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Reading, (non)Resolutions, and Hypercritical Gremlins

annabowling Leave a comment

“When you are stuck in a spiral, to change the aspects of the spin you only need to change one thing.”
Christina Baldwin

 

Here we are, first workday of the new year, and I’m still not sure what I’m doing. Yesterday, Housemate and I took a two hour road trip to visit friends who host an annual New Year’s book swap. It’s been my favorite holiday gathering for years, and this time was no exception. Several hours of talk with old friends and new, copious amounts of food, and an eclectic assortment of books free for the taking.

I came away with a hardcover copy of  The Tenth Circle, by Jodi Picoult, which I highly recommend. Her voice, her unusual structure of this story, the imagery, use of time and perspective and :fangirl flail: I’ve read it before, after I saw the TV movie, which I found by accident, and want to read it again, in its time, at my leisure, possibly with sticky notes and highlighter in hand so that I can study and rip it apart and put it back together and take something of it into myself on a deeper level than before. I also got two cookbooks for Real Life Romance Hero, of which I know nothing other than that they are cookbooks.

New Year’s resolutions are not my thing; easily made, easily set too high, easily disappointed and left by the wayside, so I’m not going to do that, but I am paying attention to what I do and don’t like about life in general, and the writing life in particular. My two guiding phrases, Clean Sweep and More Layers, come into play here. According to Goodreads, there have been several instances over the past year when I have technically been “reading” one book or another, over a period of several months, when that isn’t exactly what happened.

What really happens is this: I start a book, with all the best intentions. I want to discover this new voice, dive deep into a favorite author’s latest, finally get around to reading a book I’ve had forever. Then the book or reading device ends up in the wrong purse, or in the bedroom when I’m not, or the battery runs down, or I left it at home, etc, etc. I need to read something by date X to write about it for one blog or another. There’s recapping to do. There are domestic tornadoes. I’m too bloody tired. I feel guilty. I feel angry. I don’t deserve to read if I’m such a horrible reader. If I’m that horrible a reader, I’m an even worse writer.

Oh, hello,  Hypercritical Gremlins.

HI, ANNA! CRAPPY NEW YEAR!

That’s Happy New Year.

NOT FOR US.

Why am I not surprised about that?

IT’S WHAT WE DO.

To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?

TRADITIONAL NEW YEAR VISIT.

Oh, okay. That makes sense. Anything specific you wanted to talk about?

READING. YOU BROUGHT IT UP FIRST.

What about reading? (As if I didn’t know?)

YOU STINK AT THAT, TOO.

Uh huh. Do you have any critiera about that?

YOU ALREADY SAID.  CAN WE  TAKE A SCREENSHOT OF YOUR CURRENTLY READING GOODREADS PAGE?

:blushes: No.

HA HA! BUSTED!

Okay, look, we’re not going there.

MAYBE YOU’RE NOT.

Fine. Reading is one of the things I want to change about this year, and both Clean Sweep and More Layers play into that.

WHAT ABOUT THE BOOKS YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO READ? YOU’RE SO FAR BEHIND IN THE BOOKS EVERYBODY IS TALKING ABOUT THAT WE SET ASIDE SPECIAL TIME EVERY WEEK TO POINT AND LAUGH AT YOU.

:shrugs: Well, I guess you can. It’s your time. First, it’s not possible for me to read all the books other people think I should read. Second, I don’t want to; there are enough books I want to read that I couldn’t fit the should-reads into my schedule. The average female lifespan is only so long. Okay, I don’t smoke or drink, stay reasonably active, but my genetic history is a giant question mark, so I am going to use my time wisely and read the books that appeal to me, when they appeal to  me. Reading for pleasure is something I do to feel happy, not guilty. That would take away too much of the pleasure.

BUT YOU’RE MISSING OUT ON ALL THE TRENDS THAT WAY. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY SERIES YOU WOULD HAVE TO READ DOUBLE DIGITS WORTH OF BOOKS TO KEEP CURRENT? NOT TO MENTION SPINOFFS AND SUBSERIES?

If I want to read those books, I will. My natural inclination is for standalone stories, and always has been, so that’s what I’m mostly seeking out at present.

BUT EVERYBODY ELSE LOVES SERIES, BECAUSE THEY ARE SERIES.

How wonderful for them. They must have a lot of books from which to choose. Sometimes, including right now, I want to read one story, about one couple. Nothing at all wrong with that.

EXCEPT THAT YOU ARE WEIRD. REMEMBER HOW IT WAS YESTERDAY WITH ALL THE SMILING AND NODDING -SERIOUSLY, YOU LOOKED LIKE A BOBBLEHEAD- WHEN OTHER GUESTS TALKED ABOUT THE MAINSTREAM AND/OR LITERARY BESTSELLERS THEY WERE ALL  READING. ALL OF THEM BUT YOU, OUTLIER.

