Occasionally one feels like a scrappy, old gold miner. Teeth missing,
beard gone all scraggly, nothing in hand but a trusty pick axe called Clementine
and a rusting musket of Grandpappy’s that’s just as likely to shoot your own
fool head off than the claim jumper you’re aiming the damned thing at.
*silence descends*
Ok, admittedly the above is probably one of those darn little
Chloe-Things that I alone in my pale madness experience.
But…
I bet most writers have felt similarly from time to time.
Take away the dental and personal grooming issues and censor out
Grandpappy’s gun, and you’ve got a frustrated soul bordering on the angry on
your hands.
That’s me.
Oh, trust me, it’s only temporary.
A momentary fluctuation into the negative side of writing.
A skipped beat of a normally brave literary heart.
Yet there I am this morning, and as promised long ago in the first
posts of this “twice a day, every day” blog you’re getting full disclosure.
Kinda creepy, ain’t it?
*lol*
But just wait a bit, maybe only the blink of an eye and, as with every
writer, a new better set of teeth will grow. The coarse, wasted hair will be
shaved away, while the musket will return to the treasured walking stick which
has accompanied you into many fictional lands and will accompany you to many,
many more.
The world will be sparkling with untapped gold right at your fingertips…
*sighs heartily*
But in this current blink of an eye, I’m feeling gummy.
Full disclosure with Chloe Stowe isn’t a bitch, it’s a scrappy old gold
miner holding tight to his Clementine.
*chuckles*
Until tonight…
Chloe
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