into the new year at her best. So far, so good. Right now, it is snowing, which is Anty’s favorite weather of all time. Anty loves snow, so it makes her very happy to have some during her favorite week of the year.

Even though Anty likes to relax during her tucked away week, that does not mean she does not write things. She has actually been doing a fair amount of writing things. Let me share some of them with you. First, as always, she is at Buried Under Romance, and this time, she is talking about favorite holiday reads. One reader who commented is reading the holiday book that is up next on Anty’s list. Anty will take that as a recommendation. The post is here and it looks like this:

bur2dec16

Anty has been doing a lot of reading during this tucked away week, which was her plan all along, so that is a good thing. It is also part of her plan to share her reviews on Goodreads more. This week, she posted four of them. That is a lot for a kitty to screencap, but I will do my best. There will only be three pictures, because Anty forgot to write a review for one of them. Oops. I apologize on her behalf (also for the greatest hits photo of me, because A) I am camera shy today, B) Anty has a lot to do, even if it is tucked away week, and C) the spare picture of me she had in reserve in case I was camera shy, which I am today, is stuck in a Gmail queue and won’t send, so you get this one again.)

Anty’s review for A Pirate for Christmas, by Anna Campbell is here, and it looks like this:

pirateforchristmas

Her review for The Fox and The Angel, by Danelle Harmon, is here, and it looks like this:

foxandangel

Her review for We Know It Was You, by Maggie Thrash, is here, and it looks like this:

weknewitwasyou

Anty also read What Light, by Jay Asher, but she has not written a review for that one yet. I do not know why, because it has romance and a troubled hero and it is set in the world of Christmas trees. She will probably get to that later, because leaving reviews is not only good for the reader, or for other readers, but for the author as well. If you have read any of Anty’s books and would like to leave a review, her “I Wrote It” shelf is here

Now that it is New Year’s Eve Eve, the day before the last day of the entire year, Anty’s focus begins a shift from relaxation toward action. That means she is looking at what she can do when the new year begins. Normally, she and Mama (and sometimes Uncle, if he has the time off from work) get in the car and go a long way, to spend the day with some friends at a book swap. Humans do not have to bring a book to the party (Anty always does. Sometimes, she brings a lot.) but that party got postponed this year, so it will happen at another time. That means a couple of things.

First, it means that Anty does not have to go away, and she can spend all day home with me. I think that is a reason to celebrate right there. Anty will probably leave the house at some point, because, although I fill her kitty meter, she also has to fill her people meter. That is okay, though, because I know she will come home. The other thing that Anty spending the day here instead of away will mean, is that she needs to come up with a plan for how she is going to spend that day.

Anty does well with plans. She likes plans. That is one of the reason she collects notebooks, so that she can plan things out in them, and write about what she is going to write, before she writes it. Trust me, if she  tries to skip that step, it will not turn out well for anybody. Since Anty has not spent any time with Netflix yet this week, she will probably watch at least one movie on New Year’s Day. She has not decided which one yet, or maybe some special episodes of a favorite TV show or two. What is important is that she need to take in story, so that she can put out story.

This is especially important because of something she will be starting this week. This week, Anty and Miss N are putting themselves on a schedule, or having pages to show to each other every week. Back when we lived in the old country, Anty met every week with Anty Melva and Anty Michele, and Anty knew that, when Wednesday night came along, she had better have some pages, and she made sure that she did. Anty does very well with outside pressure like that. I would not recommend getting too close to her if it is a couple of hours before critique time and she does not have her pages yet, because she gets snarly when she does all that furious typing stuff. Better to wait that out under the bed or somewhere else that is safe like that. When things get to that point, all she cares about is getting the pages ready for her critique partners to see, so best to leave her alone and let her get that done, if you want to end the day with the same amount of body parts you had when you got up that morning.