I hear you saying “outlier” like it’s a bad thing.

BECAUSE IT IS.

Interesting perspective. Can you tell me more about that?

WE’RE REALLY BUSY RIGHT NOW.

Doing what?

PICKING ON YOU.

Why am I not surprised there? No, no, don’t answer. That was rhetorical. What I’m getting at here is that it’s not possible for one person to read every book there is, so best to whittle it down to those that catch the individual reader’s interest. Anything else feels too much like a school assignment. Last time I checked, you guys are not my teachers.

OBVIOUSLY, WE CAN’T TEACH YOU HOW TO READ LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE.

I don’t want to read like everybody else, and if you insist on pressing the matter, I am an RWA member. I can whip out statistics on exactly how many romance novels were read last year.

WE’RE GOING TO GO BACK IN OUR CLOSET AND TAKE A NAP NOW. WE HEARD YOU’RE MEETING WITH A LOCAL WRITER FRIEND TOMORROW. GOT TO GET OUR REST, YOU KNOW.

Unfortunately, I do. You guys go rest, and I’m sure I’ll hear from you later. For now, I have some writing to do, and then the last few chapters of a delicious historical romance I would actually classify as women’s fiction, but that’s another story. Pun intended.

 

 

 

 

 

Treasure Box

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We’re a few days into what’s usually my favorite week of the year, that tucked-away week between Christmas and New Year’s. Jury is still out on this year’s version. Normally, going to the Laundromat is a lovely pocket of time, and doing so during my tucked-away week would make it doubly so. This time? Not so much.

We’ll start with the fact that I had to put laundry in and take it out of four machines before hitting one that would actually h0ld everything and did not have any mystery detergent residue that would play havoc with sensitive skin. Add in a quick dash back home to collect more quarters, because I ended up using the industrial sized washer. On the plus side, clean bedding.  On the minus side, there was the person who asked me if I was taking the week off, and, when I said that was my plan, answered that they didn’t think that was possible. Since I work for myself, my whole life is apparently “relaxing” and I do whatever I want, whenever I want. Yeah, not the way it works, person. Seriously not. Add in another unwanted interaction,  and I was in a foul mood by the time I got home.

I’m not sure what drew me to the small cardboard box in the hallway closet, but I figured I could use some diversion. I knew it had some of my dad’s art supplies -now my art supplies- in it, and art time is usually a good de-grumper. I noticed the paint first, four small tubes of watercolors. Some pencils, of varying vintage and purpose, some tools that look like they’re for carving clay (can check with a friend whose husband is a sculptor) and then there was the pen. Which I may want to call The Pen.

 

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Rather plain at first sight, black cap and silvery barrel, but still a pen. I took the cap off.  Either a fountain pen or dip pen, though I can’t see where I could get the pen apart to check for where I’d refill if it’s a fountain pen. That’s when I examined the nib and found the words that caught my attention. Mont Blanc. Huh wuh? That’s a good pen, isn’t it? Quick check online and my suspicions were confirmed.

White snowflakey/star thing is present on top of cap and bottom of barrel, as well as the clip. “Mont Blanc” is on the otherwise plain nib, and “Mont Blanc Germany” is on the cap, below the clip. I’m not finding what model this is, and not sure where/how to continue the search, but when a fabulous pen falls into my lap, I’m going to take it. Whatever ink may have been in there at one time is completely gone now, and if it’s a dip pen (though I don’t see any evidence of Mont Blanc making any dip pens) then that would explain the lack of ink. This is going to require more investigation. The closest Mont Blanc store I can locate is in White Plains, which is a road trip in itself, but Westchester and tracking down the identity of a super cool pen? This may need to happen.

 

The paints, I think I like on their own rather than together, but this is only my smush them on the page and see what they do stage, so it doesn’t count. That’s still something hard to accept, that I can put something on a page, whether words or colors or shapes, and it doesn’t have to, and as a matter of fact, probably won’t be perfect the first time around, but treasure boxes like these are helping me deal with that.

It’s highly unlikely that I’m going to haul a box out of the storage unit and find it’s full of words, characters, plots, etc (apart from old manuscripts or boxes of books) but that same spirit of playing around, tossing something on the page and seeing what it does -What  color is this, really? What mark does this make? What happens if I get this wet? Can I scratch into it for some texture?- that can only infuse new life. Time to take a few risks again and see what comes out. There may not be gesso for the written page, but there is a delete key. First drafts are meant to be messy, same as laying down a background color; that’s only the base. Many more layers are yet to come before the finished product is ready to be seen.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Christmas Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here for a special Christmas edition of Typing With Wet Claws. We have our tree up and lit and there are presents underneath it (I helped wrap them.) Anty and Mama are having tea. Uncle is still getting some rest, because he worked very hard last night, making sure people had a good time at the restaurant where he works. When he gets up, we will open presents, so this is a good time for me to write this entry. For those of you who are celebrating Christmas, like we are (Anty says nobody celebrates Christmas the same way we do, but I think you know what I mean. Anty always says readers are smart.) I hope you are having a good one. If you do not celebrate Christmas, lovely weather we are having this Friday. (Though Anty would prefer less sunshine, colder weather and some snow. Maybe she will get that next year.)

