reading

Sheeeeee’s Baaaaack

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Or close enough to it. One week and two days ago, we landed in our new apartment, but there is still another move ahead of us. Though the ad that led us to our current apartment said this was a pet friendly location, that was a mistake, so Skye is staying with Housemate’s mother, while we wait for a place that will fit all four of us. We do not expect that to be long, but there is still the question of what to bring into our current abode, and what we want to leave in storage until we are settled-settled, and the adventure continues.

Right now, my desk is my lap desk, my chair is the floor, with an armrest pillow behind me, and a fluffy throw tossed in for good measure. My computer is my phone, desktop to follow, when A) I can find it in the packed to the gills storage unit, and B) I can also find my desk, or a reasonable substitute, in the same unit. What is not under lock and key, however, is the desire, and the need, to write.

Because my life would not be my life without Unexpected! Drama! I am ensconced in my writing corner, waiting for pest control to return and drop off their item, and, at the same time, keeping one eye, and one ear, on a recovering Real Life Romance Hero, sprung from the hospital the day before yesterday, after a four day stay to treat an unfortunate incident. He is responding well and already wants to get back to work. Same with me.

Yesterday, I had my first breakfast with N, since moving out of the old apartment. Most of that time, I spent staring in deer in the headlights mode, due to stress and exhaustion, interpersed with sucking down possibly the largest iced tea I have seen in real life. There was also a bagel involved, but the real meat of the matter was writing, and where we each wanted our focus to be, in this coming season.

We talked of unfinished manuscripts, what makes them that way, and the experience of looking at things we had written in our respective way-back-whens. Sometimes, it’s “hey, this is pretty good.” Sometimes, it’s, “what was I thinking?” Sometimes, it’s “I can do this better/differently now.” Sometimes, there are no words, and the sentiment can be ezpressed only by pulling a sweatshirt hood over one’s head, and puling the drawstring,so that one’s face is comletely consumed by said hood, with possibly only the nose tip even visual to the casual observer.

We talked of how, sometimes, it isn’t possible to go back to a particular project, because we aren’t that person anymore, or we are no longer that writer. We did not speak of projects we mourn, but I have some, and I am sure she has some. I am even surer we are not alone in that, and that adds some substance to the feeling that we are in this together. (Inclusive we, for those keepng track of this sort of thing.)

There are days left, now, until the deadline for an anthology that asked me to submit to them, and, as I told N, at this point, I have no idea what I am going to send. The word count is low — a little more than flash fiction- and the fact that they found me bodes in my favor, so it’s as good a place as any to climb back on the metaphorical horse.

I have been writing, in the interim. Morning pages first thing (or as near to first as I can manage,) Camp NaNo pages, for the win that I needed that badly, and many, many btain dumps in between. A couple of nights ago, I started a bedside brain dump book; evening pages, if you will, as “bed,” right now, is an air mattress. So far, it mostly has notes on my experience of reading two different Laura Kinsale novels at the same time (no complaints) and what this kind of reading does to me (only good thngs) and how I want writing to go in this new phase of life.

I have a new neighborhood to explore, and, in the not too distant future, another one still. I have not been to the park across the way yet, or the corner bodega, but I know two ways to get to the Rite-Aid, and have already got on the wrong bus once, which led me to the right bus, so maybe it was not wrong after all.

While the desk and desktop and related accoutrements may still be in a holding pattern, the essentials are, at last, in place. Something to write with, something to write on, and smeone to write it, aka me. Feels good to be home.

Typing With Wet Claws: Uncle’s Shirts Smell Like Betrayal Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for a very wet Feline Friday. We are still on the move this week, currently staying with a friend whom I will refer to as Agent X. Uncle is still working out the wholr hunt for a new apartment thing, so this will be another very special blog entry, that does not follow the usual format.

In the time since we left our old apartment, I have become a seasoned traveler. Two motels in the last week, and now Agent X’s lair. I did have to spend more time than I wanted in the carrier yesterday, but Anty fogured out that, if she opened the carrier dooor, but kept the car door closed, there would be enough room to get her hand in there, so she could pet me or feed me spoonfuls of cat food. That part was kind of nice.

Anty is almost at the end of her page goal for Camp NaNo this session, and that is even with all of our travels. I think she is doing all right with that, and that, probably, writing the whole thing on longhand does make it go smoother than using the computer. Her desktop is currently in storage, and she misses it very much. She has Big Pink, though, and her laptop is accessible, so being away from her desktop does not mean she is not writing. She is almost done with her current morning pages book, which is always an achievement. Add that to a very likely Camp NaNo win, and those will be two good things coming out of our adventure.

On the reading front, Anty is tearing through realistic YA books at an impressive pace. This does not go very far in advancing her goal of reading more historical romance novels, but the tide will turn, especially once we are settled in a new apartment and the carrier is put away for a long, long time. Maybe I care more about the carrier patt than Anty does, but here is a fun fact: in a pinch, the top of my carrier makes a decent desk/dinner table. We did not know that before this week.

For those who wonder where the smell of Uncle’s shirts comes into play, it is here. Usually, Anty gets me into the carrier by turning it on its end, so the door is on top. Then she grabs me and stuffs me inside, closes the door, and off we go. Usually after a valiant efgort on my part.

Not this time. This time, Anty learned a new trick. That first method comes from one of Anty’s own antys. This new one, I think she read somewhere, and it is the work of an evil genius.

One might think that Uncle’s shirts (and other personal garments, but I am only going to say shirts, because maybe not everybody wants to read about Uncle’s unmentionables) smell of happiness and love, and they do, but they also snell of betrayal. I haf seen the carrier already, so I knew we were in for something, but I expect3d the old way, not this.

This time, Anty put the carriet on the floor, with the door open. Then, she put the shirt and other garment Uncle slept in, into the carrier. I, of course, investigated, because of the wonderful smell. Then, Anty shoved my backside all the way in, and bam, closed door. I did not see that coming. It worked the next time, too. It will probably work every time, to be honest (I am always honest) because Uncle is my favorite and I love him the most.

This is probably the part of my post where I bring the part about my week around to Anty’s writing. This is also, I think, the weekend of NECRWA’s conference, which is one of Anty’s favorite parts of the year. This year, she is not there, because we have our travels, and it is an adventure. She does miss all of the free books and swag, but she has stayed in two motels, rather than one hotel, so she has that going for her, and the interwebs allows her to talk with her writer friends anyway, and get conference updates wherever she is.

Most importantly, there is writing. Anty can do that anywhere, and if she can do it in the middlebof this, I do not think there is any stopping her.

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

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling

( the kitty, not the book)

Typing With Wet Claws: On the Move Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for the very last Feline Friday from our current location. Today, Anty and Mama will start taking  boxes to the storage unit, and finish packing. Tomorrow, Mr. L will come and help Anty and Mama take our furniture to where it is going. Uncle will be at work, and he is working on sorting out where we will be doing our unpacking. It is all rather interesting to watch. The humans thought I would be upset, seeing my world go into boxes and such, but, apparently, that is a thing we (or at least the humans; I am too fuzzy to operate a packing tape dispenser safely. Also, I am short and do not have thumbs). I alternate between following around the humans who are in motion, and parking myself next to the ones who are still.

At some point (I am not sure which point) I will go into the carrier, and then a car ride, and then a new place. I do not know if that new place is our real new place, or a little while new place, but the humans will handle that part. I am certain that, after a while of not wanting to leave the carrier, I will get curious and want to come out and see what is going on in that new place. One of the humans will also put out food, water, and potty stuff for me, and I know what to do with all of those things. There has been talk of bribing me with my mousie game. It has a new expansion (at least Anty has never seen it before) where, instead of a mousie, I would hunt a chipmunk. That sounds exciting. I bet I am great at hunting chipmunks.

I hope the new place does not have carpet. I do not like carpet. I am a hardwood and linoleum/tile kind of gal. That said, if the new place does have carpet, I am sure I will deal. By “deal,” I mean stick to the floors that are hardwood, linoleum or tile, as much as possible. What is important is that I will be with my people, especially Uncle, because he is my favorite, and I love him the most.

Normally, I am not allowed to talk about anything else before I tell you where to find Anty’s writing on the interwebs. besides here, because you are already here. I suppose that, next week, here will technically be a different place, and I can tell you all about unpacking  and things like that, but, for now, I will give you a link to Anty’s post at Buried Under Romance. This time, Anty talks about the heroes of romance fiction. That post is here, and it looks like this:

burholdingoutforahero

Not Uncle. Uncle is much more handsome. Also, he wears shirts.

This week, Anty will probably talk about moving books, because she has had a lot of books to pack. She is also going to the library, because she forgot to leave out a paperback book that she might like to read the night of the move. Of course, she has her Kindle, and the Kindle app on her phone, but sometimes, she wants to hold a book, and not have to keep one eye on battery life. I am sure Anty will find something to read, and then she will give it back when she is done with reading it. That is how libraries work.

Normally, I would use this space to bring you up to date on Anty’s Goodreads challenge, but that is on hiatus right now. By hiatus, I mean taking a break. Anty is still reading books (books are her happy place when life gets crazy) and she actually may be reading more books than normal, but does not have the time to write full reviews. Those will come later, when we are settled.

Later tonight, Anty will need to take the desktop down, because the desk is going to the storage place for a little while. She will have her laptop, and there are many places where she can take that laptop, to connect to the interwebs. Anty will try to keep to the regular blogging schedule, but do not be surprised if I have to do a more in depth weekly summary for a week or two. That is all part and parcel of being a mews, and believe me, there are a lot of parcels in this place right now.

