Tails up, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome, and this is Typing With Wet Paws. We are three weeks into this version of Camp NaNo, and Mama Anna is happy to report she is doing pretty well on it this round. Not quite at goal, but close enough to call it good, and, most importantly she is having mostly a good time doing it. Here are a few reasons why:
She is writing by hand
She is writing in only one book (so far; more on that later)
She prepares each page beforehand, with washi borders on the top and bottom of each page.
She planned in non-writing days, for when she is being domestic warrior queen
This draft doesn’t have to be perfect, or readable to anybody else. It’s only her shoveling sand into her sandbox. She wanted me to say that it is her sandbox, not mine, because we have very different sandboxes. Nobody wants to play in my sandbox.
How’s this for my author photo?
Mama Anna wanted me to say more about the mostly writing in one notebook thing. If you have ever met Mama Anna, or read even one of her blogs, you know she has a thing for stationery, including notebooks. Normally, she likes to set up a designated notebook before she starts, but this time, she grabbed a random notebook that was full of stops and starts, with paper that was just okay (she got this before she knew about GSM) because she wanted to get the ideas down, and, well, she kept going. Now, there are only five two-page spreads left. As her purr-sonal assistant, I am fairly certain she is going to fill those before the end of Camp, and that means she will start another one, where she can do the post-camp work. After she lets it sit for a while, to sort itself out.
Part of the reason she wanted to do Camp for this session was to prove to herself that she can still do it, and what do you know, she can. There’s some confidence that comes with that. She doesn’t know if she is going to do the other Camp this summer (though maybe yes, because this approach is actually fun, and fun is important) but she does know that going back to the WIPs that have been on pause (not paws, though my paws are on pretty much everything she owns) isn’t quite as scary anymore. Maybe she will even take some aspects of this experiment into those works.
Whatever she does, be assured I will be heavily involved in it, and probably sitting heavily on it because I am that determined to be an integral part of the process.
Welp, it’s spring. I have the window open as I write this. My ensemble for the day is a sleeveless shift dress with an unzipped oversized hoodie over it. My home office is an absolute mess because of spring cleaning. Next week means a trip to the storage unit, to put away things we aren’t using a at the moment and get out some things we’d stashed for the winter. A couple of days ago I (finally) set up an actual bookcase to hold the vintage historical romance novels that are te focus of my current reading. I have a lot to say about the whole vintage romance thing, but that is another topic for another day.
Today is the day to share my everyday carry. It all fits in this pouch, which lives in my purse and can go out on its own.
The main pocket holds a traveler’s notebook with three inserts (agenda and two notebooks) and the zip compartment looks like this:
I am currently going with a green theme for spring. We’ll see if I want to make a change at the start of the new month. The flowered notebook has perforated pages, which makes it double as a notepad or come in handy when somebody needs a piece of paper out in the wild. There is an additional zip pocket in the back, which holds a selection of Crayola SuperTips in pastel colors.
Skinny washi tapes are from Tim Holtz. The two blue items are a correction tape runner and adhesive runner, and the tin with my favorite Golden Girl (Dorothy Zbornak is an integral part of my final form) holds ephemera, including tea tags, stickers, washi samples and miscellaneous things that catch my fancy. There is also a growing collection of enamel and pinback pins, not pictured, as I am still moving them around.
It’s not perfect (what is?) but it feels right for right now, as does this entry staying pretty much as it says on the tin (of the title, not the actual tin.) Camp NaNo is going pretty well at the halfway point. Not perfect but doing its job. Not at goal, but close enough. What I set out to do was to prove to myself that yes, I can (still) do it. So far, so good. Here, we see the puzzler in her natural habitat, dogpaddling in a sea of unset gelatin, grabbing onto floating ideas as they bob past on fickle currents, and…I like it.
I don’t know all of the story yet. Most of the characters have placeholder names. the stately home where most of the story takes place is still under construction in more ways than one but that’s fine . At this stage of the game I am shoveling sand into my sandbox with all the enthusiasm and precision of a toddler on her first day at the beach.
