personal

Office Hours, aka Day Camp of the Mind

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On my own, I found my place outside the lines.
–Kathleen Bittner Roth

Sometimes, a writer has to bust out. This morning, I escaped the loving bosom of my family and headed for the park, to set up a temporary office on the picnic table beside the lake. I’ve learned that I need to know what I’m doing, and that writing things down means I can put the giant jumble of ideas in my head in some sense of order and then prioritize. This all made sense out in the open air, looking at ducks between bullet points, but now that I am inside and should be able to focus, my brain wants to wander.

got all my ducks in a row...

getting my ducks in a row…

One of the reasons I’m here right now is that I am committed to blogging three times a week, and if I put off posting until the weekend (after Skye’s post tomorrow) I will be fried. That’s not going to do anybody any good, so I will probably talk all around Robin Hood’s barn, as a high school English teacher used to say (ignoring the fact that Robin Hood did not have a barn; he was an outlaw who lived in the woods, ahem. Maybe he had a barn back at Locksley, but he’s over that now, and it wouldn’t have been one of his priorities, anyway. Now, where was I?) before I get to the point, if indeed there is one. Until then, there are waterfowl. My trip to the park yesterday netted me a peek at the first babies of the season. The Canada geese have spawned, three fuzzy yellow bebehs. The parents wasted no time in letting me know that picture time was over as soon as I got this shot.

Goslings!

Goslings!

I hadn’t expected to make such a connection, but as I settled in at the picnic table, with notebook and pen (after finding out that the sun made it impossible to see much on my tablet screen) it hit me why I liked working from the park in the morning as much as I do. It reminds me of day camp. Odd connection to make, but there it was. Maybe it was the travel mug full of Diet Coke talking, or maybe it was the chance to be seated on weathered wood, under the shelter of shady branches, immersed, as I often was during those long-ago day camp summers. I hated sports, largely because I was A) sun sensitive (still am) and B) nearsighted (still am) and I never fit in with most of the other kids. There was Them and there was me, and no matter how much I wanted to join in, I could never quite make the edges of the puzzle come together. Either I’d hang with the counselors (I was always more comfortable with adults, even as a kid) or I’d stay by myself.

If I couldn’t fit in with my real life peers (though, really, were they?) then I would create them in my head. I didn’t know that was writing, then, and I was surprised and perplexed to learn that not everybody did it. I loved Barbie dolls because they were, to me, tiny actors who never objected to my choice of costumes, roles or situations. Finally, a way to give faces and bodies to the voices in my head. I still remember my parents’ befuddlement when the first thing I did with my Jane and Johnny West action figures (12 inch, fully articulated cowgirl and cowboy) was make them reenact the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. (Signs your kindergartener will grow up to be a historical romance writer for one hundred, Alex.)

I didn’t bring dolls to day camp; I knew enough to do that, but when our counselors took us to the outdoor sunken basketball court and explained their variation on Red Rover, involving an orgre who lived beneath the blacktop and could come out of the storm drain, I soaked that like a sponge and created a princess who wanted to escape the ogre’s clutches, and what was supposed to be normal kids-running-around stuff became a mix of Nordic myth, various fairytales (not the sanitized Brothers Grimm version, not this girl) and probably some mix of whatever cartoon had held my interest at the time. When it came time to head to the pool for swimming, there were mermaids or a trip to Atlantis. A good deal of the time, I didn’t notice when the other kids didn’t want to play because I had friends who lived in my stories. Best of all were the times when I’d find a kindred soul and could entice them to play along.

It’s somewhat like that now, when I head to the park. The characters in my WIPs tag along, and, if I’m meeting reistance in a scene or a concept, it’s usually that I’m trying to force the characters to do something they wouldn’t. While we take a loop around the lake, in search of waterfowl, sipping a cold drink from our travel mug, or set up shop at the picnic table, the restraints fall away. The walls come down, as it were. I’m not sure if this is because the great outdoors is a good equalizer, and more familiar to my historical people than a recliner or ergonomic chair and blinking cursor on a blank screen, but I can’t discount it.

Even in those day camp years, my default story setting was the long ago and usually far away. I can’t explain it, other than the fact that I’m hardwired for historicals. The British Isles thing, I can maybe explain; our closest neighbors when I was little were a lovely Scottish couple, and my mom’s best friend was a British expat.  I soaked in the accents and the mannerisms, the folk tales and other bits that I’m sure I didn’t even realize, and they became part of me, part of the worlds I created when the physical one didn’t fit. Some things, I am happy to report, never change.

'ello, ducks...

