Fair Day, and Another Blog Begun

March 27, 2017March 27, 2017annabowling Leave a comment

Right now, I have a deep, burning, urgent need to read Fair Day and Another Step Begun, and I Would Go Barefoot All Summer For You, two long-out-of-print YA novels by Katie Letcher Lyle. This is not want. This is need, like these books are a part of my writer self that I did not know were missing, until something, likely falling down a YA rabbit hole on Goodreads, jogged my memory. I’d read Fair Day when I was in junior high, and fell wildly in love with the exquisite use of language, how a story set in then-contemporary 1970s America could have the feel of a time and place long ago and faraway. I did not read Barefoot, and I think I may, at the time, have scoffed at the title, but that only means I was not ready for that book then. I am, now.

Both books have their roots in medieval ballads, Fair Day a direct contemporary (for 1970s) retelling of the centuries-old ballad, Child Waters. I don’t know how these books came back to my attention, but, right now, it hurts that I don’t have them, which is a clear signal that there is something in them that I need. Neither book is in the library system, though two nonfiction books on plants by the same author are. Not quite the same, so the search continues. Ebay or Amazon it is, unless I strike gold at the local UBS, which is probably a longshot, but still going to try.

My memories of Fair Day are hazy, but I remember, while reading that book in the second floor study hall (if I remember physically where I was at the time I read something, it’s a sure sign it has become part of my idea soup) how it felt both modern and ancient at the same time, in a sort of world set apart. I love that kind of thing. Give me a pop singer backed by a symphony orchestra, or modern music played as though it were from centuries before, and I am going to play it until somebody’s ears bleed. This is one reason why my family knows that it is a good idea to keep me well supplied with backup earbuds at all times. There is no such thing as playing a song on repeat too many times if it has something to say to my storybrain.

It’s the same with books. If there is something about a book that gives me that “Yes. That.” feeling, then I have to have it, hold it, touch it, smell it, stare at the covers, flip through the pages, until it becomes a part of me. Once it’s in, it doesn’t come out. Well, it does, as something from it will find its way into a story or character or idea, and it will be reproduced, but the original inspiration stays put, ready for me to draw from it again, as needed, in near or far future.

Why this/these book(s) now? I don’t know, but I have learned not to question it. Sure, the cover does have a vague sort of historical romancey feel, if one looks in the right light. I don’t remember if Ellen and her child’s father end up together, and I don’t want to know until I (re)read, so I don’t know if this a romance. I don’t want to know. The heroine in the foreground, the man on horseback in the distance, the dirt road between them, her long, loose hair, her oversized coat, the bare trees reaching to the cloudy sky, the lyrical title, the memory of how the school library was often my sanctuary when life got rough. I remember the bite of cold air on my skin. I remember falling down and getting up and going onward, onward, onward, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

I did not read Barefoot, but, when I read “Toby Bright is coming,” said Aunt Rose, my storybrain quickened. Yes. That. Shut up and take my money. I need this book. Don’t need to know another thing about it, and, in fact, don’t want to know. Given that the heroine is thirteen, I don’t think this is a romance. I think it’s what those old-timey people in centuries past would call “calf love,” and I am fine with that.

Maybe I’m entering the magpie stage for whatever comes next, acquiring bricks for a house I have yet to design, much less build. As of this week, I am six chapters and change into the second draft of Her Last First Kiss, and there’s a new Melva chapter from the Beach Ball sitting in my in-box, which means I need to send her one back. There needs to be a What Next putting itself together on the back burner, because I am going to come to The End on both of these projects, and I do not want to blink into the abyss.

So, yes, medieval ballads. Check. Soak in the exquisite marriage of language and emotion until I am drunk on it. Check. Emotional afterglow that is still with me I’m not going to say how many decades later. Yes. This. This is what I want to take in. This is what I want to put out. Titles that feel like music. Lyrical prose. Characters who let me feel each beat of their heart as though it were my own. I want to read that. I want to write that.

For now, I can stare at the covers and pick apart the design elements, maybe mess around with paint and ink on paper of my own, to see what comes about, either to come up with something similar, or figure out how the original artist did it. Note what music feels the rightest while I do, and see what imaginary friends poke through the fog in the process. The journey of a thousand miles, they say, begins with a single step. Maybe this is one of those. Only one way to find out.

Typing With Wet Nails: Conference Countdown Edition

March 24, 2017annabowling 4 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. There is a lot to talk about this week, so we’ll get Anty’s writing stuff out of the way. (Strictly speaking, it is all Anty’s writing stuff, but I mean the places you can read her or about her on the interweb this week.)

