Ravenwood

Why the Heck Not?

annabowling 2 Comments

Do not ask me how I found myself, yesterday, editing a long-shelved manuscript, but I did. Do not ask me what it was that prompted me to check the submissions requirements for an e-book publisher I have worked with before, but, again, I did. Do not ask me how my brain said, “Anna, you could totally send that there. Go open the file, poke it with a stick, and send it off.” I do not have an answer for that, either, but, for the time it took for me to make adjustments I’d known I had to make, for years, my brain was entirely focused on the work, not the domestic tornadoes that have whipped through the week so far, not the hot, sticky weather, not the feeling that I should be oh so much farther along this writing road by now, not anything that was not John and Aline and their road trip from Aline’s plague-ravaged fishing village to a city that may or may not exist (she thinks it does, he isn’t so sure) and it was…nice. No stress, only story. Only fun.

This is the story, originally titled Draperwood, then Ravenwood, now A Heart Most Errant (I seem to be going through a lot of titles these days, and I am okay with that.) I wrote during a time of huge life upheaval, and the story that made me cry actual tears when I reached The End, because I had spent so much time with John and Aline, that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but the story was done. They reached their destination, though it wasn’t what either of them had expected, and they were happy. They were both home at last. Me, at the time, not so much, because that was one journey that wasn’t yet over in real life, but them? They were going to be fine.

They still are. That’s one good thing about checking in on characters one has waved off into the sunset some time ago. Even though I honestly have no idea what prompted me to dust this story off, or set a deadline for taking a chance on submission, after some really good rejections and a resting period, when I did open the file, it felt right. There they were, as happy to see me as I was to see them. Maybe they sorted out a few things while I was busy in other centuries, but if that works, hey, I can deal with that.

I first wrote John and Aline’s story when I saw an issue of RT Book Reviews magazine that featured separate articles on both medieval romance and post-apocalyptic romance. I like both of those things. Could they be two great tastes that tasted great together? Even in the whirl of grief, caregiving and other concurrent adventures, I couldn’t wait to find out, so I didn’t. To the people of fourteenth century England, having the Black Plague sweep through multiple times in only a couple of decades had to seem like the end of the world. The unbelievably high body count wouldn’t be the only casualty of the plague, but buildings burned to eliminate contagion, businesses and professions knocked to their knees due to the loss of people who could do those jobs, and travelers or expats, like knight errant John, who returned from their travels to find there was literally nothing left and nowhere to go.

I have always been drawn to stories about survivors, those who lose everything and yet keep on going, so John and Aline’s story is very close to my heart. Maybe the only answer to why toss a third ball into the mix when I am already juggling two other books and it’s domestic tornado season is that it is time. What do I have to lose? As my Aunt S used to tell me, “the worst they can say is no, and then you’ll be exactly where you were before you asked.” So, that’s what I’m doing. I don’t think I need to know precisely why.

Is this story perfect? No. Will it ever be? Again, no. Is it right, though? Yes. Is it true, though? Again, yes. Not true as in there are historical records to prove that people with my characters’ names actually existed and this is what happened to them, because no, there is not; they were born in my head. What I put on the page, though, is an accurate representation of the story they told me, so I’m okay with that. Sometimes “good enough” is enough of a goal. If this publisher says no, there are others, and if they all say no, well, I’ve been curious about the indie process for a while now.

What I do know is that it’s time. Sure, “post-apocalyptic medieval” isn’t a term one hears every day, but everything we know now was once done for the first time. Though I don’t normally think in series, there is one not-a-monk who has been giving me a sly glance from beneath his hood as I edit the sections where he appears, and, if he has a story to tell, I am here to listen.

Typing With Wet Nails: Fountain Pen Day Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty has not been sleeping a lot this week, and she is not sure why. I do not see the problem here, because that means she is up during the night and has more time to focus on me, but she does tend to get crabby, so that probably is a problem after all. It has been an eventful week. Today is a good day, though, because it is Fountain Pen Day. Anty only found out about  this holiday today, but she is still very happy about it. Anty loves fountain pens.