‘ello, ducks…

Typing With Wet Claws: The Kids Are All Right Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for a special Thursday edition of Typing With Wet Claws. I am writing to you today from a sunbeam, where I am practicing my selfie game. Camera angle is everything, Anty says. I think she may be onto something.

Anyway, this has been a busy week for Anty. I will tell you more about that tomorrow, because then there will be more links. It is season finale time, so there are more people kissing on TV than usual, which means Anty gets to talk about all the TV kisses. She is also reading a lot, and working on both her novel and collaborating on a novella. Which means I may need to pitch in more with the blogs for a while. That is okay. I could use the practice.

Today, Anty is keeping her head down and eyes on her own paper. She has a post to write for Buried Under Romance, a novel timeline to create (she will tell you about that later) and there will be important kissy things on Big Bang Theory, so she will probably have to write about that later tonight. She is also reading her way through a big stack of books from the library. Here is the current read:

i1035 FW1.1

Reading now…

Anty has been reading a lot of young adult books lately, though her focus is still historical romance. She wasn’t sure at first why she was reading these books, this much and this fast, but they come in from the library and go out again, very quickly. She is still reading historical romance, as you can see from her currently reading list on Goodreads (are you Anty’s friend there? She likes to have friends there.) so it is not instead of her favorite genre, but along with it.

It took her a few books to catch on to what she’s reading for here. Anty loves a strong authorial voice (this means the way the human writes, not when a human reads a book aloud, although she does like to listen to books on audio, so sometimes, it is both) and there are some excellent ones in YA at the moment. Some of her favorites are: John Green, Rainbow Rowell, and Gayle Forman. Alongside the voice, the other thing she found that the books she likes have in common is the intense emotion involved when young humans first fall in love (with other humans, that is, not with kitties, although some of these books do have kitties in them.) These are both things she would like to see more of in historical romance as a whole.

Anty will do this from time to time, latch onto some seemingly random source of information and study the, um, word Anty says is not nice for kitties to type. We will say “stuffing” instead. She studies the stuffing out of it and then she has a new tool to put in her toolbox and tell her stories even better than before. Some of these sources come up after big life events, and Anty can trace this to last year, around this time. She took Fangirl, by Rainbow Rowell, out of the library and read it while in the waiting room of the people vet, and something clicked.

Authorial voice is difficult to explain for a human, so I, who am a kitty, am not even going to try. Basically, you will know it when you hear it. Or read it. If Elvis Presley, Luciano Pavarotti and Justin Beiber all sang the same song (not at the same time, please) it would not be neccessary to announce who was singing when. It is the same with writing. Each writer has a distinct way they tell their stories, a combination of everything they have ever heard, seen, read, done, etc. The really good ones cannot be imitated, but can inspire others to find what they recognize within that voice and let it fuel their own.

That is what Anty is looking for here. Strong voice, intense emotion and also how to use some Very Hard Things in life within an emotionally satisfactory love story. Not all of the love stories end happily in YA novels (but that is okay, because the humans are very young and have lots of time to find a mate that is right for them) but some of them do. Some even take more than one book to tell. Where She Went, for example, is the second installment of another book, If I Stay. The first book was told from the female human’s point of view, and the second from the male’s, a few years later, after A Bad Thing Happened. This author has done the same thing before, in a different pair of books, and Anty finds this extremely interesting. Romance novels usually do have both points of view, but they are all in one book and take turns in different chapters. Having all of one point of view in one book and all of the other in another is new and interesting.

She is also listening to a lot of music by a band named Fun, which also gets into some intense emotions, so do not let their name make them sound fluffy. Right now, she is looking at me and tapping her foot, so I think that is all of my computer time for today. I will be back tomorrow with my regular post. In the meantime, you can see a list of some of the YA books she has liked here. If you know of any other books like this Anty might like, let her know in the comments.

See you Friday....

See you Friday….

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

Flipping the Switch

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Some days, the writing comes easy. Other days, it’s not. Then there are the days where getting to the writing place is a bigger challenge than making the story happen. This may be one of those days. It’s been one of those weekends. Possibly weeks. Hard to tell, sometimes. Things like this are going to happen to every writer, at one time or another. If it hasn’t happened yet, wait.

Real Life Romance Hero is back home, and we’re settling into the post-hospital, get-back-on-feet phase. Funny thing about that phase, it’s rarely the same twice, and yet it’s consistent. Caregiving is a different mindset from writing historical romance, though both are fueled by love.

On the caregiving front, there are medications to dispense, things to watch for, ways to help the loved one get back in their game. Some are physical, some are emotional. A lot of them take a lot of energy out of the caregiver, even when it’s given gladly. In most cases, things are more orderly in story world, the characters (usually) exactly where the writer has left them, and if they move, most times they will leave a forwarding address. Funny thing about the times when writing has to go on the back burner; sometimes, story problems work themselves out while the writer is tending to other things. Sometimes this has something to do with those other things, and sometimes, all the story needed was some time and space to do its own thing.

By now, I’ve found there is a pattern, at least for me, to switch between the two modes. No big surprise, it involves stationery.

My park boyfriend? (considering that he swam away, probably not :P)

My park boyfriend?
(considering that he swam away, probably not)

One of the best pieces of writing advice I ever received was from K.A. Mitchell:

  1. Change your seat.
  2. Open the file.

Okay, that’s two, but they go together. This morning, after not enough sleep and too much stress, the fact remained that it was still Monday, and nobody else is going to write my stories, blog entries, etc. So. This means writing must happen, even if brain wants to crawl under the covers and pretend it is eight years old. That’s where the sage advice comes into play. I filled my purple cup with ice and water, loaded my hobo bag with notebook, pen pouch and camera and headed for the park. No idea what I was going to do when I got there, but:

  1. Change your seat.
*not* the view from my recliner

*not* the view from my recliner

It’s been said that time + distance = perspective, and I do find that to be true. In this case, a walk around the lake (lack of mallard boyfriend notwithstanding) puts me in a different head space than the same four walls I see every day. I also noticed that I saw only the male ducks, which lets me know the gals may very well be tending their nests, which means bebeh duckage in the not too distant future. That alone is a mood booster, and the physical act of walking around the lake and peeping at blooming things does get the mind in a different frame.

boys, boys, boys

boys, boys, boys

Which is the right place to be for:

2. Open the file.

In this case, the notebook. I’ve learned that, for me, when I’m staring at a blinking cursor, or don’t know what file to open first, the answer lies in good old pen and paper. Big notebook is by Papaya Art, small notebook is Moleskine. There’s something special in touching the smooth paper (will probably do another post on the Papaya Art books later) and deciding which color gets to come out and play when I freewrite.

i1035 FW1.1

Part of the freewriting is making lists. What projects do I need to work on this week? Which ones are time-sensitive/have a deadline? Which do I feel most capable to take on in my present state? Which ones need some time and distance? What specific tasks do I need to complete to make progress on said projects?

Breaking it down that way is a lot more manageable than looking at the big looming wall of Things To Be Done. I’m intuitive, but like order, so sometimes, it’s asking myself which task feels like it wants to be done first. Things usually look like this:

  • make bullet point outline for scene X in Project A
  • blorch (aka babble on paper) for scene Y in Project B
  • visit sites C, D and E to research Project F
  • respond to latest email from Collaborator on Joint Project

Maybe research is what I can do at the moment, or maybe I want to dive into the wilds of a blorch, where it’s gloves off and anything goes, where getting it all down as fast and true and messy as possible is what’s needed. Putting things down in pen and ink can be like putting a cage around the Tasmanian Devil whirling at will through my brain space. Contained, he’ll tire himself out, settle down, and we can have some fun together. Thing by thing, what do I need to make each thing happen?

Not that different, after all, from caregiving. Maybe some of this is taking care of those voices who live in my head. Maybe not, but what I do know is that it’s a pretty reliable way to flip the switch that opens the door to story world, and I’m glad it’s there.

Writer friends, how do you flip your switches?

Typing With Wet Claws: Back to the People Vet Edition (With Notebook)

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Hello, all. Skye here, for a later than usual Feline Friday. Uncle had to go back to the people vet again today. Anty says he went into the carrier on his own, so I think the carrier people may have taken my suggestion about throwing in some food to entice him. Anty says the people vets are taking very good care of Uncle, and he will come home when he is better.

Anty spent all day at the people vet with Uncle, keeping him company and making sure that the people vets had all the right information so they could figure out why Uncle did not feel well. She says they figured it out after they poked him with some needles and put him in a machine that takes pictures of his insides. I do not think I want to see that kind of camera. It sounds scary.

While Anty waited with Uncle, she wrote some in her new notebook, which she moved into earlier this week. Anty likes to make her all purpose notebooks look special. That makes her want to use them more. The notebook she moved into was very plain when she got it. It is a Picadilly, the same as the one she filled a few days ago, only that one was black, and this one is red.

