writing process

What Writers Do When the Lights Go Out

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By my best estimate, my hair is, at present, about thirty percent dry shampoo. I am sitting in my office, under my Irish fisherman blanket, knitted fingerless gloves on my hands, and the hooded sweatshirt I have been wearing since Sunday is starting to develop its own personality. Thankfully, our landlord is now in the basement, with a contractor, (well, probably not now-now, but he was when I started writing this post) and there will soon be a new boiler to replace the old one, which may have fond memories of the Kennedy administration. We’re not sure of its exact age, but the technician who was here yesterday is sure that the old boiler has given up the ghost.

We have learned, the hard way, that the space heater in the living room and the space heater in the bathroom cannot both be turned on at the same time, or  the vast majority of the apartment will be plunged into darkness. This will require somebody (aka me) to traverse the nearly-spiral back stairs, descend to the dirt floor basement and contort their (aka my) body around the possibly stored, possibly abandoned items (Landlord needs to speak with other tenants and find answer to this) directly in front of the fuse box, so that they (aka I) can play the fun game of find the right switch, and restore power to the apartment as a whole.

All of the above, I should mention, must be carried out by the light of the flashlight app on the phone of the person (aka me) sent to accomplish this task, and that our building has fond memories of the Harrison administration, aka was built in the late nineteenth century, aka is very old. These are not stairs anyone (aka I) wants to be descending roughly around midnight, but there are times when it must be done. There are perishables in the refrigerator, Skye is the only one of us with decent night vision, but she is also a cat, therefore too short to reach the fuse box, let alone operate it, and, as an apartment-dwelling kitty, for all but the first ten months of her life (six wild, four in a shelter) has no idea what stairs even are, much less how to traverse them in two directions.

This means it’s all up to me, which also applies to writing. (You knew I was going to tie this in somehow, didn’t you?) Yesterday, N and I sat at our usual table at Panera, for our weekly meeting, and, this time, instead of planning or critiquing, we wrote. Notebooks open, mouths shut, pens out, timer set, go. At first, I stared at the blank page (I am not great with blank pages) but N was there, her pen was moving, and so my pen had better get moving, too. I did not have the notes I thought I had, and I was fuzzy at best about how I wanted to rework this scene, but, the same way as my path to the basement became clear as soon as the lights went out at home, my path for the next twenty minutes was also clear. Write. Write fiction. Write this book. If I didn’t know what, exactly to write for the scene, then I could write something about it, which is what I did.

When the timer on my phone sounded, it was time for N and I to touch base with how we did. Not exchange pages, not read, not critique, but how did it go, how did we feel? I had a respectable amount of green ink on ivory paper, though much of it felt blobbish and tell-y and not the perfect polished prose I wanted it to be. All of which I conveyed to N, who asked her usual insightful questions, and assured me that, yes, I do have this. I know what I’m doing. All I have to do is keep doing it.

Right now, I am at my desk, rain falling outside my window. I am almost at the end of this blog entry, and almost at the end of this cup of tea. This will require me to get up and make another, likely to linger around the stove while the kettle boils, and then get back to the current scene in Drama King, because I’ve given myself (and co-writer, Melva) a deadline of today. It’s not ready yet. It’s a mess and a jumble, partly because this is a first draft, and partly because I transcribed it on my laptop, which really needs to be serviced, because the screen goes dark if it’s not tilted at a precise angle, which requires me to tilt the entire laptop so that I can both see and type at the same time.

The desktop is much easier, though also at the other end of the house from the space heater. There is the mitigating factor that my office is directly off the kitchen, so I am mere steps away from the stove, and thus teakettle, and the combination of hooded sweatshirt, blanket, and hand warmers is pretty darned toasty on its own. I kind of like it, actually. Gives a serious “I’m getting stuff done” vibe that might not be there if things were more comfortable. Reminds me how much I want this, and how close the goal actually is. Not that bad, when I look at it that way.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I don’t ‘know if any progress will be made on the boiler because of the holiday. Our family is having a subdued feast, because Real Life Romance Hero must provide quality customer service for early bird shoppers in the evening. That means extra time on my own, to bundle myself in blanket and hand warmers, and play with my imaginary friends. I’m looking forward to that.

Breeding Unicorns and Other Things

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Welp, it’s a Monday. I have the big mug out, second dose of Lapsang Souchong tea to fuel me, because I’m going to need it. Right now, I am in my office chair, under the Irish fisherman blanket Housemate knitted for me and Real Life Romance Hero. I am wearing an oversized sweatshirt, hood up over my sleep braids, flannel pajama pants, and thick socks. Tomorrow, N and I are shifting the focus of our weekly meetings from planning/critique, to actual live writing. I may or may not still have a free birthday pastry on my Panera card, and, although I am cutting back on sugar, there may still be a cherry Danish with my name on it.

