possibly pointless blabbering

Mandatory Midweek Post

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I want to know that there’s something just beyond MY ability, that I can eek (sic) out one day that can move people like I’ve been moved.

–Ben Folds

I’m grumpy today. Kitty with tummy trouble will do that to a gal, and coming on the tails of a Monday and a half, especially with a gorgeously cool and rainy day that I would love to spend reading, especially (yes, two especiallies in one sentence; it’s that kind of day, and it’s my blog, so hush) now that we have a comfy cushion on our windowseat, the temptation to give this day a certain digit and slack off is strong.

Here’s why I’m not. In a word, discipline. I am the first one to turn into a whimpering ball of jelly when I look at the publication date on my most recent book. I am also the one in charge of the publication date for my next one. I have a novella scene due to my collaborator tomorrow, so I need to get that down today, at least the bare bones. I can do the bare bones, even when I’m grumpy and have one eye on kitty doings. Not consciously drawing on Anne Lamott’s one inch picture frame, but it’s similar.

Organizing and making lists works incredibly well for me. I don’t have to write the entire book today. Shoot, I’m only writing part of the book, because Collaborator Melva kicks writing butt and we are so much on the same page (pun intended) that it’s scary. It doesn’t have to be perfect. If I’m off, she’ll tell me, and we’ll fix it, together. What it has to be is written. That’s it. Bullet points are fine. Present tense is fine. I can fix bad, but I can’t fix blank. (Thank you, Nora Roberts, for that one.)

“Do what you can do, when you can do it,” is  a phrase I learned while caregiving, and it applies to writing as well. Life is going to happen. Cats are going to throw up, phones are going to go to the great charging station in the sky, and grumpy days are going to happen. These are the times I like to focus on what I can do, rather than what I can’t, or haven’t, or didn’t. One of the items on my bare bones to do list was write today’s blog entry. I had nothing when I started, unless fretting pet-aunt mode was an option  (on a writing blog, it usually isn’t) and Skye is currently hanging out in her regular rainy day spot under the bed in the master bedroom. She has a bowl of water, and I’ll keep an eye on her. The other eye has to be on the writing.

This isn’t my favorite entry. I’m blabbering, but it’s honest. It’s where I am. That’s something I’m working on strengthening, in both fiction and nonfiction. I have Ben Folds’ new album playing, a mix of his usual music and a symphonic orchestra (my love for pop/rock combined with an orchestra knows no bounds, really it doesn’t) because his work is always good for jump-starting my own. Getting to those deep emotions and the insecurities characters like to hide from the world, because those are things that will prove them weak, get them rejected, make them vulnerable. Those are my jams. I love that stuff. In romance, I can throw basically anything at my characters, as long as they end up happy and together at the end. Since I write historical, that means I can use wars and natural disasters and political upheaval, and all of that ready made good stuff to cause bumps in the road to Happily Ever After.

Being a character focused writer means that I can play with the voices in my head when I don’t know what we’re going to be doing today. That’s a good jumpstart again. If I don’t know how they’d react to X, then that means I don’t know them well enough, most likely, and we are going to need to have some tea and a good long talk, them and me. We’ll get through it. Bullet point by bullet point. There will be another day when I blaze through multiple scenes without breaking a sweat. Taking this day for what it is, doing what I can, and then refilling the well is the best way to get to that new release, the next article, and hey, look right there. I wrote a blog entry. Cross that puppy off the list and let’s get back to that novella scene.

Monday Junior

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Focus on writing the story you want to tell. Don’t worry about how many words, what genre, and especially about people who tell you that you will never make it. They’re not important. Finish the thing and try to do your story justice.

–Ilona Andrews

 

Today  is Tuesday, but I am calling it Monday Junior this week. To best explain this, here is a short rundown of my Monday evening:

  • hit same place on head on corner of shelf and corner of dresser, in two separate incidents.
  • found a bug in my crushed pineapple, and remembered, hours later, that this serving had been broken down from a bigger container earlier, so I did at one point eat half a can of pineapple that had a bug in it.
  • decided to make tea to counteract the buggy pineapple, only to have tea infuser open (this may be because the kitchen light was out, we have prewar ceilings and no ladder) and float my last bit of Earl Grey throughout the water. Tea dumped, because now not drinkable.
  • Real Life Romance Hero  washed my mug (into which I had flung aforementioned bug) which I used to make that cup of tea, which had to be dumped out, but I only found out there was still soap in it after I started drinking said tea.

It wasn’t a total waste, as today’s picture evidences. Real Life Romance Hero had received a gift card to a swanky restaurant near our apartment for his birthday a month and a half ago. Yesterday, we finally got a chance to put it into use. Got dressed in real Grownup People Who Eat in Swanky Restaurant Clothes and everything. Food was amazing, atmosphere was perfect, and we had the place to ourselves, so that made for a special afternoon. I went for a walk in the park to ponder over some current writing projects while Real Life Romance Hero watched the news, and came home, expecting a lovely evening of writing.