Plain notebook, pre-hacking

Plain notebook, pre-hacking

endpapers make an impact

endpapers make an impact

Anty covered the inside cover of the notebook (it was very plain) with scrapbook paper, cut down to fit and rounded the corners. She likes to keep a consistent color theme, Note the small accent of aqua in the lower corner there.

inside back cover, with pocket

inside back cover, with pocket

Back inside cover gets the same treatment. There is a pocket beneath the paper with the heart on it. Normally, Anty will put a decorative postcard on the pocket, but with this design, she doesn’t need to do that, as she likes the paper the way it is. If you are wondering what is inside the pocket, it is business cards, stamps and a notecard and envelope. She will probably add other things as time goes on, but that is enough for now.

contact information and ink test pages

contact information and ink test pages

Although there is nothing written on these pages in this picture, these pages have decorative paper on parts of them so that she has a dedicated space for important phone numbers and email addreses at the front of the book. That is one side of this spread. The other side is where she can test different kinds of ink she might like to use in this book. Normally, she uses that as the last page in the book, but this time, she decided to try something different. So far, it is working out well.

Anty did a lot of freewriting while waiting with Uncle. It is not fiction, but it still counts. Sometimes, she will put notes for stories she is working on in this sort of book, if she does not have the dedicated book for said story with her, and transcribe it later, either into the proper book or a computer file. I do not think she will be transcribing what she wrote today. but she does have the day’s to do list that can carry over to another day. There are a lot of writing things on that list.

For now, she is going to get some rest and check in on Uncle in the morning. I had better keep her company while she gets that rest.

Until next week...

Until next week…

Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

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

Conference Recap, Part the First: Friday

annabowling 2 Comments

In more ways than one, but we’ll get to that. NECRWA’s annual Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference was this past weekend, and while I’d planned to blog about my experience immediately, life reminded me there is more going on than writing – but it does remind me how much I want it, so that’s all good.

Robin Sparkles, in action

Robin Sparkles, in action

Every conference starts with a road trip. Since my move to NY, this now means two hours with Housemate, en route to MA, where I make the switch to my longtime conference roomie, the lovely Melva Michaelian, who writes on the cozy side of romantic suspense. Two more hours on the road, nattering about works in progress and life in general, and then we get to walk the red carpet (only the literal one, more’s the pity. There was a carpet. It was red. No press, though. It was only a color. :hangs head: We strutted anyway, luggage in tow.)  Technically no traffic jams, and we did not get lost, so this was a successful journey.

Since we had forgotten (whoops) that the workshop with Lauren Dane was actually the master class and had needed to be registered for in advance, Melva and I ensconced ourselves in the bar, where we ran into Laurie Gifford Adams, who writes YA, and is a former chapter sister to both of us. Laurie brought along her critique partner and our new friend, Dorothy Callahan, who writes time travel and paranormal. Melva, Laurie and Dorothy headed off soon after for the first workshop of the afternoon, but I had other plans.

Offices happen anywhere

Offices happen anywhere

One of the reasons I was excited about bringing the new tablet to the conference was exactly this; writing. A scene pounced me, and since writing is kind of the whole point of being a writer, I sat out the workshop and settled into this lovely hot spot to dip into story world for the next hour. I like the office program that came with the tablet, except for one tiny omission. No quotation marks. None. I only found this out when I opened the document. Curious, that. A hotel full of writers is probably the only place where one will hear, “oh, are you writing? Sorry, catch you later,” in a genuinely happy voice. I think I could get used to that.

Bringing Robin Sparkles (yes, I name my electronics, so will be using her name and the word “tablet” interchangeably) to the conference was like bringing a new baby. Lots of coos over how tiny and pink she is, what she can do, how we found each other, etc. Some good advice from more experienced tablet users on life with tablet, and a good deal of trial and error, though I think we did all right for our first time out. The onscreen keyboard is a lot easier to get used to than I thought it would be, but my fingers are still gigantic, and there is probably a stylus in my future. If you hear any salty language from this corner of the world, that’s me trying to get Spotify to load.

But enough about me. There was, indeed, swag. Pens, bookmarks and postcards abounded, as well as some other creative ideas. I love the small book of sticky notes, and the stress cube is sure to get some use. Letter opener is always useful (for contracts, checks, fan mail, etc, right?) I will never say no to lip gloss, purse-size pack of Band-Aids is essential, but the star of the swag for this year? Flash drive. I’d needed one anyway, and bloop, there it is. Mini size, so it fits in my coin pouch. Perfect. Honorable mention to the pen shaped like a paintbrush, front and center below:

The requisite photo of swag

The requisite photo of swag

Just the books:

TBR

TBR

Megan Frampton gave  a wonderful workshop on the changing rules of the romance covenant. I really wish there were recordings of the workshops available, because there was so much information and discussion that I’d love to be able to go over it again. Does anybody else remember when athlete or rock star heroes were verboten? Now they’re hot. Age gaps, in either direction, characters with histories (or without) and persons of color in various subgenres, and more. An hour really wasn’t enough to cover the topic, but “you can’t do that in romance” can usually be rephrased as “depends how you do it.” If stepsibliing romance can be a thing, I think I’m not that far out there with my historicals (which do not contain romances between stepsiblings, fwiw.) Word is that Victorian settings have now overtaken Regency as the most popular era for historicals. I’d be interested to see the figures on that. Non-19th century historicals are still a harder sell (Challenge accepted!) though there was some discussion of medievals being on the rise. :pets Ravenwood:

Keynote speaker at dinner was the fabulous Sabrina Jeffries. I’m always excited when there’s a historical author as one of the speakers, and was doubly so this year. Her tips on writing through the hard times are a huge part of what kept my head above water when caregiving, grieving and settling relatives’ affairs (not the romantic kind, trust me) threatened to engulf everything else. The woman does know a thing or two about this business, and she has a great attitude. Her talk on creativity and how marvelous it is that we can make up stories and people and worlds all from our own imaginations was a lovely boost of encouragement. I had to give back, and let her know, when I bumped into her at breakfast the next morning, that I actually loved her historical set in Siam, lo those many years back. She said she’s looking to reissue it in ebook form, and I told her I hope she does. I’d love to read it again.

Friday evening wrapped with the second annual fireside gabfest in the lobby. Last year, it was me and Jodi Coburn (that’s us from last year, below,) whom I met over a crowded dinner table when we found out we had the same all time favorite historical romance novel. If that’s not an instant bond, I don’t know what is. This year, we were joined by Melva, Laurie and Dorothy.

photo

There was much chatter about what we were all writing and reading. I drooled over Jodi’s story binder (so stealing her spreadsheet idea) and at one point, we all whipped out our mobile devices to share photos of our furbabies. All too soon, it was time to head to our respective beds, because there was still Saturday ahead of us. Tomorrow, as they say, is another day.

Typing With Wet Claws: Anty’s Conference Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty is even now headed towards the NECRWA Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference, and she did not take her laptop, so I can still post for her while she is gone. She did take her tablet, even though it is much more suited for kitty sized paws, but I think she may have noticed that thing that happened with the keyboard port. All I will say is that these things can be tricky to operate when the operator has paws instead of hands.  Also no thumbs. It is probably a good thing that I am cute.

me and my new computer

me and my new computer

Anty is excited to go to the conference, as she gets to see Anty Melva and a lot of her other writer firends. Being in a whole hotel full of other romance writers is one of Anty’s favorite things, so going to this conference every year makes her very happy. I am not as happy to see her doing going things like packing her suitcase. Some kitties like to go into their humans’ suitcases and want to go with them, but I prefer to stay home. I would prefer if Anty stayed home, but she will be back after only one night away, so that is not too bad. It gives me some Skye and Uncle time, which makes me very happy. I will sit on Uncle’s feet so that he is not lonely. Or cold. My humans said there was snow yesterday, even though it is almost May. I may be a very furry indoor kitty, but that is too much even for me.

But I digress. There are a lot of things Anty likes about conferences. Being around other humans who love the same genre she does and are working toward the same career goals is exciting and encouraging. Making new friends is fun, and also getting current with old friens she hasn’t seen in a while. There are lots of books everywhere; a free one at her plate at every meal, even. I hope she does not try to put books in my dish when she gets back. I prefer cat food. She likes going to workshops and discussions, and then there are all the books, pens, and other toys that she brings home when the conference is over. My favorites are Post-its, because then she will turn them into toys for me.

Anty will share pictures and talk about the conference when she gets back. For now, she would like to remind everybody that she had a new post at Heroes and Heartbreakers this week. She got to read Anna Campbell’s new book before it went on sale, and she liked it a lot. The post is here and it looks like this:

1234

Anty usually has a lot to say when she comes back from a conference, so she will not be at a lack for blog topics when she gets back. If you are at the conference, Anty hopes that you will say hello. If you do not, she will probably find you, especially in the morning, when she has had a lot of caffiene. Breakfasts are her favorite meal of the whole conference, because they are what she calls Extroverted Morning Person Christmas. Room full of people, endless cups of tea and free books at every plate. Does it get any better than that? Anty says that depends on who her seatmates are. I am pretty sure none of them are cats.

Until next week...

Until next week…

Theoretical Schoolbusses

annabowling 1 Comment

“Hard is trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece, with no instruction book, and no clue as to where all the important bits are supposed to go.”
― Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down

Sometimes, I feel like there’s a bus. A schoolbus, more specifically, one of those long yellow ones that roll from September to June, look bright against the greys of a rainy day and fit in with the explosion of red, yellow, orange and brown on bright autumn afternoons. The bus is one of those. In pretty good condition, I’ll allow, with the seats inside clean black leatherette or pebbly vynil or whatever else they might be made from these days. It’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual schoolbus. This is a theoretical schoolbus, you see, because I am going to tell you a story.