Right now, she has three of them, all by Pilot. They are disposable, which means that, when they are empty, they are all done. Anty is not very happy about that aspect, so she is looking into refillable fountain pens. She has one, also by Pilot, that is clear purple plastic, but she misplaced it, and would need to look up what refills it takes, anyway. In the meantime, she has these.

Black, blue and purple are good for a start.

Black, blue and purple are good for a start.

This kind of pen also comes in turquoise and red. Anty does not remember if it comes in any other colors, but if it does, she wants them, too. She likes writing with fountain pens very much, especially in her special notebooks by Paperblanks. They are fancy, and Anty likes fancy. Take a lok at this one. This is her longhand book for Her Last First Kiss. It gets blue ink because the cover is blue.

Anty calls this one "Big Daddy Precious."

Anty calls this one “Big Daddy Precious.”

Here is a look inside her longhand notebook for Ravenwood:

These notes will probably not be in the final book. Probably.

These notes will probably not be in the final book. Probably.

The cover for this one is black, and it has a dragon on it. There are not any dragons in this book. That is okay by me, because dragons are scary. I think. I have not met any dragons, not that I know of, anyway. There is a stuffed dragon in Anty’s office, but I know the difference between stuffed and alive, so I do not count him on this one. Anty likes this book a lot because the pages are gray, with a darker gray border. She says that puts her in the right mood to write about this particular story. It takes place after a very big sickness called the Plague. The people vets who lived back then did not know how to stop it, so this was a very scary time. Anty got the idea for this story when she read a magazine that had an article about writing medieval romance and one about writing postapocalyptic romance in the same issue. Anty likes both of those things and wanted to see if she could mush them together. Since she finished the book, I think she did. Now it is time for her to make sure it is as good as it can be at this time and send it to publishers and see if they will like it.

Anty has been in her office more often this week, and not only during the daytime. when she cannot sleep, she sometimes goes into her office. One time this week, I got very curious. I waited until Anty had all of her attention on the things on her desk, and I crept over the threshold. I am a ninja kitty a lot of the time. I like to get veryveryveryclose to my humans without them noticing. Then it is a big surprise when they move, and there I am. Sometimes I get scared and run away, but I come right back. That is how it works on regular floors. The floor in Anty’s office does not have a regular floor. It has a carpet that is different from the one in her and Uncle’s bedroom. I do not like the office carpet much, especially since my claws caught in it.

I got my claws un-caught, but it was noisy, and Anty looked, and she saw me and I saw her seeing me, and I ran. I came right back, because I love Anty, and figured she might feed me for being a brave girl. She did. She went back to sleep after that. I like to think I helped her with that, because it is part of my job as a mews.  It is also my job to help her recap some TV shows, like last night’s Sleepy Hollow. That recap is not posted yet, but she will share it with you when it is. Maybe she will even let me update this entry, but I think I will wait to ask her until after she has a nap. I can help her with that, too, so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Until next week...

Until next week…

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

PS: Happy Fountain Pen Day.

On the Fourth Day of Na-Not

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Improving isn’t only about fixing our weaknesses. It’s also about learning to play to our strengths.

–Bryn Donovan

Catchy title mostly because I needed something to put in the space for a title, and picture (uncropped, because I forgot) of lovely birthday loot from the lovely E. Catherine Tobler, because it is pertinent to my interests. Notebooks, pens and sticky notes are always good gifts. I haven’t put anything in the notebook yet, because I’m still in the stroking the paper stage and figuring out what wants to be on those pages.

This is going to be one of those blabbery entries, because it’s only my list, and time is ticking. I have Critique Partner Vicki’s chapter to crit, a chapter from Collaborator Melva to read and then we figure out where the next scene goes. Then there’s Ravenwood to polish, which is cooperating rather well, if I do say so myself. All of this can let Her Last First Kiss simmer on the back burner and sort out a few things without breaking my brain.

That’s one of the things I like best about working on multiple projects. There’s an energy I find in switching gears. When I was a kid, my mother would tell me that  the more I did, the more I’d want to do. I hated when she would say that, but now, I have to admit she’s right. The more I do, the more I want to do, especially with writing. I like that. When I would force myself to try and follow the NaNo method, I hated writing. The word count goal loomed over me, and I couldn’t see the story.

