reading

Typing With Wet Claws: Uncle Photobomb Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty only meant to take a picture of me for today’s blog, but she did not know Uncle was right behind me. I made her keep him in the picture because he is super handsome (even if you can only see his hands in this particular picture) and great and my favorite.  Also, he often comes home smelling like fish (he works in a restaurant that specializes in fish) so that is a pretty big bonus if you are a kitty.

While Anty agrees with me on how great Uncle is, she also reminds me who it is who feeds me all day, and the agreement we made about what we talk about, and when, on this blog. That means I have to tell you where you can see Anty’s writing this week, besides here. First, as always, Anty talked about seasonal reading preferences over at Buried Under Romance. That post is here:

http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/10/saturday-discussion-time-of-the-season.html and it looks like this:

 

bur21oct16

 

Then Anty got to do one of her other favorite things, and get a look at a book she really really wanted to read, before humans can buy it in stores, and then talk about it. That is her First Look at Baron, by Joanna Shupe. You can read that post at Heroes and Heartbreakers, here:

http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/10/first-look-joanna-shupes-baron-october-25-2016  and it looks like this:

 

 

handhbaron

Anty very much likes books set in Gilded Age New York. Maybe she will write one herself, someday, but right now, she is writing two books with different settings, and that is enough for her. Part of this whole getting back on the horse thing (I have not seen any horses around the apartment, so I think Anty might mean metaphorical horses) is learning what she can handle and still produce the kind of work she wants to share with other humans. This means saying no to some things, like NaNoWriMo. That works very well for other humans, but, for Anty, it feels like too much pressure.

What works better for Anty is to dive into the story and kind of live there for a while. Without distractions is best, apart from any peripherals that help her stay in the story world. That would include her story playlists (the Beach Ball still does not have a playlist of its own, so she will listen to either her Go To Work playlist, which she listens to when writing nonfiction, or the songs she dumps on a general playlist because she likes them, but does not know what story they go with yet) any reference pictures and/or notes, and sometimes even a scented candle. Some scented candles make Uncle sick, so Anty does not burn those when he is around. Sometimes, she will keep the unlit candle around and give it a sniff when she needs to smell that smell.

Sometimes, Anty likes to get out of the house, like when she meets with Miss N on Tuesdays and when she goes to the coffee house on some afternoons. Earlier this week, she wrote on the old desktop (it does not have internet) for a while because Uncle was home, doing Uncle-y things, and Anty needed to get the work done. She was surprised how well that worked. For one thing, the big screen on the monitor is very easy for her eyes to focus on, and, for another, I know where she keeps the gummi bears. I do not eat gummi bears, because I am a kitty, but I know where she keeps them, and being near the gummi bears when writing seems to work rather well.

None of that is really news to those who have been reading this blog for a while, but Anty has a new document going because she is on a new draft, and she does not think that is very interesting to anybody but her. While she likes Scrivener for some things, right now, she is focused on building her story layers, so she is going to try moving everything to Word. That will let her do more work in her office. It is her happy place. She is pretty much splashing around in the shallows of this whole writing process thing, as one’s process can change after big life events (and she has had a few) and, when she finds something that clicks, sticking with that. I am glad that letting me blog for her on Fridays is one of those things. I do take my mews duties seriously, and I will do anything for my Anty. Except enter her office, because I do not like the carpet in there.

Normally, I would say this is about it for the week, apart from Anty being excited because A) The Walking Dead season premiere is Sunday, and B) her birthday is Monday, but it has come to my attention that the picture at the top of the page does not actually include Uncle. I am going to try that again, in case there is something picky about the size of the featured image.

20161021_090720

Photobombed by my Uncle. Best day ever.

 

There. Now, you can see Uncle’s hands above my head and behind me. That is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

skyebye

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

Only a Little Burned

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There’s that moment when a writer has two thoughts that are simultaneous, true and alarming. Thought one: work on this book is going pretty well right now. That is awesome. Thought two: the oven buzzer should have gone off by now. That is not awesome. That is alarming. Set aside papers and laptops, plot route that does not involve tripping over cat (who does not understand the reason for the sudden haste) and make tracks, as quick as possible, to the kitchen. Once there, heave sigh of relief that oven is not engulfed in flames, and imagine the disappointment and cautioning words firefighter friends would have to say on the matter of unattended ovens.

Wrench open oven door and cast a glance at timer that is, sure enough, blinking “over” because that really helps when I am at the other end of the house, nose-deep in the eighteenth century and filling in the blanks of exactly where it is Hero goes when he throws himself out of his brother’s house (not going to lie, that was a moment when I fell a teensy bit more in love with Hero, because, really, who hasn’t wanted to bail on a family argument, when the same relative brought up the same issue for the millionth time? Go, Hero.)  Not that I am advocating recklessness with fire and/or electrical wiring, or throwing things in the oven, willy-nilly, before traipsing off to a prior century. (Or current or future, or alternate universe; fill in whichever applies to the individual) I am not doing that, but I am still working on the whole baking-is-good-for-the-writing-process thing, when both baking and writing require a certain amount of concentration. This time, I think I did okay. Still waiting for the bread to fully cool to find out if the level of crispy critteredness to which I subjected it while off playing with Hero is still fit for human consumption. I hope so, because the kitchen smells amazing.