First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance last week, talking about cabin and road romances. You can find that post here, and the link on the main page looks like this:

Anty’s Goodreads challenge is here, and, this week, it looks like this.:

As you can see, Anty has read fifteen out of ninety books, putting her five books behind schedule. Anty does not like being behind schedule, so she is working on that. It is not always easy, when she has things she needs to finish writing by certain times, and there is the conference coming in a little over two weeks. Today is the twenty-fourth of March, next week is the thirty-first, and the week after that, it is conference time. (That high pitched panicked sound you hear is Anty screaming and running in circles. Do not worry, though; she will get better.) Even so, she finished reading The Viscount Needs a Wife, by Jo Beverley. Her review of that is here, and it looks like this:

There is one more thing regarding Anty on Goodreads this week, and that is very exciting. Anty SueAnn read one of Anty’s books, and she liked it very much, enough to give it a five star review. Five star reviews make writers very, very, very happy. That goes for all writers, not only Anty, so please leave reviews when you can, for any writer. Anty may or may not be considering recruiting Anty SueAnn to write blurbs for her in the future.That review is here, and it looks like this:

Okay, I think that is it on where you can read Anty or about Anty this week. She has had some interesting comments, from other writers, including those on Anty’s keeper shelves, to her Ramblings of a Temporal Vagabond posts, which are here and here. Anty is probably (okay, definitely) not done talking about different eras in historical romance, and why broadening that playing field is a good thing, especially because the conference is coming, and she will have more to say after talking to other writers. She hopes that includes Alyssa Cole, who will be co-presenting the workshop Anty cannot attend because she will be co-presenting “Blogging Isn’t Dead” at exactly the same time, but in a different room. If you go to Anty’s workshop, and she says she needs to use the people litterbox, she is really trying to sneak into Miss Alyssa’s workshop, and you should block the doorway so she cannot leave. Until the workshop is over. After that, it is illegal to restrict her movements, so please do not try once the workshop is concluded. Distracting her with stationery or gummi bears would probably work, too.

Anty, Miss Rhonda,. and Miss Corinna have been talking a lot on email, so that they will be ready to give the best workshop they possibly can. I am very happy to confirm that one of the slides does, in fact, include me. I also saw the word, “pets,” on another slide, so I think they have their priorities straight. That will still not make me happy about Anty and my Mama going away overnight (Uncle will stay home with me, although he has to go out and hunt -humans call it “work”- for part of the evening, but he will come home smelling like cheese, so I can look forward to that) but at least I know that the importance of cats in the blogosphere will be represented.

Anty has several things to do to get ready for the conference. She has to get her pitch together for her pitch appointment, for one thing. For the last couple of years, she has not had a pitch session, but this year, she does. She feels a little rusty, but she is also excited because she loves pitching. It is the writer version of auditioning, which was one of her favorite parts of her theater experiences in college. She will have eight minutes with a publishing human, who is paying attention only to her, and already loves the kinds of books Anty loves to write, and wants to buy new ones. Well. Anty may be able to help her out on that one. We will see.

There are other things Anty needs to do before she can head off to the conference, and they are also important. Since the conference is not providing breakfast, Anty’s favorite meal, she needs to find where she is going to find that, and find out who is going to have it with her. If you are reading this and you are going, you are invited.

Anty also has to figure out what she is going to wear to the conference. Most likely, it will be black, because that is her favorite color, and she has a lot of black things already. I am not too concerned with the color. I am a tabby cat, which means my fur is stripey, and, with my creamy undercoat, I can shed on pretty much anything and have my fur show to best advantage. It is a gift. My humans never have to worry about other humans (or pets) knowing they have me, because my fur will be right there.

Because it is this close to conference time, and Anty has more than one thing that has to be written by a certain time, it is also the time of year when Anty loses track of what day it is in the really real world, despite her calendars (yes, plural.) Earlier this week, she had to ask a friend if she was at a place on the right day, because she had forgotten there would be food there, and there was food there, so maybe it was the wrong day? Her friend has people kittens, so she understands losing track of things like this when one’s brain is taken by other matters. As it turns out, Anty was there on the right day, but things like this are going to happen until things are all the way written and the conference is done.

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

Rumblings of a Temporal Vagabond, part one

March 20, 2017annabowling 5 Comments

Okay. Deep breath. This is one of those days where I stare down the packed to-do list and charge. This past weekend, I came across a post by Isobel Carr, on Risky Regencies, called “Some Possibly Unpopular Thoughts.” My ears immediately pricked. Might this post be referencing the other post, on Smart Bitches, Trashy books? Oh, yes, it did. Oh, good. After a week stuck in the house with my beloved family, a stomach bug, and back pain, I needed something to latch all my frayed nerves onto, and this has been a bee in my bonnet for some time, so here we go.

I don’t get why, with historical romance, if we’re defining it as “anything before living memory,” which, for the sake of argument, let’s say predates WWII, it can seem a Herculean effort to sell a book set outside of one particular era, in one particular locale: Regency England. Strictly technically speaking, we’re talking 1811-1820, when King George III was unfit to rule, and his son, who would eventually be known as King George IV, ruled in his stead, as Prince Regent. Regency = during the rule of a regent. Easy enough. More broadly, the term, “Regency Era,” can apply to 1795-1837, ending with the ascencion of Queen Victoria, for more of a zeitgeist approach. For the smaller definition, we are talking a span of nine years. For the larger, forty-two years. Bit more breathing room there, even room for a generation or two to pass. All well and good there, but for those of us who write (and read) stories set outside of this era, it can be rough going at times, and yeah, my dander is up on this one right now.

