Title cribbed from “Carry On” by Fun., (not a typo; the period is part of their name) because H has drilled it into me that, if I can’t come up with a blog title easily, the title is a line from whatever song I am listening to at the moment. No overthinkings. Writings, instead, thankyouplease. Official video here, because it is awesome:
I’ve started this blog three different times already, with three different approaches, and nearly fell asleep from boredom, so I am going to wing it. Seriously no idea where I am going with this, except maybe down for a nap, after I get the notes for the Her Last First Kiss scenes I mentioned yesterday, because they really do seem to have vanished. Either that, or I saved them somewhere I shouldn’t have, and I will find them after the book is done, possibly even published. That’s how it works sometimes.
Summer is hanging on here. Two more hot days, and then temperatures will start to go down. My brain is doing its drifty-offy thing that it does when I have had too much summer, because I really and truly have. Real Life Romance Hero suggested taking the next couple of days as flop days, let the heat pass, and then the superpowers will return in full force, and I can more than make up for the lack. Which is all well and good, except for the fact that I am me. I’m stubborn. Which is why this blabbery blog is happening today instead of getting pushed off until tomorrow. Still no topic, though, so we’ll see where our final destination lies when I hit the magic seven hundred. Until I hit that, I have to keep talking. Er, typing. :waves hand: You know what I mean.
Yesterday held an unusually good library run. Two Beatriz Williams books, two by Kerrigan Byrne, two issues of The Walking Dead, and All The Feels, by Danika Stone. In that bunch alone, we have: historical fiction (though I have shelved both Williams books I have read under historical romance; will put these two there as well, if they conclude in the same manner. Also, YMMV if early twentieth century settings count as “historical” or not. I say they do, and it’s my blog, so there.) and historical romance, graphic novel (does TWD count as horror? I class it as drama.) and YA.
None of these choices are playing it safe. The Williams books contain dual timelines, and deep period immersion; the first Byrne book I read had the hero and heroine meet as abused children in dire circumstances, re-meeting as adults when the heroine is living a the hero’s widow (spoiler alert: he’s not dead) and The Walking Dead is, well, The Walking Dead. Zombies are a fact of (and metaphor for) life in that universe; bad stuff can and does happen to good people, and the survivors have to keep on going. All The Feels has a teen heroine who enlists the aid of her male BFF, an actor for whom cosplay is life, in a plan that could change the course of her favorite fandom.
The fact that The Walking Dead is my go-to comfort read says something. Getting invested in a hero and heroine very clearly meant for each other and nobody else in 1931, then flash forward to 1938, hero is married to heroine’s former best friend, and there is now a seven year old girl hanging around? Two orphans in the middle of Victorian hell have a fake wedding because they’re the only ones who understand each other, have confusing feelings, are torn tragically apart, then thrust back together under very non-optimal circumstances? The very real struggles of life when the dead still have a lot of get-up-and-go? Gimme. :makes grabby hands: Yes. Give me that. All of that. Let me seep it in through my skin until it sinks into every pore, breathe it like air, eat it and drink it and make it part of me, and then put it back out into work of my own.
That’s what drives me when I plunk myself down in the too-warm-in-the-heat-of-the-day recliner and pop open the laptop. That’s what makes my blood go skippity-skip when I settle into the camp chair plumped with squished-to-death pillow at the secretary desk I have drooled over since I was a toddler (before then, I probably drooled on it, but nobody wants to hear about that.) and let pen and paper take me back to the eighteenth century. That’s what makes me want to not only tell the story, but tell it right, to shut out the inner editor and cram the Hypercritical Gremlins back in their closet (thankfully, they’ve been quiet, of late) and tell the story. Once it’s all down there, then I can go back and polish things, but, first, it does need to get down there. By any means necessary. Sometimes, it’s messy. Sometimes, it’s not even within spitting distance of easy. Sometimes, it’s not at all what I had expected, but, if I keep my well filled, head down and eyes on my own paper, things tend to work out fine.
TLDR version: carry on.