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Anty went with a black and white wrapping scheme this year.

 

Anty says it does not feel quite like Christmas yet. It is still early, though, so she has plenty of time to make it all come together. She is still deciding if she wants to put the Yule Log on her computer, or play her Christmas playlist. She will probably alternate between the two, or see if she can do both. That will probably help. She is cranky that there is no eggnog, but there is cinnamon stick tea. That might work. It is still early yet.

Part of the reason for Anty’s not-really-feeling it is because it is very warm for the part of the country where we live. Anty met Uncle out in California, where Christmases are always warm like this. She did not like that. She did, however, like Uncle, very much, which is how he got to be Uncle. Anty is used to Christmases where it is colder, and preferably, where there is snow on the ground. Her Anty S preferred green Christmases, so she would have been very pleased with this one.

Right now, Anty is listening to “Fairytale of New York,” by The Pogues. This has found its way onto her Christmas playlist on Spotify. Anty says that song is dysfunctional and has lyrical dissonance. Some of the words are not nice and the characters in the song are, shall we say, going through some things. Anty as a few songs like that on her playlist, which is here. Some of them are about the spiritual part of Christmas, some are about the other parts, some are mini stories, and one is even about Hannukah. Two are actually about New Year’s Day. Anty has interesting musical tastes. That would be all year, not only at Christmas.

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Anty will probably spend part of the day attempting to get her Sims 3 game reinstalled.  She has had to uninstall and reinstall the game a few times now, so she is used to it, and starting over can be its own sort of fun. Anty especially likes creating her Sims and then seeing how they breed. Starting over from the base game means she can add expansions as her Sims move through generations. At least that is her plan.

Anty’s friend, Miss Carol, thought I might answer these questions a friend of hers sent her on Facebook. I am not on Facebook, so I will put my answers here. It was meant for humans, not kitties, but I will do my best.

Three names I go by:
1. Skye
2. Baby
3. Mountain Lion

Three places I lived:
1. the woods
2. the shelter
3. our apartment

Three places I have worked:
1. the woods
2. Mama’s old apartment (I caught mousies)
3. our apartment now (where I am a mews)

Three things I love to watch:
1. birdies through the window
2. Anty painting her claws
3. cooking shows with Uncle

Three places I have been
1. under the bed
2. on the landing (only once; I am not allowed there)
3. the vet

Three things I love to eat
1. cat food
2. treat
3. I only eat cat food and treat.

Three people I think will respond
1. Bailey
2. probably a human, though
3. Then again, only Anty can post here so this is a tricky one.

Three favorite drinks
1. water
2. I only drink water
3. unless cat food juice counts

Three things I am looking forward to:
1. food
2. treat
3. scritches

Since it is about time to get ready for our company, that will be about it for this week, and maybe even this year, unless I need to fill in for Anty during the tucked away week. I wish everybody a very happy holiday (or regular day.) Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

 

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Until next week…

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

Christmas Eve Rambles

annabowling Leave a comment

Well, we made it. Christmas Eve. Early afternoon, though, so maybe too soon to call it, but things are coming together. Considering that I forgot I had a cup of tea right next to me (and I am not one to forget smoky chai) this is a pretty good indicator of where my head is at present. I noticed the tea after completing my daily pages that I credit to yesterday (as I didn’t get to them until now; yesterday was not my favorite) and it was still acceptably warm, not to mention delightfully strong (I have not yet encountered this thing people call tea that is too strong.) Today’s morning pages will happen later this afternoon. For right now, I’m concentrating on this blog entry and then get to dive into some story stuff.

This is the time of year when I shift into Aunt S mode, because Christmas was Her Thing, and that imprinted on me at an early age. Gifts, both wrapped and to-be-wrapped are in my office, which is Christmas Present Central, and more off limits than usual. The fact that the ceiling fixture is out of order may have had a hand in enforcing this rule. Wrapping will happen later this afternoon. If I can’t make it to the Christmas Eve celebration at our church, there is a shot at Mass at Real Life Romance Hero’s tomorrow.  (One of the perks of an interdenominational family, right there.)  Even pet-to-pet present has been purchased, fits within the color scheme, and Housemate gets extra points for picking out Christmas cookies from the supermarket bakery that look very close to the cookies my Italian aunts (mom’s side of the family; these gals could BAKE.) used to make every year.