Insert maniacal laughter here. Normally, a pina colada sundae is the perfect cap to any day. I love pineapple. I love coconut. I love ice cream. Mush them all together, and we should have something special. Add a dead bug (though I suppose dead bug is better than live bug, but not by much) and we have the exact opposite effect. Bleh.Try and follow that up with a soothing cup of tea that fails, not once but twice. Surely, Tuesday has to be better.

i1035 FW1.1

Did I do that?

Well. I will start off by mentioning that Skye kitty puked at my feet while I was making my list of Monday horrors. It was not her first time today. She’s fine; it’s hairball season. This happened at the same time Housemate arrived several hours earlier than we expected her (always good to see her, and it is her house, too, but surprise factor was high) and RLRH, who had been sleeping in, rose at that exact moment, doubling the surprise factor for me, plus cat puke. I am about to give this day a jaunty salute and retreat into Sims 3 and adult coloring books.

Before the cat puke and flinging open of multiple doors at once, my Tuesday so far includes:

  • the two pens I normally keep in my computer bag, for specific purposes, are not in my computer bag, nor are they in my computer sleeve, and I have run out of logical places they could be, which leaves “lost” as the most likely suspect. Not earth-shattering, as they are easily obtained at Dollar Tree, and I am subbing Pilot Varsity fountain pens (there is something about subbing a fountain pen for a dollar store pen, but I am too Mondayed to examine that at present) but still enough to jangle in my current state.
  • Aforementioned festival of doors flinging open, with my opinion asked on a conversation whose topic completely eluded me.
  • New (additional, that is; Critique Partner Vicki is not going anywhere; I love and need  her and she can’t afford the blackmail, so she has to stick around) critique partner not only pinpointed specific issues with project she’s looking at with laser accuracy and helpful suggestions with which I totally agree can make this story So Much Better but also nailed the overall goal I’m going for in my writing, which I had not mentioned to her yet; reclaiming my melodrama, which I love and dearly miss, buried under should and expectations and nonwriting concerns.

This last one is where I’m going to focus, because it’s a good place and an uncomfortable place. It’s good because this is what I want, this getting back in touch with my natural voice and working those writing muscles until they give me some resistance, which is the signal that they are getting stronger. Uncomfortable, because, well, change is uncomfortable. Resistance is uncomfortable. Looking at what we could do better and where we’ve fallen short is uncomfortable. It’s also a necessary step in the journey, and, sometimes, we need to tread that particular path more than once.

So, on a day when I’d hoped to make up for the day before, (though I did get some work done before RLRH and I had our adventure) instead, I’m digging up bones, fleshing out, refining, reexamining, restoring, tearing down and building up until what’s on the page is what’s in my head. My characters deserve that. My readers deserve that. I deserve that. In that perspective, all the crud is worth what it takes to go through, to make the best possible story and the best possible me. Remind me of that when I grumble, okay?

Return of the Robot Revolution

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Today, you’re getting what my computer sees, and Monday morning’s post on Tuesday afternoon, because this has already started to shape up as quite a week. I’ll give you a brief tour. Feel free to grab your own beverage, because I know I need mine.

Monday was jury duty, my first time in NY, though I’d been called more times in CT than anybody I know (in any state, actually.) I was not selected, so you get me this week, after all. I’d meant to get this blog up in the morning, but then I noticed the laundry was three steps away from becoming sentient, so trip to the Laundromat was in order. I like to bring my phone with me so I can stay current on email and do some research or check favorite sites (Spotify, I ❤ you) but that only works if the phone does.

I need to back up here, to Sunday. I’d been in the park, stopped on a bench to check my messages, and the phone went dark. Not what it was meant to do, as I’d left the house with a full charge. Okay, no big deal. Go back home and charge it, only darned thing wouldn’t take a charge. Maybe it’s the charger? I tried Real Life Romance Hero’s charger, tried Housemate’s charger, tried my tablet’s charger, and more, until the grand total was six. Nothing. This warrants trip to the phone store. Not my favorite place, and I was already anxious, so yeah, fun. Phone Dude fiddled with phone, it worked fine, so, okay. Worked fine again on Monday, useful for checking in with Real Life Romance Hero and letting him know how things were going. Worked fine Monday night and most of Tuesday morning.

So, back to Laundromat today, checking mail, and…phone goes dark again. Try to power on or off, nothing. Ahem. I have been this way before. Run phone home (I live kitty corner to the Laundromat) to stick it in charger, grab tablet, back to Laundromat. Head back to phone store after laundry is done, Phone Dude II fiddles with the battery, and all is well. Great. Time for lunch with Housemate. While Housemate is obtaining food, I stake out table in food court, and check my…wait a minute, we just fixed this. Double ahem.