There’s art and there’s commerce. There’s the book of the heart and there’s the book that sells. Right now, Regency is what’s selling. Especially Regency with Dukes. I get the desire for some fantasy in historical romance (not the elves and faeries sort) but there are also the times when my blood carbonates with the need to poke at whether it is that specific historical period and that specific rank of the peerage that seems to have a stranglehold on the market at the moment (and for more than a few preceding moments.) All the why, why, whys mosh around my brainpan, because that’s what I don’t get.

Before my life took a hard turn into caregiving, and a huge shift in the family structure, I had four historical romances published. My Outcast Heart was set in 1720 New York, with a subsistence farmer heroine and a hermit hero. Never Too Late was set in 1900 England and Italy, the heroine fifty years old when she set out to reclaim the love of a lifetime. Queen of the Ocean, set in sixteenth century Cornwall, and had a Spanish hero. Orphans in the Storm was my English Civil War novel, set on the Isle of Man, and the English Court in Exile, in the Netherlands. (Hey, I had royalty in that one. Impoverished, exiled royalty, but royalty. It’s okay. The monarchy got better.) Those were all settings I loved, that came organically with the stories that I wanted to tell, the ones that were real and alive in my head. I still love them all to this day, and those years when writing was all but (and sometimes outright) impossible didn’t change my love for a variety of historical settings . Call me a temporal vagabond.

When the writing came back, and maybe even before, that had not changed. I had to set aside a time travel I dearly loved, and needed to start something new, something smaller in scope, something I knew I could get from point A to point B. Aha. Road story. I could do one of those. Then I read the then-newest issue of the dearly departed RT Book Reviews, which had two articles, one on medieval romances, and one on post-apocalyptic romances, and my writerbrain perked. Aha! Post-apocalyptic medieval! Yes! I can do that! What would seem like an apocalypse for the medieval world? Black Plague? That, I could do, so that’s what I did.

I wrote the story of a disillusioned knight errant and a woman who refused to believe the end of the world was, well, the end of the world, who offered him the one thing he couldn’t refuse (apple seeds; it works in context.) They meet early on, they’re together the whole darned time, and I literally cried when I had to say goodbye to them at the end. Then I tried to sell it. The last agent I pitched to said she loved my voice, quoted some of my own passages back to me, and said she would totally read this story for pleasure, but was not going to ask for the full, because she could not sell a medieval. Cue sad trombone slide.

This agent advised me that my options were to trunk the story for now and hold onto it until the market changes, and medieval come back into fashion, or self/indie publish. She asked what else I had, and I mentioned I was writing a Regency. Great. Send her that when it was finished. Seriously. No question about plot or characters; just send it. I wish I could say that buoyed my spirits, I ran home, finished it, sent it in, and here’s the cover reveal, but that’s not what happened.

What happened was that characters and a story I loved turned into torture, frustration, sobbing to Critique Partner Vicki, who finally smacked me upside the head with a bat’leth of four words: “you hate writing Regency.” But it had to be Regency! That’s what sells! She didn’t budge. I didn’t have Regency in me. Set the story aside, along with the time travel, until the bad juju burns off, set it in another era, and try again.

Her Last First Kiss came complete with its setting, and, when Melva and I needed a historical period for the book within a book for the Beach Ball, I suggested Georgian, because hey, I was there already, and I knew I’d be doing a lot of the historical heavy lifting on this one. Both times, the setting was organic, not even a question. I/we didn’t pick; they picked us.

Done with blog time for today, not done with the topic, so calling this part one. See you Wednesday; let’s chat in the comments. :jaunty wave:

Perspective

February 13, 2017annabowling 2 Comments

Yesterday, it snowed. A lot. I don’t have any numbers to track the exact measurements, but this is what the view from my stoop looked like around four in the afternoon:

Today, I am stuffing a ten pound cat into a two pound bag, timewise. Sunday afternoons are often used for errands that couldn’t get done when there were other engagements on Saturday, which is the case this week, since I had my CRRWA meeting. No regrets on that one, as I got to see friends, meet new people, and learn how to use social media more effectively (you are forewarned.) I also love snow, and no, I did not at all mind shoveling in front of our house, because that’s the grownup version of playing in the snow. It did, however, also mean that the emergency load of laundry I had planned on doing Sunday turned into the two emergency loads I’m doing today, which collide with the hunker down and whip chapter four into shape session I had originally planned for today. Something is going to feel the bite, because I have not yet figured out how to stop or expand time, and if that ends up being writing work, that, as well as the weather, may affect my plans for tomorrow morning.

That would not make me happy, as I love my Tuesday morning critique sessions, especially since we set a time limit on chitchat so that we can get down to the business of getting these books done. Life happens, however, and there are times when the sane thing to do is go to Plan B. Move the critique session to another morning, so we can have time to give our work some actual brain, instead of keeping one eye on the clock, which is prone to attracting Hypercritical Gremlins (mine have been largely silent lately, so I do not want to show up on their radar.) Postponing could also give me the chance to get some sleep (did not last night) because sleep is also essential for braining. Right now, I don’t know.

What I do know is that the time between laundromat trips is for getting this blog written and posted, for charging my phone, because I’m going to need it, and for getting all the handwritten notes for various projects in one place, so that they will be there when I get back from Laundromat 2.0. Right now, I feel crowded and overwhelmed, which I have lately learned is a signal that I need to step back,. reassess and then prioritize. Since lack of laundry would mean naked family, and this is winter in northern NY, nakedness is not a highly desirable option. Since lack of writing would mean lack of new book, that is not a highly desirable option, either.

