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Typing With Wet Claws: Evening Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for a slightly later than usual Feline Friday. This is the very first thing being written with Anty’s new keyboard, because the old one died for real. She and Mama went to the computer store to get this one, which will make life much better for everybody involved. Mama said that if she had to share her computer with Uncle and Anty, she would never see her computer again. That would make Mama very sad. Everybody is much happier now that Anty can use her own computer again. We are all waiting for the computer store to tell Anty she can come and get her new tablet. That should not be too much longer. Mama thought that maybe the computer store might have gotten the tablet in and tried to tell Mama it was there, only she could not ge that message because she was not on her computer at the moment. It was not there yet, but it will be there, soon. Once Anty gets her tablet, then she will be able to write and do research in a lot more places. She will be less grumpy, and that is a good thing.

Anty was very grumpy this week, because both Uncle and Mama were sick at the same time. Then Mama got better, but Uncle was still sick. Then Uncle got better, but his hunting schedule changed. I was very happy to have him home during the day more, but by the way Anty whimpered and twitched after a few days of thinking one more day and then she could have the house to herself (and me) that might have just been me. Anty loves Uncle, but the house is where she works, and the way she has been at this book, she wants to be working a lot.

That is not easy when the computer keyboard dies, and the keyboard built into the computer does not have an H key. There are H’s in a lot of words Anty uses when she writes. Him, her, he, she, them, they, the, and a lot of other words, like hold (I do not like to be held, so I do not mind when she cannot use that word.) There are no H’s in cat or kitty or Maine Coon, so she could have written about me instead and probably have had a lot less stress. She is a romance writer, though, and I am fixed, so I kind of see her point.

Moving along. A couple of nights ago, Uncle came home from work and asked Anty if she would like to go and have dinner with only him. I had special time with Mama. She ate pizza and I ate cat food. Uncle and Anty had Chinese food and said that I could share pictures of their dinner.

i1035 FW1.1

People food

This is all people food, so I do not know what it tastes like, but Anty and Uncle said it was very good, there was a lot of it, and they brought some home. Uncle said it would not rain while they were out, but Anty remembered how, on their second date, he told her the sprinklers would not go off on them, but they did. She brought an umbrella. It rained.

This week, Anty took care of our family a lot. I was only trying to help her when I started to eat my own throwup, but she wanted to take care of the cleanup herself. I do not mind too much. Food does not taste as good the second time around.

Writing on the glowy box, without the letter H, is not the easiest thing in the world (although I think typing with paws is harder) but Anty is not dissuaded. When she is between external keyboards, she uses an asterisk (it looks like this: *) to represent the letter H, and keeps on going. Some of the people she emails think this is funny and others think it is extra work to have to translate all the *’s to H’s. For those people, Anty suggests cutting and pasting into Word, then doing a search and replace.

That is what she is going to do with the pages she wrote yesterday. She did not think she was going to be able to do much, but then Anty SueAnn asked if she wanted to do virtual sprints, and Anty said yes. Then they both wrote as fast as they could (Anty can still type pretty fast when using an * instead of an H) and Anty got into the story. There are a lot of *’s, but now she can make them H’s again. That will be very helpful. The new keyboard has all of its letters and all of its keys. We will see how long that lasts.

Time for me to give Anty her shot at the new keyboard, so I will see you next week, unless she needs me to blog for her sooner. One never knows. She has the conference to prepare for, Camp NaNo to keep up with and the tablet could be here any time now. I’m pretty sure it’s cat.-sized, and it does have its own keyboard. Plus, I need to prepare for my interview with Anty SueAnn’s pet, Bailey.

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Typing With Wet Claws: Special Easter Monday Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for a special Monday edition of Typing With Wet Claws. I am blogging for Anty today because she is taking a mental health day. So far today, she has cleaned throwup twice (only one was mine, but I did try to eat it again. She would not let me.) and poop once (that was mine, but I did not try to eat it) and both Mama and Uncle are at home when they were meant to be at work. Mama is resting now, to get over her tummy bug,  and Uncle got his shift changed, so that pretty  much took care of Anty’s plans to have a productive day of writing at home.

