She asserts that the sole reason it’s taking forever and a fortnight to
shove all first draft chapters into final draft-ness is that I’m scared.
Squeamish, even.
She claims that since I’ve worked so long and so hard on my premier
mainstream romance that I’m leery of the results. That I’m cowering in the face
of doneness. Shaking in my proverbial boots.
The inevitable fact that I’m going to have to be rejected a ton of
times before some poor, desperate publishing house takes pity on the poor, desperate
crazy girl and buys The Hushing Days from her for a pittance, the furry,
four-legged muse charges is bringing me up short. Holding me back. Cutting me
off at the knees…
Please.
As if.
Whatever.
Bring it on.
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
Ok, I need a drink.
Somebody give the dog a treat. My freaking muse is right again. Darn
it, darn it, darn it.
Alright, everybody get out of here. I’ve got work to do.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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