Laundromat waiting time is good for reading (works toward my goal of reading more historical romance novels) and making notes in longhand (works toward progress on writing projects) so it is possible to do something while laundry is doing its thing. This is not the day I had hoped to have, but it is not the end of the world, either. I can do something. Maybe not everything, but something.

To the best of my knowledge, nobody ever spat out a four hundred page piece of popular fiction, that was both critically acclaimed and a fan favorite, plus provided the writer with a living wage, over the course of one morning, with no effort whatsoever, so that is not a realistic expectation. What is realistic is taking stock of what I’ve got on a particular day and doing what I can with it, to the best of my ability. Today, that means get this blog entry up, do laundry load #2, come back, work on as much of chapter four as I can, and, if it’s going to make me miserable and cranky and snappy and anxious, I have the option of giving myself, and my critique partner, more time.

On the one hand, posts like these are not always the kind I intend to write. On the other, sometimes, they happen. This is one of those. When I first moved Typing With Wet Nails to this new platform, it was with the intention of talking through the whole process, good, bad and ugly. Today, I feel rushed and crowded. Saturday, an idea pounced me before I could head off to my CRRWA meeting, so I scribbled down the bare bones. Later that night, I scribbled down a bit of muscle and connective tissue. At some other point, I will put those together in a file and very likely start a future ideas notebook, but, for now, my focus has to remain on what’s currently on my plate; Her Last First Kiss, the Beach Ball, and blog posts, here and elsewhere. Those are the essentials, even on double laundromat days.

Typing With Wet Claws: Cinematic Appreciation Edition

February 10, 2017February 10, 2017annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Yesterday, we had a lot of snow. I mean, a lot. One of Anty’s friends said he had fourteen inches at his house. Another friend said she had eighteen inches where she was, and that, at that time, the snow was not done snowing. It is done snowing for now, but we may get more tonight (or maybe some rain) and then more again on Sunday. I guess it really is winter now. Good thing I am a Maine Coon cat, descended from Norwegian Forest Cats, who were built for this kind of weather. Also, good that I live indoors, in an apartment with walls and a ceiling and heaters in every room, with humans who feed me every day, and care that I am happy. I even have my own blog. How many cats can say that? Only the ones with blogs, I would imagine.

But enough about me (just kidding, there can never be enough about me) before I can talk about anything else, I have to talk about Anty’s writing, because that is the price I pay…um, I mean the privilege I enjoy. Yes. That is what I meant. As always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance this past week, talking about those times when a reader considers bailing out of an ongoing series. Anty had that thought herself this week, because she read a book where Very Bad Things happen to kitties (she would not tell me what they were, and I am not going to ask) and she almost stopped reading that author because of it. She is not going to say it here, because everybody’s reading experience is different, and she understands why that author put those things in the book, so the post talks about the principle of such reading dilemmas. It is here, and it looks like this:

Next, Anty read another book after that one, to make her not think about how the Very Bad Things made her feel, and she liked that book very much. That one is Duke of Pleasure, by Elizabeth Hoyt, and she wrote about it on Goodreads. That review is here, and it looks like this:

For those of you who are keeping track of these sorts of things, Anty is on track for her goal of reading 90 books in 2017, and she has another goal, to help her read more historical romances this year. That is the Historical Romance Reading Challenge, at the I Heart Romance & YA blog. That challenge is here, if you are interested in participating, and the badge, which Anty will figure out how to put where it can be seen all the time later, looks like this :

Anty is going for Queen level, which means she needs to read at least fifty historical romance novels this year, including one from each of the following categories (note: romances with cats is not one of the categories, which I find misleading, because it has “cat” right there in the name, but whatever) : medieval, Regency, Victorian, western, pirate, historical romance with a diverse main character, and time travel. Anty has read nine historical romances so far, and can already cross off Regency, Victorian, western, and historical romance with a diverse main character. Anty is already thinking of making her own challenge next year, with more challenging categories. She would add more historical periods, and maybe some plot elements or character types. I will be updating everyone at least once a month on how Anty is doing on this challenge.

We are still in negotiations as to how much I am allowed to share about Anty’s works in progress, so more on that later, but since we have hit the me portion of this entry,. I will go right to that. This week, Anty did something amazing. She found some movies on YouTube, that are made especially for kitties. it is about time. My favorite, so far, is called Koi in Their Winter Tank. It is full of action, which I like, because I am a sight girl. It also has some mystery to it; where does the orange fishie go when he swims off the screen? I know what you are thinking, and you are wrong (do not worry, I was, too) he is not behind the computer. I checked. If the movie is on a tablet or phone on the floor, he is not next to it, either. I checked that, too. Must be some amazing special effects. It is here, and it looks like this (screenshot, because Anty is making wrap-it-up noises and I will learn how to embed video later):

This movie is great. I shift my paws and boop the screen with my face e every time I see it. Anty has shown me other movies, but I like this one the best. She has shown me movies of other animals, like birds and mice (there were real mice in my old apartment, and they were not pets. I will allow you to fill in the details on that one) Those movies had sound, though, and I prefer the silent films. When there is sound, I get too confused, looking for the animal that is making the sounds, and do not watch the screen. Maybe if Anty can make the mouse and bird movies silent, then I might watch those, too. Anty says that, later, she will show me movies with kitties in them, and see how I like those. I liked kitty halftime at last year’s Puppy Bowl, so Anty thinks I might like movies of kitties, too. It is always affirming to see people like oneself in movies. Representation is important.