Anty is also still on the hunt for a historical romance critique partner, someone who reads historical romance and writes it, and loves it the very, very mostestest. The way she figures it, she misses one hundred percent of the shots she does not take, so she is going to be very noisy about that for a while. By “for a while,” I mean until she finds a historical romance critique partner, so if you do not want to keep hearing about that, please consider spreading the word, or getting in touch, if you want one, too.

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

 

skyebye

Until next week…

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

 

 

 

 

Boxing Day Blather

annabowling 2 Comments

Day after Christmas, and I missed the opportunity to cue “Brick,” by Ben Folds, at exactly six AM, which is kind of a tradition with me, but the world has not ended, so I think that is a good thing. We are now officially in my favorite week of the year, the tucked away week, between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Time for reflecting and refilling -I am currently watching a favorite movie, Music and Lyrics, which fits in nicely with the whole reflecting thing and new beginnings thing, the whole romance thing,  and very  much the whole writing thing in general, as well as the whole picking oneself up and getting back in the game thing.

That’s a lot of things, which makes it a good choice to fill the post-holiday space.  Right now, I am under a comfy blanket, full of delicious chopped steak and cheesy baked potato, hot chocolate and salted caramel chip cookies waiting for me on the other side of this entry. I very strongly prefer to have some idea of what I’m going to write when I begin a blog entry,  but I’d also like to get stronger at the entries where I need to wing it. Those are always going to happen, so I may as well find a way to have fun with them, make them more interesting to write, and, hopefully, to read.

Boxing Day, as we do it, is a day for relaxing, staying out of the demands of everyday life, so that, when it’s time to go back, we’re refreshed and ready to take on the new year. This year, my emphasis is specifically on writing. Which means that I need to take in stories, in whatever forms I can get them -TV, movies, books, music, gameplay- and get that creative well filled. What works for me, and why? What doesn’t, and why doesn’t it? It also means I need to do other creative things that don’t involve writing. Baking cookies works well on this front, as does making art, in whatever form. I’ve noticed that I haven’t been making a lot of art lately, and that needs to change, as it’s an intrinsic piece of the puzzle.

Back when I was ten, my Christmas haul included two books: Are You There, God?  It’s Me, Margaret, by Judy Blume, and Harriet the Spy, by Louise Fitzhugh. I felt insanely rich, getting two books at the same time, and spent what felt like a really long time ensconced in my dad’s yellow armchair, trying to decide which one to read first. That was one hard decision, and it did not occur to me at the time that I could read both at once, alternating chapters, or moving between them at will, but hey, I was ten. What I do remember is that I spent most of the rest of that day reading one, and tore into the other as soon as I was finished. Probably not my first chain-read, and very much not my last, but when I think of Christmas and Boxing Day and books, that’s the image that comes most readily to mind.

I still remember Margaret and Harriet after all these years. Margaret was at the age where she’d started to discover an interest in boys, while Harriet had other concerns. Neither book was a romance, and it would be about a year before I would sneak The Kadin from my mother’s nightstand, so I had not yet discovered the romance genre or imprinted upon it. Still, I gravitated toward fairy tales that were both on the darker side and had love stories that turned out well for both parties. That hasn’t changed, which may be why I am hunkered down in long-sleeved t-shirt and pajama pants, watching a love story, writing about writing love stories, with paperback and Kindle at hand. Kindle, of course, chockablock full of romance novels, the vast majority of which are historical.

Today marks a week of tucking in with love stories, wherever they might lurk. Going over the good parts -in Music and Lyrics, for instance, the scene at the amusement park, where Sophie convinces Alex to go onstage and perform the encore he doesn’t want to perform, because he is a grumpy old badger. She slips into the crowd and goes all fangirl on him, waving her flip phone (does that make it a period piece now?) and swaying to the music, and darned if she doesn’t coax the performance out of him.

That’s a huge part of what the tucked away week is for, this year. I love the romance genre, a place where the only rules -the only ones- are that the love story has to be central, and the ending optimistic; happily ever after, in most cases, or happy for now (possibly for younger protagonists and/or grumpy badgers.) I tend to go for the first version, but even that’s not all rainbows and unicorns. I write historical romance, so we know that stuff is going to be coming for the lovers in my books; wars, natural disasters, state of the art eighteenth century medical technology and all that fun stuff, but the important thing is that the lovers are going to have each other, so they can take on whatever comes their way in the future. They’ll be together, and that’s enough. Which means immersing myself in romance is a pretty darned good way to wrap up the year, as well as start out the new one.

For today, it’s movies, books, hot beverages, baked goods, Christmas lights, and a dedicated mews (with occasional breaks to play bubbles with her, but I’ll let her talk about that in her next blog.) to keep me on track.

Typing With Wet Claws: Christmas Eve Eve Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today is Christmas Eve Eve, the day before the day before Anty’s favorite day of the year. it is also the birthday of a fictional character that has lived in her head a really, really long time and probably wants to get into a book at some point. Anty thinks about things like this a lot. Today, Uncle is helping me hold still for my picture because I kept moving around when Anty tried to get the picture. I did not mind much, because that meant I got Uncle scritches. He gives the very best ones, because he is my Uncle.

Before I talk about anything else, like the fact that I peed on my catnip mouse -I did not actually pee on the mouse, but it did sustain collateral damage. I will talk about that later.- I have to talk about what Anty wrote this week, because that is our deal. As always, Anty has her Saturday Discussion post at Buried Under Romance. This week, her topic was the big books, the ones that don’t have to go on a coffee table because they could be the coffee table, they are that thick. Unless they are e-books, then they are a file, and I do not know of any coffee tables that are files. Except fot the ones in the Sims games, because those whole worlds are files. I think. Anyway, Anty’s post is here, and it looks like this:

 

burbigbooks

Anty likes big books and she cannot lie…

Speaking of big books, Anty read a couple more this week, and then wrote about them on Goodreads. One of those books was The Twelve Days of Dash and Lily, by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. It is a YA book, and the sequel to Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares, which is one of Anty’s all time favorite YA books, and one of her favorite Christmas books, which means she was very happy to learn that this book existed, and even happier to read it. Her review can be found here, and it looks like this:

12daysdashlily

 

 

Anty also read Dark Champion, by Jo Beverley, which is a medieval historical romance. Jo Beverley only wrote four medieval novels. Most of her other books are Georgian, which Anty loves, and Regency, which is very popular, so having these medieval is a real treat for Anty. You can read her review here, and it looks like this:

darkchampionbeverley

Anty has also been working on her own books, of course, but I am not allowed to post parts of those here. That is for after they are done and published. Then that would be called “excerpts.” Writers like when people (and kitties, I assume) share excerpts of their work. Maybe I can do that with the books Anty already has out, in the new year.

Right now, it is still the old year, and Anty is getting ready to celebrate all that comes along with that, for humans and kitties alike. This is the part where I can talk about whatever I want. I will start with the catnip mouse part. Regular readers will know that I have special paws, so I do not climb or jump (I am okay, though, and I can walk and run and play perfectly fine.) I do not like to use a litterbox, because I do not like the sides, so I picked a special spot on the floor to do my liquid stuff, and that is the only place I do it. Ever. I am very consistent about that.

Because the house we live in was built a very, very long time ago, (if Anty wrote a book set in the year our house was built, it would count as a historical) the floors slant, and, sometimes, when I make my liquid stuff, it flows in a downward direction. That is what happened this time, and, this time, the catnip mousie Anty got me got caught in the flow. This was not a big deal to me, because I do not care about catnip, and I do not care about toys that do not move. If a toy is moving, the it is fun to catch it. If it is not, then meh. Where’s the challenge in hunting prey that is already dead? That is why Anty and Uncle are talking about getting me toys that move on their own, or with help from my humans. I will be interested to see what sorts of toys those are. I suppose I will find out on Christmas morning.