Back to phone store, and deal with Phone Dude III. Phone Dude III could put us in queue for Phone Dude II, who is the one allowed to poke around phone guts, but that would be at least two hours wait. Nope. There is an alternative, Phone Dude IV, a few minutes down the road. Fine. Nothing to lose, so off Housemate and I go. Phone Dude IV agrees to poke around the phone guts. First job: test battery. Battery is fine. That’s good news. Phone, however, seems to be pining for the fjords, so options seem to be A) purchase new phone, or B) send phone back to Phone People, let them fix it and send it back. This decision will be made in a bit, as my to do list tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me there is still writing and critting to be done, so off again.

I’d wanted to have all that work done by this part of the day, not only be starting on it, but I have my list on Habitica, and my party is on a quest, so darned if I am going to be the reason we take any hits. For me, accountability works extremely well, and if the rest of my party is counting on me to do all this stuff, then I am going to do it, no matter how long it takes. Call it dedication or stubbornness or whatever; I know that’s how I’m wired. If I didn’t have a list others could see (at least I think they can see it; I know I can, and what I do contributes to the welfare of the party as a whole) I might say eh, it’s been an aggravating day; I’m curling up under a blankey, making tea and diving into a good book.

That last part, I am doing. Sort of. Review novella installment from collaborator, crit Critique Partner Vicki’s new chapter, and then hit the story points I’ve listed for the projects of the day. So, not an entire loss, and I did get a blog entry out of the deal. Still crabby, though, because I like my phone and I am going to be itchy without it until things are resolved. I am, now, more than ever, convinced that I somehow repel electronics. Maybe they’re allergic to me? Is it because I write historicals? Because I love notebooks more than a sane person should? Be honest, electronics, I can take.it.

Typing With Wet Claws: Have to go Through It Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This has been an interesting week, but then again, they always are. Otherwise, I would have nothing to write about, and that would not make Anty happy. She counts on me to take care of Friday posts for her, which I am happy to do, because I am a very devoted kitty. I do an excellent job of following my humans around the apartment and sitting in the worst (they say worst, but I think they really mean best) places, right in their paths, to show them how much I love them and want to be wherever they are. Also, if they have to go past or over me, that means they will see me and remember it is time to feed me. It is always time to feed me, because I have a special food schedule. I eat little bits throughout the day. My humans tried giving me only breakfast and dinner, but I was not okay with that. I prefer things my way.

That is something Anty and I have in common. Tailoring the way things “should” be done to the way they actually work can be a very good thing. Like with me. Because of my special paws, I do not climb or jump (but do not worry, I am fine. I can walk and run and play -I love to bat crumpled paper around the hardwood floor- like any other kitty.) so using a litterbox is confusing for me. Anty, Uncle and Mama do not ask me to do that. Instead, I have my pee spot and a couple of poop spots (I have to give them some variety, don’t I? Plus, I don’t like to poop when people are watching.) and always let them know when I did something, so they can clean it right away. No predators have found us yet, so I think it is safe to say my plan is working. You are welcome.

Anyway, Anty has found this is very true in reading and writing, as well as my personal habits. By going with her gut in her reading preferences, she has found she is reading more, like she wanted to be, and does not feel all that pressure to keep up with current releases. Not that she is not abreast (that is my vocabulary word for the day) of current publishing trends and news; she likes knowing what is going on in the market, very much. She is checking the mailbox daily for Romantic Times Book Reviews, so she can see what is going on this month. wwRight now, she is reading a mix of realistic Young Adult novels and classic historical romances. She wishes Goodreads had a classifier for rereading, because that would make updating her status a lot easier. It also would be nice if it did not show books she has already read as books she is still reading, because that bothers her.

I have digressed. Anty is working on a post about how she uses sticky notes, part of which will require her to get out her plotting board. That is fun and scary at the same time. Fun, because she will get to play with sticky notes and move things around. Scary, because then people will see what she is doing and they might not like how she is doing it. Maybe they will not like her. I try to tell her that is okay. Uncle and Mama and I will still love her, but she is a writer human, and prone to these insecurities. Maybe she will make a picture with Scapple, because then she can draw lines between the boxes. She cannot do that with her plotting board, but she could, if she had a white board. She used to have a white board (but it was not white; it was a picture of white clouds in a blue sky) but I do not think it made it with us during the move. She will figure it out.

This week, Anty has had another article on XOJane.com, this time about what it was like to take care of her papa, her own anty, and Uncle at the same time. I do not remember any of that, because I was not born yet, so I cannot tell you anything that is not in the article. It is here and looks like this:

xojane

Anty did not think she would like writing personal experience articles -she is a fiction writer, after all- but she does, and plans on writing more of them. It is kind of like blogging, only more people read it, and publisher humans give her money, which she can turn into cat food. Or maybe other things, like notebooks or maybe another computer, but I think she should get the cat food first. It is important. One important thing Anty has learned from writing these articles is to dive deeper into the emotions. Picking what details to share (Uncle says she has left out a lot of the good parts, but Anty reminds him there is a word count she has to respect with these things.) This means reworking some things in the historical, that she has already written, which does not make her happy, even though she knows it will be best for the book and the characters.