Last night, I watched Outlander with Housemate, in the living room, at the same time, something I haven’t done since I started recapping the show for Heroes and Heartbreakers. It’s a different experience, not only knowing that I did not have to recap (would not have been recapping that episode anyway, as it was an even numbered episode) but knowing that I would not be recapping next week. Oh. Right. That happened. Watching as a fan is a different matter than watching to recap for a website post. No need to count scenes where the OTP are together (zero, for this episode; some habits are hard to break) or write down memorable quotes (Nothing on that front, but the final stitch on a sailor’s shroud going through their nose, and that it needs to be performed by a friend, that, I remember.) No need to chart the course of the ship (as in relationship, not the actual sailing ships, but those, too) although Claire has a plan to warn Jamie, and Fergus chooses an interesting time to man up, but we will see how things go.

I also didn’t  watch as closely as I would for a recap, though I will be interested to see if I’ve trained myself to do that when next week rolls around. Some habits are hard to break, and, as I look for more freelance gigs, this may be a skill that comes in handy. One never can tell. I am not ruling out a re-watch, possibly on a smaller screen and/or closer to my face. This may mean moving the comfy chair closer to the TV, as well as a trip to the optometrist, but rearranging furniture counts as a creative pursuit, right? I’m going to say it does.

That’s not for today, though. Today is for working on Drama King and getting ready to work on Her Last First Kiss tomorrow. N and I have already extended our meeting time so that we can allow for more writing time. Having another person across from us, doing the same thing, expecting there to be more story than there was when we took our seats and opened our notebooks, is a powerful motivator. No distractions, no quick checks on Facebook or other social media, no looking something up on the internet real quick, only pen to paper, and the knowledge that we get to talk about what we’ve written, immediately when we’re done writing it.

This reminds me of a writing group I attended, for many years, with M.P. Barker, and Melva Michaelian, where we came to the group with paper and pen (no electronics) and wrote to prompts (or not; going rogue was allowed, as long as we wrote) for a set amount of time. I want to say it was about fifteen or twenty minutes at a stretch, and we would have two such sessions, with a break to chat and snack in between. I liked that dynamic, both the actual writing, and the knowing that, while I put pen to paper, the others were doing the same thing.

Even on evenings when getting into my groove took longer than I’d like, I eventually did, because there was that energy of other writers doing their thing, of being surrounded by others of my kind. I was, to my knowledge, the only writer in the group with an eye on a career writing historical romance. I have a talent for being a unicorn in these kinds of groups, the only X in the bunch, whatever X might be for that particular bunch.

I do get semi-unicorn points for my meetings with N, as she is writing contemporary romance, and I am writing historical, but it’s still romance, and N does have some historical projects in the pipeline, so only semi-unicorn. Half unicorn? Unicorn/horse hybrid? Is there a name for that? Halficorn? Theoretically, can unicorns and horses breed? This is not a question that I spend a lot of time pondering, but it does arise now and again. I don’t think I’m the only one to have this question, in the entire time of human existence.

Today will probably be a day for filling the big mug yet again, as I put on the big girl panties (flannel today, because we are now in late November) and move the Drama King scene from notebook to screen, then get my notes ready for tomorrow morning, so I have a roadmap for the new scene. Today feels, to a small extent, the way I felt riding home from that long-ago writing group. There’s that same flutter in my stomach, that yes, that this buzzing around me, the story people as real and alive as the person next to me, hands on the steering wheel, bright as the headlights that cut through the dark, as we talked about where our respective stories were going, what we’d written that night, what we planned to do with that during the week to come.

 

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Almost Thanksgiving Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. We are now less than a week away from Thanksgiving, which means less than a week until the whole house smells like birdie. Unless, that is, the humans decide to go out for Thanksgiving dinner. Then the house will still smell like house. Maybe it will smell like the big candle in the dining room, if Anty lights it, but she will not light it unless humans are going to be home, so maybe not. They are still deciding on that one, but I will still get my turkey flavored cat food, so I win either way. Still, I would not mind the birdie aroma. The next thing that will happen after Thanksgiving is that the humans will put up the Christmas tree. I love watching the Christmas tree, but I do not attack it, because it is up high, and I am a floor girl. I can dream, though.
Since the deal is that I cannot talk about anything else before I tell everybody where to find Anty’s writing on the interweb, besides here, I had best get to that.

This week, as usual, Anty was at Buried Under Romance. This time, she talked about the importance of location in romance fiction. She does not mean where she left the book she is reading (for Anty, that usually means her purse, her nightstand, or the table next to her comfy chair) but where the story takes place. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURlocationlocationlocation

This is also a slightly sad post, because this is the very last post Anty will have at Heroes and Heartbreakers, as that blog is going to Rainbow Bridge. Anty has loved her time blogging for Heroes and Heartbreakers, and will miss posting there. She is glad, though, that her last post was a recap of a very good episode of Outlander. That post is here, and it looks like this:

HandHOutlander

Please forgive the creative cropping on some of these pictures. I have special paws, and Anty adjusted the display of her monitor, to be easier on her eyes. The actual posts have whole pictures, I promise.

Now is the part of the post where I check in on Anty’s Goodreads challenge. So far, Anty has read eighty-three out of ninety books, which puts her five books ahead of schedule, and ninety-two percent to her goal. Good job, Anty. Keep going. You are almost there. Only seven more books to go, and then the rest is gravy. I really like gravy. Here are the books Anty reviewed this week:

and

I think that is about it for Anty’s writing on the Interweb this week, apart from her entries on #1linewed on Twitter, but I do not have those with me right now, so I will have to think about adding them next time, or at least putting a link to Anty’s Twitter account. Apparently, that’s it right there. Maybe I am ahead of the game, too. I would not be surprised.

Anty says there is a lot to be thankful for this year, and she is not only talking about the fact that she gets to move into two new notebooks at basically the same time. Combine that with a major holiday, and that is pretty hard to beat, for Anty, but it is still not the best thing. Anty is sad that Heroes and Heartbreakers is going to Rainbow Bridge, but is looking for other places she might be able to write web content. As her mews, I will be sure to mention when there is news on that front.

That is not the best thing. I mean, me being Anty’s mews is a very good thing (she would have to write all of her own blogs, if I were not, and, let’s face it, sometimes, she does have to stretch for ideas now and again) but that is not the best-best thing about this year. Anty is very happy about teaching her workshop, Play In Your Own Sandbox, Keep All the Toys. at Charter Oak Romance Writers, in March. As a kitty, I am all for anything to do with sandboxes, but that is still not the best thing.

What Anty is most thankful for this year, is the renewed love of writing. She and Anty Melva have finished one book together, and started another. Anty is now reworking the second half of Her Last First Kiss, and has A Heart Most Errant almost ready for beta readers. If she plays her cards right, she might have three new books finished in this coming year. Writing is not always easy every day, but reading all of those books (go, Anty!) and actively looking for author voices, storylines, and character types that she loves the very, very best, helps Anty to find all of those things within her own imagination and put them into her own work.

This week, Anty and Miss N spent their meeting time, setting goals for the new year to come (New Year’s is after Christmas, so it is not that far away) and agreeing that part of their meetings for the foreseeable future will include bringing pen and paper and actually writing. Afterwards, they will have some time to discuss what they wrote. Anty does very well with someone sitting right there, expecting her to write, so she suspects this will help her become more productive, which goes a long way to getting new books out there.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week

Christmas Story Questions

annabowling 2 Comments

When I was about four or five, I sat in the dining room of our two story Colonial house in Bedford, NY, with my parents and grandfather (Dad’s dad.) I was across from my grandfather, my mother at one end of the table, and my father at the other. I don’t remember the exact subject of adult conversation, but what I do remember is the knowledge hitting me that Christmas came every year, and I could count years from Christmas to Christmas. I don’t remember the exact time of year, though I want to say it was fall, which would fit. Christmas would not have been that far off, so my parents would have wanted to make plans. My grandfather would have returned to his home in Puebla, Mexico, long before then, so maybe they wanted to let him know what would be going on, even if he couldn’t be there.

Christmas Is still my favorite holiday. I will happily read Christmas romances at any time of year. I have been known to watch Christmas episodes of TV shows I do not otherwise watch, because Christmas. If there is a marathon of Christmas episodes, especially those from the 1970s, I am there. When I worked in a bookstore (for a brief span of time, two of them at once) I kept a special shelf for the Christmas anthologies that came out every year, so that customers could find the seasonal reads quickly, and took advantage of my employee discount to bring a good number of them home.

Now that we have the interweb, and e-books, I get alerts to new Christmas romances from favorite authors and new authors, often linked to ongoing story worlds. It’s not possible for me to be intimately familiar with all of those worlds, but put the word, “Christmas,” in the title or blurb, and I am at least going to take a look. For me, Christmas novellas are an important part of the holiday season. Double points if I can read said stories by the lights of the Christmas tree, cup of seasonally appropriate beverage (tea, cocoa, eggnog, cider) at hand. Triple points if there can be Christmas cookies or gingerbread involved.

I have never written a Christmas story. I don’t know why. Scratch that. I have never written a Christmas story for commercial fiction. I have written holiday themed fanworks, under other names, and I loved those. The chance to combine my favorite holidays, and favorite characters makes writing, which is already pretty good, even more fun, and it brings its own set of challenges as well.

The first thing that comes to mind is that several of the Christmas novellas I see these days are tied into established story worlds, complete with a handful of previous heroes and heroines, to show up for the holiday gathering, usually with adorable progeny in tow. Right now, I don’t have a continuing story world, apart from the eighteenth century as a whole, so An X Family Christmas is not happening until there is an X family. Same with Y Club Christmas, League of Z Chrismtas, and so on, which does not rule out the prospect of a Christmas story altogether, by any means.

Many of the stories in the countless anthologies I’ve gobbled are true standalones, two lovers, one ending, no sequels, prequels, or spinoffs, complete unto themselves. The historical era doesn’t matter much. Christmas is the great equalizer. Give me the customs of the time, toss in two people with emotional baggage, and crank said baggage up to eleven, because Christmas is also the great magnifier. All the tensions, hopes, regrets, possibilities for reconciliation, strangers who become friends, and possibly more; I love all that stuff.

Writing a Christmas-themed historical romance makes sense. I love Christmas. I love historical romance. I love writing. So why have I not written one of my own? No idea. Seriously, none. Maybe it’s time to fix that. Not for this year, because we’re nearly a third of the way through November, but that only means plenty of time to think about what sort of Christmas story I want to tell. Being a temporal nomad, without an established story world, the field is wide open. Medieval? Tudor? Restoration? Eighteenth century, on either side of the pond? Maybe skip ahead to the turn of the twentieth century once again? In Never Too Late, Amelia receives the journal in which she begins her tale as a Christmas present, and starts writing in it on New Year’s Day, so that’s kind of close.

This is the part of the post where I hear my dad’s voice saying that close only counts in something I can’t remember and horseshoes. In short, not technically a Christmas story, so I have some thinking to do. Good news is that I have plenty of time in which to do it, if I want to have my story ready for next year. Right now, I know nothing about it. I kind of like that. It’s a voyage of discovery, a reason to re-read some classic Christmas romances and look into some new ones, pick what I love best from Christmas stories that have gone before and see what I want to bring to the table.

Part of that process is picking the brains of others who love what I love. What kinds of Christmas romances do you like best? Any particular time period or trope or character type that will immediately get at least a second look? Have a favorite Christmas romance you’ve read, or perhaps written? Bring it on.

Gray Day Rambles

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As of last night, I have officially read all of Adam Silvera’s novels. On the one hand, this means I’m current. On the other hand, this also means that now I want more, and the next one isn’t out yet. Though Mr. Silvera’s books are contemporary YA, they have a lot of what I look for in historical romance. The focus on character and relationship, the vivid use of setting, distinct character voice, which melds with an author voice that fits the story world and subject matter. I want more of that. Since his next book doesn’t come out until next year, this means I need to read something else.

Thankfully, this is not a problem. I am only half joking when I say I could build a small house out of my TBR books and read my way out. Right now, I am also reading (re-reading) To Love Again, by Bertrice Small. Historical romance instead of contemporary YA this time, and the setting is Roman Britain, not modern NYC, but, here again, there is that full immersion in the story world, the clear author voice, and the knowledge that, when I pick up a novel by this author, I know what I am getting. Ms. Small is the author who got me into reading and writing historical romance in the first place, so re-reading one of her books is, in a way, like coming home. That’s a good place to come from, when one’s focus is on creating one’s own fiction.

Right now, I am at my desk, my Starbucks mug all but empty of my second cup of tea for the day. The weather is grey and intermittently rainy, which made for excellent foliage peeping as I walked through the park on my way to and from a doctor appointment this morning. My office assistant is on duty, currently catloafed on the small sliver of hardwood between my office door and the start of the carpet she refuses to cross.

061117SkyeOMalleyCat

My “A Working Day” playlist is playing through my earphones, and the blinds in my window are open enough to let me peer outside and get a glimpse of the beautiful greyness that awaits on the other side of the window. The Canada Geese and their mallard buddies are still in the lake in the park. The weather has been mild enough, this autumn, that they are sticking around, patrolling their waters, and giving some waterfowl-y side-eye to humans who interrupt their routine.

061117CanadaGeese

These are the autumn days I love the very, very best. Now that the days get darker, earlier, there’s an extra pep in my step. Apple cider (cold or hot, along with donuts made from/with same) and pumpkin pie are always welcome, as are steaming mugs of tea, hot apple pie and the requisite melty scoop of vanilla ice cream. This weather is perfect for walks around the lake, stories swirling in my head. Sometimes, these stories are the books that I’ve been reading, and, sometimes, they are my own.

Okay, always, they are my own. Even when reading someone else’s work, the repertory company in my head peers over my shoulder. This one wouldn’t have done that, this other one can’t wait to see a certain character’s choice bite them in the posterior a few chapters down the road, and, more often than not, my own imaginary friends work out some of their drama while I’m caught in the drama of others. Call it subliminal, or back-burner, or free-floating, all I know is that it works. If the worst thing is not knowing what comes next, then the best thing is immersing myself in the things that I love, and knowing that something is going to come out of that.

This morning, it was two walks through the park, with waterfowl, and a stranger’s Husky that had to give me a hand kiss before he would continue with his walk. It was the promise of Lapsang Souchong tea when I reached my destination, vivid word pictures swirling in my head. It was a few isolated drops of drizzle, the true deluge likely held at bay by the fact that I brought my vintage wood-handled umbrella with me, in case the sky did open. The sky did not open, apart from aforementioned drizzle, so the umbrella also remained closed. Better to have an umbrella and not need it, than need it and not have it. There’s also the fact that I like this umbrella. It’s kind of dapper. It’s plain black, but it has a presence, and it has a history, both things I like to have in my fiction.