Anty is still writing, even with all the chaos, because books are her hapy place, and that includes writing them. It does not matter that the desktop has to take a rest, because Anty is writing her Camp NaNo story in longhand, and that notebook is already set aside, so it will not get stored. Anty is not sure yet if she wants to count pages she writes about the story, like character backgrounds and what is where in the village she created. My educated guess is that she will, but only the pages with words on them, not squiggly maps and such. Amty is not a cartographer. (That is a fancy word that means humans who make maps.)

All in all, this is a very interesting time. Stuff is moving around and there are a lot of cleaning stuff smells, and I am keeping a close eye on it all. Except when the humans rip packing tape. I do not like that sound, so I run away. I am doing a lot of running these days. Then I come back, to watch more, because that is what I do. I also chirp at Anty, to let her know I want food or treats, and let her know where her attention really belongs: on me.

That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebyenew

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: I Know What Boxes Mean Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This week is a little bit different than other weeks, and here is a reason why.

300318firstbox

I know what this means…

Anty, Uncle, Mama, and I will be moving out of this apartment and into another one. The humans are still working on which one, so I will bring updates when there is news on that front, but, until then, some things are going to be a little bit different until the dust settles. Do not worry; if any of it settles on my fur, I can lick it off. I have a spiky tongue, so it will be pretty easy.

The packing however, according to Anty, is not. Putting books in boxes is probably the easiest, and the hardest, part of packing. On the one paw, books and boxes are very close to the same shape, so they are probably the easiest thing to pack. On the other paw, books are one of Anty’s favorite things, so it is not fun putting them away, and not having them out there. On the other other paw (I am allowed four, because I have four) it is a necessary part of the moving process. The other alternative is to walk away and throw a match over one shoulder. That is called arson, and it is wrong. Do not do arson. On the other other other paw, sorting the books before putting them in boxes is kind of fun, and the ones Anty will not take with her, can go to little free libraries, which are boxes where humans can take or leave books, at no cost. That is nice.

Moving is not nice. Especially not for kitties. We do not like moving. We like to stay in one place, and have things be The Same. I was born wild, then I got hurt and rescued at the same time. Then I moved to the vet (okay, the rescue people moved me) and then to the shelter (rescue people again) and then Mama and Anty found me and I moved to Mama’s old apartment. Then we all moved to this apartment, and all started living together. That is how I fell in love with Uncle. He Is my favorite, and I love him the most.

Anty is okay, too, though. I am sending love beams and supervising while she packs everything from her office, except for the carpet. Anty is not bringing the carpet. That stays here. That means I win.  Anty is starting at the back of the house and moving forward. Uncle and Mama are on their own for their special areas. I was kind of worried about what that means for my areas, because I do not have thumbs, and am too fuzzy to use packing tape safely. It is okay, though. The humans will take care of my area.

In exchange, I have to keep readers apprised of a few things, including where to find Anty’s writing on the intrwebs, except for here, which is where you already are.. First, as always, she was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, with part three of her series on heroines in romance fiction. What happens when heroines band together? Read the post, find out, and leave your own comment. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURwallflowersandwildwomen

Normally, this would be the part of the post where I tell you about Anty’s Goodreads challenge, but, for the next couple of weeks, that is going on hiatus, as is Anty’s Skye-athalon (the books, not the kitty; she is not packing me, although I will have to go in the carrier on the day we move.) She will pick those up again when we are settled and the books are out of their boxes. Until then, she has her Kindle, so she will not lack for books to read. That is a good thing. Once we are settled, she is going to crash for a week, and she can read more then.

Camp NaNo is still a go, surprisingly enough, because Anty does need an outlet in all this craziness, and writing a couple of pages of first draft is something she can do in little bits of time, pretty much anywhere. While she is packing notebooks, she will pick the notebook for her Camp NaNo story. Then, starting on Sunday, she will write in it. Right now, Anty intends to keep up with the blog posts, but if things get erratic for a while, it is because we are moving, and will settle down again, once we are in place.

When that happens, Anty will be ready to get back to the big work of getting her novels already in progress to their next phases. I, of course, will be providing support and encouragement throughout the entire process, and I will get a new sign-off picture once we are in the new place. Walking down the same hall, to my current room, once the new people are in this apartment would probably not go over well, although I am cute and fuzzy, so who knows? I am an indoor kitty, though, so I will stay in our new place, hence the required new picture. I hope it will be taken on a good tail day.

That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebyenew

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Mostly Through March Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty and I would like to say hello to our new readers. If you are new, you may not know that I, Skye, who am a kitty, blog for my Anty on Fridays. This is partly to help her out and partly because I take my duties as a mews very seriously. That means that I have to make sure she is doing what she needs to be doing, to get books written, so that she can share them with readers.

First of all, before I am allowed to talk about anything else (though let’s be real, it is mostly Anty’s writing  that I talk about, anyway) I have to tell readers where to find Anty’s writing on the interwebs this week, other than here. If you are reading this, you are already here, and do not need directions. As always, she was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday (that is the day after I blog, if you need a temporal landmark.) This week, she talked about experienced heroines. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURissheexperienced

There is no frame around that picture, because I forgot. Also, I have special paws, and it is not always easy to hit the right keys. Pretend the frame is there, and that is almost the same thing.

Next comes the part where I bring readers up to date on Anty’s Goodreads challenge. Anty’s goal is to read ninety books by the end of the year, and have at least half of those be historical romance. Historical fiction with strong romantic elements also counts. As of this morning, Anty has read nineteen out of ninety books, which puts her at twenty-one percent of the way to her goal, and one book behind schedule. It is the weekend, though, so there is time to get back on track. I will also point out that, out of the top row of Anty’s read books, four out of the five are historical romance, so good job on that.

The book Anty read and reviewed this week, is this one:

 

Anty liked this book very much, and will start on its companion book, Lady ni White, very soon. Probably later tonight, actually. Once Anty is done with her Skye-athalon (he books, not the kitty) she will then embark on a Denise Domning binge. I think I will call that “Domning-nation,” because I like coming up with names for things. It is part of my job as a mews. Unless that is already the name of Miss Denise’s fan club. Then, I would have to think of something else.

Another part of being a mews is to make sure Anty lays the proper groundwork for upcoming projects. As she will be participating in this year’s April Camp NaNo session, she has about a week to get things ready for that. In case anybody was wondering what Anty’s brainstorms about creating a whole village look like, they look pretty much like this:

Typepadscribbleoneversion

Note: work in progress

 

Anty has added a few other things to the page since this picture was taken, including shading in the letters in the word, “village,” because shading letters is a very good way for Anty to procrastinate and still say that she is actually working. We will see how that goes. So far, she has figured out there is a road to the village (always helpful, for trade and expanding the gene pool, among other things) and some houses (I am highly in favor of living inside) and some natural things, like trees and water and maybe some mountains. She is not sure about the mountains yet.

That is okay, because this is not a story about mountains. Anty has not said, yet, if there are any cats in this book, but it does take place in a village where a lot of people work in grain fields, which means grain gets stored somewhere, which means mice and rats want to eat the grain, which means the humans do not want the mice and rats to eat the grain, so that means cats. If Anty needs a mice-catching consultant, I am ready to fill that role. I think that she might, because a new mousie game was on the glowy box today, and I tried it, and I did So Good that I got head scritches. I know whereof I speak.

In other news, I think one of the reasons Anty only finished one book this week (besides that it is a big book, over five hundred pages, but Anty considers that a good thing) is that Anty discovered a storytelling game on her phone, called Choices: Stories You Play, and she has been playing that kind of a lot. It is a fun game, and many of the stories are romances, or have romances (or chances for romance) in the, but they do not count toward her reading challenge.

That is kind of unfortunate, because Anty likes them a lot, but they also do another thing. They help her with plotting this new story, because, at several points in the game stories, there is a choice that the point of view character must make, and that will change certain things about the story. Sometimes, it is big, like which human the character would like to have as their mate, or it is sometimes something seemingly small, like what clothes to wear, but or where to sit, but they do turn out to be important later. in fight scenes, there are choices to dodge, or attack, or hide (I would probably always pick hide, because I am super good at hiding. Lie super, super good, as long as I remember to tuck in my tail.) These choices remind Anty that, when she is not sure what a character should do next, think of three possible things they could do, and then pick one. Maybe she will change it later, but, for a rough draft, what is important is to keep moving forward. In that, it is like when I lead her to my dish. Keep moving toward the goal, and good things await at the end.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week

Typing With Wet Claws: I Do Not Play In Sandboxes Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is currently snowing here in New York’s Capitol Region, but I do not know if we will get as much snow this time, as we did a couple of days ago. On the one paw, I am an indoor kitty who sleeps in front of the heater (except for when I am sleeping near my humans’ beds, to make sure they are only sleeping and not actually dead, but on the other paw, weather can be unpredictable this time of year. Either way, it is good weather to stay inside and write, if you are a writer, or read, if you are a reader. I, personally, am a kitty, so I like taking naps in front of the heater, and listening to the sounds coming from Anty’s glowy box.

Before I talk about anything  else, which is usually Anty’s writing anyway, I have to tell where to find Anty’s writing, besides here, on the interwebs, this week. As usual, Anty was at Buried Under Romance, this past Saturday. Since March is International Women’s Month, Anty will be focusing on heroines in romance fiction. She starts off the month by asking what makes a romance heroine. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURromanceheroine

Now is the part of the post where I bring everybody up to date with Anty’s Goodreads challenge. Her goal is to read ninety books this year, and to have at least fifty percent of that be historical romance. I have decided that I will allow historical fiction with strong romantic elements, and time travel romance, where at least some of the story takes place in the past. As of today, Anty is at nineteen percent of the way to her goal, having read seventeen out of ninety books. So far, six of those are historical romance. Still a ways to go, but that is good progress. Keep going, Anty.