It’s an odd mix of rushing to get holiday preparations in place -we’re having company this year- and the peace of knowing the real reason for this holiday, for our family, is going to be observed no matter what else happens, so, really, what could go wrong? I consider that some decent perspective. Today, I brought three different notebooks to the coffee house with me, three different projects that need my attention today, because tomorrow is not going to be a work day at all. (Okay, I will probably write something. I know myself well enough, but it’s not a work-work day. Theoretically. Plus we have company, so they will keep me honest. Ish.)

In case you missed it, the third part of Heroes and Heartbreakers’ best reads of the year post is up, recommendations from yours truly included. To borrow Skye’s method, it is here and it looks like this:

BESTREADS

While The Highwayman is on my TBR list, my own recommendations for the year’s best reads include two old school historicals and one contemporary YA that relies on the romance of the written word. My part looks like this:

DASHANDLILY

Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares gets extra points for being a Christmas story…after a fashion. Extra-extra points for featuring a notebook prominently. Red hardcover Moleskine, to be exact, which this book made me want. I do not actually own a red hardcover Moleskine, but I do own a red hardcover Picadilly, which my brain figures is close enough. Not putting it on a shelf for random strangers to find, but it is an intriguing idea. Wonder how that would work in a historical context. Maybe I’ll have to find out. Need to water that seed and let it germinate for a while.

For now, there’s this blog entry to wrap, pun intended, and then the challenge of wrapping family members’ presents while those particular family members are not present. For me, that’s part of the fun, especially if I can harness the power of DVDs to manipulate things in my favor. Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol seems to work well as Housemate repellent, and anything featuring Hugh Grant has the same effect for Real Life Romance Hero. Skye, so far, doesn’t have any movie preferences, and finds the entire process of wrapping fascinating.

Skye, by the way, will be posting tomorrow, with her own perspective on holiday preparations. This will hopefully not entirely come from under the bed, but one can never be too sure when it comes to cats and changes in daily routine.  Speaking of routine, time for me to move on and play with my imaginary friends for a while, so I will wrap this for now and wish you all a wondrous Christmas Eve, or a happy Thursday, whichever applies.

 

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Special Midweek Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for a special midweek edition of Typing With Wet Claws. This is a very busy day for Anty, so she asked if I would fill in for her, even though it is not Friday. I drive a hard bargain. This is going to require extra treat, but it will be worth it. For me, anyway.

Anty is not sure if she is still sick, or if she is sick again (probably that one, because she was feeling better from before) but she is feeling under the weather today. Mama and Uncle told her she will feel better if she takes a couple of days off. She does not agree, because she already feels behind, but, since she closed her eyes yesterday morning “for a minute,” and woke five and a half hours later, I think they may be in the right on this one. That is okay, because I am here to serve as nurse, so she is in very good hands, by which I mean paws. (Those would be mine; nursing is one of the many duties of a mews.)

Right now, Anty is under her fuzzy duck blankey in the comfy chair (I sit right near her feet in case she needs anything important, like to pet or feed a kitty, because I am one,) poking at a scene for her novella and thinking about a nap. She is reluctant to actually take the nap because The Handyman (I think he is a superhero) has to come back (he was here in the morning) to replace a broken part in the heating machine in the basement. When he comes, he will ring the doorbell, and it will be loud. I will run under the bed in Anty and Uncle’s bedroom (bad things cannot reach me if I am under their bed) and Anty will answer the door. Our doorbell is very, very loud and very, very old, and we can feel it as much as hear it when it rings. Anty says it is prewar. I do not know what that means, but it sounds important.

Normally, Anty likes to get out of the house for a couple of hours each day. This is important to extroverts, to be around a lot of people, so being stuck at home is not the most fun thing ever, especially when she already feels sluggish. Sometimes, having the TV on or talking to people online is sort of like being around people, even if it is not exactly the same. Mama and Uncle will be back from their jobs in a few hours. Anty will be very glad to see them. Especially if one of them wants to make dinner. Let me rephrase that. When one of them makes dinner. Or brings it. Either way. I told Anty she could have some of my fish jelly (that is what I eat; it is delicious) if she wanted, but she said that is kitty food, not people food, so she could not accept. That makes sense. I am a kitty, and I am not allowed to eat people food (although Uncle made some sausages, cooked in chicken broth, a while ago, that I though smelled very, very, very interesting, but he did not let me have any.) I think she would feel better with tea and a cookie, and we have both of those things here. She should probably also take a nap.

She has thought about watching a movie, but, then again, The Handyman could arrive at any time, so probably best not to get too involved with something like that. Maybe The Handyman will not come until Mama and/or Uncle come  home, and then they can let him in. I would, but I am not allowed downstairs, and I cannot reach the doorknob. Maybe I could if I stood on my hind legs, but I do not know if that is possible. I have never tried. I think I am better at moral support, anyway.

Sometimes, when Anty’s brain is busy, but her body is tired, the best thing to do is snuggle under the blankeys and do some serious thinking about her stories. Anty says it is like watching a movie in her head, and she can write down what happens later. I think that is very resourceful of her. Mama and Uncle may think that she is taking their advice and napping when they see that, but usually, it is the movie in the head thing. That can be very hard for some writers to turn off, and some, like Anty, don’t want to turn it off if they have anything to say about it. I do not know if that actually counts as resting or not, but the whole movie in her head thing seems to make Anty less cranky, so I suppose it is a good thing.

That is about it for our special midweek edition, so until Friday, I remain very truly yours,

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See you Friday….

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

 

 

 

 

Heroines (real life edition)

annabowling 2 Comments

The more you do, the more you’ll want to do.
-Erma Pesci Carrasco (aka Mom)

December ninth can be a hard day for me. I remember being fourteen years old, my dad waking me, and not understanding why he wouldn’t let me get out of bed. Then it sunk in. Mom was gone. The cancer won. Dad wouldn’t let me go to school, though I wanted to. He went to work, and , as I found out later, did not inform coworkers why that day was different at the time.  I spent part of the day at home with a family friend, then the rest with a neighbor.

December ninth is also the birthday of a favorite aunt (family friend sort, not parent’s blood sibling sort,) who served as second mom at key points in my teenage years, and who greatly influenced my choice of career and genre. I always wondered if it dampened her birthday celebrations in later years, that her special day was also the day she lost one of her dearest friends, but could never bring myself to ask. This year is the first Aunt’s Birthday after Aunt’s own passing, and anniversaries like this are…interesting.

My mother never got to read any of my books, though I like to think she would have. She never got to know I would write articles and blog posts (or know what a  blog was) or teach workshops.  Since my first exposure to the historical romance genre came from stealing the books from her nightstand and sorting through the books her sister, my Aunt Lucy, brought her, I suspect she would not have any issues with my choice of genre. I never got the chance to find out what Mom’s favorite settings, tropes, plots or authors were, but I do remember that, every time Aunt Lucy visited, there was a grocery bag full of big, thick historical paperbacks with art that captivated me, and back cover blurbs that fired my imagination. All that adventure, all that history, and all those happily ever afters…pure bliss in a brown paper bag. That hasn’t changed.

My aunt had read at least some of my writing, though I’m not sure how much, and her advice remains invaluable. She gave me books to read, letting me know which were the good ones, and was firm but fair with her input on my own writing. I remember, as a teen, that her advice to live life first before attempting to write about it, irritated me, but, all these years later, yes, she was right. I’ve lived. Some of the stuff, I would have rather skipped over, but it really is all grist for the mill.

From an early age, Mom’s publicity pictures, and a newspaper write up or two, preserved in a scrapbook, dazzled me. There was a long while when the fact that I got kicked out of robe choir, in front of the whole class, for having “a bad voice,” (teacher’s own words, sadly; I remember those, too) or the endless wait to see when her bone structure would make itself known in my own face vexed me greatly. My dad confirmed that I was adopted when I was twenty-two, but I’d figured it out by then.

I am, however, Mom’s daughter, and Aunt’s niece, without a doubt. Every year, at Christmas, I channel Aunt in a way that still gives me the heebie jeebies. This year, I may go all out and bust out the Robert Burns grace even if we end up ordering Chinese delivery for Christmas dinner. The decorations, the way presents are organized, that’s all Aunt, and, at this stage of the game, I think it’s safe to say those things are going to stick.

As will the advice Mom gave me, driving me to elementary school one day. I don’t remember the time of year, though I want to say it was spring. I wanted to stay home sick, and she didn’t think it was needed. As one who works from home now, myself, I do understand the need for a peaceful workspace and the room to breathe when the others have left for the day.

I was still fairly young, as I was in the back seat, and still angling to get my way. This was a short day (we had one of those a week, I think, at that time of year) and Mom remained firm. I didn’t even have to do a full day, only a shortened one, and I’d be fine once I got going. “The more you do, the more you’ll want to do,” she told me as we pulled into the parking lot, and, at the time, those words were the last thing I wanted to hear. She was right, of course, and, if saying it here counts, yes, Mom, I get it. I don’t remember anything about that day, but I obviously made it through.

Sometimes, especially on tough days, it’s tempting to say “nope” and retreat. Some days, that’s needed. Other times, though, the best thing to do is get dressed, get out of the house, and go do the work. Show up. Open the file. Change seat if needed. Put something down on the page and make it pretty later. I think Mom and Aunt would both approve of that.