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

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

Declaring My Major

February 1, 2017annabowling 1 Comment

Later start on the blog than I had expected today, but that’s fine. I wrote two pages of a scene for Girl and Guy, from the Beach Ball, while at the laundromat, did some recon for an upcoming feature at Heroes and Heartbreakers (oh, the odious task of looking for outstanding declarations of love) and took a picture for the original concept of this post, which was going to be about my inability to resist pretty paper. Yes, the paper on which I write does have to be pretty, thankyouverymuch, and I am particular about it. Nothing wrong with having the right tools for the job. That almost works as a transition to the thought that hit me part way through my process of winding down yesterday evening.

We’ll skip the particulars of said winding down, as it happened in a room where the furniture is made of porcelain, but there I was, thinking of something entirely unrelated, and then the thought hit me: I’m focusing on the eighteenth century now. This should not have been a surprise. I wrote about that exact thing the day before yesterday. I jabbered about it at lunch with my BFF. I may or may not have sent thought waves out into the ether, because that seems to be a step in my process (much like my need to circle a scene and smash my head against a brick wall or two until I bust through) but it wasn’t until last night that it sank in that I am declaring a major here.

Back in another life, I majored in early childhood education. The most important thing I learned by studying that discipline is that I am not suited for early childhood education. If I ever master time travel and end up as a seventeen-year-old college freshman again (though, seriously, if I ever master time travel, my own seventeenth year is not where I would be going) I would strongly counsel seventeen-year-old me to go with her gut and major in drama, like I originally wanted to do. Declaring a major means deciding where the majority of my time and mental energy is going to be allocated. That decides what I study, how much I study it, and what things have to get moved to the side to give my main area of focus some breathing room.

For a writer, that means we are now in the realm of branding. As an advertising executive’s kid, I learned, from an early age, that how a thing is presented has an effect on how that thing is perceived. Writers need to let readers know what kind of story they can expect when they pick up one of our books. What kind of story are we going to tell them? In what kind of world is this story going to take place? For historical romance readers, in what era do these stories happen, and how much is the history going to affect the romance? All important questions, and all part of building a brand.

I am still a temporal nomad at heart (can we call this interdisciplinary studies?) I love a lot of periods. I have a rough draft of a Golden Age of Piracy romance, which may need to be two books (because I didn’t count on falling in love with my heroine’s parents in that one, and kind of want to play with them for a while) and a post-apocalyptic medieval romance (the Black Plague counts as an apocalypse – fifty percent of Europe taken out in a twenty year span? Totally counts.) and they will get written. I still want to write more seventeenth century, and I will. That dewy-eyed twenty-three-year-old hasn’t given up on the Tudor era, either, and I want to write in the Edwardian era again, but moving forward with a career plan means figuring out what kinds of stories I want to tell for the foreseeable future, and, last night, my brain told me what that was.

This is a good thing. Picking a major means focus. It means that eighteenth century romances get precedence on my TBR shelves. Not that I can’t read books set in other eras (hello, temporal nomad here :waves:) and a good story can be set anywhere, but, right now, seeing how others who have gone before me do what I am doing now becomes extra important. It’s picking a direction in which to travel, especially now that, with two WIPs viable to term, I’m looking at what comes next. I know the time in which these new stories will be set, so that settles that issue, an important one to writers who do love a wide array of settings. Back in another life, it was common for a historical romance author to write one medieval romance, then the next book might be a western, then a pirate story, then Gilded Age New York, then an Elizabethan, then Australian, then American Civil War, then…well, who knows? I would love for that sort of thing to come around again, and I hope that it does, but, for right now, picking a major and going for it is the smart move.

Eighteenth Century Love

January 30, 2017annabowling 2 Comments

There’s the way we think things are going to go, and then there’s the way they actually do. This is true both in writing and in life, and, when it comes to the writing life, it may be doubly true. Way back when, in another life, I was a dewy-eyed twenty-three-year old, opening her very first response from a publisher, I thought the response was going to be “oh my, what a wonderful book; can we please, please, please publish it? Here’s lots of money, send us another.” It was not. What I got was a professionally worded version of “you’ve got something, kiddo, but literally nothing happens in the pages you sent us. Please send us something else. Also, learn how to plot.” The “literally nothing happens” part hit me pretty hard, and I totally missed the “please send us something else” part.

Well, for a while, that is. The “learn how to plot” part happened through writing a lot of fan fiction, membership in RWA, and reading enough historical romance novels to build a small house, if stacked correctly. I pored over every issue of Romantic Times magazine as soon as I had it in hand, scrutinized which new releases caught my eye, and why; plot, character type, character names, author’s voice, and, the first thing I screened for every time I hit the historical romance section: setting.