The books Anty read and reviewed this week are:

 

 

Anty’s workshop, Play in Your Own Sandbox, Keep All The Toys, is in full swing, and Anty hopes that the people taking the workshop are having as much fun as she is, giving it. Personally, being a kitty, a sandbox is not something I would like to play in, and I do not want to keep or play with anything I might find (or put) in there,  (certainly not my toys)but I suppose it is different with humans. I prefer playing my mousie game on the glowy box, and batting at strips of paper that are left over from when Anty cuts fancy paper for her art things. Those things are the best. I get on my hind legs and then I  lift my paws and go batbatbatbatbatbatbat, Sometimes, I bite the paper strips, and, sometimes, I can even get the strips away from Anty. I am not that interested in the strips once I get them away from her,  because they stop moving, but, until then, it is super fun.

Do you know what else is fun? Reading is fun. Writing is also fun. Anty has been doing a lot of both lately, and she has figured out, more or less, what she would like to work on for her Camp NaNo story in April. By more or less, I mean she has a trope, and it may be more of a New Year’s story than a Christmas story, but she will have to do some research first. She also has to figure out what the setting of the story will be, and who, exactly, the characters are, but at least she has the seed of an idea, so we will see how that goes. It is probably about time for her to create her project, so that she can get into a good cabin. I will share more details on that as they become available, and keep readers apprised of Anty’s progress. We are almost halfway through the month, so the clock is ticking.

Today, while Anty washed a lot of laundry, she did not bring a book to read. Okay, she did bring her Kindle, and there is a Kindle app on her phone, but she did not read any of those things. Instead, she took out Big Pink, and a fineliner pen, and she wrote part of a scene for Her Last First Kiss. It was an out of order scene, but that is okay, because Anty is what writer humans call a puzzler. She likes to work on one bit of something over here, one bit of something over there, something else in this other place, and then smush them all together, in the right order, when she is done. Because she did this writing on the detachable pages from Big Pink, she will need to tear those out and attach them to the pretty legal pad she wrote the start of the scene on, and then transcribe it all into her glowy box, then print it, so that she can show it to Miss N. That means that one of the humans has to get the printer working again, since it was on the old modem, and we now have a new, faster one. This may have exciting ramifications for my mousie game, but the humans are more concerned with printing things like Anty’s stories.

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

skyebye2018

Whiteout (not the office supply)

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This still counts as Wednesday’s entry. I’m writing it on Wednesday, for one thing. Okay, it’s near the end of the day (4:25 by my clock) rather than the beginning, as I’d planned, but there is white stuff falling from the sky outside, at an impressive rate, and the day had to be re-apportioned accordingly. This meant a morning spent at the laundromat, oddly deserted for the morning of a storm, and other domestic matters. It’s all good, though, as we are amply stocked with tea and candles, I have a fluffy blanket on my lap, and a perfectly firm pillow in the small of my back. and a few things on my mind.

Most of them are related to reading and/or writing, specifically historical romance, so I still count this as technically on time and on topic. Though my immediate to=be-read list stood at twenty-seven as of yesterday, it has grown since then. Other books by two of the authors on my shortlist are partly responsible for that growth. Another contributor is my recent viewing of an Australian TV series, Glitch, that made me remember how much I love reading a good Australian historical romance (of which there are far too few available these days, hint, hint, especially Australian writers, hint, hint) and the fact that I am but one chair swivel away from some select Candace Proctor titles in my TBR bookcase. I am currently reading two Tudor-era titles right now, one historical fiction with romantic elements, and one historical romance. The historical fiction has six subsequent books (to date) and the historical romance, one more. Then there’s my upcoming O’Malley binge, and who knows what after that.

Yesterday, at my weekly breakfast with N, I rambled about a vague idea for a holiday historical romance. This is the vaguest of ideas, at present, no historical period attached as of yet, but hey, a blizzard could work in there, sure. I’ve been wanting to write a Christmas story for ages, but this one might actually work better as a New Year’s story (still counts as during the Twelve Days of Christmas, so I may still be on task.) I don’t know who my hero and heroine are. I don’t know what era their story takes place in, but I know it’s a winter holiday; that’s a start. It’s also probably going to be my Camp NaNo story, but I’m not quite ready to declare at the moment. Give me a couple more days of pretending there’s an out.

There isn’t, of course. Getting a story from vague wisp of an idea, to bullet point draft, in a specified period of time, scares the stuffing out of me, so of course that’s what I’m looking forward to doing. Kind of like a twenty-seven item and counting “short’ list for the foreseeable reading future. Right now, I’m listening to songs from a playlist I’ve been studiously ignoring for coughty-cough months now, because a story (or two) is haunting me (not the Christmas/New Year/Camp NaNo story, because that would make sense) and I’m not sure what I’m going to do with that.

Write it, of course, because the not-writing has not worked out terribly well. Goes hand in hand, is my educated guess, with the re-examination of favorite books, and books I’ve been wanting to read long enough for said desires to be old enough to vote. Apparently, they did, and the vote was to quit messing around, and get down to business. Maybe it’s the snow. I have fond memories of walking around a town whose name and location I have long since forgotten, with Real Life Romance Hero, after we bailed on the evening’s planned activity.

