personal

Manhattan Special, and Lessons from Sience (sic)

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Not going to lie, today is not my favorite day. We are now ten days from  moving out of this apartment, and we are still not one hundred percent firm on where we will be landing. Today’s packing focus is stuff that is, pardon the pun, extremely close to home. The TBR books go in boxes, naturally, and I actually want a bit of distance from this particular shelf, so that the anticipation can grow again. This is also the day that I pack my notebooks, and the art and writing magazines, and that is the part that’s bugging me the most.

Breaking down the stuff that I love and putting it away, to be replaced by empty space is not fun. I would rather be writing. I’m glad that I’m doing Camp NaNo this year, and I’m glad that I’m measuring my progress in handwritten pages. Coming to pen and paper at the end of the day is a happy place. It’s a place where I don’t feel the pressure of perfectionism weighing on me. All I’m doing is telling a story, and I love that.

Do I want this story to eventually see publication? Of course I do. I’m a writer. That’s what I do. I write. I have a white board in my office, and, right now, it has “do what you know” written on it. If the packing gets overwhelming, what do I know needs to be done? Is all I can do right now, put things that go together, together? Can do. Art magazines go with art magazines. Filled notebooks in one stack, blank ones in another, active notebooks in another, still. Bit by bit, it  all comes together.

That can be difficult to see, when drowning in a sea of cardboard, packing tape that is apparently self-shredding (seriously, if anyone ever invented shred-proof packing tape, they would be a millionaire.) There are times I am convinced our stuff is breeding while we sleep. This may be true of the printer paper, which is now officially serving no purpose, as we packed the printer last night.

Where I wanted to be, short term, right now, was handing in the revised manuscript of Chasing Prince Charming (to be fair, we’re almost there, and my co-writer also needs to hit pause for a couple of weeks) and forging ahead on Drama King, while bringing the second draft of Her Last First Kiss to fruition. That will still happen, only not on my schedule. I am not looking beyond each individual day’s writing for A Moment Past Midnight, though I do have to admit I am falling in love with the guy who does not get the girl, and very much look forward to finding the love of his life in another story.  I don’t normally think in linked stories, but at least one more, maybe two more stories, were part of the plan for AMPM from the outset, so we will see where this goes.

Where I wanted to be, long term, was farther along in my career. Print books. Glossy covers. Matte covers, for that matter. Actual, physical books to sign. Again, that cans still happen, and, with consistent work, it will, but, right now, it’s all cardboard and packing tape and Sharpie fumes, and the occasional emotional time bomb as I rip into the odd couple of boxes that never got unpacked from the last move.

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vintage notebook – score!

My handwriting identifies this notebook as dedicated to “sience” (sic.) It was only missing a few pages, and the rest are blank. Considering my grades in science classes over the years, this does not surprise me. Ironically, spelling was always one of my better subjects.  This is probably going in the box of unused notebooks, because I A) want to keep my box of active notebooks light, and B) the pages are regular white, with blue lines, and I don’t normally use that type of paper.

Still, there’s a connection. By the single doodle I found inside, I suspect I was ten when I took “sience.” Our family, then my dad, my mom, two dogs, one hamster, and me, moved that year, as well. I wasn’t too thrilled about that move, either, and remember an impassioned plea to be allowed to live on my best friend’s couch (spoiler alert: it did not work. Even though friend was fine with it, none of the parents were on board) the move still happened.

Today is gray and rainy, which is good writing weather. Is it good packing weather? That depends on how fond one is of the scent of damp cardboard, but I think we’ll manage. When I get into the packing groove, there’s a phase when I hit autopilot, the question of what goes where answers itself, and the people who live in my head (aka characters) get downright chatty. That part, I like. It’s not so much “writing” as it is “story,” and it builds a foundation I can build on when the dust (literal and figurative) settles.

In the meantime, these boxes aren’t going to pack themselves, and I’ve got some NaNo pages to write tonight. Totally pantsing this one, which is an adventure, but that’s for another post.

Like a Tornado Hit a Ghost Town

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Imagine that a tornado hit a ghost town. Now, imagine that the ghost town was comprised entirely of books, pens, and paper. That is basically what my office looks like at the moment. Our dining room is now Box Town, inhabited by our dining room table, the DVD cabinet, and a whole bunch of boxes. All of said boxes are, or were (i.e., items slated for donation) mine. Apart from the boxes of stuff to donate, and what I haven’t been through yet, the boxes are neatly stacked, and labeled and sealed. The labels state what’s inside the box, and, in case the label is somehow separated from the box in the process, there is an identical label inside the box, as well. The label also says what room the box came from, which is usually, but not always, also its destination in the new apartment.

We are still in the process of securing said new apartment, so stay tuned for updates as they come. Right now, what we have is packing. A lot of packing. Mostly mine, because A) I am the one who works at home every day, so I am the one physically in the building the most, to be able to put stuff in boxes, and B) I am awesome at organizing. Also, C) I am bossy , um, I mean, I have strong leadership skills.

This is why my involvement in packing Real Life Romance Hero’s and Housemate’s things will consist of pointing them towards boxes, tape, and Sharpies. Default answer to “where does X go?” is “storage.” Regardless of where we’re going, we are blowing this popsicle stand on the fifteenth, and, if we’re going to get there in decent shape, we have to work like a well oiled machine.

 

This whole moving business reminds me of writing,. not that oddly enough. Here are a few things I’ve learned thus far:

  • Putting away favorite things is hard. This one feels obvious, but needs stating anyway. Yesterday, I bit the bullet and boxed my favorite-favorite books. While moving while anxious is a whole new level of stress anyway, knowing that I won’t have my books in their shelves for the next two weeks, when I am going to be stressed the heck out cranks things up a level. Ditto for packing my art supplies. Putting favorite things away sucks, but it’s also a full commitment to closing this chapter and starting another.  One the books are in boxes, there is no going back.

 

  • More, lighter boxes. This goes with the above lesson. Books are heavy. Paper is heavy. Lugging unliftable boxes is not good for anybody’s back. The new protocol is thus: pack box halfway full of books/paper, then fill the space with lighter, softer things, like fuzzy throws/pillows, or stuffed animals, heavy sweaters, etc. Balance the heavy stuff with lighter, warmer stuff. Works in writing as well as in moving.

 

  • Don’t sweat the small stuff. There will be a lot of small stuff. The big stuff is more important. Put the small stuff together, pick one time to deal with it as a whole, and pack it or toss it as needed. Small things can fit inside big things, so they don’t get lost.

 

  • Pack your own area. This refers to my point above. Nobody knows how to pack your things like you do. Does it matter to how Housemate is packing her personal items? No, because they are not mine. The method that works for her may not make sense to me, and vice versa. In short, head down, and eyes on my own paper.

 

  • You need more tape. Doesn’t matter how much tape you have, or think you’ll need. You need more. Those box bottoms need to be secure, unless watching collectible, out of print books cascade down one or more staircases like a paginated waterfall is your idea of fun. If so, then feel free to fold flaps under and leave it like that. For the rest of us, we need more tape, or the bottom will fall out and spill everything. Also, packing tape is going to shred. That is a fact of life. Folding over the end of the strip (I like a forty-five degree angle, to make a triangular pull tab) is, however, a valid workaround.

 

  • You’re done when you’re done. As tempting as it may be to leave piles of junk in one’s wake, that’s not going to fly in moving, or in writing. Everything has to go somewhere, even if that “somewhere” is the trash. Keep, sell, donate, trash; it doesn’t have to go home, but it can’t stay here. Okay, when moving, technically, the stuff is going home, but work with me here. In writing, the story question has to be answered. For romance, this means the lovers need to end up together, and happy about it.  If either one of those isn’t in place by the end of the manuscript, that means the job isn’t done.

 

  • The job will, at one point, be done. There’s nothing for a writer like typing those two magic words, the end. With moving, that translates to bringing those boxes to the new place, wherever that may be, and slicking through the tape, opening the cardboard flaps, and putting everything where it belongs, once again. There’s the moment of saying “okay, that’s everything,” flopping down on the nearest piece of soft furniture, and realizing that one is home now. A different home, to be sure, and, maybe, there will be another move in the future, but moved-in is its own special  satisfaction. It’s also a darned good motivator when surrounded by boxes and dust, one eye on the ticking clock. Every step is one step closer to done.

With that in mind, I think I can handle the ghost town phase.

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Typing With Wet Claws: I Know What Boxes Mean Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This week is a little bit different than other weeks, and here is a reason why.

300318firstbox

I know what this means…

Anty, Uncle, Mama, and I will be moving out of this apartment and into another one. The humans are still working on which one, so I will bring updates when there is news on that front, but, until then, some things are going to be a little bit different until the dust settles. Do not worry; if any of it settles on my fur, I can lick it off. I have a spiky tongue, so it will be pretty easy.

The packing however, according to Anty, is not. Putting books in boxes is probably the easiest, and the hardest, part of packing. On the one paw, books and boxes are very close to the same shape, so they are probably the easiest thing to pack. On the other paw, books are one of Anty’s favorite things, so it is not fun putting them away, and not having them out there. On the other other paw (I am allowed four, because I have four) it is a necessary part of the moving process. The other alternative is to walk away and throw a match over one shoulder. That is called arson, and it is wrong. Do not do arson. On the other other other paw, sorting the books before putting them in boxes is kind of fun, and the ones Anty will not take with her, can go to little free libraries, which are boxes where humans can take or leave books, at no cost. That is nice.

Moving is not nice. Especially not for kitties. We do not like moving. We like to stay in one place, and have things be The Same. I was born wild, then I got hurt and rescued at the same time. Then I moved to the vet (okay, the rescue people moved me) and then to the shelter (rescue people again) and then Mama and Anty found me and I moved to Mama’s old apartment. Then we all moved to this apartment, and all started living together. That is how I fell in love with Uncle. He Is my favorite, and I love him the most.

Anty is okay, too, though. I am sending love beams and supervising while she packs everything from her office, except for the carpet. Anty is not bringing the carpet. That stays here. That means I win.  Anty is starting at the back of the house and moving forward. Uncle and Mama are on their own for their special areas. I was kind of worried about what that means for my areas, because I do not have thumbs, and am too fuzzy to use packing tape safely. It is okay, though. The humans will take care of my area.

In exchange, I have to keep readers apprised of a few things, including where to find Anty’s writing on the intrwebs, except for here, which is where you already are.. First, as always, she was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, with part three of her series on heroines in romance fiction. What happens when heroines band together? Read the post, find out, and leave your own comment. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURwallflowersandwildwomen

Normally, this would be the part of the post where I tell you about Anty’s Goodreads challenge, but, for the next couple of weeks, that is going on hiatus, as is Anty’s Skye-athalon (the books, not the kitty; she is not packing me, although I will have to go in the carrier on the day we move.) She will pick those up again when we are settled and the books are out of their boxes. Until then, she has her Kindle, so she will not lack for books to read. That is a good thing. Once we are settled, she is going to crash for a week, and she can read more then.

Camp NaNo is still a go, surprisingly enough, because Anty does need an outlet in all this craziness, and writing a couple of pages of first draft is something she can do in little bits of time, pretty much anywhere. While she is packing notebooks, she will pick the notebook for her Camp NaNo story. Then, starting on Sunday, she will write in it. Right now, Anty intends to keep up with the blog posts, but if things get erratic for a while, it is because we are moving, and will settle down again, once we are in place.

When that happens, Anty will be ready to get back to the big work of getting her novels already in progress to their next phases. I, of course, will be providing support and encouragement throughout the entire process, and I will get a new sign-off picture once we are in the new place. Walking down the same hall, to my current room, once the new people are in this apartment would probably not go over well, although I am cute and fuzzy, so who knows? I am an indoor kitty, though, so I will stay in our new place, hence the required new picture. I hope it will be taken on a good tail day.

That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebyenew

 

 

Domestic Monsoon Season

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This is a tough post to write. It’s also personal, but this is a blog about the writing life, and domestic tornadoes are part of that life. This time, it’s more of a domestic monsoon, which may disrupt the posting schedule for a few weeks. In  two words, we’re moving. This came upon us quickly, so the next couple of weeks are going to be mostly devoted to throwing things in boxes and scouting out new digs. Still a few bugs to figure out the whole process, but, on the other side, there will be a new normal, and I’m actually looking forward to that.

The details, for this blog, aren’t important, but if posting goes a wee bit wonky for a while, that’s why. For me, writing is my happy place, so, even though we are dealing with more than a few question marks (everybody is fine, and we are all together) there’s a surge of MOAR WRITING within my story brain. This seems counterproductive, when there is a lot of adult-ing to be done, but the surge is loud, and insistent, and it won’t turn off, so I’m going with it.

Camp NaNo is still a go (cabins should be assigned soon, yes?) and, since my goal is set in pages, not words (is this a thing with regular NaNo as well? Because that would be amazing.) I can pop a notebook in my bag, even a slender, cahier style book, and be good to go, literally any time or anywhere.  Transcription can happen when the dust settles, and N, at our weekly breakfast, said she thinks I should have an idea for the second book in this village world thing ready to go, in case I get all the way through a half draft of the first one. I appreciate the vote of confidence.  Maybe the cahiers will be one of these beauties:

02notebookhaul

Packing the office is kind of a love/hate thing for me. I hate to tear apart my Hobbit hole, but it also gives me a chance to examine, reassess, and make decisions. What’s most important to my writing life? What can carry on to the next phase, and what gets passed along to somebody else? What gets tossed? What needs to go into storage for use another day? What, for that matter, could turn a profit, large or small? Interesting questions, all. I like interesting questions.

Interesting questions usually have equally interesting answers, and, when the monsoon has passed, there will be the clam after the storm, and then, new things will bloom. In June, I will be presenting a workshop, topic to be announced, at Charter Oak Romance Writers. Skye or I will add details as they are finalized, but those in the CT/Western MA area are welcome to save the date for June 2nd.

Appropriately enough, one of the potential topics is a workshop I created, with my contemporary co-writer, Melva Michaelian, called Save the Author, Save the Book. This workshop was born when Melva and I arrived early for a conference workshop, that we hadn’t realized was cancelled. We joked about making our own workshop, and, as we were both dealing with domestic monsoons then, as well, we found our topic easily. Consider it self care for writers, or how to write through stressful times.

There’s nothing like a domestic monsoon to put things in perspective. Novel work may be tricky when juggling metaphorical chain saws in daily life, but getting a few pages of rough-rough draft of a novella in longhand? Totally do-able. Hey, it means new notebook, picking out a pen, and the excitement of beginning a new story. The big projects will still be there when the monsoon has abated, and, perhaps, be even better for the time to marinate.

For some writers, domestic monsoon season is a time for writing, in general, to marinate, and I love that more than one writer friend has reminded me that there is that option, but the desire to write, and to write up to The End, has only intensified since the monsoon began. Is that the way things are “supposed to” go? I have no idea. When domestic monsoon season hits, that’s when a special flavor of Get It Done mode kicks in, so maybe it’s not that unusual that it would carry over into writing, in general.

TLDR: (too long, didn’t read) Deskscapes are going to look different for a while, but writing and blogging and stationery geekery endure.

TheWriterIsOut

Fifty-Nine

annabowling 2 Comments

That’s how many pens I now carry with me on a daily basis. Fifty-nine pens. No, you may not borrow one. I probably need to keep a couple of decoy pens on hand for when the question inevitably arises. It always does. Real Life Romance Hero knows to come to me first when it comes to office supplies, before heading to Staples or Office Max. He knows well enough not to ask, “do you have an X?” but “do you have a spare X?” Smart man. For those wondering if this is a post about pens, the answer is: partly.

To give some context, this is the latest addition to my daily carry:

01pencasecover

 

The first time I saw it, I thought it was a planner. Easy mistake. It was in with a bunch of planners, the only pen case of its kind in the entire display. It even had a bunch of assorted gel pens already inside, in case the rows of pink elastic loops inside were not indicator enough. Three compartments. Ten loops on each side of each compartment. I did some quick math. If I played my cards right, I could carry sixty pens with me, every single day. Um, yes, please. Sixty pens, literally wrapped in motivational soundbytes? Double yes, please. Triple yes, please, because it coordinates with Big Pink.

Immediately, my mind swam. Sixty pens, yes, but what sixty pens? That’s the important question. Pencils? No, not in here. I love the pale pink interior too much. Pencil smudges would be a distraction. Pens, then. Also highlighters. Ooh. I have that set of pastel highlighters that has been, so far, hiding in a pouch, along with some fineliners. The workhorse pens, the ones I reach for the most, those could go in there, too, but what about the rest of the spaces?

01pencaseworkhorse

There were a lot of attempts at filling those slots before I finally figured out that the highlighters were more substantial than regular pens, and an empty loop is not going to be the end of the world. Originally, the highlighters and workhorse pens were going to be on the side where the Stabilo fineliners (yellow barrels and colorful caps) now sit, because it took me a while to decide what had to go where.

Not what I wanted to go where; there’s a difference. My initial idea was that all twenty slots in the first compartment would be for workhorse pens/highlighters, the second for a set of markers, and the third would be my special pens that people who are not me better not even think about borrowing. The problem there was that I do not have twenty workhorse pens/highlighters. I’m not using bright highlighters right now, and I very rarely use ballpoints. (Purple Hannah Howell promo9tional pen, excepted) and I like to have pens next to each other look like they belong together.

The markers were the easy part. I had twenty Crayola Supertips, and twenty spaces in each compartment. Bam. Not too difficult at all.

01pencasecrayola

(Mostly) rainbow order, like with like, as my mother would say (that phrase drove me bonkers when I was a kiddo, but I now see its use) and everything where I need it. This is a color coder’s dream. Never mind that I had to move everything over into the third compartment a few minutes later.

Part of that was because A) I didn’t want to carry twenty of my favorite pens around where anything could happen to them, and B) I counted my Stabilo fineliners, sitting next to my desk, in their original packaging, which I love, but rarely use (the pens, not the packaging, though that, too.) There are thirty of them. Hm. If I moved a few things around, I could have thirty spaces available, and then I could have them with me, literally all the time.  Cue image of me shuffling pens around (also of dropping package of fineliners between chair and wall, then crawling around, searching for them, and counting to make sure they’re all there) and then slipping thirty pens into thirty slots.

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“Um, Anna,” I hear some of you saying, “this post is literally all about pens. Or pen cases. Kind of a niche. That stationery blog might be something to think about, mkay?” I hear you, and I get it. Thing is, getting these pens in order, while simultaneously gearing up for Camp NaNo helped me notice that organizing writing implements and organizing writing have more than a few things in common.

What’s most important to me? What do I want to carry with me on a daily basis? Does it all flow together in a way that feels comfortable to navigate? Does what I want to fit in this space, actually fit in this space? Exactly what do I need to accomplish what I want to accomplish? Do I know how I want to use what I already have? Do I need anything that I do not currently have, and, if so, how and when do I intend to obtain it?

This case is for pens, and pens only (I count markers as pens.) I also love pencils, but those go in pencil cases, not a pen case. I also love sticky notes, but there’s no place for sticky notes in this case. No place for gummi bears, either,  no matter how much I love them, so stuffing them in there would make no sense (and result in gross pen case and potentially inedible gummi bears; nobody wants that.) Maybe this is merely an excuse for me to play with  art/office supplies, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s all part of getting closer to being the writer I want to be.

Typing With Wet Claws: I Do Not Play In Sandboxes Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is currently snowing here in New York’s Capitol Region, but I do not know if we will get as much snow this time, as we did a couple of days ago. On the one paw, I am an indoor kitty who sleeps in front of the heater (except for when I am sleeping near my humans’ beds, to make sure they are only sleeping and not actually dead, but on the other paw, weather can be unpredictable this time of year. Either way, it is good weather to stay inside and write, if you are a writer, or read, if you are a reader. I, personally, am a kitty, so I like taking naps in front of the heater, and listening to the sounds coming from Anty’s glowy box.

Before I talk about anything  else, which is usually Anty’s writing anyway, I have to tell where to find Anty’s writing, besides here, on the interwebs, this week. As usual, Anty was at Buried Under Romance, this past Saturday. Since March is International Women’s Month, Anty will be focusing on heroines in romance fiction. She starts off the month by asking what makes a romance heroine. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURromanceheroine

Now is the part of the post where I bring everybody up to date with Anty’s Goodreads challenge. Her goal is to read ninety books this year, and to have at least fifty percent of that be historical romance. I have decided that I will allow historical fiction with strong romantic elements, and time travel romance, where at least some of the story takes place in the past. As of today, Anty is at nineteen percent of the way to her goal, having read seventeen out of ninety books. So far, six of those are historical romance. Still a ways to go, but that is good progress. Keep going, Anty.

The books Anty read and reviewed this week are:

 

 

Anty’s workshop, Play in Your Own Sandbox, Keep All The Toys, is in full swing, and Anty hopes that the people taking the workshop are having as much fun as she is, giving it. Personally, being a kitty, a sandbox is not something I would like to play in, and I do not want to keep or play with anything I might find (or put) in there,  (certainly not my toys)but I suppose it is different with humans. I prefer playing my mousie game on the glowy box, and batting at strips of paper that are left over from when Anty cuts fancy paper for her art things. Those things are the best. I get on my hind legs and then I  lift my paws and go batbatbatbatbatbatbat, Sometimes, I bite the paper strips, and, sometimes, I can even get the strips away from Anty. I am not that interested in the strips once I get them away from her,  because they stop moving, but, until then, it is super fun.

Do you know what else is fun? Reading is fun. Writing is also fun. Anty has been doing a lot of both lately, and she has figured out, more or less, what she would like to work on for her Camp NaNo story in April. By more or less, I mean she has a trope, and it may be more of a New Year’s story than a Christmas story, but she will have to do some research first. She also has to figure out what the setting of the story will be, and who, exactly, the characters are, but at least she has the seed of an idea, so we will see how that goes. It is probably about time for her to create her project, so that she can get into a good cabin. I will share more details on that as they become available, and keep readers apprised of Anty’s progress. We are almost halfway through the month, so the clock is ticking.

Today, while Anty washed a lot of laundry, she did not bring a book to read. Okay, she did bring her Kindle, and there is a Kindle app on her phone, but she did not read any of those things. Instead, she took out Big Pink, and a fineliner pen, and she wrote part of a scene for Her Last First Kiss. It was an out of order scene, but that is okay, because Anty is what writer humans call a puzzler. She likes to work on one bit of something over here, one bit of something over there, something else in this other place, and then smush them all together, in the right order, when she is done. Because she did this writing on the detachable pages from Big Pink, she will need to tear those out and attach them to the pretty legal pad she wrote the start of the scene on, and then transcribe it all into her glowy box, then print it, so that she can show it to Miss N. That means that one of the humans has to get the printer working again, since it was on the old modem, and we now have a new, faster one. This may have exciting ramifications for my mousie game, but the humans are more concerned with printing things like Anty’s stories.

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

skyebye2018

A Camping I Will (Possibly) Go

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The last day of the month is exciting for us bujo types, because that means new month. For those of us starting a now notebook/journal/planner (no, this is not a post about notebooks. I promise it isn’t; read the title) it means we get to break out all the good stuff: pens, pencils, rulers, stencils, stamps, washi tape (oh so much washi tape) and look at our vision of the ideal month ahead. Looking past that month, to the month that follows, only makes sense. In this case, that next month is April, and April, for many of us writer types, means Camp NaNoWriMo or at least it could.

Normally, I don’t do NaNo anything, because, although I like the idea in theory, if I focus too strongly on word count, I get paralyzed, and every day, fall farther and farther behind, which means everybody else is a better writer than I am, why did I do this, oh woe, etc, etc. You know the drill. So why is it, this year, that I had the thought float into my mind, “I think I might like to try camp this year.” The April version, specifically. Jury’s still out on July. I don’t remember when the idea first slipped in there, but, yesterday, at my weekly breakfast with N, I put it out there, to test the waters.

Me: I’m thinking for doing Camp NaNoWriMo in April this year.

N: (after ascertaining that I had not A) been replaced by an alien doppelganger, B) somehow managed to get my hands on a funny bagel, or C) sustained a head injury: Will you be working on Her Last First Kiss, or Drama King, or something new?

Me: :deer in headlights stare: Um, I don’t know.

Because I didn’t. The hazy idea never got that far. Now that I actually accidentally signed up for this session, while trying to see if my account was still valid, I still don’t. This is not like me. I am the opposite of a pantser. One would think that would mean plotter, but not always. I, personally, identify as a puzzler; this scene over here, that idea over there, this kind of character would be fun, I’ve always liked that other thing, so let’s put them all on the table and see how they fit together. I want to know where I’m going, how I’m going to get there, and when I should expect to arrive.

Now that I am apparently in for April, I should probably figure out a few things. Which project I want to work on, for one. The dreaded word count for another. My best guess is that I will set the bar low, so it’s an easy “win,” because these sorts of things awaken my competitive side. When I belonged to a once upon a time RWA chapter, we had an annual NaNo-ish exercise, where we competed to see who could write the most pages in that month. Challenge accepted. I think the month could have been January. I don’t remember, but that feels right-ish. Every year that I participated in that venture, I either took second place (said chapter had some very prolific writers while I was there; probably still does) or won, and it was never any problem. I felt energized, not paralyzed. I’m not sure why that was.

I have a few theories, though. It’s much less intimidating to count pages than words. Any pages counted, and it didn’t have to be a brand new project; ongoing works were fine. I do know the rules for Camp are looser than for NaNo proper, and the ability to set my own goals very much appeals. What I’m looking forward to most is the community. At some point (after I have created a project, because I have no idea what my WIP will be for the duration) I will be sorted into a cabin, whether by choice or by chance, and I can talk to other people as neurotic about the whole process of shooting for a specific number during a specific calendar month.