That does not mean that she will not have a productive day, or that she will not write. Anty has a lot of notebooks, and is even now deciding which ones (plural) she will take with her when she heads outfor the day. She does not have a plan at this point, and I must admit her occasional cackles give me some pause (I already have paws. Four of them.) because that is not a sound I her very often, but Uncle convinced her that it will be best for everybody if she heads out for a while. Uncle likes to putter, which is not always compatible with Anty writing in the living room. Her other plan today was to work on organizing the office while listening to Paper Towns, but that would be too noisy, as the office shares a wall with her and Uncle’s bedroom.

Anty calls days like this well-filling days. That means she needs to take in new things so that she will have more to draw from when she writes. I have seen  her try to write when she does not take in enough, and it is not a pretty sight. This day away from the keyboard (well, mostly. I know my Anty.) will be good for everybody. She mentioned something about going to the park to look for ducks, and I did see her putting her camera in her big purse. The computer is probably staying home today, unless she comes back to get it and write at the coffee house, which she might do.

Normally, Anty likes to have a plan for her days. She will make a list of things that need to be done on a given day, usually over breakfast, and pick which one is the most important, then do that one first. Then she picks the next most important, and so on. Sometimes, things get carried over to the next day, but a day without plans does not happen all that often, especially on her own. Today, though, it is necessary, not only for staying away from sick and/or cranky people, but making sure she does not become one of them herself.

Schroedinger's bunny?

Schroedinger’s bunny?

In other news, yesterday was Easter, which means Anty gave Uncle an Easter basket. The foil wrapped chocolate bunny is important. Anty learned that the hard way, after we had to hand off at least four (I could not count higher than that, since I was counting on my paws) naked chocolate bunnies from the freezer to our former downstairs neighbor when we moved. Uncle does not like unwrapped bunnies, and Anty does not care for chocolate that much, but didn’t want to throw away perfectly good food items, so they lived in the freezer. Some of them, for a very long time.

Every basket also has to have a stuffed animal. This year, it was Cadbury Bunny. Very nice of him to come wearing a name tag, and he brought snacks. Anty and Uncle put him on the floor so that I could meet him (they are very good with that) but I am confused. This bunny talks. He makes chicken sounds. He does not move, but he does talk, and I am not sure if he is alive or not. Still figuring that one out, but Anty and Uncle seem to like him a lot, so I will follow their lead.

That ends this special entry. I will see you all on Friday, so until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

See you Friday....

See you Friday….

Typing With Wet Claws: Nurse Kitty Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all, Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Very exhausting week to be a kitty around here. Anty was sick, the glowy boxes staged a revolt, and all three humans were at home yesterday. Well, Anty and Mama went out hunting, so that was not everybody all day, but it is difficult for one kitty to be in so many places at once.

One of the most important kitty duties is nursing. Anty does not get sick very often, which is a good thing, but when she does, I am there. This week, Anty only thought she was tired after she got back from the critique group, but then she was hot and cold at the same time, and things ached that should not be aching, and Uncle had to be the one to break it to her. She was sick. Anty does not like being sick, because she does not like “doing nothing” as she puts it. That makes her grumpy. Really, the best thing for the other humans to do in times like that is to give her some books and some movies and make sure she has lots of liquids.

Food, beautiful food

Food, beautiful food.

She did not want food for a couple of days (I cannot imagine how horrble that must be. I always want food. Can I have some food now? I am very cute, if that influences your answer any.) but she has her appetite back now, which is a very good thing. I heard her and Uncle talking about dinner tonight (theirs, not mine, but I will assume my dinner was implied. I would like fish jelly, please.) and they seemed happy about that. She is also putting on real people clothes and even makeup, so I know she is better. This does also mean that she will be leaving the house again to go hunt (I assume she is hunting; why else would she leave a comfortable house with a kitty in it?) and do laundry. There was not a lot of laundry last time, because she only had pajamas on for most of the week, but there was still laundry. Ever since she found out how she can send her manuscripts to her Kindle, she has been taking those along and reading her own work as though she were the reader and not the writer. She says that gives a different perspective and likes to take notes on anything that stands out.

I helped her rest by sitting very very very close to her recliner and sending love beams in her direction. She says that helped a lot. I also helped her watch some movies. We liked The Perks of Being a Wallflower, although it did not have any kitties in it. It had friends and a love story, though, and Anty likes movies with those things in them. Also angst. There was a lot of angst. Angst makes Anty happy. This is not as alarming as it sounds. These sorts of things are perfectly normal for writers. She is open to suggestions for other movies with the same feel. She has already seen The Fault in Our Stars, and liked that one, and is looking forward to Paper Towns. She is listening to the book of that on her mp3 player right now. Well, maybe not right now. I do not know when you are reading this, so she may be listening to something else. Probably one of her story soundtracks, because she is back to writing. That is a big relief. She is cranky when she is not writing.

It is a good thing that Anty loves notebooks. Yesterday, Mama suggested that, since the computer power cords come in two peices, maybe switching the peices around would help them hold a charge. Anty tried that, and Mama is right. Anty now calls these “Frankencords,” and they hold a steady charge, where the other ones did not. New cords are on the way, and may be here as soon as tomorrow. That will make everybody happy. I heard Anty and Uncle talking about a tablet. I got worried for a minute, but it is all right. They do not mean they want to give me a tablet, and they do not mean the pill kind, anyway. The best I can tell, it is a very small glowy box. Maybe even kitty sized. It is hard to tell from the picture on the glowy box. Hm. Maybe they do want to give me a tablet, but the glowy box kind, not the kind the vet dispenses. Either that, or Anty wants to carry a really small glowy box instead of packing up the laptop every time she goes to the coffee house to write.

Speaking of writing, Anty has a new post up on Heroes and Heartbreakers, on the season finale of The Mindy Project. It is here and looks like this:

DANDY
Anty and Uncle get grumbly sometimes about season finales in March. When they were younger, TV seasons went from September to June and that was that. It is much more complicated these days. Personally, I like watching birds through the window. There are no commercials there, but sometimes trucks and busses with ads on them drive by. I guess that is kind of the same thing.

Well, it is that time again. Anty needs the glowy box so she can write, and it really is my lunchtime, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very  truly yours,

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

Until next week...

Until next week…

Electronic Ragnarok

annabowling 4 Comments

The robot uprising has begun, at least in my house. It started some months back, with the old printer stubbornly insisting it had a paper jam, though taking the back off and inspecting the are in question reveals that it absolutely does not. Barring some miniscule scrap stuck deep in the gears, we’re stumped. Still, the darned thing insists it’s jammed, and more puzzlingly, Will Not Turn Off, so yanking the plug is the only solution. There is a lovely new printer standing by, which is not compatible with the extant coputers, but a solution to that is on the way in the near future, so we manage.

There is, of course, a sizeable graveyard of headphones and earbuds who gave their lives for good cause, and the debate over “let’s buy a bunch of the inexpensive ones so we have new ones when the old ones die” versus “if we spend the same amount of money on one pair of good ones, they won’t die all the time and won’t need to be replaced” can go on long enough that one party may consider reading the entire text of the Outlander saga merely to keep the filibuster going long enough for another party to consult pricing information to bolster the argument. My mp3 player is not, after all, compatible wiht my music streatming system of choice, and my laptop has decided that it and audiobooks are no longer on speaking terms. Neccessary losses, those, and while some, particularly the purple earbuds with the skulls on them, are missed, we know these things are going to happen.

I don’t remember how long ago it was that Real Life Romance Hero’s ancient desktop finally gave up the ghost, but it wasn’t pretty. We slid in the lovely silver laptop a friend had passed on to us shortly before our move. Of a slightly earlier vintage than the laptops Housemate and I use (those two being identical twins) that machine served him well, until last week, when, by his reports, it took thirty minutes to accomplish what the other computers could accomplish in two. This is not what we want. Set that machine aside, confer with Housemate to create a tmeshare arrangement on her computer, and then…

Then the power cord on her computer stops working. When I say stops working, I mean that even though we can darned well see it plugged in, the footer on the screen says the laptop is not plugged in to any power source and helpfully informs us how much battery power is left.

This, too, we can solve with some creativity. Since Housemate’s computer and mine are identical twins, let’s swap out the cord and see if that works. Success. Enter a couple of days of swapping one cord bewteen two computers used among three users. Takes some doing, but with scheduling and compromise, it works, until the next plot twist, which is that cord going from “the cord that works” to “the cord that usually works.”  A household where Real LIfe Romance Hero is deprived of YouTube, Housemate is cut off from  hidden object games is not a happy one, and, being a writer, computer access is kind of a big deal for me.