I was not equipped for tromping through heavy snow that night, in a pair of stiletto heels and knee length skirt, but my coat was warm, and I had RLRH. The night was dark, the falling snow glittered in the streetlights, and, somehow, though the streets we wandered (never too far from the venue from which we bailed, because the other couple we came with was our ride) up and down unfamiliar hills, an idea took shape. That idea eventually became a story that became my first novel length fan fiction, and unleashed a whole lot of writing, and paved the way to my first published novel (no relation to the stilettos in the snow story.) We did eventually return to the venue, and I’m still not sure if the other couple knew we were gone. They asked if we had a good time, we said we did. I vaguely recall diner food after that, and then we went home.

Right now, it’s white outside my office window. A quick check of a weather app says we are due for upwards of twelve inches of snow. I do have stilettoes, and RLRH is home, but we’re staying inside tonight. There will be comfort food, and there will be reading, and there will be writing, and then we will see what the morning brings. My educated guess is that it will bring the shoveling of aforementioned snow. Depending on whether our downstairs neighbors, young men who have a step troupe, are home, I may not have to be the one wielding said shovel. If I am, that’s fine, because shovel time is mull over story stuff time. I could do with some of that.

Twenty-Seven

annabowling 4 Comments

Today is the first day of my online workshop, Play In Your Own Sandbox, Keep All The Toys. I’m excited (Yay, workshop! Yay, new people! Yay, I get to blabber about stuff I love, to a captive audience, and ask them nosy questions! Yay, they will give me money for the privilege of allowing me to blabber and ask nosey questions and look at their work!)) and nervous (who the heck am I to be teaching a workshop? I haven’t done this in a while. What if I forgot how to do this, or I stink, or they hate me? :runs around in circles, screaming:) This is standard operating procedure for the first day of an online workshop for me, but, if I know myself (and I should say that I do) I will soon be riding high on the energy of the other participants, and the whole darned thing will click.

The sticky notes below the monitor are a throwback to my college days, when I didn’t know any better, and blithely pounded out several pages at a time, said notes (probably a often note paper with thumbtacks as sticky notes, back then,) and used said notes as mile markers, or the writer’s equivalent of Burma Shave signs. I have never seen a Burma Shave sign in the wild, but, as the child of mature parents, I became culturally literate in a few things from a prior generation. This is one of them. Signposts may be a better term, or mile markers. Each note has a goal to write toward. When I reach that goal, the note comes down. When all the notes are down, I am done (yay!) and get to play with my new watercolors. I am extremely bribable with art or bujo supplies.

I am also easily bribable with reading time, now that I am back on the scent of historical romance. My current read, The Queen’s Lady, by Barbara Kyle, is set during the time when Henry VIII was dead set on divorcing his first wife, but the Catholic church was not on the same page as Henry. After that, I start my O’Malley-a-thon, all of Bertrice Small’s O’Malley/Skye’s Legacy books (as a fan; I claim no insider knowledge of these books, or how they came to be written) which largely take place in Elizabethan times, and the days, and decades that follow. Have I ever mentioned how generational sagas are my very, very, very favorite sort of historical romance series? I finished my most recent Kindle read, Letter of Love, by Virginia Henley, also Elizabethan, and went looking for my next Kindle selection. I looked at my To Finally Read list, and saw Winter’s Fury, by Denise Domning, which is medieval, searched my library by author, and…waaaaait a minute. My attention fell (okay,  was drawn like an industrial strength magnet) to Lady in Waiting, the first book in her Lady duology, which has a -you guessed it- Elizabethan setting. Well, okay, then. Can’t fight that. Lady books now, Season books after. That is my next seven Kindle reads.

Because Barbara Kyle follows The Queen’s Lady with six more books in her Thornleigh saga, also a generational tale, those are on my list, after I finish with my Small binge. I am chain-bingeing historical romance novels now, which is a big change from whining about how I can’t seem to get into anything. I will take that change, even though doing the numbers is a wee bit on the scary side. Smushing the O’Malleys and their legacy, the Thornleighs, the Ladies and the Seasons into one place, that’s about twenty-seven books I have promised myself I am going to read in the near future. Twenty-seven. Twenty. Seven. When the sam hill am I going to read twenty seven books, when I have a workshop to give (I am actually posting my intro after I post this) and am working on three books, and Camp NaNo is breathing down my neck (why did I ever think that was a good idea?) Not to mention all the YA reads I want to get in there, along with various stuff, like finally getting around to reading Dragonwyck, by Anya Seton, and spring cleaning and domestic tornadoes and and and and and…..

I’m not going to say “breathe” here, because when people tell me to breathe, I want to punch them in the throat. Instead, I’m going to head in the general direction of a sign-off for this post and mention something about how doing what comes naturally works a lot better than trying to cram myself into somebody else’s box (which I am apt to do, far more often than I would like.) U didn’t mean to go on a nearly-thirty-book Tudor binge, but that was the first era a ever truly loved in historical romance, and it never hurts to go back to the source, and revisit a first love every now and again. Sometimes, poking a few embers is all that’s needed to get a fire going.