Let’s go back to that dewy-eyed twenty-three-year-old for a minute. She was absolutely sure she was going to write oodles of books in her very favorite setting, Tudor England, because her all time favorite historical romance was (and, :cough: a few years down the road :cough: still is Skye O’Malley, (the book, not the kitty) by Bertrice Small. Second place is still held by Lovesong (and its two direct sequels, same hero and same heroine) by Valerie Sherwood.

my two favorite historical romance novels:

Neither of these books has an eighteenth century setting. Skye O’Malley is set in Elizabethan era Ireland, England, Algiers and the high seas. Lovesong is set in seventeenth-century Virginia, England, the high seas (see a pattern here?) and the Caribbean. So far, I have written one kind of sort of high seas story, Queen of the Ocean, set in sixteenth-century Cornwall, but it’s more of an on-the-shore story, as my heroine comes from a family of wreckers, and she and her hero don’t hit the high seas together until the very end. I dipped my toes into the seventeenth century waters with Orphans in the Storm, set at the end of the English Civil War. My very first book, My Outcast Heart, does have an eighteenth century setting, but it’s set on a small farm in Bedford, NY, a far cry from the glitter of the Georgian Court.

Her Last First Kiss gets closer, as it’s at least set (well, mostly) in London. I do a terrible job of staying in one place, setting-wise. In my heart of hearts, I am still a historical nomad, and fully plan to use a variety of settings (I must apologize to the Regency era for attempting to write in it, though. That did not go well for either of us.) but, lately, when I need to come up with a historical idea, my brain goes directly to Century Eighteen. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming, having spent my first ten years in a town steeped in colonial history, which had actually been burned to the ground by the British army during the war; yeah, think that imprinted on me pretty well.

I was an impressionable wee princess at the time of the Bicentennial, and eighteenth-century stuff was everywhere. My eyes naturally went to a certain look when I watched movies set in “the olden days” – lace and heels on everybody, including the dudes, ornamentation everywhere, powdered wigs (hey, they were hot stuff back in the day) and grand houses. When I was a teen and participated in a young artists’ program at Wesleyan one summer, we had a poetry workshop that had some eighteenth century poetry in the curriculum, and I, to this day, remember walking from dorm to the building where we young writers would meet every weekday, floating on the music of those old-timey words. Yes. That was right. That was how the voices in my head naturally spoke. Doesn’t matter what side of the pond they might be.

Fast forward to now, when Melva and I first started batting around what would eventually become the Beach Ball. It’s a contemporary story, set in the world of historical romance. When we got to the point where we had to pick a historical setting for the book within the book, I had absolutely no hesitation suggesting the eighteenth century. That came as naturally as breathing, and so there it was.

Thinking ahead to what’s next, as I’m working on draft two of HLFK and Melva and I keep bringing the Beach Ball to its conclusion, my brain is pretty darned comfortable in the eighteenth century for the time being. I am okay with that. Why does this period feel like home for now? That’s a good question. I don’t know that there’s any one right answer. I’m hoping that the Hamilton effect will ripple into historical romance, and hang out there for at least a little while (though I haven’t written American Revolution yet, and the one time I tried, I had tried to force certain aspects, and it fizzled, taking part of my spirit down with it.)

In the end, I’m going to go with “it feels right,” and leave it at that. If that’s where the stories are, that’s where the stories are. At least we’ll know where to find each other.

Typing With Wet Claws: Anything Can Happen Edition

January 27, 2017annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty and I would first like to thank everybody who asked about Uncle’s paws. They are doing much, much better, and things are getting back to normal around here. At least as normal as possible, with a writer in the house. Then again, I have always lived with a writer in the family, because I was born wild and then lived in the shelter, and this is my only family, so I do not know how it is for others. Maybe I should say normal for us. There was that one day, though, but I will tell you about that later. First, I have to tell you about where you can find Anty’s writing this week, apart from here.

As always, Anty has her Saturday Discussion topic at Buried Under Romance. This week, she talks about what anchors us to a certain kind of story. Anty will admit she was tired and loopy when she wrote this one, so it might be worth reading for the entertainment value alone. Uncle says Anty gets very entertaining when she is extra tired. That post is here, and it looks like this:

Anty also had a post at Heroes and Heartbreakers, where she talks about how great Mogul, by Joanna Shupe is. Anty always liked the Gilded Age (a long time ago, in NYC. Anty lived in NYC when she was a very tiny people kitten, right after she was adopted, but it was not as long ago as when Miss Joanna’s books are set.) so she is always happy to see historical romances that use that setting. She thinks there are not nearly enough of them. Maybe Anty should write one of her own someday (but not now, because she is already writing two other books, and she knows her limits.) That post is here, and it looks like this:

Now that my obligations are fulfilled, we can move on to the rest of this entry, specifically the part about me. When I have a sick human at home, I work as a nurse as well as a mews. That means I need to sit very very close to the human who does not feel well and shoot love beams at them. If I could jump or climb, I would get up on the bed with them, but I have special paws, so I stay on the floor and send my love from there. Sometimes, when Uncle needs to rest, and other humans are moving around, he closes the bedroom door. That makes me sad, because I want to be with him, but I understand where he is coming from on this one. Sometimes, I like my door closed, too.