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Only a little burned, and that’s excess anyway, not the actual bread.

 

Right now, I’m keeping one eye on the clock, because Housemate will be home any minute, and I need to get this entry up, so further HLFK work may get nudged over into the evening, when the house is quiet again, and that is okay. One, I will (hopefully) have cinnamon bread to snack on while tending the story, and two, I got this. For a writer who has been through a total lack of confidence, to the point of creative paralysis, this is heady stuff. I can do this. Look at me go. Granted, some of that going isn’t always in a straight line, and I am probably going to come out of this particular draft with a few metaphorical skinned knees and burned baked goods. Book brain is a real thing, and, after climbing out of that particular black hole, I don’t think I’m ever going to resent it ever again.

Still roughly two hundred words and change until I hit the magic seven hundred. I’ve had to put my copy of A Certain Age, by Beatriz Williams, at the other end of the house, because I’m almost at the end, and if I can get my mitts on it, I am going to inhale that sucker like it’s water and I am dying of thirst. Even though Williams is shelved as fiction, her books are so packed full of so many things I love, and have, in many cases, been missing, in historical romance, that I want to absorb them into my skin and figure out how she does it. “Unusual” historical eras? (this one is 1920s NY) Check. Period feel so real that adjusting to 21st century life when I close the book feels wrong? Check. Black moments that are more like black hole moments, because we are working on negative hope here, but then, bam, HEA after all? Oh check yes. That. I want to do that. I want to be that.

acertainage

Guh. This book.

 

Thing is, I want to do my version of that. Ms. Williams writes in the early twentieth century. Right now, I am writing late eighteenth, and, by the time I type The End for the last time on Hero and Heroine’s story, I have no doubts my feet will get itchy to explore some other time and place. I will know what I need to know, when I need to know it. Right now, I have HLFK and the Beach Ball, my Heroes and Heartbreakers posts  (new one today, by the way, gushing all over Joanna Shupe’s Baron; go look: http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/10/first-look-joanna-shupes-baron-october-25-2016) and this blog, which fills my plate nicely. From here, it’s left foot, right foot, etc, until I have arrived at my destination. If I arrive only slightly burned, I will consider that a win.

Typing With Wet Claws: Mythical Vuvuzela Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is the end of September today, which means tomorrow is the start of October, when Anty’s super powers level up, and Anty does, too. Her birthday is later this month. Have I mentioned that Anty loves birthdays? They do not always have to be hers; she likes birthdays in general, but hers is one week before Halloween, which means there are lots of skull and bat themed things around. That means it is her time of year to get things she will use all year long. It also starts off the whole holiday season, from her birthday through Valentine’s Day (Anty has a very broad definition of “holiday season”) so that makes her happy.

What also makes her happy is having things written for me to tell you about before we get started. This week, there are two. On Buried Under Romance, Anty asks if it is possible for romance readers  to have too much of a good thing. That post is here: http://www.buriedunderromance.com/2016/09/saturday-discussion-too-much-of-a-good-thing.html and it looks like this:

bur300916

Is there such a thing as too many books?

 

Then, because it is the end of the month, the blogger humans at Heroes and Heartbreakers talk about their favorite reads of the month. This month, Anty’s choice was an easy one, because some books have that much of an impact. You can read about that, and the choices of other blogger humans (I do not think the editors asked any blogging cats, but maybe they will do that some other time) here: http://www.heroesandheartbreakers.com/blogs/2016/09/hah-bloggers-recommend-best-reads-september-2016 and it looks like this:

handhbestseptember

Fun fact: Anty almost picked The Hunter, by Kerrigan Byrne, too.

Okay, that is enough of that. I have been working very hard as a mews this week. When Anty is at  her secretary desk, in her office, I sit outside the door and stare at her. I still do not know what to make of the carpet in there. It is different from the carpet in the bedroom (I love the carpet in the bedroom) and the hardwood floor that is in the other rooms (except for the bathroom, kitchen and hallway, which are linoleum.) I want to be as close to Anty as possible, especially when she is writing, and I am very interested in her new chair,  but that office carpet puts me off, so that is why I stay outside the door. If the carpet were gone, I would probably come in, but it has furniture on it. Maybe someday, the humans will move it; then we will see.

Anty is still vexed (that is an old timey word, vexed. It means bothered.) and confused by the printer. It says its paper tray is empty, but it is not empty, and then when Anty tries to print, it says the paper is jammed. So, which is it, empty or jammed? Mama says they should get a new printer, but Anty says they would have a perfectly good printer if they can convince it that it is neither empty nor jammed. They may have to take it to the computer doctor, because Anty is getting to the stage in both books where she needs to print out her chapters and write things on those pages with pens.