TheWriterIsOut

Typing With Wet Claws: Hello, March Edition

annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another (very snowy) Feline Friday. This is the first blog entry for the month of March, which means that Anty’s online workshop, Play in Your Own Sandbox, Keep All The Toys, will be starting in only a few days. It is on the other side of the weekend, as a matter of fact. If you want to learn how to use the media you already love, to create new, original fiction of your own, then this workshop might be right up your alley. If you would like to know more, or sign up  for the workshop, you can do that at the workshops page for Charter Oak Romance Writers. If you are in the northeast US, and you are interested in writing, you may want to bookmark that page, for future details about Anty presenting there in person, later this year. If you do cannot make a bookmark, do not worry. I will tell you when the date and topic are confirmed.

Since I already talked about Anty’s work above, I think I am allowed a minute to talk about the weather. If you are new to this blog, we live in New York’s capitol region. Earlier this week, we had windows open, and humans went outside without elebenty billion layers of outside clothes. Then, today, Anty (and Uncle, and Mama) woke to this:

020318snowscape

It is snowing right now, as I write this, but the snow should turn to rain later on in the day. Probably about the time one of the humans opens my second pouch of food. (I get two, spread over the course of the day, because that was how they socialized me when I was first adopted, and I figured that is the way things go. They have tried putting me on two meals a day. It did not go well.)

Back to business. This week, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. She closed out the month of February, talking about multicultural romance, which can mean a lot more than some humans might think it does. It is fun to read, but not fun to play hide and seek when it comes to finding in some bookstores. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURmulticulturalromance2.jpg

Now, we come to the part of the post where I tell you about Anty’s progress on her Goodreads challenge. I am very proud of Anty this week. Anty has read fifteen out of ninety books, which puts her at seventeen percent of the way to her goal. Out of those fifteen books, four are historical romance, so Anty still has a way to go in that department, but I cannot blame her. There are some excellent YA books out there, and a lot of them are romances, or have love stories in them. This week, the books Anty has read and reviewed are:

 

 

There is not really a hole in that last picture, or in Anty’s review. There was an ad there, and I was not sure if I should have a picture of an ad, so I covered it.  I was going to put a picture of me there, but I am not in Miss Danelle’s book, and that would be misleading. I would not want anyone to be disappointed. Come to think of it, Anty has not put me in any of her books, either. I think that she should. I am soft and furry, I am very good at catching mousies (even electronic ones) and I am a constant source of moral support, as well as making sure Anty always knows when it is treat time.

There is no update, as of yet, on Anty’s project for Camp NaNoWriMo (April edition) as of yet, but Anty is trying something that will make it slightly less scary. Anty now has a book where she writes down how much she wrote, over the course of the day, or any writing related things that she did. I suspect that part of the reason this seems to be working is that Anty gets to keep track of things in a special planner (though, because she is writing down what she already did, maybe that makes it a planned-er) and she gets to pick what colors go in the pictures on the facing pages. (She is not done with this picture yet.)

020318progressreprt

Anty says that having a list of things that she already did is more encouraging than striving for a number that seems far away, and it is easier to think about the story. She will probably find some way to turn this into a tracker for her bullet journal, as she saved some pages for a writing tracker when she figures out what format works best.  Right now, though, this seems to be working, to let the numbers be in their place, and let Anty focus on the stories she is telling. It would not hurt if she put more cats in them, either. Especially very fluffy stripey ones, who are very good at catching mousies.

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

skyebye2018

If it’s (Almost) March, These Must Be Llamas

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Spring and I have a complicated relationship. We don’t like each other much, but I live with two spring-lovers, Real Life Romance Hero (for him, spring is tied with fall for his favorite) and Housemate. I’m happy for them, that their favorite season is almost here, but for me, it means my lovely, cozy autumn and winter are done, and the season of avoiding the burny orange thing in the sky Is right around  the corner. On the other hand, spring is also baby ducks season, I have my upcoming online workshop starting March 5th, and, though it looks like I won’t be able to make NECRWA’s conference this year, plans are in place for some out of state writing besties to converge upon my domicile (and possibly the Schuyler Mansion) later in the season.

Said writing besties are the same critique/accountability group I had been in for coughty-cough years, the same one where I was the only person who never came to the table without some sort of pages, the same one where I would feel like I was flying on the car ride home, full of, well, pure, top grade love of writing. Plus, they’re all pretty darned nifty in their own rights, and write in genres as diverse as historical YA fiction, cozy romantic suspense, and picture books. I can promise there will not be a dull moment, there will be hugs, and at least one of us is going to cry when it’s time for them to go home at the end of the day.

The other bright spot that comes from staring a new season in the face is that I get to start a new planner.

WAIT A MINUTE! YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT NOTEBOOKS AGAIN! WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THIS SO-CALLED “WRITING BLOG?”