I’d thought that not doing NaNo meant cutting me off from the support system that I liked about the whole thing. While attending my first NaNo event a couple years back was a fun way to meet other local writers, I have a fabulous local RWA chapter. Not only other writers, but other writers in my chosen genre. Not only for one month out of the year, but all year round. Not only that, but writer friends I’ve known long enough that our friendships could vote, get married, and join the military without parental consent. Not necessarily in that order.

I am a talker. Those who have known me for more than about five minutes know that, and when talk turns to stories, the reading, writing, viewing and analysis thereof, well, the more I do, the more I want to do there, as well. So, November, when there is writing talk seemingly everywhere, is a good month. A really good month. For someone whose brain normally sounds very much like “storystorystorystorystorystorystory” this really is the best time of year, participation in a program or not. That’s been an interesting lesson to learn. Not sure what Mom would have made of that, but still important to keep in mind. Blogging is kind of talking, blabbering through my fingers onto the keys that are rapidly losing their letters. My E and N keys are wearing way, and it may soon be time to take out the Sharpies and reinforce the markings. Or stickers. Or not bother because I know where the keys are, and, apart from the missing H key on the old laptop, they aren’t going anywhere.

Anyway. Talking. That’s part of what I do, part of the process. For many extroverts, talking and thinking happen at the same time, and I’ve found that to be true in a lot of my experiences. There is an infamous fifty page letter in my storied (pun intended) past. I am not entirely sure, now that I’ve accepted my love for snail mail as part of my natural order, that it will always hold the title for longest non-manuscript document I have ever sent. I have no regrets. I love that I’m  excited about writing, my own and those of others. I’m excited to sit at the keyboard, steal away moments to scrawl in various notebooks in a rainbow of colors, let it be crazy and messy and off the leash. There’s plenty of time to smooth it all out later. For now, letting the story spill out is all that matters, because nothing else can be done before that.

Now it’s November…

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I’d meant to get this up yesterday, but life intervened, turning the day to family things, but that fits with what I meant to write anyway, so I am going to consider that a point of illustration. Anyway, it’s November now, and I am not Na-No-ing. Old news, and for those wishing I’d shut up about that already, I will, in a bit. Which is to say, probably December, because there’s no denying NaNo is everywhere. I’ve done it, I’ve won it, I’ve lost it, I’ve gone a few rounds with it, lost a few books to it, and have some interesting scars to show for the battle, but, in the end, there is one thing that NaNo gave me that I will always treasure. It gave me the knowledge that I am enough; the way I work is enough. I don’t need to conform to somebody else’s process or beat myself up for not doing so. As a writer, this is what I do every day (the writing, not the beating up, though that, too, some days. A lot of days. Working on that.) so a special month dedicated to it? Good for some, but I’m working on some things over here, so not for me at present.

This week, I’m looking at three things. First is Her Last First Kiss, which is hopping around between bullet points and research topics as the puzzle pieces come together. This is what I do, dive headfirst into the primordial ooze of a story and splash around until order forms, and then have a blast organizing the whole deal. It’s going to be rough, it’s going to give me fits, but, in the end, I can do what I do, and there will be a rough draft. Then I get to smooth is out and make it pretty. I can do this. I have done this. I am doing this now and will do this again with the next book and the next book and the next, repeat until dead.

Second is the novella with Collaborator Melva. This is our beach ball that we are passing back and forth, no pressure, just fun. We each get to play to our own strengths in this one, draw from each other’s, and stretch enough to make it a reachable challenge.

Third is my postapocalyptic medieval, Ravenwood, which may get retitled (and probably billed as medieval, never mind that the Plague does count as an apocalypse, but probably more on that later.) A call for submission has come up, and I do have a completed ms sitting right there in my flash drive, so a good once-over and off it shall go. I won’t be devastated if John and Aline come riding back my way, but if they do find a new home, I will be thrilled.