 

 

 

 

Back in the Saddle

annabowling 2 Comments

Monday again, and the first time in two weeks that I am sure enough that I will make it out of this cold alive. Semi-normal day yesterday, which left me tired but accomplished, so time to see about getting back in the creative saddle again. This is both an exciting and daunting project.

Let’s take that one at a time. First, the excitement. Not coughing, not leaking sticky goo from my eyes, and not having a throat made of sandpaper (well, most of the time. Cherry cough drops, I still love you.) are all things I highly appreciate, as well as the ability to concentrate for more than ten minutes at a time, and I have missed my daily trips into 18th century England and one very complicated romance between two unlikely lovers. I finally get to start preparing for Christmas, my very favorite holiday. Tomorrow,  I get to combine a trip to the pharmacy for Real Life Romance Hero with a writing session at Panera, and, best of all, a twilight walk through the park, which is lit up for the season, and I can take pictures. Were we not between ovens, I would be churning out batches of cookies in celebration. Absence does make the heart grow fonder when it comes to writing, and I am very eager to get back to that.

Even so, there’s the daunting aspect. I’ve been away from active work on this book (okay, these books, as work on two novellas also fell by the wayside) for two weeks. Ugh. I am insanely grateful I don’t count words at this stage of the game, because I would probably give up in disgust, and the mere thought of miscarrying yet another novel is more than I want to even think about if I want to get back in the groove. It’s easy to get discouraged when friends have cover reveals and new releases and new sales and I’m staring at a blank page and wondering if I have ever met these story people before. Add to that the fact that ‘not enough layers’ and ‘clean sweep’ can apply to the same project at the same time.

On the one hand, that doesn’t seem entirely fair, and on the other, the thought of a fresh, blank document excites me. The fact that this is not the first time on the same project makes me want to punch things (I suggest keyboards in this instance) but if it’s going to make a stronger story, and a stronger writer, well, okay then. I’d tell anybody else that it seems perfectly normal and natural to have been knocked back a couple of paces by that much sick time, and that it’s not time lost.

Perspective is always a good thing. During that time, I read, and did art journal work that helped me see that, when a scene (or project) isn’t working, it’s likely one of those two things. Kind of like a sketchbook for writers. The only thing I actually sketch is boxes at the time, and even those aren’t something I want to show around, but all those layers of playing “what if” and “how about X” and saying “yes, and” to myself do sit in my mental crock pot and simmer together into something I might not have put together if I were actually looking to do so. Alchemy, that’s all I’m going to say.

That, and permission to trust myself. Still working on that one, and it’s scary. If I keep the story in my head and in my head alone, then I can’t fail. The story and the characters, and the writer herself, get to stay safe and protected. Nobody can hate them. Nobody can not “get” them. They can’t stumble and fall. They can’t grow stronger. Nobody (but me) can love them. I know these characters well enough to know that they aren’t going to stand for that. The last two, really.

So, I keep what I have, and I open a new document, set up my bullet points and blorch onto the page, as many layers as the substrate will hold. Spew it out now and make it pretty later. That’s what subsequent drafts are for, after all. Reading a friend’s ms and talking to writer friends on the internet reminded me of the joy to be found in storytelling, which is as important as the craft and discipline. It’s a balancing act. That sneaking away to scribble down the movie in my head is the first step toward a finished ms, a new sale, a cover reveal, a great review, and all of the rest. The story has to happen first. Nothing else can happen without it, and none of that can happen without me. Daunting and exciting both, that.

Daily Pages and Rambling

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Beautiful grey, rainy day here in upstate NY, and I am stuck inside because, yes, cold is still hanging in there. Real Life Romance Hero, aka Patient Zero, is back at work, and I am making a stab at doing the same. If I can be half as productive as my immune system, I may be able to make up for lost time, or at least babble incoherently.

The notebook in today’s picture is from Punch Studio, as is the small notepad propped against the monitor. Yellow sticky notes are plain Post-Its and get tossed as soon as I’ve dealt with whatever is scribbled on them (the note to buy Kentucky mints -the kind with jelly inside- has been there for far longer than I would care to admit. Must deal with that soon.) This notebook is for my version of morning pages; two pages, one sitting, as soon as I can in the day, all by myself, no stopping, no censor. Two pages, rather than three, because a) achievable goals, and b) the interior pages are printed with two-page spreads in four different designs. I’ve been doing this since October 26th, every weekday, and so far, so good.

One good thing about being sick is that staying home gives me a better perspective on how I use the space in my home. Going into the office, closing the door, and breaking out pen and paper feels like an indulgence, far more than flipping open my laptop and pounding keys. It may be convenient to flop in the recliner, put the lap desk on my lap and make with the clickety clack, but the alchemy happens with paper and pen. Being around my art supplies (which really need more organizing, when I am done with all the drippiness) also helps remind me that, while there is discipline needed for a productive writing career, there is also a measure of creative indulgence.