So, solutions become a priority. Housemate ordered replacement cords, plural, online, and a new-to-us desktop will make its way in our general direction, after a hiccup of its own, so relief is on the way. Housemate and I will head out later today (after tea, oh so much tea) to see if we can find replacement cords and/or batteries in stock at Big Box Electronic Store, but since the  twin laptops are older models, hopes are not too high. We may bite the bullet and price tablets. Real Life Romance Hero has a cookie theory about his laptop that does not involve chocolate chips (though baking might be good therapy right about now) and will be taking his laptop in for a diagnostic, because fixing beats replacing in such situations if his theory holds true.

Worst comes to worst, we live within walking distance of two public libraries, so there’s backup, and new cords should be here on the first of the month. It’s a good thing I love notebooks. The revolutionaries are recruiting, though. The refrigerator has started making some ominous noises…

Typing With Wet Claws: Under the Bed Edition (With Notebooks)

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello all, Skye here for another Feline Friday. This week’s entry is later than usual, because Anty is taking a half day to rest. Also because I am under the bed. No, I do not want to say why, but I am pretty sure that loud thing that goes by our house in the morning is a cat zamboni, and I want to make sure it does not get me. Sometimes, when it gets especially loud, I think it might be stuck on a tabby, and I am one, so I will stay under the bed for now.

Yesterday, Anty got three blog entries written, two of them posted (one of those in two different places) and looked over notes from the new critique group she visited the night before. She says it was super cold walking to the library against the wind, and she did spend a whole hour waiting in the wrong meeting room (but does not mind too much, because she wrote and writing time is always good) but she likes the group and will go back. As she expected, her pages were everybody’s first introduction to historical romance. She thinks that is kind of special. There were no kitties in anybody’s story, which I find disappointing, but that’s how life goes sometimes.

i1035 FW1.1i1035 FW1.1

Anty and Mama ran a couple of errands after dropping Uncle off at work today, and Anty came home with the notebook in the top picture, above. She already had the one in the bottom picture, and it is almost full. She did not need a new notebook, especially not one to to with this particular topic (it is on its 2nd and a half notebook already) and she prefers for all notebooks on one subject to go together, but the looks of the two books agreed (she even checked them against each other because the store still had copies of the spiral notebook) and the bond was strong, so the new one came home. Also, she likes the words on the cover, and those suggested what she can do with the new book.

This goes along with Anty being in the magpie stage. Things will have connections to her, and she will need to put them together, in different combinations, until they become something cohesive and new. These notebooks go with the first notebook she started on this subject, and the one that I peed on (and that she fixed) and also with some other things. Lists of songs that suggest a certain kind of story, images of different things (some of which she will print out on the new printer when the new computer arrives -I will probably go under the bed again when that happens, because I am pretty sure there is going to be noise involved. Also furniture moving around and there may be boxes. I am pretty sure there will be boxes.)

Now that spring is here, Anty is getting ready to go to the Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference next month. It is put on by NECRWA, the chapter Anty is gone all day long when she has a meeting, and she will be gone overnight. That makes me sad, but I will have some special time with Uncle. I can probably convince him to give me some extra treat to make up for how sad I am. Then I will not be sad. Well, not about not having enough treat. I will still miss Anty until she comes home. She will have new things with her when she does get back; free books and bookmarks and pens and other interesting things, especially things that crinkle. I like things that crinkle. If she brings home any sticky notes, she will crumple some and let me play with them. If you are going to be there, too, Anty would love to say hello and chat for a bit.

Along with writing and blogging and trying the new group, Anty had a new post go up at Heroes and Heartbreakers. She got to read The Warlord’s Wife by Sandra Lake before it went on sale. That is pretty special. You can read what she thought about it here.

Anty says it is getting late and she wants the computer so she can play Sims, so that will be it for this week. There is food in my bowl, so I will probably come out sooner rather than later so I can eat it. I want to make really really sure the cat zamboni is gone first.

Until next week...

Until next week…

Until next week, I remain very truly yours,

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Creative Thinking Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Big week at our house, as usual, so that is no big surprise. Anty is very happy that she will be going to three RWA chapter meetings this week. Three. She has never been to that many in one week before. She went to Saratoga Romance Writers on Tuesday (you can read about that here, in case you are new or missed it.) Tomorrow is her day to go to Capitol Region Romance Writers (they are the closest to us) and on Sunday, she goes all the way back to where we used to live (the area, not the house) to go to a meeting of New England Romance Writers. She is gone all day when she goes to that one, but happy when she comes home.

Being around other writers, especially other romance writers, is very good for Anty. She comes home from those meetings all excited and wanting to write more.Sometimes, she comes back with more books. Sometimes, she comes home with snacks. That is people snacks, unfortunately, and not kitty snacks, though that is okay, because I only eat the food Mama, Anty and Uncle give me, and they never miss, so I am fine. This week, Anty came home with flowers. In case you missed them, they looked -and still look- like this.

They're baaaaack.

They’re baaaaack.

Anty getting the flowers was a good thing, because she likes flowers, and she, Uncle and Mama had wanted flowers for the front window (the one I watch birdies through) for a while now. She was happy to get these, and thinks they are very beautiful. There is only one problem, though. They make her head explode. That is very frightening for a kitty. When her head explodes, I run out of the room, because the sound is very loud. Then I come right back, because I am brave and curious. Then her head explodes again. I am exhausted from all the running. That is probably why Anty moved the flowers from the front window and into her office, where she can close the door.

There is only one problem with that. If the sneezy flowers are in the office, she can’t be, and she needs to rearrange the office because a new destktop computer is coming home in a couple of weeks (it is not new-new but it is new to Anty, so that still counts.) This means the flowers have to go, but where? At first, Uncle had a good suggestion. Anty could bring them to a friend who had to stay at the people vet for a while. Anty agreed that was a good idea, and she took the sneezy flowers all the way to the people vet, only to find that their friend’s room was…empty. A nice nurse assured Anty everything was okay and that the people vet said their friend was better and had gone home only a few minutes before. Anty took the sneezy flowers back home and told Uncle they had to think of another place.

Then Uncle had another good idea. He could take the sneezy flowers to the prayer chapel near his work. I should mention that Uncle is Catholic,which does not have anything to do with cats (I know, I was disappointed to find that out, too; it has c-a-t right in the name. That is rather misleading.) even though all the Catholic people I know personally like cats a lot. But some do not. Anyway, Anty was happy to hear the flowers could have a home in the chapel, and went off to write, When she got home, surprise – flowers. She waited for Uncle to come home and asked him why they were still there. He said he’d forgotten it was Lent, and there cannot be any decorations at that chapel during Lent. So much for that.

Anty does not want to throw out these flowers because they are not cut, but are in soil, so they are alive. She says she might take them to her CRRWA meeting tomorrow and give them to somebody there. I hope they are not allergic to flowers, too. Maybe next time, she should get catnip.

Speaking of catnip, since notebooks are like catnip to Anty, she wanted me to share her newest acquisition, her very first 5×8 hardcover Moleskine. Can you believe she went this long without one?

I think the discount helped...

I think the discount helped…

Anty has been very busy this week, not only with meetings, blog posts, and stories, but with her brand newest thing. Today is her day to talk at 31 Days and 31 Ways to Jumpstart Your Life. She is excited to talk about how being creative helps make life better. Tomorrow is the day she posts at Buried Under Romance. If you have never read her posts there, here is last week’s post, about finding new books. Here is the picture she took for this week’s post. What do you think she will talk about there?

what could this mean?

what could this mean?

Anty says this is getting long and she needs the computer back, so that is about it for this week.

Until next week...

Until next week…

Until then, I remain very truly yours,

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

A Camping I Will Go (NaNo style) And Other Tales

annabowling 8 Comments

I’m doing Camp NaNo this year.

I hadn’t planned on it. In fact, I’d planned on not doing it, because NaNo wordcounts give me the heebie-jeebies, and as I told the delightful Shannon Kauderer at today’s Saratoga Romance Writers meeting, tend to leave me in a fetal position under the dining room table, sobbing uncontrollably. Shannon reminded me that I can set my own word count for Camp NaNo, even zero, and that the moral support, which is what I’d liked about NaNo in the first place, was the main point. So, this year, I’m camping. Also, Shannon has mermaidy green curly hair and charm for days, so that may have had something to do with the fact that I am now officially signed up. Not focused on word count; it’s all about the story for me.

ready to work

ready to work

Good thing, that, as Shannon, the regional municipal liason for NaNoWriMo (and camps) was the guest speaker, presenting her workshop on the Snowflake Method of plotting. I’ve taken this before, when Shannon presented at CRRWA, then, as now, with the delightful SueAnn Porter as my companion, so I knew what I was in for, and surely, I’d whip through this, no problem, be all set to charge forward.