For the first time in a long time, I feel on firm ground where writing is concerned. This has come as the result of a LOT of writing. Some good things, some bad things, more free writing notebooks than I would care to count, filled with whinges about how hard writing is and things I wish I’d done and things I wish I hadn’t done. It comes from a ton of reading: the year I devoured every Barbara Samuel (and psuedonyms) I could find; my big fat YA summer-that-stretches-into-autumn (David Levithan, may I have your book babies, please and thank you?) and my current foray into 90s historicals and  one dead laptop (well, really two, counting the one RLRH inherited) and one new one and recapping TV shows. It’s working on the next incarnation of From Fan Fiction to Fantastic Fiction (coming in 2016, because this fall got crazy) and, by dint of that, taking a closer look at why I love what I love and how I can use those elements in my own work, and picking others’ brains and trusting myself and diving into piles of stationery and notebooks and picking up old habits that worked in the past but I gave up somewhere along the way because of “supposed to’s” and “should” and and and and and…well.

Fall has always been the time of year when I get my super powers back. I feel more energized with the shorter days, when the world gets tucked in for the night, nice and early. When hot chocolate and cider flow, and Thanksgiving is soon to be upon us, and there are sweaters and boot socks and colorful leaves, and a crisp snap to the air. It’s time for curling up with a good book (or ten) under an afghan, with cup of tea at hand, and, since I am me, a notebook (or ten) on the other hand, because I have to multitask even when reading. It’s November. I’m back. I got this.

NECRWA Recap, Part One

annabowling 6 Comments

Back home now from NECRWA 2014, bags unpacked, laundry done, swag photographed (pictures to follow as I find a way to convince my camera and laptop to talk to each other) and mostly sorted, and I am full of tales to tell. Let’s start with the personal experience.

The ride to the conference, with dear friend and traveling buddy,Melva, went  smoothly, without our traditional getting-lost-when-almost there, and the funny feeling of not being encumbered by too many bags proved to be only that I have finally learned how to dress and pack for a conference. Room was comfy, buffet style meals meant that I was able to eat, even with my allergies, and the swag was plentiful.

This was my first year volunteering, and I ended up moderating two workshops, Leigh Duncan‘s Book It, Dan-O, which covers organization and plotting, and Plotting With Panache, by Patricia Grasso. I also had the chance to help set up before breakfast on Saturday, dropping books on chairs, which actually turned out to be fun, and with three of us working at the same time, went fast.

My pitch appointment was with Louise Fury of the Bent Agency. Though she said very lovely things about the sample pages I’d sent in, of my postapocalyptic medieval romance, Ravenwood, she did not ask to see the full ms. She did, however ask if I had anything else, and when I mentioned I am working on a Regency, she asked me to send that when it’s complete. That, I most certainly can do, and Louise was gracious enough to suggest some alternative routes for getting Ravenwood to readers, adding that is is a story she would totally read for pleasure.  So, while it wasn’t the outcome I’d hoped for with that ms, still very encouraging, and we even got to talk makeup for a bit.

Not bad at all, even if my slip did fall off on my way out of the room. Since I was due to moderate Patricia Grasso’s workshop, I picked up my undergarment, stuffed it in my bag and forged ahead. This was not my only mishap of the weekend, as I tore a nail down to the quick when I forgot to let go of the handle when opening my traveling companion’s hatchback as we loaded our luggage on Saturday afternoon. No permanent damage done, but I don’t want to repeat the experience, either.

The conference as a whole, though? Oh yes,  must do this again, and I’m already making plans with friends both old and new for next year. That’s one of the best parts of a conference; people I didn’t know existed on Thursday, by Monday, are now dear friends I couldn’t imagine living without. There’s the chance to introduce friends from my old life in CT to friends from my new life in NY, and finding they mix beautifully. There’s the excited squealing that only comes when two until-then strangers find they have the same all time favorite book and then stay up late into the night, excitedly chattering about the same. There’s checking up on those with whom one shared a pitch session waiting room, and bonding over both getting the same “medievals aren’t selling” line – and vowing to find a home for those books of our  hearts anyway.

Almost forgot (okay, I did, I’m adding this after I hit “publish”) getting the most definitive answer possible to “is Scrivener really for me?” – I won a copy in a basket raffle, courtesy of Jennifer Ackerman Kettell, complete with a copy of her Scrivener Absolute Beginner’s Guide, and an offer of personal tech support. Plus it came in a peacock themed box, with a peacock mug, which alone would have thrilled me, as I am very fond of peacocks.

Next up: the workshops.