Right now, I’m making a list of historical romances that take place at least part of the time in Russia. I’ve had a passing interest in Russia since one of my dad’s ex-fiancees (yes, plural,  and yes, only one at a time; my dad still had it far into his later years) and there is a lot of Russian interest/influence in ballroom dance, which I also love (strange life lesson learned; if you’re at a dance show and the Russians get up and leave before intermission, the show is bad.) but it wasn’t until the heroine of Her Last First Kiss told me she was half Russian that I knew I had to get farther into the zeitgeist of eighteenth century Russia. Not that my heroine would know much about that, as she’s never been outside of England, nor seen her Russian father since she was seven, but I need to know these things.

For some, maybe most, this would mean stocking up on biographies of real life historical figures. I do not work that way. I have tried, but it’s Sony and I’m Beta or the other way around (or whatever the distinction was; technology and I have a complicated relationship.) While I don’t advocate using movies and other works of fiction as sources of factual research, for me, those things have what I need even more. The feel of the time and place. Yes, I know that’s interpreted through writers and editors and actors and directors and set and costume and la la la I can’t hear you.

I’m not writing scholarly texts. I’m writing love stories that take place in a certain time and place, and, to the characters living this story, they don’t live in Historical Period X. They think they live in Now, because, to them, they do. They don’t know who’s going to win the war, or if the long-awaited royal baby will be male, female, stillborn, or healthy and whole. With the state of communications (as I tell RLRH, they didn’t have Twitter in the eighteenth century) unless my characters already live near Court, they aren’t going to know about the goings on until they are went-on-a-while-agos. Whole different mindset.

Annnd I’m rambling. Which is fine, because rambling is still writing.  The post is still here, and I’ve stayed more or less on topic, so I am going to call this a win. I’ve gone through an entire box of tissues, have a big dent in my second bag of cherry cough drops, and am feeling up to actual food for lunch. It takes my mind longer these days to wander off, which I count as a good thing. Characters, however, are still prone to do whatever they want as soon as they hit the page, but it works better that way. Easing up on the iron grip gives them and me both room to do our thing, and if this cold from beyond hell had any hand in making that happen, then I will accept that purpose without too much complaint.

 

 

In My Blanket Fort, Coloring Furiously

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Well, it’s Monday. Time for Monday’s post. Not sure what I’m going to write here, because even I am sick of reading me write about being sick. Not sure what else there is to say on that front, except that the cold seems to like it here, and I am impressed with the sheer volume of mucus my body can produce. I do not want to know where it is all coming from, but at least that’s progress?

Cherry and licorice cough drops have become a food group for me, and my favorite foods at the moment are those that do not have corners. On the plus side, I sound almost human after I’ve had ice cream, and I am staying well hydrated. Ice skulls are lifesavers (I do have a roll of actual Lifesavers, but have not yet opened them.)  By which I mean small novelty ice cubes in skull shaped molds I brought home around Halloween. Perfect size to pop in my mouth and cool things down without being unwieldly. Plus, they’re skulls. That has to count for something.

The way things are going, I’ll take that. It’s easy to get discouraged. Last week was going to be the week I made up for the week before’s loss of writing time, and then look what happened. Look at it. Not only did I not get things done, but it feels like things I did get done, got un-done. I would like to retreat to my blanket fort and color furiously. Yes, I used an adverb. Want to make something of it?

Right now, I’m grumpy. I’m tired of being sick, tired of being tired, tired of not Getting Things Done. Tired of not having brain enough to get a lot of reading , much less writing, done, but one thing I’ve been able to keep focus on for the last couple of days is art. In my office, on the floor, with paper and pencils and paint and assorted ephemera, it’s a different brain space than trying to make English work in a brain that only wants to take a nap (but knows that it can’t, because getting horizontal seems to be my body’s version of putting in a request for a long coughing fit that leaves me even more exhausted.)

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This spread took me a couple of days to create, no plan in mind but to use stuff I could get without having to look for it. So, liquid acrylic paints, gesso, an almost-dried-out paint dabber, fortune cookie fortunes, and gel medium.

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The page with the blue background was the page I gave some form of thought to, mainly to finally use the fortunes I’d been saving. Get those down on the page, arrange in pleasing manner, then paint around them with the blue paint. The arrangement of the fortunes suggested boxes, and primary colors seemed to fit, so yellow boxes came next, then the dark red boxes, and I may do some doodling with silver Sharpie or white gel pen, but I’d need to pick up a new one of those, as the old one now pines for the fjords, despite my best efforts.

I’d always planned on using the fortunes “someday.” These particular paints are free samples of some of the good stuff, from the art store, again, saved for “someday.” The day I’m good enough. The day I somehow intuitively know how to paint like Elaine Duillo by sheer osmosis. The day life calms down. The day, well, there’s always something, isn’t there? That day (don’t ask me when, they all blend) I decided, enough. It’s that day. Put the fortunes on the page. Paint around them. What’s next? What’s after that? Well, that, apparently. Who knew?

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The facing page was somewhat of a cheat; random smushing and/or swiping of stuff, mainly to clean my brushes, and, in the case of the black dots, to see if the paint dabber was still worth saving. It kind of is. Not what it used to be, but not too far gone, either. I can deal with that. I have no idea how my phone camera got rotated, but as I took the picture in the middle of a coughing fit, that may have something to do with how that turned out. I’m going to call it good enough, and/or a new perspective.

Are either of these pages done? Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell. What I do know is that playing with arty things like this calms me down and lets the story part of my brain free-float and work things out, away from the hypercritical gremlins that like to look over my shoulder when I’m pounding keys. (Gremlins aren’t quite as vigilant when writing longhand, thankfully, but they come back when it’s time to transcribe.) Sometimes, I have music on in the background, or a movie or TV episode on the DVD player. Sometimes, it’s quiet, with only the voices in my head.

Sometimes, I have a plan for these pages, and sometimes, I don’t. Sometimes, the best pages come from when I think I’m only cleaning my brush or playing “what marks does this make?” or “what color is this, really?” Some mindless noodling with color and line and shape, and before I know it…art. It can be the same with writing. Was once, before I let the rules drill in too deeply, and it’s a place I am learning to find again. There are going to be some messy pages along the way, some that get torn out and we will never mention again. Others, though, others come together in such a way that it feels more like discovery than creation. I’ll take that, too.

Typing With Wet Claws: Sick Friday Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Today is Black Friday, when Anty had thought she might try to see about getting a new desktop at a good price, but there is a problem. I think Anty may be a zombie. She has been in the same pajamas for a couple of days, and the last time she wore makeup was when she took Uncle to the people vet. I thought Uncle might be dead for a while there, yesterday, because he was behind a closed bedroom door for most of the day, even though Mama made some very good smelling food, but he is awake now and watching food shows on TV. That is a good sign.

When Uncle is sick, he generally likes to stay in the bedroom and be under the covers. When he does that, I get under the bed and send him love beams to help him get better. With Anty, it is more difficult, because she is a zombie. I am pretty sure she is a zombie. She has the glazed eyes, the shuffling walk, she makes strange sounds and I already said about the pajamas and makeup. I will wait until Mama comes home to see if we need to put Anty down. I hope we do not. If we have to put Anty down, then I have to write all the blogs, instead of only one a week.  Anty usually tries to do all her regular things when she is sick, but her brain lets go of things in the middle of doing those things, so there is a lot of her standing in the middle of a room, looking confused.

With all of that going on, it is probably a good thing Anty did not do Black Friday this year. Anty loves Black Friday. As an extrovert, being around all those people and all that energy gives her energy. That is even better than getting things at special prices. This year, she is at home, but she is not entirely missing out. She has enough Sim Points at the Sims Store online that she can get herself  a new world for her game. She is not sure she will be able to install it right away, because the old laptop is slow when there is too much installed in Sims, but she is not upset.

That is partly because she is too tired from all the coughing and lack of sleep, but also because she has been doing some research and found that she can get a refurbished desktop from multiple retailers at a similar price without dragging her sick self out to brave the crowds. Right now, she is taking care of a couple of computer things and then allowing herself to crash. She would like to read but will probably play Sims and watch TV, because this cold has eaten her brain. She thinks it will come back soon. Uncle says he can already feel himself coming back. I should mention he did not come home with the cone of shame. That is a good sign.

I will tell you what is not a good sign. Coughing. It is very scary for a kitty who does not like sudden, loud noises. I know it is a sign that Anty and Uncle are getting the sickness out of their bodies (and if they threw their very interesting smelling tissues, I think I might like to play with them, but Anty says that might not be the best idea, and throws all the tissues in the trash. I do not go in the trash. I am a good kitty.) All those sounds make me jumpy, but I know they will not last forever, and Anty makes sure I am still fed. Uncle, too, now that he is up. Mama is at work, but she will feed me -and them- when she gets home.

It is hard work being a kitty nurse for two humans at once. so I had better get back to it. With both Anty and Uncle sick, there is not much else going on this week. I will take a nap and hope they follow my example. They will need a lot of rest to get ready for the Christmas season. Soon, the tree will go up, and sparkly lights around the living room doorways. Anty really really really loves Christmas, so there will be lots for her to do, but first, that nap. Until next week, (or maybe this one, if Anty needs more help) I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

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