This is the part where I relate something in my week to the business of writing. That is one of the duties of a good mews, and I want to be a very good mews. What stands out to me most is the part about prey. Sometimes, a writer will have an idea that will only go so far. After it stops moving, and it will not start moving again, it might then be time for the writer to find something that is still alive and work on that. If a fictional character, for example, is still hanging around the writer’s head after double digit years have passed, that might be a good place to start. Right now, Anty has plenty that is moving on its own, but if she gets stuck after that, she will know where to look.

Anty says it is time to wrap things up because she needs the computer now, so I guess that is about it for this week. Whatever holiday you are celebrating (or have celebrated) this season, I hope that it is (or was) a good one. I will share all about ours next week. Until next week, happy holidays, and I remain very truly yours,

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

skyebye

 

So This is Christmas Week

annabowling 4 Comments

Yeah, big surprise, I have no idea what I’m going to talk about today, but we are burning daylight here, so I am going to jump in with both feet and trust that I am going to be somewhere by the end of the magic seven hundred, at the very least. Christmas week is in full swing now, and The Day is Sunday. That’s six days until Christmas, seven until my favorite tucked-away week arrives. Blabbity blabbity holiday. Blabbity blabbity Christmas books and Christmas movies and changing holiday plans and related blabbity blab.

Christmas spirit is not the problem here, because I have plenty of that. Our Christmas lights are awesome in our living room, there is a park full of lights literally five minutes’ walk from our house, I am charging through this blog entry, because I am heading out to grab somebody’s present. Yesterday. our church went out into the community to spread some love; the team Housemate and I were on got to give out hot drinks and cookies to passersby, which was fun, and for sure put me over the line into the holiday feeling, so that’s not even close to it. I’m not even sure there is an “it,” but I am still me, and I still have space to fill here, so I am not deleting anything because this is blog entry time. I am going to trace my slightly off-center-ness (well, today at least) on the fact that I was not the only person in the laundromat this morning. Far from it.

Okay, think I got something. The reason I like to be the only person in the laundromat is because it’s a good thinky place, when I’m alone. It’s also excellent for acoustics if I want to, for example, take the earbuds out of my phone and feed my current musical theater addiction, which usually is what I want to do. Not exactly polite when there are other people there, who may not share my tastes in music, and/or would like to be left alone, so they can do their laundry and get on back to the rest of their lives. If there are people there, I am going to people watch, which is also good, but it’s a different dynamic.

I like to know what I’m getting into, so if I know I’m not going to be the only person there, that’s fine. I’ll prepare for the experience and go in with different expectations. If I am the only one there, then it’s great for turning laundry time into writing time, whether that’s free writing (which it was, to a small extent, today) or actual working on one of my current WIPs. That’s what I’d expected, but not what happened. What happened was that I stuck my earbuds in my ears and stuck my nose in the paperback copy of Dark Champion, one of Jo Beverley’s only four medieval, and did the laundry. When I got back, I checked in on Real Life Romance hero, fed Skye, and bundled myself in to my office, where it was time to hang out with Guy and Girl for a while. That, I can do, and having one space that is mine, and the presence of anyone else is by invitation only, really does make a huge difference.

So what does this all have to do with Christmas week? Not a lot, and everything. On the one hand, it’s a regular week. I’m the only one who can get Hero and Heroine’s story into a form where other people can read it. I’m half of the team for Guy and Girl’s story. Blog entries have to go up, because 1) I like blogging, and 2) the discipline matters. That’s why there are entries that are completely or partly composed of seemingly random blather. There is writing through the blather, which I do need, partly to remind myself that blather isn’t bad. Blather is taking the scenic route to what I want to share with others. Nothing wrong with that. As one might guess, that’s the “not a lot” part.

