Mr. Yin, meet Mr. Yang

“Brevyn had been a boy born ripe for mischief. His mother had never bothered to notice the innate talent. His father stubbornly ignored it. Aidric, meanwhile, played on it with a devil’s guile.” (page 18, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 

I have come to realize over the 7 months of writing a daily blog (not one day missed, by the way… can I get a “Hoorah!”) that my readership is split between those here for the writing tidbits (i.e. word quotas, character development, literary agent drama, Frank) and those here for the crazy chunks (i.e. psychiatrist trips, nuts in the backroom, OCD-ness, Frank).

It’s truly a lovely split and one I am stupidly grateful for. Capturing two audience with one blog is a feather I wear proudly in my “You, go girl!” hat… a hat, by the way, that now has precisely one feather in it.

That said, sometimes it is really hard to try to craft a posting that will entertain/inform two different readerships.

(SIDE NOTE: I am quite aware and rather tickled pink by the fact that there are a number of you out there who claim proud membership in both audience groups. Please take no offense. You are my heroes and you each deserve a feather all your own. *grins*)

Anyhow, the point is that today I’m tired.

I’m lazy.

I’ve been wrung out and put out to dry under a gray, humid sky.

*dog rolls eyes and grumbles something about drama queens*

So, today I’m going to just go with the split.

I’m folding to the divide.

Surrendering wholly to the schizophrenia.

Therefore, here is your post of the day. Short, sweet and divided appropriately…

A.) The trip to the psychiatrist yesterday went very well. I haven’t gotten any nuttier.

B.) I got ZERO writing done.  Frank (my specter of imminent failure) is now rattling the doorknob.

Have a nice day.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe