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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.

There Are No Reading Police

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I had plans for today’s blog entry, and I am going to ignore most of them. Apparently, the fact that I have them is enough for me to dive in with some measure of confidence, so will file that away for future use. Today, I’m snappish and grumpy, which is a sign of not enough sleep and feeling crowded, so, after I get this off my plate, it is time for a big ol’ mug of tea and some time in Sims 4. First, though, you get this.

Yesterday, Housemate and I went to the library. I headed straight to the romance section, and, within minutes, had my arms full of these:

 

tbr281216.jpg

“Nothing to read” will never be one of my problems.

Okay, not all of these. The last four. Use On the Jellicoe Road as the dividing line. That’s my third time trying to get into that one, and this time, I am going to make it. I get bogged down in the first fifty pages, but I’ve been told it’s worth it to make it through, so this is the time. :raises fist to sky (not Skye) for emphasis: That was another trip, though. This one was only for romance novels. One anthology, What Happens Under The Mistletoe, because I am helpless in the face of Christmas anthologies during the tucked away week (I am reading one right now on my Kindle, as a matter of fact) and it jumped off the shelf, recognizing its mistress. Okay, I saw Meredith Duran’s name on the cover. That helped. The Highlander, by Kerrigan Byrne, whose voice and use of emotion made me weep when I first discovered her, and the latest two installments in Elizabeth Hoyt’s Maiden Lane story world. (A book for Alf, finally, at last, pace yourself, girl, you have to read the other one first.) Respectable hunting trip, this one, especially as I hadn’t been expecting to take home anything at all, but that’s how these things tend to go this time of year.

My first thought, when I walked out of the library with four books in my bag was, “wow, their security is lax.” Uhhh, no, that wasn’t it. Don’t steal library books. Check them out. My actual first thought was “I have no right taking out four new books.” Because I have a full TBR shelf at home. Because I have a fully loaded Kindle. Because I have a storage unit with oodles of books in it. Because I have books yet to read for posts I am committed to write for other sites. because I am behind, oh woe, so behiiiiiind (please read that last word with an echo, if you can) on my own writing, as well as reading goals. Because a million things, really, but then my second thought cut off my first one.

My second thought was, “forget that. I have every right.” I have every right to read whatever books I want, whenever I want to read them. I have every right to drown myself in historical romance, should I want to do so (and I totally do) and gobble more, more, more, more, until it oozes out of my pores and onto the pages I create. There are no reading police (and, if there are, I do not recognize their authority.) Read what you want, when you want, however you want it. Nobody else has to like it. Probably, nobody else cares. Maybe those who follow me on Goodreads (I’m here) or read my posts on this blog and other sites, but that’s it.

There are no reading police. Whatever genre you love, great. Read it. Breathe it. Gobble it. Swim in it. While I stood there in the romance section, a trio of teenage girls stood behind me, in a nearby section, giggling over how silly the books in that section were to them, to the point of grabbing books and giving each other playful shoves. Even with all that, they left with at least one book, even if it looked “dumb” to them, or if they wanted others to think they found that sort of book beneath them. Part of me wanted to turn around, take the “dumb” book from them, flip it over to read the blurb, and say it looked interesting; I’d take it if they didn’t want it.

I didn’t do that, as A) I had enough books of my own, and wanted to get home and decide in which order to read them (hint: it’s depicted in the image above) and B) hey, these young women are reading. When I was their age, I lived with a single father, who was adamantly against the romance genre on principle, but it called to me and I answered the call, and have never regretted that for one single second. I remember what it was like to sneak around the library, tucking what historical romances I could find from the spinner racks under my arm. I don’t know these young women, I don’t know what brought them to that section, if this is a new genre they are exploring, or one they already love, but think others might form opinions of them for it. I don’t know what the “dumb” book is, or if they really do read books to mock them, but I do know how I felt, walking downstairs with my own carefully chosen haul.

 

I felt more complete, as though I’d gone to the shelf, found pieces of myself that I’d been missing, and put them back into place. Maybe that’s what these young women were doing, whether they knew it or not. It’s none of my business what they read or why they read it (unless they are reading my books,. which they totally should do, because there’s a new Kat Von D palette at Sephora, but that’s beside the point) but I’m glad they were there. Read on, heroines of tomorrow. Whatever the heck you want.

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?

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Happy Anniversary To Me Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This is a very special edition, because yesterday was my ninth anniversary of getting adopted and becoming a pet. I was ten months old when Mama and Anty came to the shelter to get me. I had been living there since I was six months old. Before that, I was wild, because I was born that way. I did not stay that way, though, because the rescue people found me when I got hurt by a car, and they took care of me until my humans could find me. I did not know what was happening on my adoption day. The rescue humans put me in a carrier, like when they took me to the pokey place. I did not want to go the pokey place and see a vet, but that is not what happened.

What happened was that Mama and Anty came to the shelter. They did not know I was already in the carrier, so they talked about how much they wanted to meet the kitty they were going to take home. They talked about how Olivia, their other cat, had gone to Rainbow Bridge, and how sad they were because of that. I did not want these nice humans to be sad, because that made me sad, too. I was already sad, so that means I got sadder, but the story is not over there (obviously, because you are reading this.) The rescue humans showed Mama and Anty where I was, and then they got happy, because of me. They asked if I wanted to come live with them and if they could call me Skye. I think my response was something like, “um, okay?” because I still did not know what was going on, but other humans who came to take kitties to that home place were always happy. Happy humans are my favorite kind. One of the rescue humans helped put my carrier in Mama’s car, and Anty called Uncle at his work to let him know I was coming home. She told him other things, too, like what kind of kitty I was (Maine Coon, which I still am) and what color I was (brown tabby) and that I had a ginger spot on my head (it is the only orange fur on my whole entire me) and that I was scared but still a good kitty.

Everybody was very patient with me while I got used to being in my new home. Anty even thought it was funny when I tried to nurse on her toe (Anty says we miss one hundred percent of the shots we don’t take) and now it is one of her favorite Baby Skye stories. She says that adopting me crossed “Christmas kitten” off her bucket list (maybe that is one of the reasons “Skye Bucket” is one of her names for me?) but being adopted by my humans crossed “get a home” off mine. It is a good home.

It does not, however, get me out of talking about Anty’s writing (she let me go first this week because it was my adoptiversary.) As usual, Anty has her post at Buried Under Romance to share with you. This week, she talked about romance novels and related items as holiday gifts (if you have gifts yet to buy for reading friends, books are good ones. Especially Anty’s. Anty gets really happy when people buy her books.) That post is here: http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/12/saturday-discussion-the-gift-of-romance.html#comment-9289 and it looks like this:

bur121216

 

Anty also has a new post at Heroes and Heartbreakers, where she talks about six of the shippiest moments on This Is Us. Anty loves writing and she loves This is Us, so this was a fun piece for her to write. Is your favorite couple/moment listed? (My favorite moment was finding out that Clooney, the cat, was okay and even got extra pettings. I hope that was not a spoiler.) That post is here:

http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/12/best-this-is-us-moments-of-season-one#comments and it looks like this:

 

handhthisisus

But can we really feel too much? Really?

Another thing Anty wrote about this week was something that helped her pursue three goals at the same time: reading more historical romance, feeling more Christmassy, and writing more about what she reads. That is all because she read My First Noel, by Danelle Harmon, who is a favorite author anyway, (and a very nice human, even if she does have dogs and a horsie. rather than cats.) This book was Miss Danelle’s first time writing in the inspirational genre. Anty was all over that from the concept alone. Her review is posted here:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1839106619?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1 and it looks like this:

goodreadsharmonnoel

 

 

If you would like to see all of Anty’s reviews she posts on Goodreads, you can find them here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/8485744-anna?shelf=read. If you have read any of Anty’s books so far, and would like to write a review of them, or you are interested in reading them, you can find them on her “I Wrote It” shelf, which is here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/8485744-anna?shelf=i-wrote-it. Anty would like to say thank you to all the new Goodreads friends she made this week. She is always up for more Goodreads friends, and has plans to make her “I Wrote It” shelf bigger in the coming year. I will keep you all up to date on that front, as I am very dedicated to my duties as a mews.

That is about it for this week, so I will give the computer back to Anty so she can play with her imaginary friends, and make more books for you to read. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

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

 

How to Eat an Elephant

annabowling 2 Comments

This past Saturday, Capitol Region Romance Writers had our annual member appreciation meeting. That’s when we gather together to celebrate everything our chapter sisters and brothers (yep, we got dudes) have achieved during the calendar year. There’s the big stuff – new releases, new contracts, first books, tenth books, twenty-fifth books-  and there’s stuff that may not seem as big on the surface, but is every bit as important – kept writing, attended a conference, gave workshops, volunteered for chapter or organization, etc- and the atmosphere is supportive and celebratory. My co-host, the fabulous K.A. Mitchell,( http://www.kamitchell.com/) cheered us all on, and suggested networking opportunities to encourage us to go better, harder, faster, longer for 2017. I love that stuff.

Not everybody participated in the survey of member achievements, and I get that. I almost didn’t, myself. Some people don’t want the attention, thanks, and, for others, something like this might give self-doubt a foothold, because other people are hitting these big milestones, and then there’s the person staring at the list, thinking they’ll never get there. Thankfully, the Hypercritical Gremlins seem to be keeping mostly quiet these days, and I only got a trace echo of “EVERYBODY WILL KNOW YOU ARE A GIANT FRAUD” because no, I’m not. I’m going to call that good.

I had wanted 2016 to be the year I could check off that I had my fifth published work. That’s not what happened. The only TARDIS I own is a night light (and even that belongs to Real Life Romance Hero) so I can’t go back to this past January and make things different. What I can do is go forward from where I am right now, which is not in so deep a hole I can’t get out of it. From a certain perspective, it isn’t a hole at all. I’m working on two manuscripts, have another, my postapocalyptic medieval novella, that really only needs an edit and formatting (okay, and a cover) to go all indie on 2017. I have posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers slated, I write a weekly discussion post on the topic of romance novel reading every Saturday (barring technical difficulties, that’s about fifty of them a year, baby. 5-0. Not small potatoes by any means.) I blog here three times a week (okay, fine, two entries from me and one from Skye, but I do have a blogging cat, so that’s something special right there.) Even so, could I have done better? Well, I hope so. If this is the pinnacle of my success, I’m going to go cry in a blanket fort (but I’m taking my computer with me, so I can play Sims.)

There’s only a few weeks left in 2016, so I am looking 2017-ward from here. Not going to lie, I want to be one of those, at next year’s member appreciation meeting, walking away with one of the big prizes. If I release or sell a book to a publisher, that puts me at fifth published work, and that does get the big prize. (There’s actually a choice, and one of said choices is a padfolio. Anyone who has known me for more than about five minutes knows about me and stationery. New readers who do not, check the AnnaLog tag. It’s all there. )

So, how do I get there? Dragging out the old Japanese proverb of a journey of a thousand miles beginning with a single step feels cliché  (but things are cliché because there is an element of truth to them) so, instead, I am going to use a favorite Dutch proverb instead. Pray to God and row to shore. Finishing a book means writing a book. Slapping the duct tape over the Hypercritical Gremlins, boarding over their closet (spray painting “Don’t open, dead inside” a la The Walking Dead is optional, but adds a certain degree of panache, as well as a much needed reminder in the weak moments.

I’m still not sure exactly how I’m going to organize the work, but meeting goals is the same as eating an elephant. One bite at a time. For those who are fans of Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, think one-inch picture frames. Little bits. Remember I’ve done this before. Remember the encouragement of chapter mates. Remember what it feels like to hear from a reader who connected with my story, that I’m not shouting into a black hole, after all. Remember why I started writing in the first place. Remember what it felt like to send that first manuscript off to the very first publisher, and what it felt like to open The Email, the one who actually bought Dalby and Tabetha’s story. If a hermit and a subsistence farmer can find love, there’s hope for all of us, I’d imagine.

So, that’s how it’s going today. Blog entry. Article. Would love to get some fiction in as well, and if the end of the day comes before then, that only means I know what’s first on the to-do list for tomorrow.

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.

 

Does That Mean There Is Quietermilk?

annabowling 2 Comments

Days become weeks
Weeks become months
Months become way back when

      -Kait Kerrigan and Brian Lowdermilk, “Holding On”

During the weekend, I had an idea for this blog entry. Do not ask me what that idea was, because I do not know anymore. I am not even going to try and take a wild guess. Not even a stab in its general direction. That ship has sailed, so what you get instead is blabber, because “blog entry” is the next thing on my to-do list, and sleep was not that great this weekend, which means my mind is a muddle. Which means it is time to impose some order on chaos. Which means making lists and prioritizing.

Today’s quote is from the musical, Tales From the Bad Years. No, I’ve never seen it, but I have been listening to many of the songs from it repeatedly over the last couple of weeks. I haven’t played any Christmas music yet, which is unusual for me. I mean nothing. Seriously. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nada. I’m not not-in the Christmas spirit, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. Maybe that’s because the decorations are still not up. Fingers crossed for tomorrow. Maybe then it will feel real. We’ve had sickies in our house for the last…three weeks? Four? Maybe that has something to do with it. I have Christmas books at hand, and have not cracked the covers on any of them, either.

No, wait, that’s not right. I am reading For Christmas, Forever, by Barbara Samuel, originally published under her Ruth Wind pseudonym, on my phone. I don’t read a lot of category romance, but I would read Barbara Samuel’s grocery list in a heartbeat. Pounce on that sucker like a starving hyena, I would, and that might be underselling my theoretical behavior. We need to make that clear at the outset. Still, I don’t read a lot of category, and the combination of intrigue and Christmas has me in uncharted territory, but the voice is still there, and that’s what I wanted (besides the whole Christmas angle) so that balances things out. Combine that with my devouring of Matthew Quick novels (be forewarned, I may get whiny when I finish the ones I have on hand, because then I will have read all currently published ones; why do I keep doing this to myself, again?) and rationing Dark Champion, the second of Jo Beverley’s medieval historical romances (I do sorely wish she had written more medieval, but there are loads of her Regencies and some of her Georgians I have not yet read. She is, sadly, another one who has left us, so when I am done, I will be done. At least with reading new to me titles for the first time.)

But back to the music. I wish I could say how it was I stumbled across the Kerrigan-Lowdermilk team, but I am going to say it was either Spotify or YouTube. I like to follow bunny trails, of things I might like, based on things I already like, and I’ve been using both of the above frequently as of late, so it’s probably one of the two. When an authorial voice catches my attention like that, I like to hunt down as much of it as I can. When that voice belongs to a songwriting team, and said songs are in the realm of musical theater, that makes my blood do a skippity skip, because that means that there are, somewhere out there, a plethora of different interpretations of the same songs, by different performers.

I love that kind of thing. I can find Actor A’s performance of Song X, take that in, find what I like about it and what I would direct them to do differently, then take in different takes on the material by Actor B, Actor C, Actor D, etc. Gender flipped, with or without changes in pronouns, solos divided into duets or multiple singers, and vice versa. Stage performances, cabaret, concert, professional, student, etc, etc. Bring all of that stuff right on over here, because it goes straight into ye olde creative well.

On the official page for Tales From The Bad Years, (find it here: http://kerrigan-lowdermilk.com/shows/tales-from-the-bad-years) the blurb about the show concludes with “There’s no doubt that the bad years make the best stories.” That resonated with me, and reminds me that it was the very title, Tales From The Bad Years, that told me this was something I had to investigate. I’m glad I did. Though I haven’t seen the show, or read the script, I’ve listened to the available songs, so, if I had to shelve it in a genre, I would put it in New Adult. Again, not a genre, in the contemporary fiction sense, with which I have any degree of familiarity, apart from the Going The Distance series by Lark O’Neal (http://www.larkoneal.com/) -who is also Barbara Samuel, go figure- but I very clearly got the “Yes. That.” reaction, so I’m listening. A lot. Rolling it around in my head, and letting it seep into my heart. We’ll see what sticks, what combines with all the other things that are in there already, and what else is going into the tank at the same time.

Writers are, by nature, omnivores. If it waves a tentacle at us, and if we grab onto that tentacle, it’s going into us. Becoming part of us. Coming out again in some other form that is our version of that. Calling us to come to a higher level. Making us want to be that good. Work that hard. Make something that has the same effect on somebody else, we would hope. We don’t always know what it’s going to do to us when we recognize it, but that moment when we know that yes, that new thing we like, it’s ours now, that’s something we need to hold onto and see where it takes us

The lines at the top of this entry are one of those things that stick. The inevitable passage of time, the reminder that my track record for getting through stuff has been 100% so far, so odds are that’s probably going to continue. Not smooth sailing all the way, because how boring would a story like that be, seriously? The knowledge that a current stressor will one day be a story to tell, of something that happened “way back when,” that’s encouraging. I can work with that.

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Successfully Extended Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I think that I would probably be blogging today, even if it were not Friday, because Anty is in a mood. Anty did not sleep that great last night, and she had to make two trips to the Laundromat this morning. It was almost three. When she came home from the second trip, she noticed right away that there was a particular aroma. That aroma was my um, stuff. A big stuff, actually, right near the apartment door, and exactly where Anty’s foot went when she took her first step inside. Anty leaves her outside shoes on the landing, so she took that step in her stocking foot, and her step turned into a skid. Uncle says he cannot describe the sound Anty made, but he knew it had to be something interesting. He was right.  Anty had to do some creative walking to get to the bathroom so she could put her dirty socks in the next laundry bin, and get my scoop so she could get rid of my stuff. Then she fed me, so it all worked out okay in the end.

Before I talk about anything else, I need to talk about Anty’s writing first. Her most recent post at Buried Under Romance is here:
http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/11/saturday-discussion-making-a-reading-list-and-checking-it-twice.html

and it looks like this:

bur

Anty also posted a review of a book that had a big effect on her, Every Exquisite Thing, by Matthew Quick, on Goodreads. If I ever get a turtle brother (I do not think that is likey, but one never knows) Anty says his name will be Unproductive Ted, because of a turtle that is a book that is in this book. I did not mistype that (even though I have special paws) – there is a book inside this book that is special to the main character and her friends. Anty had to hug this book after she finished reading it, and she went right back to the library, to get two more books by the same author. Those had a similar effect on her, and she will probably talk about that more, later. For now, her review is here:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1823317233

and it looks like this:

goodreadseet

 

Anty is going to find more books by this author, so she can figure out what she likes about his work this much, and how she can incorporate it in her historical romance writing. One of his books, Silver Linings Playbook, was made into a movie, and it won an Oscar, which is the award for really good movie things. Anty is going to watch that movie, too, but she does not know when. She has a lot going on these days, especially now that she and Mama got the wifi booster. The booster worked, and now Anty can talk to the interwebs from her office. When she goes into her office to work, I either wait outside the door, if it is only a little time she is in there. If she is in there a longer time, I will go sleep by her recliner, because I know she will go there eventually. Yesterday, she wrote a chapter for her book with Anty Melva, and got it all done in one go, because she was able to concentrate. Anty said that felt super good. I still think she might want to consider getting rid of that carpet, because then I would spend more time in there with her.

Christmas decorations are slated to go up tomorrow, but it is not out of the question for things to get bumped back a little further if something unexpected comes up; Anty loves to get her decorations up as soon as possible, but she is also a realist. Sometimes, things happen. The decorations will get put up in plenty of time for Christmas, so there is no use getting all concerned about it. In the same way, the books are going to get written, and they are going to find their ways into the hands of readers, so there is no use in getting worried about that, either.

As long as Anty keeps moving forward with both books (and with her posts for other sites) then she will, probably before she knows it, find herself at The End. Then it will be time to write more books. She has to remind herself to focus on this book now (actually these books now, because she is working on two) but that does not mean she cannot make notes and file them away for later. That is actually a good thing, because Anty does best when her tank is filled, and she knows what she is doing. The more she knows before it is time to start writing the story, the easier the writing goes. Anty says the view is pretty good from up there, back in the saddle.

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

skyebye

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