The “everything” part is where I also remind myself that this actually is the week leading up to my favorite day of the year and my favorite week of the year, immediately following said day. It comes once a year. Once. No do-overs, no rainchecks, no reschedules. This is it, the one shot I get for this year, and, if I miss it, I have to wait a whole other year. I am not willing to wait a whole other year. Thus begins the juggling act. The left foot, right foot of working on these WIPs and the special work of making sure our family is ready for the holiday. Not a big production this year (although I do love those; never too early to plan for 2017) but still taking the quiet moments to rest and connect and appreciate what makes the entire year something special.

Not sure if this actually did go anywhere, but it’s over the magic 700, it’s written, and the Hypercritical Gremlins are mostly shushed, so I am calling this a win. Hoping for a more focused post on Wednesday, and if I ramble again, well, that’s okay, too. My blog, my rules. How’s your holiday week looking?

 

Place

annabowling 2 Comments

Back when I lived in the old county, Wednesday nights meant one thing for several years; nag group. Two writer friends and I met at one of their houses, had tea, went over work we’d all done during that week, set goals, had a nibble and then some social time. More often than not, there was a four-legged member of our group. Our hostess would let aforementioned four-legged member (of the canine variety) know when it was time to let the humans do human things, with one firmly spoken word: “Place.” Over the course of the years we had nag group, there were a few different canines, as this group was of long standing, but the “place” command remained a constant.

“Place” meant that canine needed to lie down on the cushion next to their bowl, and remain there, quietly. Our hostess did not need to elaborate, because canine understood she (and her husband) meant business. If the human said “place,” then canine was to assume the position. This comes to mind now because one of my disciplines is to do as much work as possible in my office, which is pretty much my Place these days.

Place in progress, to be honest here, because the surrounding area may or may not look like booknado blew through it a couple of dozen times. All right, it’s not that bad, but there’s enough going right that we do have a degree of leveling up going on here. One will note that the  wallpaper is generic, because I haven’t set a new one yet. Abbie and Ichabod are hiding their file (which does not surprise me) and the new setup also means that whatever my wallpaper is on my laptop is automatically also the lock screen on my desktop. I am not sure how that happened (probably something to do with syncing) and I’m not sure I like it, even though it is kind of neat, in an objective, isn’t-technology-great kind of sense. As long as aforementioned technology will help me get stories from my brain to yours, (and play Sims) then I am fine and will deal, but I do miss the different wallpapers. I’m not sure how I feel about my devices talking to each other like that when I am not included in the conversation. I’ve been through enough robot uprisings to have an opinion on this sort of thing.

I was going somewhere with this. Maybe the fact that I am writing this entry, not from the pictured desk, but from the lap desk in the living room (you know, the big, distract-y one with off-white walls and sunlight and family members tromping through, and TV right there in line of sight, the “where does the Christmas tree go?” question still unanswered, and tonight looking okay for putting up of said decorations) has something to do with it.

Contrast the office. When I’m in there, my brain knows that making stories is the whole point of the place. That’s why there is the desk I’ve been in love with since I was but a wee princess of two or three. That’s why there is a computer and a wifi extender, and enough notebooks to build a fort, if necessary, and enough pens to write in all of them. This place is primed and ready to go (apart from lock screen and printer that insists it is jammed when there is no paper in it, ahem) so it’s all on me now. I’m in the factory, so time to make the product. It’s not that revolutionary a concept. That’s pretty much how things work.

With only weeks left in 2016, I’m looking forward to starting 2017 on the right foot. A big part of that is making the office not only my hobbit hole, but home base. Making it my Place. That’s where I go when I work. That’s where stories happen. When I’m finished writing my morning pages, the next thing on my mind is, “that’s done, what else can I do here?” The answer? Anything. That’s both exciting and scary, and I think I can deal with that balance. The squares of Kraft paper sticky notes on the top of the monitor are my tasks for the day, what I need to get done to move closer to my goals, closer to getting these stories from my brain to yours. I like having them there. They remind me what steps I need to take to get from this place to the next.