Tails up, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome and this is Typing With Wet Paws. It’s been a minute, and Mama Anna is kind of busy with the actual writing thing. It was a Life Happened kind of week, but the good thing is that she is making progress with her Camp NaNo story.
Speaking of which, she is not sure what is going on with Camp seeming a lot less…camp themed this time. This probably happened in the Before Time, and she has been inactive a while. You should see the stuff she has on lists to research. I also have concerns about her musical playlist for this story. The songs are all pretty good, but a lot of the songs are from the New Romantic era of music, and she is writing historical romance, but I guess it all seems to be working out. I call that good.
Oh, and she has ugly cried to Billy Joel’s “Turn the Lights Back On” song. Like, a lot. I think that means she likes it. Anyway, she listens to it a bunch, and then she writes. Sometimes while it is still playing.
She is also back from a trip to see Aunt Mary and Uncle Brian in CT, and she went to the big bookstore that is outside. She got a bunch of vintage historical romances, and found out that she likes something called bangers and mash, which is apparently Irish food. I will stick with crunchies and gushy food.
What else? The inspector guys. Mama Anna’s anxiety does not get along well with inspector guys (though these were really nice; they even said hello to me.) She had a big anxiety night before they came, but when they did, it was only to check that our smoke alarms were okay, so they were gone in minutes. Mama Anna’s central nervous system was ready to take part in a live show of The Walking Dead. Good thing she has me and comfy pillows and lots of books.
That is kind of where I was when we had the eclipse today. Did you guys know about that? It was wild. There it is normal daytime, and then BOOM, it’s dark. Yeah, I did not like that. Like, at all. Mama Anna stayed with me and gave me cuddles and pets and then the sun came back and I was okay again. Then Papa came home. I made sure to tell him all about it. He’s a pretty understanding dude. He gave me crunchies and scritches.
I also helped Mama Anna take pictures of the stuff that is in her stationery pouches and everyday carry planner. I will let her share those on her own, because when I try to get near them, it’s all “stop clawing that” and “what’s in your mouth?” and my personal favorite, “get out of that pie.” Not that she always has coconut creme pie but I think it is super interesting smelling but she says it is Not For Kitties.
Anyway, Mama Anna is currently shoveling sand into her metaphorical story sandbox, and having a pretty good time oing so. Updates to follow.
In about a day and a half, I will start my first historical romance project in…a while. Can a thing feel scary and like coming home at the same time? Apparently, yes. I don’t know very much about the story I have given a working title of Love in a Northern Town, (will definitely change that title. Stories usually tell me their names when they are ready.) because one of the very first things I knew about it was that it would take place in the Noth of England, a setting I haven’t written in yet. Why? Well, why not? It’s not like I haven’t done that before.
Once upon a time, I sat in the kitchen of a pair of dear friends, both musicians, who were off tuning their tunes, while I dog/apartment sat and figured I could use the time to double as a writing retreat. I wrote the start of what would eventually become Orphans in the Storm, which I hope to rerelease in the near future. I knew exactly nothing about the Isle of Man, but that wasn’t the setting I picked; it was the setting. Writer friends, you know what that means. Research. It means research.
“Whithersoever you throw it, it will stand.”
Manx flag and motto right there. Translated from the Manx (because they have their own language and if you think that meant I had to figure out what kind of grammar a native Manx speaker would use if English was their second language, you are right.) in the modern vernacular, whichever way you throw me, I stand. If you are guessing that such a translation slammed into me with a physical force, you are also right. Yes. There she was, my Manx-raised British heroine, Jonnet, torn from the only home she knew and summoned to the faraway Court in Exile of Charles II at the end of the English Civil War. Torn off every mooring she’d ever thought she had, she found her own footing, and most unexpectedly of all, love.
The motto applies as well to her hero, Simon, a king’s man if there ever was one, determined to do whatever it took to do his part in restoring the rightful king to his throne. Simon wasn’t only patriotic, but also wanted to do his beloved father proud, which meant that I listened to a lot of Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying,” because that was Simon’s dad’s song, full stop. I’m not in charge of these things.
I only discovered this children’s choir version today, but it was one of those very good gut punches, so that’s what I’m sharing here.
For Simon, the theme song was “Superman,” by Five For Fighting. Oh Simon, Simon, Simon, always wanting to do the right thing, even if it hurts. Maybe especially then. Simon has issues.
I have loved this song from the first time I heard it, but never saw the video before today.
As for Jonnet, I didn’t know at first that I had a song for her, but as soon as I decided I needed to know, boom, there it was. “Time After Time,” by Cyndi Lauper. I picked the isolated vocals version because that suited Jonnet best, raised in isolation, where she developed bone-deep loyalty and resilience that served her well.
I remember watching the video when it was new. Still holds up. Well done, madam.
I loved writing this book. Loved less learning that I had actually sold it during caregiver brain fog and had less than a month to submit my final-final copy, when the computer I had at the time munched all of my files. Thankfully, I had backups, in my longstanding writing gtoup, so I called in every scrap of paper I gave them, and spent hours on the office floor, piecing together the whole book from scratch. My dear sister-friend, Kathleen Underwood, who was a fabulously talented graphic artist turned my babblings and a handful of separate images into the exact moment when Jonnet first spots the ship that has come to take her from her home and into her destiny, with that same gut punch of “yes, that’s it!” as mentioned about above songs. Kathleen, whom friends called Kady, is no longer with us, but I will forever treasure this straight out of my brain to her screen piece of art.
One hundred percent, if she were still with us, I would have her mockup of a cover for this new story on my desk, to draw inspiration. I don’t have anything like that on hand, and I want it, so I will have to see what my limited collage skills can do. What I can do, though, is start a playlist, I have a playlist for all of my stories. Well, each. They all get their own. It doesn’t matter that this new story (not sure I even want to refer to it as LIAT until I know its name, but one has to call the new baby something) takes place in the first half of the eighteenth century (the Augustan era, a term I was last week years old when I discovered, and mainly refers to literature, but I felt the gut punch of reognition, so that’s the setting, yep) so nobody in this story would know about Frank Sinatra, trains, or even lemonade, but the phrase, “life in a northern town” and the heartbeat-like vocalization that’s just sounds and not words (music people, help- I know this isn’t scat, but what’s the hey hey ahh ma ma ma part called?)
once again, I am an 80s kiddo, so I know and love the original, but trust me, Davy (LIAT’s hero) will pull for a pub full of boisterous if not fully sober locals any day.
As for Davy’s heroine, Julia, she hasn’t told me her song yet. She’s trying to keep a low profile, so I don’t blame her. Gently reared London gal, taking a job so far up north it’s basically the other side of the border, to avoid the repercussions of some bad family decisions (but piece of cake compared to the bad family decisions she lands smack in the middle of, oopsie.) Maybe something by Mary Chapin Carpenter? My heroines generally like Mary Chapin Carpenter. I’ll get back to you on that. In the meantime, if you’re a writer are you doing Camp NaNo? If you’re a reader, what’s the best gut punch of a book you ever read?
Tails up, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome, and this is Typing With Wet Paws. Right now, there is a sunbeam that lands exactly on the printer, and yet I am here talking to you, so take that with the honor it deserves.
Things have been all right around here. This is the first day in five days Mama Anna has had the apartment to herself (and me) which has her admittedly giddy. She is going through her to-do list for the day, which includes fun things like putting away laundry and getting trash ready for trash day (and getting me to leave said trash alone, which is not an easy task. They have really interesting trash in this family.) She is also blocking out stuff for her Camp NaNo story in a junky old notebook. She is having a fine time doing that. I have a fine time sitting on it if she leaves it unattended. The very picture of an attractive nuisance.
Speaking of me, Mama Anna insisted that I share this image:
My bowl, with crunchies and washi roll
Aunt Linda noticed that there was a special guest star in my crunchies bowl. She wondered how that got there. It is not that complicated, really. There are a few reasons. First, I might have put it there because it is a safe space for me to find it when I want to play with it later. Second I might have been playing and have cat-specific reasons you hoomans would not understand. Third, and maybe most likely, I probably got excited about the food and forgot I had one of the best toys ever (seriously. They are SUPER fun. You should try one.) in my mouth and started eating and it fell into the crunchies and then I did something else and that’s why the awesome ring of cardboard was still in my dish.