Kind of. this is one of those loopy, off-leash days, where I am going to get some kind of structure from the loopiness, and blogging and discipline and yeah yeah yeah, working on book, put the pizza outside the door and slowly back away, please and thank you. Still with me? Okay, good. So, there’s a theoretical schoolbus. It came by my dad’s house lo those many years ago, when frustrtated extroverted writer me was stuck out in the no man’s land between suburbs and rural area (seriously, the neighbor behind that house was a dairy farm, yet the town also had a private school, and I’m drifting. This is what comes from too much caffiene and not enough structure. Focus, Anna.) and it picked me up on the day when I decided that was it; I was going to write that book.

I had no idea what I was doing; I wasn’t in RWA yet, didn’t know any other writers in person, apart from a dear family friend, who was very kind with my rambles and questions. I had one writer friend with whom I bonded through snail mail, and my heart hammered against my ribs as though it was trying to bust out. Looking back, I think it probably was. So, I set up three TV trays around the living room chair that reminds me still of the captain’s chair in Star Trek: The Next Generation (chair long gone, but I remember it clearly) put a vynil record (cast recording of Camelot) on the record player, programmed (this was a fancy-for-its-time player) and dove in, armed with a fierce love of historical romance and the need to do this thing. As I said, I had no idea what I was doing. That was probably a good thing, because that let me scamper at will, off-leash, higgledy-piggledy, wherever the story took me that day.

Do I remember which of two possible books I was working on that day? Nope. They kind of blend, and I can’t say I’m not mixing some memories here, but that’s an occupational hazard for us ficiton writers, and not always a bad thing. Anyway, let’s say I wrote one book (that now lives safely in a storage unit, where it can’t hurt anybody) and after I knew that one had to be put aside, wrote …hmm…a pretty good deal of another. How many of us remember every stop our school bus made on the trip to school and back, lo these many years later? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I rode that bus. I learned. I made mistakes, fell down, got up, dressed bruises, kept going. Knew when to walk away from a book that wasn’t going to work, figured out what I can do and what I can’t. You know, the usual. Fast forward a few years. Sold a book. Sold another. RWA. Critique partners. Groups. More writing.

Then the bus dropped me back off. Huh wuh? :blinks: :looks around in utter confusion: What the heck was I doing back in front of the metaphorical house in the middle of a metaphorical school day? Detour to full time caregiving, and then, as it usually does, another bus, bright yellow against the grey, came chugging down the road once more. Flashed lights. Stopped in front of my house, now several years and a different state away from the first one. Opened the doors. I put one foot on one step, hoisted the backpack I’d been scared to look into onto my shoulder and climbed aboard.

My magpie self is still devouring inspiration, its appetite that of a starving creature. Cover versions of songs I know, done by singers who take a completely different take on an old favorite, realistic YA novels that deal with mental illness and suicide (n.b. – I have so far started two of my published works with characters about to take their own lives; I did not plan that, nor are the two stories in any way related. Points to anybody who knows which two.) endless searching for desktop wallpapers with the right visual feel, going on movie binges where the connections between movies make no sense to anybody but me, analyzing favorite fannish OTPs (One True Pairings) to see if I can spot patterns, making lonnng lists of reading jags to go on once I’ve finished this current reading jag. That’s for a start. It does feel like I’m taking myself to school, and, like a dog following a scent trail, I don’t know exactly where this is going to end up, but I do know that it’s taking me where I want to go.

Typing With Wet Claws: Evening Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for a slightly later than usual Feline Friday. Anty has had a very full day today. She and Mama went to the computer store to pick up the new tablet. There will be pictures of it later. It really does look like a cat-sized computer, and it is pink, like my tongue. I think Anty did get me my own computer. The keys on the keyboard (which is also pink) are very tiny. Small for human hands, but the right size for kitty fingers.  I think this means that she wants me to blog more. I can do that.

Uncle is still getting better. He does not smell all the way healthy yet, but Anty hopes that he will , soon. They gave him some very good pills at the people vet, and she does not have to hold his mouth open to make him take them. When I have to take pills (that is hardly ever now, but when I first got rescued by the shelter people, I had to take a lot of them, because I was born wild) I usually get liquid the humans can squirt in my mouth. Maybe Uncle should try that. As it is now, he is getting a lot of rest. I like to be under the bed and send him love beams.

Anty is still figuring out how to use her tablet (she can call it that, but I know it is really my computer) and is trying hard not to say bad words when she makes a mistake. She has made a few mistakes. There is a user’s manual (also kitty sized, but it is not written in Kitty. It is written in English) but Anty has not read it very closely. Anty prefers to learn by doing, even if that means making mistakes along the way. When she makes a mistake, she knows she should not do that thing again and will try something else. Sometimes, this takes her a while, but she gets where she needs to be in the end. This may take her longer than she thought to get my computer set up, but I am patient. I will wait.

i1035 FW1.1

Anty does not have to wait very long for her tea when she goes to write at the coffee house, which is a good thing. Today, she did have to wait a lot while the computer got started, and then again when Word would not load and then Scrivener would not load. I do not know if Anty said any bad words or not, but I do know that she took out a notebook and wrote with a pen until Scrivener came around. Anty can be very determined like that. I think she deserved her people treat for that.

this is a people treat

this is a people treat

Anty has been so busy this week, that she did not get a chance to share the duck pictures she took on the way to visit Uncle at the people vet. She thinks there will be baby ducks in about three weeks. I do not think ducks fly near our house very much, but I do watch other kinds of birds through the window, so that is all right.

Mallards!

Mallards

There is another duck that lives in our kitchen. He does not fly, though. He helps with the dishes. Okay, he is not a real duck like the mallards but Anty likes rubber ducks, so she had to have him. Please ignore the work he has not yet done in the background.

not a real duck

not a real duck

Next Feline Friday, Anty will be at the NECRWA conference. I will not be going, because I am a kitty, but Anty is excited to be among others of her own kind. I think I will be nice and let her take my computer with her, because it is easier for her to carry than this one. If any readers will be there, let Anty know. She would love to say hello and talk about books.

writer at work

writer at work

Even with the extra things that have happened this week, Anty still likes to spend time in her story world. When the life in the really real world gets crazy, it can be relaxing to go into the story world, where things go (usually) the way Anty wants them to (but not always, because sometimes, characters have minds of their own) even if things are even crazier in there for the story people. Never mind the occasional evil cackle or heartwrenching sob from Anty. She writes romance, so all will be well in the end.

Speaking of writing, Anty reminds me that she still has some to do, so I will wrap this up for now, but now that I have my own computer, I may be blogging more often.

Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Special Caregiving Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, filling in for Anty, because she is busy taking care of Uncle. He had to go to the people vet on Tuesday. I can only imagine how difficult it was getting him in the carrier. When I have to go in the carrier, it takes Mama and Anty both to get me in there, because I know what is coming and I want to hide. One of them will turn the carrier up on its end and the other one chases me around until they can catch me and put me in headfirst. Human carriers are huge (and noisy) and Uncle is also big, so this cannot be an easy task. Maybe Anty could throw a hamburger or a bottle of Coke in there to see if he will go in on his own first.

Uncle had to stay at the people vet overnight, which I did not like. First, because he was not here, and second, because Anty smelled really really tired. She does not do her bet writing when she is very very tired (although she was rather proud of filling the last pages of her white pocket Moleskine notebook while waiting at the people vet with Uncle and thus got to start a new pocket sized book) and there is not a lot of time when there are sick-people things to do. The people vets said Uncle could come home on Wednesday, so Anty had to go help get him back in the carrier and get him back home. There were new pills to help him get better (people flu is not a good thing) and, although I was concerned that he might have to wear the cone of shame, thankfully, he did not. Maybe that is because he did not need any stitches. Flu generally does not require a lot of stitches, at least as far as I can tell. It does, however, require him to get a lot of sleep. This does not, however, translate to a lot of sleep for Anty.

It also makes Anty cranky because the library book she was reading and is almost done with is in the bedroom, and she does not want to wake Uncle by opening the door to get her book. I must make a confession here; I would try to get in if she did open the door, and I would not make any noise, so she would not know I was there. I would be happy to be near Uncle, but not happy to be away from my water bowl (that is in another room) or my food bowl (in the same room as the water bowl; they are neighbors.) I do not have to mention poop, because we are all adults here. At least, I assume that we are. Anty would figure out, when she looked up from her glowy box (or maybe when she realized her inspiration is much lower than usual, due to the absence of her mews) that I was in there, and she would have to open the door again. That would not be good for anybody, except for me, because then I would get food.

Anty (and sometimes Mama) has been doing a lot of getting food lately. She needs to get food Uncle will eat, and then she will remember she hasn’t eaten, and does not feel like cooking, so that is time to go find some food that is already made. Thankfully, there are a lot of places to buy already-made people food around here. That is a good thing.

It may seem that there is not a lot of time for writing in the middle of all the extra work that comes with taking care of a sick human, even without a cone of shame, but that is not true. Anty finds going into her story worlds is not an escape exactly (she does have to come back; the other stuff is still there when she comes back from story world) but a respite, and puts her in a better mood so that she can better do what needs to be done. This is one of the reasons why she carries around multiple notebooks at one time, but not the only one.