Not exactly. The first step, creating a one sentence description of one character’s journey, had me stymied at first. Lots of writing, lots of crossing out, lots of squeezing in teeny tiny words above those crossed out lines, and I finally came up with this:

A disreputable rogue finds the love of a lifetime in the one woman he can never have — his best friend’s mistress. 

Hm not half bad there. Okay, the meeting itself went rather smoothly. I felt right at home in the, warm, welcoming and professional group, and definitely plan on visiting again. I am not only saying that because I won the drawing for these lovely blooms right here:

Free flowers, that's how to welcome visitors.

Free flowers, that’s how to welcome visitors.

It was when SueAnn and I hit the parking lot that things got interesting. Flat tire. SueAnn figured we could limp along to the nearest service station, but reversed her decision and direction and we headed back to the parking lot. There was a quick fix kit in her trunk, which we both gave the old college try, but the green sludge in the squeezy bottle refused to go into the actual tire.

actual green slime

actual green slime

In my family, the words “dripping green slime” are a way of expressing barely contained anger, but there was none of that as SueAnn and I waited for AAA to show and swap flat tire for spare tire, which turned out to be the smaller donut sort. With weather thankfully warm for the day, we waited as only writers can – picking apart bad endings to good movies and TV shows, and fixing them. By the time AAA did show, we had a couple more stops before I could head home and charge straight into writing.

at least we tried

at least we tried

Adventure over? Not a chance. SueAnn wanted to get the real tire fixed and back on, which makes sense as she’s off on another adventure with Mr. Porter after she drops me off at home, so we had a short detour to the place from which her tires originally came.  There, we met an individual SueAnn has asked me to dub “Ridiculously Handsome Tire Guy.” We do not have a picture of Ridiculously Handsome Tire Guy, but SueAnn put him at “Derek Morgan level” (Shemar Moore in Criminal Minds) found herself distracted enough to momentarily forget how to speak English, which she assures me is indeed her native tongue (but sorry, SueAnn, “tire” and “photograph” are not synonyms, no matter that the gent in question seemed to catch her drift even so) and drop her purse. Somewhere out there, she’s sure, a romance novel is missing its cover model.

ridiculously handsome writer's dog

ridiculously handsome writer’s dog

Quick stop by Chez Porter to feed Bailey and make sure he got to :ahem: visit the great outdoors (and pose for a photo op) and then time to brave the traffic to drop me home. What do I do immediately upon arrival? Yep, head for they keyboard. A day spent talking writerly things gets me excited to go home and put all that theory into practice. The more I live with that one line blurb, the more I like it. Should be a fun time at camp this year.

Update: Flowers now exiled to office, as incessant sneezing makes me suspect I may be allergic. Balcony door now open to let in the evening air as I snuggle under a blanket to further explore story doings.

Remembering Bertrice Small, Part Three: Beyond The Pages

annabowling 5 Comments

The most vivid memories I have of Bertrice Small aren’t between the pages of her books. While there are others who knew her far longer and far more intimately than I did, these are the memories that come most to mind.

Bertrice Small was my very first phone call. I was three days old, newly brought back to my parents’ New York apartment from Viriginia, where I was born. Their way of letting close friends know they had adopted me was to put me on the phone, and, as Aunt Sunny herself told me, she was the first. Her exact words to my mother, were, according to her, “Oh my God, you stole a baby,” then delighted laughter when my mom assured her it was a legal adoption.

Okay, not technically my memory, but that was so completely Bertrice that  I had to share it. Her voice is the most calming voice I have ever heard in person, and she was the first person I called when my father was taken off life support. I didn’t have to say anything; she said “it happened, didn’t it?” and we shared the moment, together. Those two phone calls alone could serve as memory enough. Bertrice Small was, beyond a pioneer in her genre, a true matriarch who could give any of her heroines a lesson or two (and she did) but the more time I spend on the matter, the more examples spring to mind. Photographs, alas, are currently in storage, but the memories can come at any time, and my copy of Lost Love Found will always have an extra special meaning, on more than one level, so I’ll let that suffice.

To me, this book will always symbolize friendship, not because of Valentina and Padraic’s story (which I love) but because of the friendship attached. Bertrice had originally wanted her dear friend, Elaine Duillo, to illustrate that cover. Unfortunately, contractual obligations made that impossible, and another illustrator friend, Robert McGinnis, stepped in to provide the cover art. I wish I could remember the entire story, because it was a good one, but I remember the animation in her voice and the spark in her eye when she told it. I do know that her covers sparked my ongoing interest of the works of both illustrators, different styles but equally talented.