If we had a fireplace in our apartment, I would stuff some firewood in there, maybe even toss in a pinecone or two, and scootch the antique rocking chair that I have loved as far back as I can remember, up to said fire, blanket in my lap, and pen and notebook in hand. Days like this are meant for stories, both the reading and the writing of them. For those of us who write for publication, that doesn’t mean we only write when the atmosphere is right; we wouldn’t have any books whatsoever if our favorite authors did that. Still, when these days come, they are all the more special for their rarity, a time to open the metaphorical windows of the writer brain and let the room fill, then put all of that on the page.

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Hello, November Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. The weather is gray and looks like rain, which makes Anty happy, and happy Anty means happy me, unless Anty is happy because the writing is going so well that she forgets to get up and give me food exactly when I want it, but don’t worry. I will remind her.  There is a lot to share this week, so I had better get to it.

First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday, rounding out her paranormal month with a look at vampire romance. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURlovebites

Anty was at Heroes and Heartbreakers twice this week, which I think is pretty good. First, because it was an odd-numbered episode of Outlander, Anty has her recap. It is here, and it looks like this:

HandHOutlandercremedementhe

Because this is a brand new month, Heroes and Heartbreakers rounded up their bloggers’ reads from the last month. Anty and other bloggers have their answers here. I did not take a picture of that, because of technical difficulties, but Anty always likes to see what other people read during the month that has passed, and she is always happy to share her favorite read as well.

Now is the part of the post where I bring everybody up to date on Anty’s reading challenge at Goodreads. Anty gets an A+++ for this week, because she is four books ahead of schedule, having read seventy-nine out of ninety books. Because this is also the start of a new month, it is also when I take a look at how Anty is doing on her goal of reading more historical romance.

As of today, thirty-six of the seventy-nine are historical romance. On this goal, Anty can do better. That is okay, because she is currently reading three historical romances. Anty’s reading tastes often go in waves, so I am sure this will even out by the end of the year. She will need forty-five historical romances to make her goal of reading at least half historical romance this year. All four of the books she read last week were YA, and her reviews are here:

GReverythingeverything

Everything Everything, by Nicola Yoon

GRmorehappythannot

More Happy Than Not, by Adam Silvera

GRthesunisalsoastar

The Sun is Also a Star, by Nicola Yoon

GRupsideofunrequited

The Upside of Unrequited, by Becky Albertalli

Anty read all of those books in a couple of days, which is a nice change from taking a long time to read one book. Even though these books were not historical romances, all of them have love stories in them, and three of them count as romance. What Anty likes about these books is the intensity of emotion, and the distinct author voices. These are both things she hopes to bring into her own work, so taking in what she wants to put out sounds like a good approach to me.

Now that we are past Halloween, and into November, the holiday season is in full swing. The humans are discussing plans for Thanksgiving (I will get a small dish of turkey flavored cat food) and Christmas (this may involve additional humans coming into the house; either way, I still get presents, so I will deal.) It is also the time of year when Anty likes to snuggle under a warm blanket, with a hot beverage, while she reads, writes, or has some thinky time. These are the times when I am on mews duty, which I carry out by sitting very, very close, usually in catloaf formation, and sending out slow blinks and love beams. When Anty writes in her office, I lay on the small strip of hardwood floor near the doorway. I can rest my head on the carpet, but not my paws.

I get to see a lot from this position. Anty likes to write in longhand best, which eans she accumulates a lot of paper. Sometimes, she will throw me crumpled pieces of paper. Usually, I look at them, and I am interested until they stop moving. Then I am not interested anymore. It is kind of like that with writing. When Anty keeps going at a steady clip, the writing comes easier. When the story stops moving, then it is not as interesting anymore, and she might start doing something else. If those other things include petting or feeding me, then that is okay, but she really does need to get back to the writing after that.

When the story stops for Anty, it is usually a case of not knowing what happens next. Once she figures out what happens, then she can get back down to business. Sometimes, this can be solved with some research, like when she needs to know if her characters could do a thing in the eighteenth century, or how they would do it, or what they were wearing while doing that particular thing. Other times, it is more the feel of the scene, or a character would not do what she wants them to do. In those times, it is much better to go with what the character wants. She will probably end up doing that in the long run, anyway, so she may as well make it easier on herself.

Yesterday, Anty spent some time making sure that all of her papers and files were in the right places. This involved a lot of paper, but only paper she wanted to keep, so there was nothing for her to crumple for me. That is okay. I know it will come, in time, once she starts going through sticky notes. Sticky notes are my very favorite kind of crumpled paper, apart from the pamphlets that come inside new Moleskine notebooks. Those are the very very best, but there are only so many Moleskines even Anty can start at one time.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week

.

 

The November-est Thing

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As of this morning, I have three weeks left in my morning pages book. I have about the same amount of time left in my planner. This means that I will have two fresh notebooks for the start of the end of the year. For somebody who loves planning, starting two new notebooks at the same time, especially at the start of a new month is like, well, Christmas, which is not that far away anymore.  Starting a new planner means making new plans, and a new book for morning pages means a whole bunch of new mornings. There’s the whole process of choosing what books/planners to use, which pens, flipping through the as-yet empty pages, and imagining what will eventually fill them.

This is another NaNope year for me, but I do want to use the start of a new month to pick up the writing pace. Okay, and try out a new tracker. A page a day is a book in a year, after all. Probably somewhat quicker than that, as I am second-drafting the last half of one book (okay, re-drafting, but it’s my blog, so I’ll call it what I want) and co-writing a second. So, that’s what, two half-books? Which averages out to one whole book, so still somewhat in that ballpark.

The biggest obstacle, for me, to writing more is not knowing what I’m doing. Having a flexible (because those characters have their own ideas) plan in place goes a long way to counteract that, and having an audience is like catnip.  I live for that stuff. In a once upon a time critique group (which included my contemporary co-writer, Melva Michaelian) I was the only person who had something to read, every single week. It wasn’t always on the current WIP, but there was always something. I am not currently in a group, but I do have three independent critique partners, two of whom I met by turning to the new person next to me at an RWA chapter meeting and introducing myself. Pretty much the same for the other one, though online, and on a fan fiction newsgroup.

Talking things out with writer friends usually does the trick to get stalled trains of thought moving again. Sometimes, for extroverts, (okay, often, for extroverts) thinking and talking happen at the same time. This is especially true, for me, when it comes to writing fiction. Babbling is my usual M.O., and, when I start to flounder in said babbling, the best thing is for the other person to ask me questions. Freewriting is basically babbling on paper, and it has its place, but there is that x factor of the other person, those questions I wouldn’t have thought of on my own, but, as soon as they’re asked, bam, there’s the answer.

November brings a focus on productivity, and also on reflection. The days grow shorter, nights longer. Colorful leaves give way to bare branches that reach to a slate-grey sky, hopefully with a good dose of rain and/or snow, on especially good days. This week, my Goodreads challenge tells me I am four books ahead of schedule, thanks to my recent YA binge. I inhaled last night’s This Is Us, and will probably go back and re-watch, to pick up small details from the dual timelines, and follow the threads that appear in both times and connect to the “now” of the present-day story.

November is at once time to pick up the pace and slow it down. Time to remember why I write, and what I want to bring to my readers. Time to refill the well and empty it out, then fill it again. Hopefully time to figure out the right balance so that the metaphorical bucket doesn’t hit dry earth, but there may be a learning curve on that one.

Suffice it to say that I’m excited at this turn of season. Halloween candy is on clearance, along with all things skull-themed and batty. Christmas displays are going up, and Christmas is my favorite holiday, so I like that, but I’d like to take a pause at Thanksgiving first. That’s possibly the November-est thing there is. Not the actual calendar holiday by itself, though that is a big part of it, but the whole feel of Thanksgiving.

Shorter days mean the world gets tucked in for the night, earlier. Cinnamon and pumpkin scent the air. Thoughts turn to friends and family, and who’s going where, when. Couches become beds for a weekend, odd assortments of chairs crowd around the dining room table, to make sure everybody has a seat. Porch lights go on early, firewood becomes a hot (pun intended) commodity, tea, coffee, and cocoa flow, and warm, comfy blankets come out of their hibernation, so that writerly/readerly types can drape them over our laps and hunker down for some quality time with our imaginary friends.

This part, I don’t want to rush. I love the whole holiday season, which, for me, has always started with my own birthday, one week before Halloween, and goes straight on through to Valentine’s Day. I love it. I want to get the most out of it, and I don’t want to rush it. I want to savor it and cherish it and let it do what it does best. I’m grumpy that Thanksgiving, all too often, gets shoved off to the side, when it’s perfectly situated so that there is one major holiday at the end of October, November, and December, but I am not in charge of retail

What I am in charge of is how and when and where I write. This time of year, my imaginary friends come home for the holidays. They hang out with me all year, of course, or at least that is the plan. Most of them would have no idea what Thanksgiving is, and more than a few of them would probably be convinced that I’m making the whole thing up, but  that’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s keeping in the spirit of the season. No family gathering is complete without a few disagreements, a couple of blow-ups, some misunderstandings, squabbling amongst the ranks, etc, but, in the end, the good times are worth it. At least that’s the plan.

 

The Annual NaNoWriMo Waffle

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Right now, I am at my desk, Abbie and Ichabod back on my desktop, because it is almost Halloween. I have an Irish fisherman sweater style blanket in my lap, and am drinking tea out of my new Her Ladyship mug (birthday present from Housemate) and listening to my newest earworm, “This Is How You Walk On,” by Gary Lightbody and Johnny McDaid, on repeat. Here, listen:

When I get earworms like this, it’s usually best to get out of their way (aka play them on repeat for an insanely long period of time) and let them burrow all the way through, because there is something in them, that will be going into a story, somewhere. I’ve had story on the brain lately. Not an entirely unusual thing for a writer, especially of fiction, and, with November a mere couple of days away, it is time for the annual NaNoWriMo waffle around here.

Not that there are actual waffles involved, though I would not turn down any waffles that might come my way, in November or any other month.  To NaNo, or not to NaNo is the big question, and, by this time, I should have it settled, but I don’t. I love the idea of community, and I love the encouragement, but the word count, which is kind of an important part of the whole endeavor, yeah, not so much. I focus on that, and numbers become the goal instead of story. Still, November this year coincides with my goal of increasing production.  Think, think, think. Thinkety-think–think.

Since I normally tend toward overthinking, I am taking a different path. This morning, I updated some trackers in my notebook, and noticed that, once again, I have wandered away from my revised writing tracker. This probably means that I have ruled out another way to track progress. One thing I’ve learned from tracking various habits is that what works best for me is to do what feels natural, and then figure out how I did it afterwards. I don’t know if there is a national month for that. Creative Exploration Month? Is that a thing? Even if it isn’t, the time feels right.

When trying to figure out how/what to track, the question I ask myself first is, “what motivates me?” For writing, the answer is easy: story. Characters. People. When I first slipped a blank sheet of paper into my electronic typewriter (yep, it was that long ago,) in a Vermont dorm room, on an autumn afternoon, I didn’t think about word count. I didn’t think about marketing. I didn’t think about trackers or comparing myself to anybody else. I had too much story on the brain. My only focus was to move my hero and heroine along the timeline of the story. I don’t remember how much I wrote that first day. I do remember taping (this was before I discovered Post-its) a piece of memo paper to the shelf above my desk, with the next milestone I wanted to hit in the next session. All I had to do was write toward that, and everything would be fine.

It’s been a while since then, but this may be one of those times when going with the first, instinctive reaction may be the best. I’m not sorry I paused Her Last First Kiss‘s second draft, to rework some of the events, but November feels right to put away the map and get moving again. Still a little scary, but I think a healthy dose of scariness is a good thing when it comes to writing. It means the writer is trying something new. Stretching. Growing. Adding more tools to the toolbox. If what comes out of it is that I find another method that doesn’t work, well, that’s valuable too.

What I know is this: I have stories. They need to be told. I am the only one who can tell them. Right now, Melva and I have one finished manuscript, our first together, making the rounds, and another in its earliest days of a first draft. I have a second draft of another more than halfway done, with its second half re-plotted to better serve characters and story.

That’s where my attention has to go; the characters and their story. When I can focus on that, slip into their world, and walk around in their skins, writing doesn’t feel like work at all. There’s a time for planning the trip, and a time for hitting the proverbial road. Maybe I’ll NaNo, and maybe I won’t, but, either way, November is going to be time for getting together with my imaginary friends, and getting their stories told.

Common Threads at the End of the Day

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It’s a Monday. I had vague plans about a topic for this blog, and then life happened, so here I am, at the end of the day, rather than the beginning of it, the vague idea long gone. I’m not surprised. It was a full weekend, and these things happen. Instead, I’ll go with the first thing that comes to mind, which is a big chunk of how I spent my Saturday.

I look forward to my monthly CR-RWA meetings. A whole afternoon, spent mingling with others of my kind (romance writers) and learning how to advance our careers, write more, write better, etc, meet with friends who do what I do, and meet new people who do what I do. Also, there are snacks. This post isn’t about the snacks.

What this post is about, is part of the workshop we had this month. The lovely and talented Marie Lark spoke about using the movies and TV we love, to pinpoint common themes in our core story, the things we come back to, time after time. Core story has been on my mind a lot lately, and a similar exercise is part of the Play In Your Own Sandbox, Keep All The Toys workshop I’ll be teaching in March, so this workshop had my attention on two different levels. Three, when we broke into small groups, because I love group dynamics.

Our first assignment was to list five of our very, very favorite movies and/or TV shows, the ones we watch multiple times, because we love them that much. My ears pricked, because this sounded like fun, and then I stared at the blank page in front of me, because there is one thing that always comes when I’m asked this kind of question. Throw one of these questions at me, and I immediately feel as though I’ve never met myself. It’s a big question, and “favorite,” to me, means the very top tier. Are we talking about of all time here, or right now, or is there something in the middle of those two qualifiers? I have to sift through the possibilities, weigh them against how they might be received by the small group, by the room, by…I don’t know, them.  Generic them.

What I finally wrote on the page was, in no particular order:

  • Saturday Night Fever
  • How I Met Your Mother (finale excluded)
  • Love Actually
  • The Walking Dead
  • Brideshead Revisited (1981 miniseries)

When instructions came for the next part, I felt, well, naked. The other group members were to look at the works listed and pick out commonalities. The person who wrote the list was not to contribute at this phase. Within my group, I have a slight acquaintance with one person, had met another for the first time at the start of the meeting, and the fourth, for the first time, during the exercise. So, basically, a bunch of strangers are seeing me virtually naked for the purpose of this exercise.

Two things jumped out at the group at first: ensembles, and coming to terms with a dying world. Still thinking on the ensemble part, because, when I write, I’m focused on the hero and heroine, though the supporting cast is important. The second part, though, coming to terms with a dying world, ding, ding, ding. That one, yes. A once upon a time friend once said that all of my stories are about moving on after a loss, and they are not wrong. I live for that stuff. That, and star crossed lovers, who, somehow, make it work.

I’m still looking at this list, letting it roll around in my head, and thinking of what another group member asked, about what didn’t make the list. Remains of the Day, that’s one. Book and movie, both. The first two seasons of Sleepy Hollow. Maybe it’s too soon to add Poldark to the list, because I’ve only seen the first two seasons once, still haven’t watched any of the current season, and I’ve seen more of the Outlander TV series than I’ve read the books, so do I even qualify to add that? There’s the span of the entire Degrassi franchise, all the way back to when Principal Simpson was in junior high. What about shows I love, but haven’t been back to for a while? Mad About You, Cold Case, Remington Steele, Moonlight, Lost, the first season and a half of Highlander?

Picking only five is a small sample. For those curious, an ever-growing Pinterest board of my favorite OTPs (One True Pairing) can be found here. A lot more choices there, and yet they all have something that draws me back to them, even if I stare blankly at the page for a moment when asked to pinpoint what it is. This may require further study.

What common threads do you see?

TheWriterIsOut

 

 

Typing With Wet Claws: Almost Anty’s Birthday Edition

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Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. It is now only four more days until Anty’s birthday. Anty really really really loves birthdays. They do not always have to be her own, but when they are, that is even more special. I would say shop early and beat the crowds, but there are only four days left, and stores are pretty crowded on weekends, no matter whose birthday is coming, so leaving a note in the comment section will be fine. Anty does not ask for much, really, but she does insist that there be cake. There does not have to be any candles, but even one would be a plus. Anty likes candles. The big, smelly kind that comes in jars are her favorites, but Uncle does not always like the same smells Anty likes, so she sometimes has to settle for small ones with lids, so she can sniff them when she wants a hit of whatever scent the candle is. This time of year, she likes cinnamon or clove and that kind of thing. The day after Thanksgiving, she switches to pine and/or peppermint. Fireplace smells are good all year, though. Pens and notebooks are good all year, too, as are art supplies. My birthday is probably around Valentine’s Day, according to my first vet. I like cat food, and treat. Plan accordingly.

This has been a full week for Anty, so I had best get those updates out of the way, so I will have room to talk more. First, as always, Anty was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. October is when Anty talks about spooky and/or paranormal romances, and, last week, she talked about time travel romances. That post is here, and it looks like this:

BURtimetravel

Even though it was not Anty’s week to recap Outlander, it was time for a new post on Heroes and Heartbreakers. Did you think Frank Randall deserved a better ending than he got on the TV show? Anty did, and you can read about some of her ideas on that in her post. It is here, and it looks like this:

HandHFrankHEA

Now it is time to look at Anty’s Goodreads challenge. So far, Anty has read seventy-two out of the ninety books for her goal this year. This puts her at eighty percent done, and she is on track. Good job, Anty. Keep going. I will not mention that all three of the books that she finished and reviewed this week were YA, not historical romance, but one of the YA books is romance, and the weekend is here, so we will see what happens. The books Anty read and reviewed this week are these:

 

 

GRAllTheBrightPlacesNiven

 

Okay, I think those are all the places where Anty wrote stuff on the interwebs this past week. She has been writing stuff here at home, too. Earlier this week, she sent Anty Melva a scene for Drama King, and Anty Melva sent another one back. That is three scenes so far, total. This book is officially underway. That is a good thing, because the publisher that said they would like to read the whole book of Chasing Prince Charming is now doing exactly that. They will probably get back to Anty Melva and Anty in about a month and a half. That is not very long to wait. Whatever the verdict is, Anty and Anty Melva are excited about making it this far with their first co=written book.

Because it is almost Anty’s birthday, that means a couple of other things are coming up as well. Those things are Halloween and NaNoWriMo. Anty loves skulls and scary things like that all year round (she wears a skeleton hand ring every day) and is excited for The Walking Dead‘s new season. We do not give out candy on Halloween, because A) we live in a neighborhood where most of the people are almost-grownups, and B) there is no antianxiety medication, for humans or kitties, that would counteract our prewar doorbell going off all night long. Still, the day after means that skull themed things will be on deep discount in stores, and that makes Anty very happy.

Anty has a love/hate relationship with NaNoWriMo. The word count thing trips her up, but she likes the camaraderie, and she would like to get farther into this new version of Her Last First Kiss, so she may see about adapting the system to her own use. She will probably not officially sign up, but it can be good, sometimes, to give oneself a push. We will see how this all works out, but suffice it to say that Anty would like to move Ruby and Ruby’s hero to their happily ever after at a quicker pace, now that she has a better handle on this part of the book. She may need a few extra loops around the lake in the park, with her playlist for this particular story on repeat. Possibly with some tea in her travel mug. It can’t hurt, and she can take movies of ducks, to show me when she gets back. I like when she makes movies of ducks and then shows them to me. I am not sure any book about humans can be as interesting as duck movies, but anything is possible.

On behalf of the family, allow me to say thank you to all who left kind words on the loss of Tuna Roll. Our time with him was short, but his legacy will be long. The next fish will have some big fins to fill. I do not know when my next fish brother will arrive, but he will carry on the thought of the day tradition, once he is here.

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

skyebyenew

see you next week