This is dependent on me not finding a way to delete my account in the month before Camp starts in earnest, but I think I want to go ahead and see what happens. Probably. Possibly. In a way, it feels like being a little kid on the edge of the high dive, my toes curled around the end of the board, taking a couple of experimental bounces, and looking at that water, far below.

:gulp:

:bounce:

:bounce:

:sounds of polite throat clearing from people behind me:

Sure, there is the possibility of climbing back down the ladder and getting a cherry popsicle from the snack bar (which, to be fair, one still can do when one gets out of the pool, after diving: but that would A) tick off all the people waiting in line, one of which may already be climbing the ladder, even though the lifeguard is blowing their whistle and advising against premature climbing, and B) if I don’t try, I won’t know.

So, maybe I won’t dive. Maybe I’ll jump. Jumping is fine. Jumping can be fun. The important part is coming back to the surface. The important part is swimming. Which, oddly enough, is an activity often associated with going to camp. Maybe I’ll see you there.

If it’s (Almost) March, These Must Be Llamas

annabowling Leave a comment

Spring and I have a complicated relationship. We don’t like each other much, but I live with two spring-lovers, Real Life Romance Hero (for him, spring is tied with fall for his favorite) and Housemate. I’m happy for them, that their favorite season is almost here, but for me, it means my lovely, cozy autumn and winter are done, and the season of avoiding the burny orange thing in the sky Is right around  the corner. On the other hand, spring is also baby ducks season, I have my upcoming online workshop starting March 5th, and, though it looks like I won’t be able to make NECRWA’s conference this year, plans are in place for some out of state writing besties to converge upon my domicile (and possibly the Schuyler Mansion) later in the season.

Said writing besties are the same critique/accountability group I had been in for coughty-cough years, the same one where I was the only person who never came to the table without some sort of pages, the same one where I would feel like I was flying on the car ride home, full of, well, pure, top grade love of writing. Plus, they’re all pretty darned nifty in their own rights, and write in genres as diverse as historical YA fiction, cozy romantic suspense, and picture books. I can promise there will not be a dull moment, there will be hugs, and at least one of us is going to cry when it’s time for them to go home at the end of the day.

The other bright spot that comes from staring a new season in the face is that I get to start a new planner.

WAIT A MINUTE! YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT NOTEBOOKS AGAIN! WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THIS SO-CALLED “WRITING BLOG?”

Oh hey, there, Hypercritical Gremlins. It’s been a while. What’s up?

NOT YOUR WORD COUNT, THAT’S FOR SURE. ALSO, NOTEBOOK TALK, AGAIN?

My blog, my topics. It’s writing related, I promise.

WE’VE HEARD THAT BEFORE.

As I was saying, I finished my last February pages in my current planner, last night, which means time to start a new one, at the start of March. As a true Leuhtrumm convert, I planned to get another notebook by the same maker, but there was one small problem; I did not get anywhere near the one store, locally, that sells them (to my knowledge.) Quelle horror. That’s when my eyes drifted to my unused notebook shelf, and spotted the orange Exceed book I didn’t end up using last fall. Love the pages, sturdy book, but it’s orange.

NOTEBOOK POST. CALLED IT.

Ahem.  Anyway, I’d been vacillating on the theme for March pages. I’d originally wanted gray, but then remembered there’s St. Patrick’s Day. I’d feel weird having an orange planner in a month when Irish heritage and culture is at the forefront, and, besides, orange and green, together, remind me of peas and carrots, specifically the canned variety, and, um, nothankyouplease. I will cut through the craft shop trawling for washi tape for another, unrelated project (my O’Malley saga reread; have to prepare for something of that magnitude) and go straight to the moment I saw these puppies on an endcap, at one third the usual going rate:

01llamatape

Cue heart-skip. Yes. This. Black, white, gray, and red, smidgen of green, a few sparklies. Also, llamas. Llamas make me think of my friend, H, whose favorite animal is the llama, and who is always great for some tough writing love. Other tapes include elephants and hippos, both gray, some flowers, some geometric shapes, some glitter. Boom. Perfect. Layouts unfolded in my head, and I couldn’t wait to get home and put those plans into action. One of the tapes even says “wild and free,” over and over, in different fonts.

:COUGH; NOTEBOOK POST :COUGH:

Did I ask for your input?

NO.

What did you say?

NO, MA’AM?

Better. This morning, I had the same heart-skip while scrolling through Facebook. A post from Susan Elizabeth Phillips showed on my feed, asking for recommendations of genre romance novels, happy ending and all, with elements that broke away from some of the conventions of the genre. My mind raced. Simple Jess, by Pamela Morsi, with a mentally slow hero, Morning Glory, by LaVyrle Spencer, with an ex-con hero, and, shall we say working class heroine, who is already pregnant with baby number three when they meet, in the years around WWII. Laura Kinsale’s heroes who survive strokes and PTSD and the heroines who see the whole person, not only one aspect. Yes. This.

This kind of thing gets my motor running. Granted, exactly what the “norm” is, will differ from person to person, depending on whom one asks, but that kind of thing gets me excited. Do my characters and my stories fit under that umbrella? Right now, Drama King has a grumpy actor-turned-line-cook intent on emotional self-flagellation, and the optimistic literary agent who is sure she can turn almost any mess into something beautiful. Her Last First Kiss has a heroine who is already another character’s mistress when the story begins, and a “portrait painter” hero (the air quotes are important) with family issues, plus the mutual friend caught in the middle. Chasing Prince Charming, which Melva and I are preparing to resubmit, has a hero who is a passionate advocate of the romance genre, and a heroine who may need some convincing. A Heart Most Errant has a jaded knight-errant, and the extroverted (and possibly delusional) baker whom he has to escort to a destination that may or may not exist. It also has a monastery that is not as abandoned as they thought it was. (Oopsie.) Did I mention this is after the Black Plague knocked out half the population of the British Isles in around twenty years?

NONE OF THAT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH LLAMAS.

:Ah, but it does. There are, as of yet, no llamas in any of my stories, historical or contemporary, solo or co-written, but the spirit of the llamas is there. Bullet journaling has taught me a few things that carry over into the writing of commercial fiction. Mistakes happen. Inspiration will lag. When it does, it may be time to take a long walk through a favorite craft or office supply store. Stop and smell the Post-Its (or maybe just look at them. The vast majority are not scented.) Stroke the creamy ivory pages of notebooks far outside your pay grade. Quickly grab an awesome roll of clearance washi before anybody else gets a chance to know it exists. Be open to new ideas, and, when all else fails, go back to the well. Re-read old favorites. Play with an idea that always seemed like fun. Do what you need to refill the well, so that you can draw from it. If the method of choice involves llamas, well, that’s a bonus.

OKAY, THAT KIND OF FITS TOGETHER>HMPH.

Thank you, it does. Now back in the basement, you go. I have writing to do.

WE LIKE THE CLOSET.

You can’t have the closet anymore; I keep my bullet journal stuff there now. Out the back door, all the way down the stairs, to the room with the dirt floor and the hot water heater.

HEY! THAT’S WHERE YOUR STEPPER NEIGHBORS REHEARSE, WITH ALL THE STOMPING AND THE SHOUTING.

I know. :puts in earbuds, opens document:

 

 

 

Of Notebooks and Novels

annabowling Leave a comment

Today, the temperature may get as high as seventy degrees. The votive candle on my desk is burning low, in a funny shape, because of all the months it spent stashed in a place it shouldn’t be (I’m sure sticking it in one of my art supply boxes made sense at the time, but do not ask me how, now, because I have no earthly idea.) Hipster Kitty is still on my desk, even though I’m still not sure how I want to use him, (this notebook is apparently a boy) and don’t want to put him away quite yet, either. This morning, I finished my current morning pages book, and am down to the final two candidates for its successor. This also reminds me that it is crunch time for my daily planner book, because the month will be ending soon, and I need to set up March, though I am still seeing candidates for the next planner notebook.

There’s a second decision related to starting a new daily planner book, more important than whether I want dot grid paper, kraft paper (but then what about my already planned pastel color scheme for the start of spring?) or admit to myself that I am a Leuctrumm 1917 convert, and that’s what I really want, even though I am trying to be good and use what I already have. Do I want to use my daily planner as the fourth insert in Big Pink, or do I want it to live on my desk? If I want it to live on my desk, then my options are wide open. If I want it to be insert number four, then it needs to fit inside the notebook cover, and will change the weight and heft of Big Pink in general.

“Um, Anna,” some of you may be saying right about now, “this is all very interesting for notebook people, who would totally follow you to a notebook-only blog, by the way, but some of us are writers and/or readers, who are not into notebooks, and could you please talk about writing or reading now? Kthanx.” I hear you, and I can bring this around. Right now, as a matter of fact.

Yesterday, at my weekly breakfast with N, N made me write. Okay, technically, she said she was going to write, which I knew she was going to do, and she took out notebook and pen and started doing exactly that. Well. I can’t resist that sort of thing. I had debated bringing along a variety of notebooks and/or one legal pad, for when this moment came, but it was also one of those mornings when getting out the door was complicated by a fuzzy shadow that thought everything I was doing was A) extremely interesting, and B) might possibly involve cat food. What I had on hand was the current fourth insert of Big Pink, a Moleskine Volant, which has detachable pages, and is, theoretically in Big Pink for exactly that reason, so I can write on the fly and then remove pages to go where they actually go, or transcribe and recycle.

Well, okay then. I put pen to paper and worked on a scene for Her Last First Kiss, making notes of opportunities to go deeper in an early chapter. I ended up having to prep more pages than I thought I would (prepping, in this case, means a bold line of marker or washi tape (this time, it was marker) at the top and bottom of the page. This gets around the blank page problem, because voila, the page is no longer blank.) Is it perfect? No. Is it written? Yes. Do I get to transcribe it today, and take those pages out of the book? Yes, sir or ma’am, I do. Longhand works best for me, and longhand under pressure, with an audience, works even better. Clearly, this insert needs to stay, but is it maybe making the other lined insert, which does not have detachable pages (okay, it has a few, but only in the back) redundant? Maybe so.

The evolution of a notebook system is kind of like the evolution of a writer, especially the writer who is using the notebook system. Trial and error is a big part of the process, and there are going to be times we get halfway through a project, or even make that first mark on the paper, and get the immediate “nope,” or that zing of recognition. That “Yes. This,” that picks us up from uncertainty and carries us until we’ve got our bearings. For the first time, or again; it works well both ways.

Starting new books, and redoing Big Pink feel appropriate for where I am, writing-wise, these days. It’s kind of like the back to school feel of new school supplies, which never gets old, even decades after any sort of connection to any sort of school. The fact that it hits around the same time as spring cleaning, well, that’s kind of one of the big holidays for us organizational types. Organizing writing makes perfect sense. It feels right. I’m excited to reclaim tools and space and energy. I’m excited to be reading historical romance again, and keeping my focus where it belongs. Not on the market (although of course that’s important, for those of us doing the whole writing career thingyboo) or what anybody else is doing, but what I’m doing, and what works best for me. If that involves stationery, all that much better.

The Queen’s Lady, the Hipster Kitty, and Me: A Love Story

annabowling Leave a comment

Today does not feel like a Monday. My planner says it is, so we’ll go with that and get at least seven hundred words of blabber into this text box, within the next hour, because crossing a task off my to-do list is one of the very best ways to kick off a Monday (or any other day, come to think of it.) Maybe I’m still riding on weekend fumes, because this was a pretty good weekend, especially for my focus on reconnecting with historical romance and growing the blog.

Friday nights are BFF nights, which means Housemate and I grab some sort of dinner, then trawl craft stores for geeking out over art supplies. Watercolor pencils for her (though she has yet to actually use them as watercolors) and anything bujo/art journal related for me. This week, that included picking up a copy of Artful Blogging magazine. Articles on connecting with one’s creative side and particular bloggy “voice,” be that writing or photography, resonated. I actually started petting the magazine while still in the store, so that’s a sign that the issue had to come home. This has a few different levels to it; there’s the drooling over pictures level, the taking in advice I probably already know but have made excuses not to act upon, because acting on such knowledge would be scary level, and the actually applying what I’ve learned to my actual blog level.

Saturday meant sneaking in more craft store trawling in the midst of errands (Housemate has a life goal of owning all the watercolor pencils in the world. I support her in this, because A) I want my friend to be happy, and B) I have permission to use them when she is not using them.) Saturday also meant that I got to take out the magazine and lay it on the table between us at lunch, and natter endlessly over how gorgeous the pictures are, and how I want to get to that level with my own blog, or possibly blogs, as I’ve been thinking of starting a second blog, devoted to all things pen and paper, while this one would be reserved  for writing talk. We will see how things go.

Sunday found me, along with Real Life Romance Hero, and Housemate, at our friend, M.P. Barker‘s annual book swap party. The most important thing about these parties is that the bacon-wrapped figs are mine, mine, mine. Okay, maybe that is not the most important thing, but it is a strong contender for the number two spot. They are stuffed with goat cheese, and are delicious, and I would happily pay whoever makes them, to make me a small batch. A truckload or two would do. For starters. I would say I am digressing here, but these are extremely good bacon wrapped figs. Or maybe they’re dates. I get the two confused sometimes.

Enough of that. The really important thing about this party, every year, is that it gives me a chance to reconnect with my best writing self. M.P., my contemporary co-writer, Melva Michaelian, and I spent many years’ worth of Wednesday nights, gathered around the same dining room table where, yesterday, I scarfed bacon-wrapped figs (or dates) and gabbed with Mona, a reader friend, about our shared love of reading historical romance. What we like, what we don’t, how we had each finished reading (two different) Harlequin Historical romances within the last twenty-four hours, and needed to choose our next reads pretty darned quick. This is where my love of reading and my love of planning come together and make beautiful reading plan babies.

Before the start of the new year, I made a list of books to re-read, and books to finally read, all historical romance. First up from the TFR list is The Queen’s Lady, by Barbara Kyle:

BarbaraKylethequeenslady

 

Tudor era, start of a family saga, plot that unfolds over years instead of months or weeks, and a heroine name to make me sigh with happiness. Honor Larke. Yep, I’m sold. I’m not sure why I haven’t read this before, and I’m intrigued that it was, IIRC, originally published as historical romance, though the spine on this edition classes it as historical fiction. We shall see how this goes.  After that, it’s back to the well, and a small detour from my TBRR list, as I plan to reread the entire O’Malley/Skye’s Legacy series, by Bertrice Small. That’s twelve books, with both series combined, so picking out historical romances to read is not going to be that difficult a task for me in the foreseeable future.

My heart is already going a little pitty-pat at the reading journey ahead of me, and what it’s going to do for my writing, this spring. (Can you believe it’s almost spring already? Has to be, though, as, in the next two weeks, I will be starting both a new morning pages book, and a new daily planner book.) That’s where the Hipster Kitty comes into play:

1902hipsterkitty

See how perfectly he fits with the rest of my “me” stuff? I normally don’t seek out things that are yellow, or books with white pages, but this book has me completely heart-eyes over it. I already know I want to write with black pen, and use yellow highlighter, and, since I want to take notes o n my epic O’Malley re-read, well, this seems like perfect timing. There’s still a chance I might end up using a different book for that, but even if that’s what happens, this is for something special. Maybe it’s for notes on the proposed cyber-revival Melva, M.P. and I talked about, of the weekly critique/nag group meetings that got us all through multiple manuscripts.

The weekend just past was wonderful, filled with re-filling, and re-connection, bringing me to the start of a new week, with the challenge of putting all that good stuff into practice. That’s still a little scary, but scary in the good way. I did get an offer of beta-reading from my reader friend, so I have to give her something to read, don’t I? Thought so. time to make another cup of tea, and slip back in time a few centuries.