That is the thing about some writers (or maybe just Anty; I know some other writers, but not all of them) – even when life outside of writing gets crazy, they cannot turn off the voices in their heads. Anty does not mind this. It is nice to have company like that. The fact that these people live in her head does not mean they are not real. They still have lives to live, and sometimes, they will drop a tidbit on her while she is doing other things, for her to write down now and explore later. Anty does not mind this, because it keeps an oar in the water, as she puts it, no matter what else is going on. For now, she is spending time with notebooks and on her glowy box while Uncle is sleeping. It keeps her from getting lonely, and, of course, she has me.

It is her turn for the glowy box again, so I will give it back to her. Tomorrow, she should be picking up her new tablet, which I think does look like a cat-sized computer. I am still not convinced she is not really getting me my own computer. I will keep you posted, and see you all tomorrow for our regular blog.

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

See you Friday....

See you Friday….

I Have No Idea, or, Roadmaps

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“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
– Arthur Ashe

Not ideas, because I am not O  at a loss for any of those. I have index card files, seriously, so I am not going to run out any time soon. Not every idea is going to be written, but each one of them has something in there that I can use in some form. Even if what I glean from that is “never pitch a book idea you pulled out of your :ahem: self after not sleeping for three days straight because the pitch session just took an awkward turn. Not that that ever happened to anybody I know. :cough: But ideas, yes, lots of those.

What I’m talking about here is those days when I have no idea what I’m doing. I hate those. People who know me know that I’m a planner. I like to know what is going to happen, when, not to mention how. I love to-do lists, and the only think I like better than listing tasks is crossing them off. Maybe prioritizing, because that’s actually fun, especially if I get to play with highlighters.

Life, especially the writing life, doesn’t always work that day. Sometimes, the nonwriting life takes a good long look at a writer and says, “Writer, you are now officially my puching bag.” Whompity whompity whomp. Nonwriting life can have a mean left hook. Domestic tornado chains whip through what should be a fairly productive writing day. Sick family members, financial hiccups, domestic duties that require immediate attention, lest the universe implode, and the like are not going to take a break because we’re making good time on the work in progress, or a blog post due.

Which is where today’s ramble comes in. Yesterday had its challenges, and there was no way on earth I was going to give up my time with Her Last First Kiss, so Monday’s post got moved to Tuesday. I probably had some vague notion (or maybe a not so vague one) about what I wanted to cover in this blog post. Something about notebooks, maybe? A Camp NaNo update? How much fun it is to be splashing around in the shallows of a new book, and then, without meaning to, diving down deep and finding ohhhhhh, that’s why that thing was in that scene. I may not have known what I was doing at the time my hero picked up a china dog in a shop (and a scene I didn’t plan), as a gift for the heroine, but he did, and that’s what matters. He knew she would like it, even if I had no earthly idea, bu a few chapters later, when she finally admits a Deep Secret she will only trust to him, it all makes sense.

i1035 FW1.1

We’ve been in our current home for about two and a half years now, Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate and Skye and I , and only recently did I finally get around to employing an arty idea I’d had while apartment hunting. I’ve tried scrapbooking, and it’s really not for me, but I love mixed media art, and anything even remotely notebook-related. About a week or so ago, I took out the map we’d used in finding our home, so that I could memorialize the search with art. I covered the cardboard box that my new computer cord came in with part of that map, and now use it to store pens and a small notebook. Easily portable, unique and personal. It reminds me of the writing desk the hero of Her Last First Kiss counts as his most prized posession. His is wood, not cardboard, far more durable than what I have, and he sure as anything wouldn’t have made it himself (carpentry is not his thing) but the connection, that’s there, and it’s strong. Through all of his travels, my hero counts his writing desk as his true home, and I can relate to that.

Today has been one of those punching bag days. Yesterday was another. This post exists because I don’t like having to push back Wednesday’s post because I haven’t yet done Monday’s post, and because posting is one thing I can control when nonwriting life starts lobbing stuff at me. Sit down at the keyboard and blabber about writing? I can do that. I may not know the exact topic when I set out on the journey, but that’s okay. I know how to write. I’ll get there.

So it is with the art and discipline of writing a book. It’s been a while since I’ve had a hero and heroine talk to me this clearly ( things,perhaps, only other writers will understand) amd I am not going to squander that. Maybe I don’t know where we’re going for a particular session, but I trust them. I trust that I know how to write a book. I’ve done it before. I can do it again. I am doing it now. Sometimes, we need to make the maps while we explore, then follow them later.