Although Anty would really prefer to have the whole book come from her head to the page, perfectly, the first time, she is coming to understand it does not work like that. The process of writing, like the process of caregiving, or cleaning out her papa’s house, is something Anty has to go through, to get to the other side. If that means making a big mess first, then that is what she will have to do. It is okay. I still love her. And cat food. I love cat food.

Speaking of writing, Anty has to do that now, so she will need the computer, which means 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…

Wednesday Night Blabber

annabowling 2 Comments

Some days require a lot of gummi bears. I have some gummi bears. Make of that what you will.

I’ve started this entry multiple times, tried some inspirational quotes, erased them, started again, more times than I am comfortable confessing, but it’s Wednesday, and Wednesday’s post needs to go up, because discipline is important. I need the structure. Without it, I’m going to wander off and spend the entire afternoon rearranging my TBWI crates. That’s To Be Written In, which means notebooks, and yes, I have more than one. If the zombie apocalypse does come, I will be all set when it comes to notebooks, but I will also probably be the one who leads the raiding party on the Moleskine store in NYC. I have my priorities.

:time warp:

7:37 PM

Still Wednesday. That is a good thing. I’ve recently joined Habitica, which combines two of my favorite things: list-making and gaming. I am in serious Sims withdrawal, due to the moribund nature of my old laptop, the inability of new laptop to handle the game, (which is okay, as she was purchased to be a writing machine in the first place) and still planning on a desktop that I can use for gaming. Sims Freeplay is fun on my phone, but it’s not a game-game, and I am feeling the lack. Okay, back to the point. Normally, I would say that some days, the stuff doesn’t come, oh well, go watch Ink Master and give myself a break. Still sound advice, but…I’m in a party, and when we all meet our goals, we all reap the benefits, and when one of us falls behind, we all feel that as well. Or that’s how I understand it. I’m still new. At any rate, being accountable to others gives me the push to knuckle down and get it done. It’s still the same day, I know how to write, so this can still happen.

Real Life Romance Hero texted me from the park during this writing session that wasn’t. I asked him to come hang out. He suggested we play hooky and let the brain free-float, in hopes things will fall into place. It seems to have done the trick. A change in perspective, some filling of the creative well, and we’re back in business. Also, there are fireworks. I do not know why there are fireworks, but I am highly in favor of fireworks I can see from my comfy chair.

Picture above is what my computer sees most days. Me, staring both at the screen and at the story world (for fiction) or into the recesses of my own mind (for nonfiction. Pen in mouth is optional, but earphones are not. Notebook is at hand for the scribbling down of miscellany, making lists and crossing things off as I complete them. Some days, the words come faster than I can get them down, and my fingers tangle, trying to stay current. Other days, like this one, they need to be wooed, with seasonally appropriate beverages, the occasional baked good, a walk in the park, maybe go out for a movie, curl up with a good book, or listen to the same song on repeat for an hour or so. Possibly some abstract doodling.

It’s different every time. Which, in retrospect, is probably a good thing. This may be a late night, and that is okay. I’d rather get things done earlier in the day, but, today, that’s not what happened. Today was a full house day, with errands to run. Tomorrow will have a more normal work schedule for everyone, including myself. In the meantime, adapting is, if not always fun, a challenge. What do I need that I don’t have? Do I not know the characters well enough? Did I hit a historical snag? Is the tone of the piece wrong? Do I need more gummi bears? (Okay, that one is almost always yes.) Maybe I need to go to the movies; not merely watching a DVD, but immersing myself in the whole experience, popcorn and coming attractions and all. Come to think of it, the answer to that one is almost always also yes.

So there we are. still Wednesday, I’ve had time with Real Life Romance Hero, and also with Housemate, devoured dinner, now checking things off my list with Master Chef on the TV and evening emails to answer. Not the best or most profound entry, but, as Real Life Romance Hero reminded me earlier, they can’t all be gold. But they do have to be written. That, I can do.

Rambly Ramblings on Writing, Reading and Feeling Like a Unicorn

annabowling 2 Comments

“Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.”
― David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary

Not sure what I want to talk about today, so you’re going to get a freeform ramble, and I am going to trust that I am going to make some sort of sense by the time I’m done. This has been not exactly a domestic tornado day, but it has been a day with a full house, interrupted by Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate heading out a deux on a grocery run. Insert Rant of the Lonely Extrovert here, because even though grocery shopping with the whole household (minus Skye, who stays home because she is smart and also a kitty) can make me crabby at best and anxious at worst, it’s still out of the house and being around people. Alas, being sun-sensitive won out, because it is blindingly bright out there for those of us (aka me) who are pale and not suited to summer, so I am rambling from my favorite seat at the coffee house down the block from our own abode. It’s nice and dark here, within the exposed brick walls, I have an iced smoky chai in front of me, am functioning remarkably well for someone who has been Mentos-free for over a week and it’s time to take a look at the week ahead and what I am going to do with it, writing wise.