Also, I know absolutely nothing about the crack on the casing of Mama Anna’s laptop. It definitely doesn’t come from me walking across the keyboard or sitting on it. Or laying on it. Or any other activities that a cat not unlike myself might do when upon a keyboard. Like standing. She only noticed it today, and will point it out to Papa when he gets home. They have been talking about a gaming computer, so maybe this is even a step in that direction. Either that or Mama Anna will slap some pink Duck tape on it (yes, she has some) and call it a day.
Seriously. I did not sign off on that. Anyway, hi. Storm should be back blogging at the end of this week. She has been occupied with some premium sunbeams, and an array of boxes. Important cat stuff. Also, she thinks it’s good for me to take a post every now and again.
Stock photo for today, as I am clipping along on my list of tasks and refuse to cede any momentum. That means stream of consciousness, so let’s go. :cracks knuckles: I am currently out of cough drops, and trust me, this is everybody’s problem. I only live a few blocks from a CVS, so will venture out tomorrow. Today has been my day to attack my environment (aka the aftereffects of two full house days in a row) with an eye to making it more conducive to creativity/writing. Which does mean reducing clutter.
Part of that is refining/curating my art stuff. That means keep the favorites, share the love on the rest. Things look slightly less chaotic, and I absolutely do need to upgrade from the TV tray type desk I have been using. If I could get my secretary desk out of storage, that would be ideal. If not, well, that might be more Ikea (ish.) Sleep was not awesome for the last couple of nights, but on the bright side, I did listen to two audiobooks. Apparently, I have a thing for dual timelines. That’s something to keep in mind as I meander my way to whatever form my Camp NaNo participation takes. Not going for 50k, more like baby steps, and by that I mean enthusiastic lurches into the unknown, likely resulting in falling upon my own posterior and the like. Fun fact: I studied early childhood development/education in college. The most important thing I learned was that I was not meant for that field.
That’s an important thing to learn. I like writing much better. I am looking forward to Camp, though I haven’t registered yet. I should. Okay. There is an assignment. Register for Camp. Camp means cabins, means other people diving in the same way I am. Or close to it. Definitely a rebel. Always a rebel. Unless I get to the point where the most rebellious thing I can do with this sort of thing is to go by the standard. Stranger things have happened.
Right now, I am one-fifth of the way through an epic standalone historical romance (in the reading department) and have another YA thriller audiobook waiting for the evening’s entertainment. It’s this one:
TV/streaming is promising at the moment. The Ones Who Live (which I abbreviate to “TOWL” in my journal, pronounced, “towel” and the new So You Think You Can Dance are both waiting for me. Zombies, dancing, but not dancing zombies. One hopes. I am also eyeing some nonfiction history books which may or may not have influence on my Camp project. I may even go buck wild and grab a composition book and a ballpoint and noodle therein while ostensibly watching TV. It’s bene known to work before, and writing like a fifteen-year-old actually does sound like fun.
That’s enough for right now, and it’s time for me to run trash and do some recon on some happy mail that should be showing up here any time now, so talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be back soon.
We are currently calling the lobster, “Thermidor,” though we are fairly certain that is only his surname and his first and middle names will be taken from an appropriate eighteenth-century military source. I needed a starting point for this very blabbery blog, and the lobster pillow was as good a place as any. For those who are interested in acquiring any of his siblings, they come from the Mart of Walls, in the seasonal section when we found each other, so they have likely skittered over to clearance if they are still in the stores.
Apologies for the radio silence, though I would be the first to tell someone else not to apologize, but eh. It is what it is. Storm and I both plan to be more active on here (unless there is a sunbeam, in which case, she will nap in it.) She does have her birthday (observed) to recount, among other things, and there has been no history in the entire interwebs, as far as I know, where cat pictures were a deterrent.
Regular readers know by now how this sort of entry goes: Anna blabbers for a random amount of time and checks “blog” off her list, then feels better. Fair enough. Things have been relatively snow-free here in NYS, which was not what I had requested, but apparently, I am not in charge of weather. Go figure. Still putting in a request for cool and rainy summer in advance, just in case. I watched the series premiere of The Ones Who Live, the newest entry in The Walking Dead franchise, and I am already wanting to classify it as a romance first. That’s an interesting lens, and one I am wholeheartedly behind, because, well, Rick and Michonne. ‘Nuff said. Also, I am here for the cities and the lore and the whole darned franchise. I love how the whole thing is framed around Rick and Michonne’s bond and determination to get back to each other. I will be watching this one for sure. Also the dream sequences are lovely, a quiet reflection of the chaos of their everyday world. I will have stuff to say about this show.
Reading is still a sludge at times, but that’s a me thing, not a book thing. One step (page) at a time, like anything else. I did start a tentative Goodreads goal of forty books for this year. So far, I am four books in, and will be updating my progress here. Besides a reread of Eleanor and Park, by Rainbow Rowell, I am also re-reading Rapture, by Rosamund Royal, who is also Valerie Sherwood, who is also Jeanne Hines, who, besides epic historical romances, wrote gothics in the 60s and 70s. I’m not sure if the reviews are going to post here as well as on Goodreads, but I do intend to talk more about the books I’m reading because that’s an extrovert thing, and a me thing. Talking about X is vital to my thinking process.
Which comes to writing. Melva and I are going full steam ahead on finding the best path to bring Drama King and Queen of Hearts to readers in the coming year. The special talking people vet thinks Camp NaNo is a great idea, so I will be doing that. The question now is, shoot for a new novella and punt that out into the world before the Hypercritical Gremlins get a peek at it, or focus on something already in the works? The one thing I know for sure is that it will be historical romance. I have time before I need to know if I am prepping or pantsing the whole thing. Doesn’t have to be perfect; just has to be written. I may need to make a sign for that.
Hello, all. Happy Valentine’s Day, or it’s Wednesday, depending on any number of things. Feeling very rusty about blogging at the moment, but there is no time like the present to jump back into the swing of things, so hi.
Above, we have my current everyday carry of planning whatnot. I like being able to pick up one thing (or two) and go, especially since I am still using a backpack and knee brace. Technically, I could fit the contents of the leather cover inside the Delfonics pouch, but I like it this way, with my cover, and a small box of ephemera inside the pouch. There’s something special about pen and paper that have a quicker route to the place where my brain keeps fiction, specifically the kind I create myself.
Valentine’s Day is an interesting one for romance writers. It’s the big romantic love day. People who do not normally engage with the romance genre might be tempted to try one in honor of the holiday (yay, welcome, grab a book and stay a while) and hopefully find something they like. It’s also when other people sometimes detract from the romance genre without engaging with it. Okay I don’t have time for that right now. I love the romance genre and have ever since I stole The Kadin by Bertrice Small from my mother’s nightstand when I was eleven. Right then, I knew I had found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life. So far, so good.
Sometimes, there are pauses. This latest one seems big and it seems long and it seems oddly misplaced, as things are pretty stable. That’s…curious. Once again, okay. It is what it is. One foot in front of the other from where I actually am, and at some point, I’ll be back on track. Right now, I am fewer than one hundred pages away from the end of a vintage historical romance I have wanted to read for literally decades. Yes, it is worth the wait. Also, Roger de Mortimer was not a nice man. (Stuff like this is one reason I love medievals.) I am eyeing Camp NaNo in April (it is April, right? Anybody want to make a cabin?)
This is feeling babbly, so I will wrap, after a mention of how Valentine’s Day is always interesting around here, as Real Life Romance Hero is in the restaurant business, which means the big date holiday means he is working. We will celebrate later. I kind of like it that way. Storm, of course, will get her due amount of attention, a wee sniff of the nip, and, fingers (and paws) crossed, her own entry by the end of the week.
2023 was the worst reading year of my adult life. I’m still puzzled about that, as it was worse than the year I was homeless and worse than the years before and after. Ah, trauma, you are a strange one. I have not yet set a Goodreads goal, but I probably will. I don’t know when. Probably when the time feels right. How will I know? I just will, most likely. That’s the working theory.
Today, my contemporary co-writer, Melva Michaelian, sent Drama King off on query to an agent, so time will tell on that one. My job on that book is to get on the indie side of things, as well as pursuing a similar venture for my two out of print historicals. Melva and I want to get the next two Love by the Book books out in 2024, and we are each pursuing solo projects as well. Last year wasn’t as great for publishing as we had hoped, so once again, the bar is low. That’s a good thing.
This all feels like I’ve been over it a thousand times before, which gives me the mental issue of treading water for eternity. That feels pretty accurate for the last year or so. Still figuring things out, and moving forward while I do. Poopy first drafts for the win.
I am a big believer in “story in, story out,” and I need to work on that for this year. My best and easiest writing has been when I am involved in a fandom. I am speaking of commercial fiction here, not fanworks read/created within said fandom. The two feed each other. Part of that comes from community. Talking about things I love fills my well as much as engaging with those things.
Social media, in general, was not a big priority for me in 2023. Not thrilled with that, so it’s a priority to pick up in the year ahead. The platform formerly known as Twitter, meh. Might let that one go. I like Instagram. I have pretty stationery, a cute cat, and live across the street from a park. I can take pictures. There is also blogging. Big thanks to those who have stuck with this blog during the dry season. I’m not sure what I want to talk about right now, so expect a bunch of babble, and we will both trust that it’s going somewhere. If all else fails, cat pics.
Speaking of which, I am coming to capacity on the images in my current WordPress account, so there’s the decision to upgrade or move to the MelvaandAnna site, which has sat fallow for far too long, even though we do have an upgraded account there. Melva and I are planning some fun stuff over there in the months to come, including some giveaways.
It’s funny to look at the year ahead when the year behind was the way that it was. The hypercritical gremlins would say “well, that’s it, you failed. Shut it down and go dust something.” I am not going to listen to them this time. Right now, it’s acting as if, and the very loose, general plan :salute: (if you know, you know) is to become the mask somewhere along the way. I have stories, and they are worth telling.
Tails up, Storm Troopers! I’m Storm, you’re awesome, and this is Typing With Wet Paws. We have a very important topic this week, and that is that Mama Anna cannot close doors when I am on the wrong side of them.
In case you are wondering, the wrong side means that I would not be on the same side of the door as Mama Anna. I am her girl. She is my mama. That means I need to be with her. Preferably on her, but near is still good. That did not happen this week, on Wednesday.
I will say up front that I am semi-okay with Mama Anna having to take her calls with Aunt Melva on the landing if the other hoomans are home and there is really no other place to have a private conversation. I don’t like it like it, but I can deal, and they usually keep it to about an hour. That was not the case this Wednesday.
Wednesdays are the days Mama Anna talks with Aunt Mary. I should say Mama Anna and I talk to Aunt Mary. They do that on Mama Anna’s tablet, usually, and Mama Anna turns the tablet so Aunt Mary can see me. When the camera is on me, Aunt Mary talks directly to me, and Mama Anna translates for me into hooman talk to Aunt Mary. It is a system that works. It does not work, however, when Mama Anna is on the other side of the door and I cannot be there. I can hear Aunt Mary but I am not near Mama Anna or the camera, and I made my opinions on that known.
By that, I mean crying. I mean scratching at the door. I mean swiping a long white cat arm under the door crack and shoving my face in the door when Mama Anna opened it a tiny smidge so that I could see she was okay. By my estimation, about thirty percent of that call was Mama Anna trying to calm me. All the other hoomans were home and so the landing was the only place Mama Anna could go in order to have a semiprivate conversation. Next time, she will remember that semi part, because it includes me.
Current plan is that the next time this happens, (this is Aunt Linda’s idea) Mama Anna should close the air lock (stairway door) and let me come on the landing with her. Mama Anna is concerned about me learning what stairs are (I have never been on stairs before) but Aunt Linda says that I will probably be too concerned with staying with Mama Anna to care about stairs. Especially if Mama Anna brings my fleecy cave out there with us. There may also be a baby gate involved, even though I can 100% jump higher than baby gates are. Maybe she should bring treats or toys. What do you think?
Typing With Wet Nails 