Part of that is because that is how Anty’s brain works best, and part of it is because of the way the people vet looked at Anty when she told him how many hours a day she spends looking at a computer screen. She is making an effort to do more non-screen things when she can, such as reading paper books and giving her eyes a break by looking at things that are more than an arm’s length away every ten to fifteen minutes. Since I like to sit exactly out of arm’s reach (in case there is a chance I might be picked up; I do not like being picked up and would rather stay on the floor) I am doing my part to keep Anty from eyestrain. When her eyes need a break, she can look at me. As long as she is looking at me, she can take a short walk (to my bowl) and feed me. I am looking out for her exercise needs as well. I take my mews duties very seriously.

Because Landlady Human sent her husband over with a ladder, so he could change the batteries in the smoke detectors, it is mostly quiet here now. I say mostly because Anty is using her headphones to listen to music right now, and because the chirping smoke alarms have been replaced by a vuvuzela player in the basement. I am kidding on that last part. We do not really have a vuvuzela player in the basement. One of our downstairs neighbors is a step dancer, though, and her troupe rehearses in the basement, but without vuvuzela accompaniment, as far as I know. The sound comes from air coming through our pipes, but the handyman human is working on that, so it will be quiet again soon.

Other than that, things are falling into place for what Anty hopes will be a productive autumn. She is making progress on Her Last First Kiss and the Beach Ball, and has several posts for Heroes and Heartbreakers in the works, which means she has a lot of reading to do. She likes all of those things, so that works out well. That is also about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

i1035 FW1.1

Until next week…

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

Into The Arms of The Undiscovered

annabowling 2 Comments

But know everything lost will be recovered
When you drift into the arms of the undiscovered.

–Ben Gibbard, “Me and Magdalena”

 

Run for your lives, she’s gone artsy. Which means, in this case, that she found a vintage effects photo app (actually, a lot of them) for her phone, has begun referring to herself in the third person, and was curious to see if she could make the usual deskscape look slightly more interesting. Jury is still out on that one, because A) a writer’s desk is always interesting, and B) I have no plans to change my desktop wallpaper any time soon, and C) even though I am writing this blog entry on my trusty pink laptop, I don’t particularly like taking pictures from the lap desk in the living room. Too much light, and now that I have my office looking more like an office and less like the wake of a hurricane, not to mention that the weather, while not autumnal by any stretch of the imagination, is cool enough for me to actually want tea this morning, so that’s what I have. I have also gone back to using first person, so there is that, as well.

Apparently, the vintage app thinks I am always in Instagram, and automatically crops square. Not sure how on board I am with that, but, for today, since I am sticking to my schedule, and actually really excited to get back to ruining Hero and Heroine’s lives (it will be okay in the end, I promise; I write romance, so the endings are always happy) so there is no time for the overthinkings. What there is time for is this blog entry, and then popping appropriate files onto my nifty pink (I do not know how it started, but my electronics are pink now, whenever possible) flash drive, so that I can do the actual work in my office, until/unless I decide it’s coffee house time. Then, the laptop gets to be the star. Unless I decide it’s a paper day, but pink laptop makes me happy, so we will see.

This past weekend can be summed up with “summer is trying to kill me.” Too much time out in the sun, running errands, left me with zero energy, so, once I poured myself into my comfy chair, in front of the fan, and hugged the ice pack of the hour, I basically did two things: I read and I napped. Seriously, I was a reading machine, and now that I’ve found how to track progress for what I’m reading on Goodreads, I have proof. Interestingly enough, I’ve also found that the point where I am most likely to wander off from a book is right before the midpoint. That’s when I’m pedaling my metaphorical bike up the metaphorical hill, get a leg cramp, hop off and call a metaphorical cab. Push a little bit farther, though, and I’m over the hump, and can take my feet off the pedals, stick my legs straight out and yell “wheeeee!” while I coast down the hill, wind in my hair and joy in my veins. This all gets me thinking if the same holds true to some of the partial manuscripts lingering in various drives. Not talking about the miscarried stories; a writer knows what stories are dead and which ones are merely resting.

Backing up a tad to clarify that one could count me as doing three things when not running errands, because, half the time I napped,  I had my earbuds in and there was technically music playing. I can’t say that I was always listening-listening to it, but I was taking it in, because this was some serious well filling. I highly recommend serious well filling. Earworm of the moment is “Me and Magdalena,” by the Monkees, written by Ben Gibbard of Death Cab For Cutie. The mere concept of The Monkees after the passing of Davy Jones was something I didn’t want to think about, for a long time. I fell in love with The Monkees, watching reruns on TV when I was but  wee little princess, bonded with college friends over same (:waves to Heather and Carolin:) and have done more than a few virtual fistpumps when a once upon a time friend wrote about how badass the Monkees actually were, because, dang, they really could make their own music, and fought for it, and won, and, even after Davy’s passing, here they still are. Plus, there was the lyric video right there on my Facebook page when the album first came out, and, reader, I clicked on it.

Oh, my heart. Yes. That. So completely, totally that. Nothing big, and yet, and yet, bam, there was a complete, vivid, image, of that one perfect moment in the narrator’s world. I felt the wind, and the sun (without it draining me, miracle of miracles) and that long drive along the coast, when life is infinite and love rules over all. Yes. I want to do that. I want to make that. I want to be that. I want to put that in my stories and give others that moment.

I also inhaled, among other things, One Hundred Summers, by Beatriz Williams. Oh my stars. Oh my gravy.Yes. That is historical romance, people. Technically, there may be some wiggle room on the historical aspect, as the 1930s are still within living memory, and my personal definition of historical romance is loosely prior to that, but my review, so I’m going with what feels right. I won’t repeat my Goodreads gushing here, but you can read it on your own:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1741156270?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1

Both of those things twined around the latest episode of Fear The Walking Dead, which I liked okay before, but am totally on board with now, because they, too, did things I didn’t expect, took me places I didn’t think I was going to go, or wanted to go, but the gasping and the jumping and the “Oh man, I cannot wait to get to HLFK in the morning,” that’s my barometer of getting into something good. Cue Herman’s Hermits.

Okay, far past the magic 700 -do I need to give myself a cap for maximum length?- so I will close with this: both of my current commercial fiction projects are taking me places I didn’t know I was going to go. Ask me a year ago, and I’d have kicked and screamed and laughed at the idea (derisively, not from amusement) AND YET, here I am, and I’m not bashing my head against a brick wall, sobbing about how much I suck, etc. Instead, yeah, make that tea, pop those files on that drive, and let’s take that leap. You with me?

Postmidweek Rambles

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Wednesday’s post is on Thursday this week, because Thursday was a domestic tornado day. Doctor appointment for Real Life Romance Hero, which took longer than expected, but good result, trip to pharmacy afterward, then grocery store, then…collapse. The first thing I wanted this morning, when I got up, for the first time, was to go back to sleep. Also, the second, third, and fourth. At some point, I relocated to the comfy chair, mustered enough energy to get out mechanical pencil and notebook and got some good longhand done, but I still would like to trade it all in for more shuteye. Morning pages got written, because my brain has learned to follow that discipline, and, if I am able to get out of the bed, then I am dragging the bones to the office and filling those two pages. Got it? Yes, ma’am. Got that. Allrighty, then. Shooting for the same with this blog entry and my discussion post, and then we’ll  see about nappage.

Writing a whiny post is  not my intention, but if that’s what happens, that’s fine. It will still be a post, because I am still going to hit my magic seven hundred before I can cross this off my list and move on to the next items. Besides, or between, the domestic tornadoes yesterday, I chatted with a writer friend, about projects and motivation and reclaiming the fun in writing. We both have been at that place where the Hypercritical Gremlins are shouting in our ears, through megaphones, and there aren’t any dissenting voices, so the Hypercritical Gremlins must be right. That’s what it looks like, but that’s not what’s true. What’s needed, at that point, is a shift in perspective.

Last night, when I finally slipped between the sheets, ready for my nightly ritual of squinting at the teeny print in a mass market paperback, possibly but probably not through the fingerprint-covered-muck of the supposedly magnifying bookmark it feels like I’ve had since forever, but rarely used, something occurred to me. What if I took it out of the sleeve? Duh. This honestly never crossed my mind before last night, not even once. Sleeve was clear, which meant I could see through it, which meant that, obviously, I was the one doing something wrong here. Well, yes, but not the way I thought.

I checked the top of the sleeve, and, sure enough, it opened. I withdrew the bookmark. Held it over the page. Insert favorite exclamation here. Enlarged, clearly legible text. Even with only my left eye and its  ninja cataract. This was a game changer. Well, okay, then. Let’s roll. I held the bookmark over page after page.  I didn’t have to strain, and could focus (pun intended) on not the marks on the page, but the story. I finished the book in fairly short order, and fell asleep looking forward to what book I’d pick for the next night, to take its place. Current plan is to go through the stack of library books in order of when they are due. Cuts down on the possibility for overthinking there.

Where am I going with this? Mainly to the magic seven hundred, because then I get to tackle the next thing on my list, my Saturday Discussion post. Do I have a topic? No. Will I, when I get there? Yes. It’s that left foot, right foot thing, same as blogging thrice weekly and filling two pages first thing in the morning. I made my first attempt at writing this entry yesterday, had absolutely nothing to say then, and a not sure I have that much more to say now, but if I don’t make this entry, then it carries over into the weekend, because Skye is not giving up her Friday spot. Saturday is my Buried Under Romance day, and Sunday is a day of rest (supposedly) and then Monday again. Faithful readers know how long I carried a missed Wednesday post, last time, and I am not willing to go into that again. So, onward I go, babbling all the way.

Discoveries like the bookmark thing amuse me. The answer was right there, the whole darned time, and it took me how many months to figure out I should take the bookmark out of the sleeve? Really? It’s the same with discoveries about the writing process. I read mass market books more easily with a magnifying bookmark? Well, then, take it out of the sleeve and use it. My storybrain flows more freely with pen and paper? Ink that sucker and turn the page and have at it, madam. First draft goes more quickly with bullet points rather than proper prose? Lock and load, because bullets are about to fly.

Some days, it comes hard. Some days, it comes easy. What’s important is that it comes. If it’s not coming, step back an take a look. What, exactly, isn’t feeling right? Sometimes, it’s as easy as taking the bookmark out of the sleeve.

 

 

 

 

 

Another Meh-nic Monday

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It’s been one of those days. I’m tired, Real Life Romance Hero is not feeling his greatest, and I’ve written and erased false starts to this blog at least five times. This has been one of those days when it feels like I’m smashing my head against a brick wall instead of putting fingers to keyboard. It’s not entirely unproductive. I wrote some in longhand while at the Laundromat this morning, but I’d like to have done more. The day isn’t over yet, so maybe I still will, but maybe it’s time to fall back on an old bit of common sense. If I’m not able to put out, then maybe it’s time to take in for a while.

Now that it’s finally August, with school supplies and even the first trickles of Halloween merchandise in the stores, summer doesn’t seem quite so endless anymore. The weather has been gorgeous the last couple of days. Cool, gray and rainy. We should be getting thunderstorms later tonight. Skye is not terribly thrilled about that, and I’m not sure it’s going to be RLRH’s weather of choice at present, but I’m looking forward to it, hopefully to be observed from beneath a comfy afghan, cup of tea optional but likely.

RulerBlackboard

at least that’s the plan

Today, I took down the cobbled-together  calendar I’d assembled from blank calendar pages, paper clipped to last year’s calendar, and replaced it with the ruler-framed chalkboard. I have my planner when I need a calendar, and there’s a calendar right on the computer. We’ll revisit the calendar thing when we see the 2017 collections appear. Having something intentional on my wall, and something I can easily change at will, feels like a much better fit that a mess that gave me a headache every time I looked at it. If I really super need a calendar in that particular spot on my wall, I can draw a grid on the blackboard, but I don’t foresee that becoming a screaming need in the immediate future.

DailyCarryAug12016

Current daily carry

New office supplies are always a mood booster, and this time of year means it’s time to stock up on the necessities at a bargain price. The big notebook (which is for a particular project) doesn’t fit in the pouch, but that’s why I have the mini Moleskine Volant. Even on days like this one, when the mehs set in, the lure of fresh paper, pens and highlighters, is pretty darned hard to resist. Bonus points for encouragement from Sir Winston Churchill.

SkullCup

my new drinking buddy

Well over halfway to the end of this entry, so entering free babble mode here so I can cross “blog entry” off my list and get to that carrot on the stick, the reading. Reading can do a lot to turn a meh day around, so my hopes are high that this will be the case. Current  reads include, but are not limited to,  Marrying Winterbourne, by Lisa Kleypas, and  Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, by Jesse Andrews. I’d seen the movie version of Me and Earl, loved it, and binge-read my way through Jesse Andrews’s other novel, The Haters, which I also loved, so had to give the book version of Me and Earl a shot. So far, so good, even if I’ve only been able to read in short spurts lately.

That right there may be a big contributor to today’s meh-ness. Taking in story is important, especially for those of us whose careers depend upon putting out story. Especially-especially for those of us getting back up on the metaphorical horse. That’s how we make the transition from mundane world to story world. That’s how we hone our own voices, by reading/hearing the work of others. Earlier today, H and I chatted on Skype, her sharing tidbits from her current reading material – the letters Alexander Hamilton wrote to Eliza. We both agreed that, if Alexander were alive today, he’d be constantly texting Eliza, who would probably appreciate him dialing it back a notch, because raising eight children and all that kind of thing, does require a portion of a gal’s attention. I actually snort-laughed when H shared a video of Lin-Manuel Miranda, at a Ham for Ham event, reading from the actual letters, came to the part where Alexander suggested he and Eliza start numbering their letters, because obviously  some of them were getting lost, and that way, they could tell which ones. This would be letter number one, and would she please write back soon?

The above was indeed relevant to my interests, as Hero, in Her Last First Kiss, carries a portable (lap) desk around with him; Hero would totally be on Alexander’s side with this one. Numbered letters; why didn’t he ever think of that? Okay, there we go, babbled myself back into story mode. Mission accomplished.

:cracks open paperback:

See you Wednesday.

Typing With Wet Claws: Heart of a Storyteller, Hand of a Smurf Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Anty wanted me to get this post up early in the morning, but that is not what happened, for a couple of reasons. First, it is sometimes hard for Anty to get to sleep when it is hot and muggy (I do not have that problem, thankfully. I can sleep anytime.) Then, when she finally did (after helping Mama to give me my pill, which I do not like) she crashed, hard. Then she remembered she had a lot of things to do, the first of which was dealing with my stuff. All I will say is that I hit the trifecta today. It is a good thing Anty has puppy pads and Febreeze. Also, Anty had to do laundry, and, because it was late, it was while a lot of people were there, instead of no people, which makes for a different experience, and crabbier Anty. Anyway, if you are wondering why this is showing up in the afternoon instead of the morning, that is why.

Because part of our deal is that I have to talk about Anty’s writing first, I will do that now. She has been busy. First, her Buried Under Romance post on the struggle of getting into a book that isn’t quite working is here, and it looks like this:

 

BUR

Anty loves when readers leave comments. She will even answer them.

 

Anty also wrote a review of a book she found very interesting, If I Fall, by Lauren Oliver. That book got Anty thinking about voice, emotion, and characterization, a lot. Her review is here and it looks like this:

GOODREADS

Yes, Anty is pondering how this could work in historical romance.

For actual fiction writing, this has been a good week, too, summerbrain not withstanding. On Tuesday, when Anty met with Miss N, Anty had the hands of a smurf, because she is still learning how to refill fountain pens. Also because she had a blueberry bagel, but, mostly, it was the ink. Not only did she get ink on her hands while filling her pen, but when she took off the cap, she shot a stream of inky blue water all the way across the table, because she had not gotten all of the water out when she rinsed the nib. I did not see that, because that was at Panera and I was at home, but there is a picture, so I will share that with you here:

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Heart of a storyteller, hand of a smurf.

Anty finds that writing in longhand is her very best way to get the ideas out of her head and into readable form. She is also very thankful that first drafts are supposed to be rough, because this one is. That is okay. She is laying down the foundation, and she can go back and make it pretty later (even though she likes to do the actual writing on pretty paper; you cannot see it much in this picture, but her paper is very pretty. The design is mostly on the borders, and her writing is in the middle.) Right now is when she follows her characters around and writes down what they do. This is not the time to be concerned about whether the language is entirely period specific, so it is okay if she has a character respond with “FML” after something very, very, very inconvenient happens. That is exactly what she did, actually; she can go back after the draft is done and translate that to its eighteenth century equivalent. She can also go back and figure out how Heroine’s very young half-sibling would address her in a letter, especially since English is not the half-sibling’s first language. That would be Russian, for those who were wondering.

Yesterday, Anty did remember her notes, and they amounted to a lot more than she thought that she did. She did not want to have to stop working on the book to take care of other things, but I have a very persuasive “feed me” face. Please refer to today’s picture, in case you have any doubts about that. There were other things she had to do, as well, including reading, because story in means story out, but I think it was mostly my “feed me” face, even though she was at the coffee house and I was at  home. My “feed me” face is that strong, trust me on this. Even so, Anty still has Hero and Heroine hanging around her brain, talking to her whether or not it is writing time. That is when she knows she has hit her stride and is on the right track.

Since Anty is making her “I need the computer” face at me, that should probably be about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

 

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

This Is My Brain On Summer

annabowling 2 Comments

I had plans for this afternoon. I was going to head to my favorite coffee house, with the legal pad on which I’d written stuff for two scenes of Her Last First Kiss, and transcribe in air conditioned comfort, directly under a ceiling fan. Good in theory failure in execution. The hitch? I left the legal pad at home. Since I live less than a full block away, there was the temptation to ask the barista to hang onto my iced tea while I raced back home, but I am not racing anywhere in this heat. I’m already sun and heat sensitive, and not going outside any more than I absolutely have to until this heat dome lifts.

So, today went to plan B. I had some Beach Ball work to do, and switched gears to take care of that. First up, check on the comments Melva gave on the chapter I sent her. Which cut off a full two pages early than the actual scene. Okay. Find backup copy, pray it has the missing pages (it did) and send off the correct version, as well as the compiled document with all of our scenes in it. These are more or less in order, and, seeing them together, criminy crikes, this is a book. Still in the gestational stage, but definitely a book. Guy and Girl (to differentiate from Hero and Heroine) have got to their first threshold of contact. Plot arc and romance arc progressing, historical adjacent stuff inserted at the proper (we think) time, and seeds for future things planted. This is all a good thing. Not what I had planned for the day, but I am calling it good. I can pick up on what I wanted to work on today, tomorrow, and the world will not  end. Doing things in a different order is still doing them, so forward we go.

Possibly into the babbling portion of this blog entry, because this is the last thing on my list for the day. It was going to be one of the first things, but see mention of doing things out of order. There are times, when the unrelenting heat stays unrelenting, that the only thing to do is plunk one’s feet in cold water and crack open a book somebody else wrote. When putting story out isn’t working, take story in; refill the well. A reading break, if nothing else, gets my mind into story mode, in general, which is a good thing .

When the heat gets too high, and invites its BFF, humidity, along for the ride, it can be difficult to slog through the brainmelt and actually get stuff done. Interesting timing there, with this brainmelt arriving the same time I’m getting my stride back, writing wise, but that’s how things work, I suppose. Resistance builds strength and all that. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Story, story, story, story, story, story, story. That’s my happy place, any time of year, and slipping into storyworld makes consecutive days of 90plus temperatures somewhat more bearable.

As my mother used to tell me, the more I do, the more I’ll want to do, and she’s right. Every morning, I drag myself to the morning pages, even when I have no idea what I want to put on those pages. It’s the discipline that’s building the practice. This is telling my brain that this is what we’re going to be doing for the majority of the day. The pretty pages mean my eyes want to stay on those pages, and good thing, because I have two more notebooks by the same makers, to take up when I finish this one. Okay, one and a half, really, as I’d tried using one of them for one thing, and that Did Not Work Out. That, though, was before I discovered rollerballs and fountain pens, so that notebook is only resting for a little while.

Exercising any muscle makes it stronger, which is why I set myself the discipline of three blogs per week. Okay, two, but getting a cat to write the third one for me is pretty darned creative all on its own, so credit there, surely.

Allrightyroo, that is the magic 700 words, so this blog entry is d-o-n-e, done. Tomorrow, Hero and Heroine, tomorrow, I am coming for you. For now, air conditioning and reading break. Toodles.

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Too Darned Hot Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Even though I am the one with the built-in fur coat, Anty  is the one most affected by the heat. Uncle had a rough day, too, yesterday, and even Mama has been feeling sluggish, and she is usually the hardiest in this weather. Before I am allowed to talk about anything else, I have to talk about Anty’s writing first, so we will do that now.

Anty’s most recent Buried Under Romance post is here, and it looks like this:

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Do you like to go fast or slow?

Summertime has never been Anty’s favorite time of year, because it is very hot and bright, and she is sensitive to both of those things. That means that, for most of the summertime, staying inside, in front of the box fan, during the day is the smart thing to do. Thankfully, since Anty is a writer, this actually works in her favor. Well, apart from the whole lack of energy thing. Do not worry, though; when autumn comes, Anty will get her superpowers back. She is not willing to wait for a couple more months to get to the top of her game, and so she has to make a couple of adjustments here.

Since Anty is a morning person, getting up super early helps. It is still cool in the morning, and  her brain is all fresh from sleep. The house is quiet, too, so it is the perfect time for her to write her morning pages. She is excited to start a new morning pages book, and has settled on the Papaya! Art spiral bound book for her next round of morning pages. If you have missed that post, (it is here) that book looks like this:

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She still does not know what pens she will use for that, but that is okay. She will know what to use when the time comes, and admits that she will probably have to do an ink test, even though she doesn’t want to make any mistakes on a book this special. Come to think of it, she feels the same way about the books she is writing, but there, too, she is learning to make adjustments.

Miss H, one of Anty’s writer friends, reminds Anty that nobody ever has to see a scene if Anty really thinks it is, um…stuff, (Miss H did not say “stuff.” I am using it as a euphemism for what she really said.) but Anty does have to write it. Anty is very tempted to say bad words to Miss H when Miss H says this, but she settles for saying the same thing right back to Miss H when it is Miss H’s turn. That is the important thing. It is okay to write the scene while scared of writing that scene. Getting even the roughest version out of the brain and onto the page or screen is what is important here. There will be time to make it pretty later, but nothing can be done if there is nothing on the page. Anty finds that it can be difficult to get over perfectionism, but it is also necessary. Sometimes, that is the biggest part of the battle, and once there is something, anything, on the page, then the rest comes easily.

This week, Anty has been working on both Her Last First Kiss, and the Beach Ball, although not as quickly as she might like. As I mentioned above, it has been very hot, and there has been a lot of humidity. I usually find a doorway with good air flow (the bathroom hallway is the best, because there are no windows, the floor is linoleum (or would that be lion-oleum, because it is comfy for kitties?) and, if I am in the right spot, I can catch breezes from the living room fan, Anty and Uncle’s bedroom fan, and stay in direct line of sight of the pantry door, which is where the humans keep my food and treats.

Even though Anty is most dominant, she is too big to flop in a doorway, and so she has to take other measures. Her comfy chair is in front of the living room fan, and the master bedroom door can close, keeping all the cool air inside. Her office even  has a ceiling fan, so that gives her another place she can work comfortably, even when it is not a good idea for her to go outside even the short distance to the coffee house. Even so, there are some days when it is flat out (and I am flat, even though I am inside) too disgusting to brain.

Anty is learning that, when it is difficult to put out, then it is time to take in. Because her body loses water, salt and potassium when the weather is hot, then she needs to put those things back into it by what she eats and drinks. The same way, since she puts out story when she writes, she needs to take story in between writing sessions. Reading is the best way, in her genre and out of it, to both stay grounded in why she loves what she loves and to inject some new energy into what she’s already doing.

 

Sometimes, the shift happens when Anty is not even looking for it. Today, while doing laundry (she went very early, so she could be there and back before it got too hot) Anty read a chunk of one of the books she got from the library earlier this week, and, when it came time to read the next chapter, she took out her mini notebook from her pen pouch to make a couple of quick notes. Yeah, Anty, those pages are more than a couple of notes, but that is exactly the point. Keeping one’s well filled means there will be enough to draw from when the time comes.

Anty says that time has come now  (also for my lunch, so there’s that) so that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

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Until next week…

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling

 

 

 

 

Mental Health Day

annabowling 2 Comments

This may be the only thing I write all day. Then again, maybe it’s not. I’m not sure, at this point, where the figurative road will take me today, but I knew, when I woke at two and four and five and six, that this was a day I needed to recharge. The weekend had its share of domestic tornadoes, the weather was hot, and, at the time I got up (well, some of the times,) I fully expected temperatures in the high eighties, and blazing sunlight, neither of which are conducive to me at my best. When I come up short with topics for my morning pages, I write about what my ideal plan would be for that particular day, if I could do anything-anything. Anything-anything means I am not bound by mundane concerns like weather, transportation, money, desired companions being alive or non-fictional, that sort of thing. Today, my plan did not take up a lot of space on the page: stay home and red books. Maybe nap. So I did. Or, rather, I am.

The weather we actually got is a little different than what I expected. Current temperature as of this writing is still eighty-six, but we have a light rain, which means cloud cover, so sun is not an issue. It doesn’t feel that hot. The house is quiet. Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate are both off at work, and I could be. (Am, because I’m writing this? Am, because filling the well is part of the process? Am, because the Skype conference I had with Melva yesterday about Beach Ball is still fresh in my mind, and the wheels are turning, even if that’s not my main concern for the day?) There is still a lot of day left in front of me, still time before Housemate returns home, yet more time before RLRH returns home, and Skye is, as always, respectful of my clickety-clack on the glowy box.

Last night, everybody was home. Last night, the weather was sticky hot and icky humid. Last night, I had one shot at a Skype conference with Melva before she headed off for a family vacation, where she will, no doubt, recline on sparkling white beaches with Mr. Melva, for more than a week. The only private place to have said conference would be in my office, which would, if the door were closed, qualify as an oven. Housemate kindly clambered atop the kitchen stool and activated the ceiling fan, and, once it had been going for a while, made the room rather…inhabitable. This is kind of a new thing. I could get used to that. Melva and I made plans for the next few scenes of the Beach Ball, and I spent the rest of the evening chatting with another writer friend, and poking another project with a figurative stick. I would have stayed longer, and likely picked up a second wind, but I was about to go facedown on the keyboard, and did not have the mental faculties to read, let alone write. Hence, today.

I still count today as a productive day. I have napped (not intentionally; it kind of happened, but I figure I needed it) and opening my laptop to write this entry is the first time I’ve touched the machine (apart from carrying it from office to living room – nearly a year into owning this lovely pink piece of technology, and I am still amazed at how light she is) all day. Apart from checking a couple of things on my phone, I’ve been unplugged. Stuck my nose in a book, a paper one, read purely for pleasure, no writing about it needed. I haven’t played any music or gone anywhere near Netflix or YouTube or any of that.

Instead, I’ve read. I’ve spent time with RLRH. Took time to have lunch and do nothing but have lunch while having lunch. Played with Skye. Napped. Considered what only-for-pleasure book I will read next, after I have finished this one (and I may finish it during this calendar day, too, or maybe tomorrow) and when I might want to visit the library next, and harvest a fresh crop. Rolled my current writing projects around in my head, in the background this time, instead of the foreground, made a few mental notes that will translate to paper notes in a bit. For now, I want them to marinate.

I am surprised that I don’t feel guilty. There are no Hypercritical Gremlin voices calling me a slacker, while they jump up and down and turn a redder shade of purple, their fuzz standing out on end (it does that when they are ruffled; the are usually ruffled) and clench their fists. Instead, I feel…peaceful. Beyond the box fan in the window, I hear light rain, and car tires on pavement, one of my top three favorite sounds of ever. The fan blows cool air over my bare legs. I am debating getting up to refill my travel mug with cold seltzer. Maybe once I post. Maybe after I read another chapter. Maybe after another nap. Maybe if I nip into this document, for only a moment, to jot one thing down.