We had one of those days this week. Uncle had asked Anty if she could please be home to let in Landlady and another human, who might like to buy the building. Anty said she would, and she was, but what she did not know what that it would be a whole bunch of humans. Some of them wanted to take pictures of the rooms (including where Uncle was resting, but they said they were sorry to disturb him.) Some of them wanted to turn faucets and light switches on and off. Some of them wanted to open and close all of the windows and doors (not at the same time.) Some of them wanted to do other things, and none of this fit in with Anty’s plan of a quiet afternoon, spent transcribing her notes.

Because the front and back doors had to be open a lot, Anty put me in Mama’s room (that is where my food dishes and water bowls -I have two of them- are kept, so I would not be hungry or thirsty) and closed the door, so that I would not go where I am not supposed to go. Most of the time, I am a very good kitty, but, sometimes, the landing outside the front door gets too interesting, and I want to see what is out there. The problem is, I am not allowed to go out there, because past the landing, there are stairs, and past the stairs, there is another door, and past the other door, there is outside. I do not particularly want to go outside. I lived outside before I was rescued, and it was not that great. I also have never experienced stairs, so the humans want to make sure I do not get any surprises in that department. With all those strange humans (and I only knew Landlady; the rest were all new to me) milling about, Anty thought it was best if I stayed in one place.

Anty also thought it was best if she stayed in one place, too. I am glad she did, because her place was outside the door of Mama’s room, so I could smell her. I like it best when at least one of my humans is very close to me. I am their near girl. All the while I was in Mama’s room, I heard Anty’s pencil scratching on the pages of her notebook. Anty loves writing in her notebooks, and, this time, she shut out all the chaos going on around her and worked out what she needed to change for a scene she had written. While she does not want the apartment swarmed by strange, noisy humans, every day, it did remind her that, if she connects well enough with the story, she can write through pretty much anything. That is a good thing to know, because, in this family, anything can happen.

Anything, including Anty wanting to get back to her story worlds, so that is about it for now. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours,

Until next week…

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

Typing With Wet Claws: Thinking About Things Edition

January 13, 2017annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty has been very busy this week, doing a lot of writing, which is a very good thing. I rewarded her efforts by sitting still for my picture, even if I would not look up at her. I had my reasons. This morning, a realtor human came by with an inspector human, to look at some things about the apartment that do not concern me. Anty put me in my and Mama’s room while the strange humans were here. I do not like it when strange humans come into the house, but if that is what has to happen for a while, I will find a way to deal. Probably from under one of the beds.

Since the deal is that I have to talk about Anty’s writing before I can talk about anything else, I will get right to that. First of all, Anty had her usual post at Buried Under Romance this week. Anty apologizes for not including a picture, like she usually does. This was a very full week, and some things slipped her mind. That was one of them. This week, she talked about new reads for the new year. That post is here, and it looks like this:

Anty already said, last week, how much she liked her first story by Piper Huguley, and that she wanted to read more books by Miss Piper. That is exactly what Anty did, this week, when she read another book of Miss Piper’s, The Lawyer’s Luck, and she liked that one very, very much. Her review for that is here, and it looks like this:

I do not know how Goodreads decides who it should ask Anty to whom she wants to recommend a book, but it asked Anty if she wanted to let Miss Piper know about this book, too. I may not know a lot about the publishing business, being a kitty and all, but I think that if the person’s name is on the book cover, they probably know that the book exists. I would also hope that they know the book is good. Anty liked this book so much, as a matter of fact, that she wrote a post on it for Heroes and Heartbreakers. It is not live yet, so I cannot give you a link to it or picture of it. I also cannot give a link or picture of the other post Anty wrote for Heroes and Heartbreakers this week, because it is not live yet, either. I will be sure to let all of Anty’s readers know when they are live. The posts, I mean. I assume all of Anty’s readers are alive, too, although Anty does like zombies, so I guess that would be okay, too. Maybe vampires. She talked about some books that have vampires in them in the other post, but that post is not about vampires. There only happen to be some vampires in part of it. Explaining these kinds of things can be difficult for a kitty, so I will let you figure it out when the posts (and hopefully you) are live and read it for yourselves.

Most of the work Anty has been doing this week is on her books. By that, I mean the ones she is writing, not the ones she is reading (though if any humans reading this can help Anty figure out the whole ascm file thing, she would be reading even more than she already is.) For part of most of the days this week, she worked on Her Last First Kiss, and then, for another part, the Beach Ball, which she writes with Anty Melva.

That is a lot of writing. It is also a lot of researching. For Her Last First Kiss, which takes place in 1784 England, Anty sometimes has to stop and check to see if what she wants to do is all right for that time and place. There is one part in one chapter, where Hero thinks a really bad word, several times (he is a grownup,. but really, really scared, and really, really mad. That is not an excuse, but an explanation.) Anty was not sure if the bad word was the right bad word. She had to consult with some writer friends who might be able to help her figure this out. Thankfully, Miss Vicki knows this story very, very well (she has known about it since Anty was babbling random things about “the new historical,” that is how long) so she knows what Hero would probably say, and was able to offer some suggestions. This resulted in using more old-timey bad words. I am thinking this is probably not a book for gentle readers. Maybe another one will be.

Anty has also been thinking about what comes next. After she is done with Her Last First Kiss, and she and Anty Melva are done with the Beach Ball, she would like to know what she will be writing after that. One of those is already settled. Anty and Anty Melva already know that they will write two more books related to the Beach Ball. I do not know what they will call those until they get names for them. She still has some thinking to do about the next historical project, though.

In the historical romance genre, linked books dominate the market right now, but Anty naturally thinks in standalone books. That means stories that are complete in themselves, that do not continue to other related stories. Anty is not going to stop writing those, because those are what she loves the very best, but she also knows that the “commercial” part of “commercial fiction” means that market trends do come into account. That also means that Anty now gets to figure out what sort of linked books would work best for the sorts of stories she likes to tell. She has a couple of ideas on that front, and will keep thinking -and writing- about those, but she also is very firm about telling herself “this book, now,” so that she does not get distracted. She is pretty sure she will have what she needs, when she needs it.

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)

The Year So Far

January 4, 2017annabowling 2 Comments

Maybe three days is a wee bit soon to be looking at a year in review, but maybe it’s also a good way to make sure things are going according to plan. Monday, I planned my day to a fare-thee-well, though I did not put “take picture of planner page” on my to-do list, and my phone is, at the moment, at the other end of the house, so you’re going to have to take my word on that one. Having all my tasks laid out in advance actually felt like a huge relief. My critique session with N, on Tuesday, was right there, so, by gum, I was going to have pages to hand in to her.

Never mind that, as soon as I opened the file, the scene told me it wanted to open differently than the way I had it, and I didn’t have the description of the room right -I’d picked the wrong details, as one often does in a first draft- and this could be so much better. Cue furious typing, followed by furious backspacing, followed by more furious typing, followed by the uttering of indelicate language when Housemate’s arrival marked the end of the session, and it was time to wrap things up so we could head to the library to print (because I have reached the end of my abilities in trying to find what the heck the printer wants before it will cough up my pages, and it is now time to call in the pros.) Which is when we remembered the library would be closed, for the holiday. No problem, off to Staples we went. Awesome worker saw they were manuscript pages and told me not to worry about the cost. I take this as a sign. (Probably that she needed to help another customer, but allow me my moment.)

Back when I lived in the Old Country, and attended a weekly critique group, when a crit went especially well, I would spend the ride home feeling as though I were flying. The same thing would happen when a once-upon-a-time friend and I would critique through snail mail. That this is why I am alive feeling, that isn’t followed by I’ll never do this or everybody else is better than me, but by mental self-fives and victory laps and a desire to do nothing else but get right back to that story as soon as humanly possible and go, go, go. That one. I had it again. Good feedback from N, who also has the start of a most excellent romance novel her own self, and it left me with that flying feeling, a good thing to have when I walked into a small domestic tornado, but no biggie. I got story going on here. Well, stories, but that’s not the important part.

The important part happened Monday afternoon, when I realized I’d missed a big opportunity to make Hero’s first appearance show who he was when the story started, and I had a ticking clock on how much time I had in which to fix that. Which is when the whole brain outlook thing shifts and forget everything else; I am fixing this scene clicks into place. The thing where the writer growls at family members who dare to interrupt, where “yes” or “no” both get substituted with “when I’m done with this scene.” Because, at that moment, the real world is that scene. I like when that happens.

Something else happened this week. When I checked yesterday’s mail, I found this literally on my doorstep:

That sound is my heart going pitty-pat, because Beatriz Williams is one of my all-time favorite authors, and this is an ARC of her newest trip back to the 1920s (and 90s,) The Wicked City. Double pitty-pat, because, along with the gorgeous period-perfect (these books are my historical verisimilitude goals) postcards, was a personal note:

I still haven’t decided if this is going in an art journal or in a frame on my office wall, but it’s inspiration in more ways than one. My very first exposure to the historical romance genre was Bertrice Small. Before her marriage to George Small, Bertrice Small was Bertrice Williams. I know there’s no connection. (Maybe Beatriz Williams read a Bertrice Small novel at some point; I don’t know. Maybe she hasn’t.) Beatriz is a form of the name Beatrice (I am also a name nerd in addition to being a historical romance nerd; I have been collecting name books since I was eight) and Bertrice is a created name, to honor one of that esteemed lady’s beloved relatives. There’s not a connection, but there is, for me.

Both women are authors whose storytelling and ability to make the historical eras in which they write feel as real and immediate as the modern day. They do/have done what I want to do, give readers an entire world, populated by people of its time, and make them feel the story in a real and visceral manner, rather than observe it from afar. Like I said, goals. The name nerd in me likes that the two names are similar, and having a personal note, well, that’s extra special. Pretty sure, now, that this baby is going on the wall, over my desk, so I can see it every day.

Three days into the new year, I have a system in place that lets me know what I’m doing and the time I have in which to accomplish it. I don’t have to write a whole book (and a half) at one time, only this one scene, and I have my list of things the scene has to do, right here at hand. So far, so good. Now for the next 362 days.

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

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