At the moment, I’m at the “staring at the twenty-foot high blank white wall” stage, which is not at all uncommon for a Monday, and I know that it does, indeed pass, so not going to stress about that. Note to self: writing about things that do not bother me all that much does not make for sinctillating interesting reading. If I am making myself yawn reading it, then it’s probably going to elicit the same response from readers. Which is not at all what a writer of commercial fiction wants, by any stretch of the imagination.

Had a train of thought there, but lost it. I hate when that happens. I am going to blame the upset to routine. My ideal method of attack is to make a list over breakfast, prioritize, then do all the things, crossing them off as I go. That did not happen today, and I am feeling the lack. I am also feeling vaguely unsettled that three passes through the main library’s romance section did not yield anything I had to take home with me right that second, but I was able to cull an armful of fresh voices and intriguing situations from the YA shelves in a matter of minutes. Under one, actually. I wasn’t counting. After devouring the realm of possibility and, earlier, How They Met, and Other Stories, both by David Levithan, which were a master course in romance (even if some of those romances don’t end well) and emotion, I had decided I’m going to have to devour everything he’s ever written and see what I can mine from it. If this guy can tell a love story entirely through dictionary entries, that definitely counts as innovation.

That innovation was what I found myself hungry for when I scoured the romance shelves. Historical romance is still my genre. It’s still what I love to read most, and what I love to write, and, at the moment, it has me somewhat itchy. Not sure what this is, but acknowledging this itchiness is important. Today, looking at the shelves, I saw, with the exception of older titles, almost exclusively series. I get the popularity there, I really do. There’s a built in following for many writers that way and many readers like the comfort of returning to a known community with familiar characters and such. I do follow some series, but not because they are series. There has to be something else. When I write, I naturally think in standalones, which can make me feel, at times, like a unicorn.

I see a lot of Regency settings. I’ve tried to write Regency. It did not end well, for anybody involved. My critique partner, Vicki, summed it up best. “You hate writing Regency.” She’s pretty smart that way. I do. Perfectly fine historical era, but where other writers get excited about Almack’s and, um, Empire waists, I get nothing. Dial things back a couple of decades to the Georgian era (yes, yes, I know, the Georgian era technically goes up to the coronation of Queen Victoria, but my blog, my rules) and we’re talking a whole different story. Wigs, high heels, embroidered satin, painted fans, makeup that would make Kat VonD jealous, and then there’s the women.

The historical fiction shelves (and boy howdy, do I love that our library system has a special sticker for book spines to designate historical fiction) get my interest from time to time, but my problem there, and I do love historical settings best of all -plop me down anywhere from the end of the Wars of the Roses to the end of the American Revolution and I am one happy camper- is that fictionalized biographies are a very hard sell for me. (Unless the topic is Anne Bonny, in which case, give, and back away slowly, mama’s reading) I’d rather read about original characters living in that world than the actual figures, though the actual figures can serve in supporting roles. I saw a few titles that looked mildly interesting, and I do know that some older historical romances of a few decades past have had second lives repackaged as historical fiction, as have some of the authors of such, but…

…that’s where things get unicorny. I want something new, within my favorite genre. Give me one hero and one heroine, in a fully realized historical world, make them people of their time, take me on an adventure and deliver on that big happy ending. Along the way? Carte blanche. (Yes, yes, I know, technically Regency term. Refer above; my blog, my rules.) The best way to make that happen, I know, is to write it myself, and I’m working on it, but there are days when I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to stab things with my sparkly horn for a while.

This may have been one of them, but that’s where the discipline of routine comes in. Monday’s post goes up on Monday. So, here it is. It’s okay if I ramble, because rambling will take me somewhere that stewing will not (and also, I hate cooked carrots, which stews often contain.) I don’t think I’m done yet, but I do have a date with my plotting board and some sticky notes, so wrapping things for now. See you Wednesday,

How Did We Get Here?

annabowling 2 Comments

Still technically morning,as it’s ten minutes to Skye’s treat (aka noon) so, technically, I am posting on time. Besides posting on the scheduled days, I’m giving myself the added goal of posting in the morning, when my brain is the freshest. If, that is, any brain can be fresh during a streak of humid, hot weather. I was not made for summer. Whatever whichever distant biological ancestor of mine did, back in merry olde England or Ireland (my birth mother’s last name puts her ancestry at southwest England or County Cork, most likely, and that name is very common in a part of Virginia where convicts were transported, so I think drawing conclusions is not that much of a stretch) to get booted from the British Isles to American shores (and the south, no less) I hope it was worth it.  Not that they likely had any say in the matter, unless it was a choice between transportation or hanging.

Maybe I’m reading it wrong. Maybe they worked hard, bought a ticket to a new life and were happy to make the change. Maybe it was a long haul of indentured servitude before they got freedom, a change of clothes and a mule. (Yay, colonial research, I use you yet again.) Who can tell? Since I was adopted at birth and don’t know any of my biological relatives, I’m probably not going to know, so I can fill in the blanks at my leisure. To this day, I remember the lovely white-haired Virginian gal at our church back in the old country, throwing her head back and laughing when I told her the name of the hospital on my birth certificate. “Oh, honey, that’s redneck country. You’re white trash.”  Lovely gal was part of an adoption triad of her own, and we had a long, illuminating conversation that day about what it was like to be where the other one was, searching and not searching, and coming to terms with some questions not having answers. I laughed, too, not because any group of people are intrinsically funny (except for comedians; they kind of have to be) but because that answer felt right.

It’s not a concrete answer, not a specific, but it’s close enough. I’ll take it. Going from rural Virginia to a one bedroom apartment in Manhattan at the age of three days must have given me a taste for adventure at a very early age. Moving, at the age of nine months, (okay, my parents were the ones who actually did the moving; I pretty much lay there the whole time) to a town steeped in colonial and Revolutionary history (oldest Catholic church in NY state, oldest burial ground, British burned the town to the ground but for one lone house, stone walls built by Dutch settlers and still in use, thankyouverymuch, library that was where John Jay’s kids went to school, etc) must have imprinted a love of the eighteenth century in me, so I’m not surprised that it’s turning out to be my default setting when writing fiction these days. I can live with that.

Ugh. Brain drifting, which is normal in August humidity, but I kind of need my brain for all that writing stuff. Putting a book together requires brain cells. It also requires notebooks and legal pads and Spotify and inhaling other books and period dramas, and the occasional ice cream soda (replace with hot cocoa in winter, thanks) and a mountain of gummi bears (Swedish fish also acceptable and possibly more conducive if writing a Viking story. I am not currently writing a Viking story, but that would be really cool someday.) Add in a thousand other things, as I am a magpie, and collect various bits of shiny to add to my stash until it all comes together in something that actually looks storyish.

The last couple of days, I inhaled the realm of possibility (sic) by David Levithan. and am nursing a serious book hangover. The depth of emotion, the brilliant beauty of language, the voices of twenty different students at the same school, telling one cohesive story that asks the readers to do some filling in of blanks – :happy sigh: I want to hit the snooze alarm on this one, spend five more minuteshoursdaysyearscenturiesmillenia there, and see what I can take away and put into my own work. It will be something different when put through my own filters, but that’s what it’s meant to do.

I was going to say something here about writing being a sort of alchemy, but then my brain drifted off, and my time for blogging today is done so I am going to leave it at that. My characters need me, and it’s really not in my best interests to leave them unattended on days like this.

This Rambling Is Going Somewhere, I Promise

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We were trapped in the limbo between where we were and where we wanted to be.

–David Levithan

My brain is mush today.  I don’t do well in high heat, and we are in one of those over ninety degrees for several days heat waves. There is a giant hole in the ground outside our house (city doing things to stuff under where the sidewalk used to be.) I have an ice pack at the base of my spine, to stay cool, and ingesting enough water to fill a small swimming pool. I would like to be in a swimming pool, actually, preferably an indoor one, but that would require leaving the house, so I refer to temperature and giant hole above.

There originally was a topic for this post, when I’d planned to post it, on Monday. That ship has sailed, and it is not coming back, so I am going to ramble. I have no idea whether the post I’d planned had anything to do with the quote above, which I love dearly, or if I have any chance of staying on topic, but I have a goal of blogging  three times a week, dagnabit, and I am going to stick to that. I had a writing teacher once (she would correct me that she was a group facilitator, not a teacher, but I learned stuff, Julia, so it counts. I will probably have a heroine named Julia someday, and That Julia will never know, because she doesn’t read romance. Ah, but you did, Julia. You read -okay, listened to- my stuff in group, so that counts, too.) who said that the practice of writing would bring the product of writing. In short, put pen on paper when she said “go” and then keep it moving until she called time.

It’s kind of like that with blogging. If I start blabbering on the paper, or screen, in this case, I’ll wind up talking about something, so there really are no wasted entries. It’s all going somewhere, even if that somewhere is priming the pump for other writing. I usually do need to prime. This morning, I’ve been filling the pages of a neon green legal pad with swoopy handwritten notes for one project, and, all things being equal, that’s where I’d like to stay. Commitment, though. If I don’t post today, then I’ll let it slide until tomorrow, which is my day away from the house (but not from computers, but more on that later) so that would run into Skye’s posting, and weekend posting would not be the most convenient thing, so it had to be today.

Today’s quote, taken from one of the stories in How They Met And Other Stories, fits the way I’m feeling. Real Life Romance Hero, greatly improved from  his own challenges, suggested I take today to rest, but how can I when I am literally years behind where I wanted to be? Years. Oh, and I suppose I’m going to fix that all in one day? Um, no. That’s not realistic or even possible, butbutbutbutbutbutbut….yeah. That’s the thing, that limbo of being between where we are and where we want to be.

Where I am now is not where I would have thought I’d be  years ago, before I got the phone call from my dad’s neighbor, before that first time Real Life Romance Hero and I waited on the front porch of where we used to  live for the ambulance to arrive after that first asthma attack. A book a year, that was the plan, maybe two if I really got into my groove, but it’s been long enough since a release that I could count as a new author under certain criteria. That’s neither good nor bad, merely is, and I need to be okay with that. it’s a fact. Life happens. I can’t control that.

What I can control is what I do with it. I can write the best story I can, and put everything I have into it. That neon green legal pad and I were up past midnight and up again before six, because my hero and heroine needed me. Bless their poor broken hearts, and my poor scrambled brain. I can’t do everything. I can’t write x years worth of books in one day, but I can write this scene. I can get the first of three blog entries posted. Julia was right. The practice brings forth the product.

I wrote some crap in those sessions, but I also wrote the opening of My Outcast Heart, a good deal of Orphans in the Storm, and a good deal, if not all, of “Never Too Late” in those sessions, too. So there is some precedent. Here I am, a good deal (yes, I did just use that phrase in the line above, but it’s my blog and I’ll repeat if I want to) farther down the page than I’d intended, so that’s good. I’d thought about doing a video blog for today, but my one rule about video blogging (so far) is that I only make videos when my makeup does not melt off my face while I am applying it. Kind of important, that one. I’m sure there will be others, but for today, that’s enough.

So that’s it for today. It’s hot. I’m cranky. I don’t like summer, and I don’t like being denied my coffee house time or the accompanying iced tea. All the more reason to go back into story world until it’s time to meet Housemate for soft serve in the evening, DJ-ing the soundtrack for the drive on the new smartphone RLRH and Housemate (and the very persuasive Shawn D at the phone store) talked me into. We’re all a little disoriented on that one, but I am utterly delighted that there is an office program on the actual phone, so new writing toy. Rather makes that trip to where I want to be shorter, and with a better soundtrack.

All Dressed Up and No Place to Go, aka Not at Nationals

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It’s that time of year again. RWA Nationals, this year in New York, which made me insanely happy when I first heard of the choice of venue. I’d promised myself as soon as my critique partner told me where this year’s Nationals would be, that I would be in New York for that one. I am, after a fashion. I live in New York, but not in New York City. I’m about two hours away, and I love where I live, but the fact remains that I am not attending Nationals, and I am grouchy about that.

Not that I’m not thankful to have what I have, and be where I am, because I am. I have a new laptop that works beautifully, I’m working on multiple projects that feel right for me, and get a few extra days at home with Real Life Romance Hero thanks to the recommendations of a people vet, to use Skye’s term. Plus I get to hang out with a gorgeous Maine Coon all day. These are not bad things.

Still, for the extroverted romance writer, RWA Nationals is like extroverted romance writer Christmas. A whole hotel, crammed full of people who do what I do and love what I love? Free books and swag everywhere? A chance to see old friends and meet new ones, and literally be surrounded by the romance industry? What’s not to love? I know big conferences can be hard for more introverted types, with all those people and so little quiet space and time, but for me, it’s like putting a duck in water. Paddlepaddlepaddle, I got this. What do you write? And you? And you? And you? What are you reading? Who’s watching Poldark? Here, have a business card. :tries to find business card port on laptop, gives up:

I love getting dressed up; for me, that’s what feels natural and comfortable, so I’m not missing out on that one at all. I’m wearing a long navy eyelet dress today, matching sandals, beachy hair, makeup done, because I am going out somewhere, even if it’s only down the block to my favorite coffee house (it’s hot out, and I do not do heat, humidity, or sun well.) There comes a point in every day when the need to be around people who do not share my address and/or last name becomes as important as food and air. The definition of extroversion I use is that an extrovert gains energy from being around other people and spends it alone. Go be with people to fill my tank, then jump into story world to spend all that energy by myself, writing. That seems to work pretty well for me. Your mileage may vary.

I’ve been attending the New England RWA conference for several years, and love that. My favorite part is Saturday breakfast, because that is extroverted morning person Christmas. Hotel full of people who love to talk about romance writing (and reading) and there’s breakfast food? Only problem there is that 7AM feels late for me (uber-morning person here; I trace this back to a particular late fall morning when I was a preschooler, and my morning person mother showed me why predawn is the best time for those like us to get up. Mist wrapping around the bare-limbed trees as the night faded into dawn burned itself into my memory, and I still remember that switch flipping on as we looked out the kitchen window together. There may have been pancakes.) Add copious amounts of tea to the mix, and I become supercaffieneated extroverted morning person. Scary at times, but also, for me, super super super fun.

Then there’s workshops, which I drink in like a thirsty camel slurps water. Last year, I took a stab at moderating a couple of workshops, which I loved and will probably do again in the future. Volunteering at a conference brings on a whole other level of experience. I’ve helped with breakfast setup (morning people think this is fun, not work, so best to take full advantage when possible) once, which had the added benefit of being able to pick my seat in advance of the meal, by criteria of what book would be on my seat. I have not yet been able to train Real Life Romance Hero to put a newly released historical romance on my seat at every meal, but maybe if I give him a stack, he could try, just for this week? It’s not asking that much.

At this past year’s NECRWA conference, I skipped a workshop to huddle in a corner of the lobby and write an entire scene on my tablet. Considering that I had not yet mastered the touchscreen and was doing this without a stylus (we shall call this time the dark ages) this is an accomplishment. I also had not discovered how to toggle between letters and numbers and thus believed that the office program had no quotation marks (I know, I know, please consider that endearing) but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the atmosphere, all the inspiration in the air, and that it had reached critical mass. That a friendly face could take one look at what was going on, say something akin to “oh, you’re writing. Catch you later,” and that would still count as contact.

I haven’t been to Nationals yet, and it’s not going to be this year. I’m disappointed in that, but I do know that I will be, at the right time, with a new book to shill…er, promote. I meant promote. In the meantime, if you haven’t had enough of my blabber, here’s my first shot at video blogging with the new laptop:

Typing With Wet Claws: Back on Our Feet Edition

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Hello all, Skye here for another Feline Friday. I am blogging on my computer today, with Anty’s brand new stylus. It is tricky to use if you have paws, which I do. Still, it leaves fewer prints on the screen, so I thought I would give it a try. If I make a lot of mistakes, please remember I do have paws. Also, I am very cute.

This has been a challenging week. Uncle had to go back to the people vet, this time because his paws were sick. He had to get some rest and take different pills that would not hurt his paws. Uncle was very brave, and did not have to wear the cone of shame. We are all very proud of him. He is much better now and can go out to hunt for cat food and other necessary things.

This means that Any does not have to spend as much time taking care of people vet things and can focus more on her writing. This is good news because she tends to get crabby when she does not get to write. Also when she does not get to sleep. She has not been doing a lot of either his week, come to think of it. She has been pretty crabby. That is all about to change, though, since Uncle has gone back to hunt. His paws are better, he is in a good mood, and they had a nice time together after he helped Anty put away her hunting (she hunted a lot of groceries with Mama, who had to go out and hunt some more.) With Mama and Uncle both out of the house, that means that Anty can use the internet computer all she wants.

She first thought she could be okay using only her tablet, Robin Sparkles, and sending files from there to other computers, but it did not work out as easily as she had hoped. Also, one computer shared among three humans takes more planning than a tired brain can handle without somebody’s schedule colliding with somebody else’s. Then there is the fact that three people using one computer all that much means it is getting pounded on far more than one computer should. This means that a new computer will probably come into the house soon. That means change. Have I mentioned kitties do not like change? Maybe the box will be nice. I do not climb, so I will probably not get inside it, but I might like to lean against it. I like leaning.

Anty does like working with Robin Sparkles, though, because they can go to the mall lots of different places. One thing Anty had always wanted to do with a tablet is get on Instagram, and, today, she did. Right now, all there is, is a picture of me, but that is a very good start. If you are on Instagram, Anty is annacarrascobowling on there. She will probably have lots of pictures of me and ducks, but not in the same picture, because the ducks are in the park and I am at home.

Anyway, Anty is getting ready to move files onto the new computer when it arrives. She can still use her old laptop for writing and playing The Sims 3 (she does not have 4 yet, but tried the demo and thought it was fun, so someday, she will get that game also) but it cannot use the internet any longer. Maybe the computer vet can help it do that again, but we will not know that for a while. If the computer vet is really good, maybe they can even fix the H key. Uncle knows a good computer vet and we will take Anty’s and Uncle’s old laptops to them soon. I expect there may be bad words, but on the other paw, that might mean more working computers. I do not know how it works when there are more computers than humans. Maybe they will need to get another human? I like the humans we already have and do not need any more. No offense.

Anty likes the idea of starting over with a brand new machine, even though that will mean a lot of work getting things set up. The new computer will probably not have Word, but she can put Scrivener on it, and also Zen Writer.  She likes Zen Writer because it is pretty and she can hear typewriter key sounds while she works. I think those key sounds are very interesting. She knows that it will take a long time to install Sims 3 on a new computer, but the up side of that is that it will be able to handle the expansions she has and maybe a new world or two. Then she can actually play instead of sigh when the drivers fail and the screen goes black. She is much less crabby when she can play Sims. If she can write, sleep and play Sims, she is a lot easier to live with; take my word on that one. I could tell you stories, but then she might not let me use the computer as much as she does now, so I will not do that.

Not all of the files will make it to the new computer, and that is all right. Stories that she has decided she will not be writing after all (we will not talk about the vampire historical, for example) can stay where they are. She will probably not delete them, but maybe save them to disk instead, where they cannot hurt anybody. Keeping only stories she is currently writing on the new computer will cut down on mental clutter and help keep her focused. I could point out that inspirational picture files take up a lot of space, but I also know where my treats come from, so I will not do that, either. She can look at me and Uncle. That should be enough.

This week, the coming soon announcement is mine. I have lined up my very first Posting Playdate guest, Bailey. Bailey lives with my Anty Sue Ann, who blogs at SueAnnPorter.com. That is very exciting. I have never had a guest before, but I have read Anty’s interviews, so I think I have a good grasp on how that goes. Watch this space for more details.

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

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

Until next week...

Until next week…