My copy came to be courtesy of Nancy,  a family friend, with whom I was spending the day. I insisted we stop in a bookstore because Lost Love Found would be out and I had to touch a copy, though I didn’t have the cash on me to buy it yet. It was there, and I plucked it from the shelf and read the first few pages. Put it back with a sigh of regret. Picked it up again and stroked the cover. Nancy, kind soul, bought it for me because it was clear the book and I had bonded, even though she didn’t read romance herself. A very Bertrice-like thing to do, and all the more special because Nancy passed away shortly after that. Now, when I reread or even pet the cover, it feels like they’re both there with me still.

It’s difficult to pick out the personal memories to share.  As any two people do, we had our differences over the years, and navigating a child/adult relationship as it turns to teen/adult and then adult/adult is going to have some bumps in the road, but if I had to say only one thing about Bertrice Small, the person, it would be this: her heroines would be proud. I remember that calm, yet lively voice, telling family stories with as much imagination and care as any of her novels, doling out much needed advice and opinions, making command decisions when they were needed most and showing me that it was, indeed, womanly to be smart and strong.

Comfort Food

annabowling 6 Comments

Some days start out with a four page to-do list and end up with comfort food.

This is one of those days. Two dear friends have beloved mothers in the hospital, at the same time, in different states, and I can’t be with either of them, though I’d love to be with both.  One expects to get her mom settled back into her own home by the end of the week, and the other, oh, my heart aches. I don’t even want to type it.

Real Life Romance Hero was  home today, both of us drained and cranky and concerned for our friends. We made grilled cheese and tomato soup and hung out in the kitchen, discussing food and film and baking lemon poppyseed quickbread. He advocated greasing the pan when the directions didn’t call for it, and dumping the excess butter in the batter, both of which ended up happening. Dinner will be Chinese delivery or meatloaf and his homemade mashed potatoes (that would be Real Life Romance Hero’s mashed potatoes. I don’t know if Meat Loaf makes mashed potatoes or not, but if he does, that would be fitting.)

Prior to the comfort food, I shoveled the walk, for the third time in twenty four hours, and, also for the second time in twenty four hours, hauled a load to the laundromat. Not my first choice of activities after said shoveling, but A) it’s February, B) we live in Upstate New York, and C) I was out of socks and long sleeved shirts. So, laundry had to happen.

Today's workplace

Today’s workplace

The smaller pad, next to the Diet Coke can, ended up with a four-page to-do list, which I informed Real Life Romance Hero about upon my return. I told him also that Plan B was to say “forget all that and watch movies.”  Because sometimes, we have to. Our bodies are tired. Our heads are full. Our hearts are heavy. This is one of those days, and I do have Revolutionary Road, which I know darned well is going to be gorgeous and tragic all at once, waiting for me. I haven’t cracked it open yet, because that’s the way the day has gone.

That four page to-do list? There are going to be a lot of arrows on it. Arrows, in my lists, mean carry over to the next day. Because there will be one. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my time on this planet, it is that. Carrying things over from one to-do list to another doesn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is the way I accepted that today. Okay, not going to get All The Things checked off today, but did have a good hangout in the kitchen with Real Life Romance Hero, got to warn him not to touch the food until I’d photographed it, and had a much-needed break where we got to discuss Things That Are Important (friends’ mums, what both of us are doing with work these days, how the deep freeze outside affects our plans for the week) and Things That Are Not (current movies neither of us want to see, things we each read on the interwebs, how to share a single order of silver dollar pancakes and what side dishes there should be with that.)

We’re in a lull now, him doing dishes in the kitchen, and me under an afghan in the comfy chair, Spotify open and tuned to one of my story playlists, inspiration picture open in another window. We’re both waiting for the quick bread to cool (he calls it “a dirty tease” that there is an in-pan cooling period and an out-of-pan cooling period.) He’s puttering and I’m…writing.

It strikes me funny that, when not so long ago, trying to write meant me smashing my head against a brick wall for hours at a time, and now, when I’ve given myself permission to take a day off, I’m diving into my fictive world because that really is where I want to be, when I can be anywhere. To have the WIP be the place to go for comfort and rest, that’s a pretty good thing. I will take that, and gladly.

i1035 FW1.1

View from the laundromat

Duluth, Part Three

annabowling 2 Comments

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

–Eleanor Roosevelt

Here, on this lovely not-currently-snowing day, we bring the Duluth trilogy to a close. In case you missed them, part one is here, and part two, here. These all came about in the throes of writerly angst, when getting anything, even an incoherent brain dump, on the page felt like an insurmountable task. Obviously, that wasn’t permanent, but boy, did it feel like it at the time.

Duluth, pt 3

Since a writer’s work is, literally, all in their head, (and yes, I know I’ve drifted from the original topic of this post, but I don’t care; I’ll bring it back around) the upside is that there will be far fewer needles and surgical procedures involved in the writer’s recuperation, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less exhausting, aggravating and even painful. It’s neccessary, though, because writing isn’t something one can turn off. If you are, you are, and if you aren’t, you aren’t. While it is possible to be a writer who doesn’t write, as in someone who is genetically predisposed/hardwired/whatever term you’d care to use, who does not choose to exercise that ability, they aren’t the easiest people to live with and trust me, they’re not having a good time. It’s like trying not to breathe.

There’s the want. There’s the need. The how, however, that’s a different story, pun intended. Trust me, it’s easier to maintain a full creative well than to refill it. Ever try to fill an empty swimming pool using your kitchen tap? Whether it’s hooking up the garden hose so that one end is in the sink and the other in the deep end, or carrying buckets with or without the help of family members. it’s going to take a while. A long while. By that time, it’ll be too cold to swim, so what’s the point? Nope, better to call one of those trucks from the pool company and have them all dump it in at once. That, for the writer, is reading. A lot. In genre, out of genre. Books. Magazines. Backs of cereal boxes. Posters on the coffee house wall. Junk mail. Actual paper letters (really, send a writer one of these and they will love you even more.) Ebooks. Forum posts. Graphic novels. Library books. Closed captioning on movies and tv shows. Read read read read read read read until it’s not possible to hold any more.

Like with the pool illustration, if the creative well is empty, it may take a LOT of reading, a lot of taking in story in all its forms (movies, tv, plays, dance, computer games with a storyline or character development, etc.) It gushes in and in and in and in and in and in….that’s our transfusion. Next comes the physical therapy. Writing. Actual writing. I’m not going to say words on the page, because that phrase, I am pretty sure, was the piano that dropped on me, personally. Or maybe the pigeon that pooped in my eye when I looked up to see if the piano bench was going to fall, too.

At any rate, this stage of recovery means that there has to be actual writing. Meaning stuff in the writer’s head has to go someplace where it is possible, at least in theory, for somebody else to see it. Whether or not they actually do is not that important at this stage. For those who have a hypercritical gremlin in their head, jumping up and down and screaming “yes, it is!” it is okay to smack that gremlin with a copy of Outlander. If our writer had been in a physical car accident, do we expect them to crawl out of the wreckage and run a marathon? I’m thinking not.

What happens at this stage is spewing out everything that’s in the writer’s head, because even while the well is filling with good stuff, the bad stuff still has to come out. I’d say expressing pus, but that’s gross, but I also am taking advantage of this time to smack my hypercritical gremlins, so yes, it is at times like expressing pus. Bad stuff out so there’s room for the good stuff to come in.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, things will begin to balance. The writer will get back in touch with why they accepted the invitation of all these people who live inside the writer’s head. The type of story, the type of character. They will get their voice back. They will fill notebooks and flash drives and whatever other method of storing data modern technology comes up with in the time between writing this and someone else reading it. Some of it is going to be venting. Okay, a lot of it is going to be venting. it’s going to be rough and confusing and attract hypercritical gremlins like blood in the water attracts sharks. Keep going. Because at some point, the balance will be reached. (Yes, that is passive phrasing, and no, I do not care, because hypercritical gremlins get my boot in their butt at this stage of the game.)

Up and down the steps. Up and down and up and down and up and down and then one day, without thinking about it, without planning to, without advance approval of the physical therapist, the writer takes the stairs instead of the ramp back to their room (or more likely, the vending machine on the third floor because that’s the one that has pub fries and gummi bears) – well looky there, stairs. Bunches of them. Climbed up and climbed down and the world did not end. Time to go back home and get back to business. And find directions to Duluth.