Oh hey, there, Hypercritical Gremlins. It’s been a while. What’s up?

NOT YOUR WORD COUNT, THAT’S FOR SURE. ALSO, NOTEBOOK TALK, AGAIN?

My blog, my topics. It’s writing related, I promise.

WE’VE HEARD THAT BEFORE.

As I was saying, I finished my last February pages in my current planner, last night, which means time to start a new one, at the start of March. As a true Leuhtrumm convert, I planned to get another notebook by the same maker, but there was one small problem; I did not get anywhere near the one store, locally, that sells them (to my knowledge.) Quelle horror. That’s when my eyes drifted to my unused notebook shelf, and spotted the orange Exceed book I didn’t end up using last fall. Love the pages, sturdy book, but it’s orange.

NOTEBOOK POST. CALLED IT.

Ahem.  Anyway, I’d been vacillating on the theme for March pages. I’d originally wanted gray, but then remembered there’s St. Patrick’s Day. I’d feel weird having an orange planner in a month when Irish heritage and culture is at the forefront, and, besides, orange and green, together, remind me of peas and carrots, specifically the canned variety, and, um, nothankyouplease. I will cut through the craft shop trawling for washi tape for another, unrelated project (my O’Malley saga reread; have to prepare for something of that magnitude) and go straight to the moment I saw these puppies on an endcap, at one third the usual going rate:

01llamatape

Cue heart-skip. Yes. This. Black, white, gray, and red, smidgen of green, a few sparklies. Also, llamas. Llamas make me think of my friend, H, whose favorite animal is the llama, and who is always great for some tough writing love. Other tapes include elephants and hippos, both gray, some flowers, some geometric shapes, some glitter. Boom. Perfect. Layouts unfolded in my head, and I couldn’t wait to get home and put those plans into action. One of the tapes even says “wild and free,” over and over, in different fonts.

:COUGH; NOTEBOOK POST :COUGH:

Did I ask for your input?

NO.

What did you say?

NO, MA’AM?

Better. This morning, I had the same heart-skip while scrolling through Facebook. A post from Susan Elizabeth Phillips showed on my feed, asking for recommendations of genre romance novels, happy ending and all, with elements that broke away from some of the conventions of the genre. My mind raced. Simple Jess, by Pamela Morsi, with a mentally slow hero, Morning Glory, by LaVyrle Spencer, with an ex-con hero, and, shall we say working class heroine, who is already pregnant with baby number three when they meet, in the years around WWII. Laura Kinsale’s heroes who survive strokes and PTSD and the heroines who see the whole person, not only one aspect. Yes. This.

This kind of thing gets my motor running. Granted, exactly what the “norm” is, will differ from person to person, depending on whom one asks, but that kind of thing gets me excited. Do my characters and my stories fit under that umbrella? Right now, Drama King has a grumpy actor-turned-line-cook intent on emotional self-flagellation, and the optimistic literary agent who is sure she can turn almost any mess into something beautiful. Her Last First Kiss has a heroine who is already another character’s mistress when the story begins, and a “portrait painter” hero (the air quotes are important) with family issues, plus the mutual friend caught in the middle. Chasing Prince Charming, which Melva and I are preparing to resubmit, has a hero who is a passionate advocate of the romance genre, and a heroine who may need some convincing. A Heart Most Errant has a jaded knight-errant, and the extroverted (and possibly delusional) baker whom he has to escort to a destination that may or may not exist. It also has a monastery that is not as abandoned as they thought it was. (Oopsie.) Did I mention this is after the Black Plague knocked out half the population of the British Isles in around twenty years?

NONE OF THAT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH LLAMAS.

:Ah, but it does. There are, as of yet, no llamas in any of my stories, historical or contemporary, solo or co-written, but the spirit of the llamas is there. Bullet journaling has taught me a few things that carry over into the writing of commercial fiction. Mistakes happen. Inspiration will lag. When it does, it may be time to take a long walk through a favorite craft or office supply store. Stop and smell the Post-Its (or maybe just look at them. The vast majority are not scented.) Stroke the creamy ivory pages of notebooks far outside your pay grade. Quickly grab an awesome roll of clearance washi before anybody else gets a chance to know it exists. Be open to new ideas, and, when all else fails, go back to the well. Re-read old favorites. Play with an idea that always seemed like fun. Do what you need to refill the well, so that you can draw from it. If the method of choice involves llamas, well, that’s a bonus.

OKAY, THAT KIND OF FITS TOGETHER>HMPH.

Thank you, it does. Now back in the basement, you go. I have writing to do.

WE LIKE THE CLOSET.

You can’t have the closet anymore; I keep my bullet journal stuff there now. Out the back door, all the way down the stairs, to the room with the dirt floor and the hot water heater.

HEY! THAT’S WHERE YOUR STEPPER NEIGHBORS REHEARSE, WITH ALL THE STOMPING AND THE SHOUTING.

I know. :puts in earbuds, opens document: