Going Long or Going Ballsy?

Restraining myself completely from talk of baseball will be hard in this post, but I will give it my level best.

*shakes head mournfully*

The things I am willing to do for my blog followers really defy words sometimes…

Yeah, I couldn’t keep a straight face through that either. Moving on.

So, I’ve got this storyline. Dandy little thing, chocked full of drama, suspense, a little bit of laughter and a whole lot of love.  Better yet, it’s based on a true story, one never told before.

It’s the tale of six Scots-Irish brothers fighting for America in the War of Independence.

Yeah, that storyline. The one I’ve been harping on for the last week. (I’d appreciate all moans and groans being kept to a bare minimum during the duration of this post. Thank you. Have a nice blog. *smirks*)

Well, the time has come to take this storyline to the next level.

Bare bones need flesh, a heart and a soul for life to be had… Sounds kind of Frankenstein-ish, doesn’t it?

Anyhow, time to make some decisions.

Up first: genre.

I could “easily” (relative term) turn it into a romance (m/f). Adding wives, girlfriends and lovers would stretch the story into a saga requiring at least 60-80K words. Not what I’m looking to do right now. I’m aiming at a short story or novella. Something short and powerful is how I’d like to go.

Keeping it strictly an historical drama meant for audiences drawn to movies like “Gangs of New York” or “There Will Be Blood” seems like the way to keep the authentic-feel to the story. I think that’s very important when you are writing about a cultural tragedy like a war. You don’t want to minimize that very real angst.

However…

Where do you sell a story like that? I’m sure there’s a market for it somewhere but where do I find it? Would I have to borrow my dad’s metal detector thingie to hound it out? And if I do find the marketplace will it be so crowded with experienced historical fiction writers that I won’t be able to find a single toe-hold?

So the question comes down to… Am I going long or going ballsy?

I don’t know.

I’ll keep you updated.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A State of Plethora

It’s Opening Day! One of the very best days of the whole year! (Expect a plethora of exclamation points in this post. When I’m excited my punctuation turns perky. Apologies.)

The Cubs open in Pittsburgh. (Fifty/fifty shot at not embarrassing ourselves too badly.)

The Rays open at the Trop. (If we were facing anybody but Dickey I’d say Price was a shoe-in for the win.)

And the world is glorious and fresh and beautiful…

And “Field of Dreams” is gospel…

And every perennial loser is in first place…

And life is bright and good…

And Chloe Stowe goes on and on and on with such sincere silliness it really is rather pitiful and would somebody please stop me…

*Splat!*

*crumpet to the head*

*wipes remains off while staring daggers at Frank*

Yes, the specter of Writhe’s imminent failure is still here and still being an utter bastard.

Perhaps, hopefully, *please, please*, I will get the elusive cover for Writhe today. I’m ready to get this release party rolling!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

*chuckles at the joke knowing nobody else will*

Work on Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series continues on at a nice pace. Over 3,000 words have been written. I’m only doing 250 words a day on it right now. When Writhe, you know that all important Book One of the series, comes out, I’ll bump the daily wordage back up to 500.

My historical drama about the 6 Scots-Irish brothers fighting in the American Revolution is taking a rather attractive shape despite it still being early days. The brothers all have names (so no John Doe 1, John Doe 2, John Doe 3… Pity, that, right? *lol*). Three of the six brothers also have the cores of their stories sketched out… in pencil, admittedly but still a sketch. So, progress is being made.

“Sicily” and its genre identification issues we’ll not discuss. All I’ll say is counseling is involved and we all hope for a resolution very soon.

Alright, I’ve kept you away from your real life long enough. Go have a fantastic Opening Day!!

Until tonight…

Chloe

The Great Feline Incursion of '14

Bruised and battered, sprained and sore, I come to you this afternoon.

Why am I in this sad condition, you ask?

My 15 pound dog and I have just repulsed a fiendish incursion into our tiny backyard.

Twenty minutes of fur, teeth and gentle-but-firm imploring on my part later, we were finally able to claim victory.

The golden-eyed, sweet as sugar, tabby cat from down the street has gone home.

And the Chloe Stowe flag still flies high and proud over my Florida garden!

Fortunately, the only wounded party in the fierce battle was me. Holding back a snarling and snapping fury of dogdom in my arms while the “enemy” paws playfully at us and purrs is not as easy as it sounds. It takes balance. A balance I apparently forgot to bring to the fight.

I sort of fell on my bum (i.e. ass) and went “Ow!”

Somehow during this sterling display of uncoordination, I also scraped up my knee and twisted my wrist.

Thankfully, I did not drop my dog. A task made even harder when the cat went a little Florence Nightingale and decided to rub her body against my hip to make it all better.

Dog went crazy.

Cat went purry.

Chloe went giggly.

After a brief, strategic retreat into the house, I reemerged onto the battlefield (i.e. deck) sans 15lb. ball of terror and entered into negotiations with the feline.

Details of the surrender are highly confidential but let’s just say butt was kicked… although only one party actually went home with a bruised posterior, and that would be me, but that really, really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of such brilliant military warfare as The Great Tabby Incursion of ’14.

And, no, I did not hit my head.

*chuckles*

I’m off to find the Bengay and the bandages.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

When the Crickets Leave

Chapter Nine:
“Brevyn’s surprise seemed to dissolve quickly into a look of rich amusement. “Should I take that as a dare, Samuel?”” (Writhe, page 72)

Somebody’s in trouble.

Whether it’s you or me I have no idea, but somebody blew it big time.

Anybody care to guess the infraction?

*crickets chirp marring the complete silence*

What goodie did you not receive Saturday? What mouthful of smutty sweetness did you miss yesterday?

That’s right. A Taste of Writhe was forgotten by one and all Saturday.

While ostensibly this seems to be the blogger’s fault, said-blogger would like to point out that no bloggee mentioned this omission.

Fault. It’s as thick as peanut butter around here this morning and it’s sticking to us all.

*a communal eye roll of the crickets precedes the chaps hopping away in disgust*

Alright.

Perhaps, the fault is mine alone.

Just maybe I’m the only one with peanut butter in their hair this morning.

If that happens to be the case, I would like to apologize. My failure as a good, trustworthy blogger has been noted and I will wear this guilt as a stain to my reputation… a creamy peanut butter smear on the Chloe Stowe name.

*Frank chucks a couch pillow at my face before rolling his eyes*

As the specter of imminent failure (Frankie-boy) is even telling me it’s time to get off the stage this morning, I will concede and skulk off to the side, stage-left.

Until tonight, when a triumphant return will be made…

Chloe

An Unexpected Blue

A rose from my garden this afternoon.

It’s blog time!

Please note the enthusiasm which isn’t false as much as it’s forced. No fault of yours, I assure you. It’s simply a spectacularly gorgeous afternoon and blogging seems to pale to the unexpected baby blue skies, the tickling breezes and the buttery yellow roses newly a bloom. (See above for one of the beauties I took in my garden while writing this post.)

*sighs as the late March wind kisses my cheek*

But it’s blog time, so here we go!

Work on Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series… Done.

Work on the psych ward (i.e. my short story “Sicily”)… Done.

Work on the period drama about 6 Scots-Irish brothers fighting in the American Revolution… Done.

*clears throat and approaches the bench*

“Judge, I’d like to request a side bar.” (Sorry. Clearly too much Law & Order reruns.)

I was just wondering out loud to all the friendly masses out there, what the heck am I doing trying to write the 6 brothers story?

Really.

No kidding.

What the f**k?

I’m getting a handle on the research that’s going to be required to write this thing, but I’m freaking terrified about writing in an American Revolution era voice.

I’ve just got my Brit-speak up to a publishable level and now I’m thinking about adding Late Colonial to my repertoire?

Even Frank’s got the giggles at that.

But I’m not quite ready to fallback from the front lines yet.

Yet.

Balls or stupidity? You tell me.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Politics of the Blurb

Norman Rockwell

Attention: Your daily Taste of Writhe has been delayed until the Saturday evening post (no, not the magazine with Normal Rockwell providing color, just this little blog).

Complaints?

See Frank.

My specter of imminent failure sitting on the end of the couch could use a little something new to sink his teeth into. Gnawing at my ass lost its “je ne sais quoi” weeks ago.

I actually do have real publishing news to share with you this morning. No, it’s not about Writhe. It’s actually about our short story “Ravenscar” which you all were so instrumental in helping me write earlier this year.

If you remember Dreamspinner Press, who will be publishing the story in June. have their own blurb experts write the sell copy/ back cover teaser for you. There’s a detailed form the author fills out but they do all the dreaded blurb work for you.

Late last night, I got the first draft of the “Ravenscar” blurb.

My opinion of it? “Wow. I want to read that story!” (and since I wrote the story I guess that’s really saying something *lol*). A superb teasing job all around.

My only difficulty with it is that it reveals almost all the plot twists.

Bummer.

However, the blurb works.

It works darn well.

So, I’m having to weigh the pros and cons of revealing it all. Should I put up a stink and say I don’t want those certain plot twists revealed (like I told them in the blurb form) or should I go with the experts who do blurbs for a living?

I’m supposed to have my comments on the blurb back to Dreamspinner by April 1. So, I have time to ponder on it.

Right now, I’m leaning toward letting the experts do what they do best. If I still want to read the story after having the big twist revealed then I’m thinking other people will want to dive into the story too.

Like I said, it’s darn good blurb.

I’ll keep you updated.

Until tonight…

Chloe

Tale-Spinning Supplies



1927

Wrestling with an overgrown alligator in a vat of Crisco has got to be easier than coming up with things to blog about today.

Really.

I even thought about handing the reins over to Frank for this second Friday posting. Considering Frank is a figment of my imagination (the specter of Writhe’s imminent failure )you can just imagine how desperate things had gotten.

So, as I scrounged around in my head, trying to find anything halfway interesting to share, I realized I needed to restock the imagination. The supplies had begun to run a little slim up in the story idea stockroom.

Since neither Publix nor Target carry such tale-spinning supplies, I headed to Pinterest. This lovely depository of pictures of EVERYTHING is a regular spring of ideas. A look at my many and varied boards there proves I’m hooked.

Today, the old photographs were calling.

Not only did I answer their fervent paging, I brought some of them home with me to share with you. Yes, indeed, I am generous to a fault. *chuckles*

Anyhow, I hope these images spark something new and exciting in your imaginations. Click on the picture and it will take you to the site from which the image was originally pinned.

So, this is for all you storytellers out there. Enjoy!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

 

 

 

 

The Case of the Dwarfish Blogger

"Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go!"

Chapter Eight:
“A determination stalwart and not at all innocent perched like a watchful hawk upon Brevyn’s shoulders. Sam supposed it was meant to be reassuring in a freakishly authoritarian way. Sam found it irritating as hell, and, well, just a little bit hot.” (Writhe, page 63)

Feeling a little dwarfish this morning.

Disney dwarfish, that is.

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work I go!” This little ditty courtesy of the Seven Dwarfs I’ve been humming ever since I woke up and realized I had a blog to write.

Some mornings welcome the writing of a blog.

Some mornings don’t.

This morning fits snugly into the latter.

So, the only way I could get sufficiently “up” for today’s post was by picturing myself as heading off to the mines, lunch pail in hand, Disney tune on the lips.

Seven little dwarfs and Chloe.

*silence as the world collectively rolls their eyes*

Yeah, well, this is why it’s not a blog morning, ok?

Nevertheless, here I am. Determined to keep my “twice a day, every day” post promise… Now, I’m suddenly feeling like a politician. Eek!

*lol*

I hope you are still enjoying your little tastes of Writhe every day. Next week should be the big week! Cover, release, squeals of delight from a certain author!

(Please note positive thinking here… Hmm, I guess I really do have a little Disney in me this morning. *grins*)

Before I break out in further song or, God forbid, grow a dwarfy beard, I will leave you.

Have a Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Friday!...

Oh, crap, here comes Mary Poppins.

Help me.

Until tonight…

Chloe

Buzz Denied

As the wait for news on the release of Writhe drags on for another week, I’m finding it hard to concentrate on a single writing project. 

Picture a vertigo-ridden bee in a field of daisies.

That’s me.

Buzz here, buzz there, buzz everywhere. Busy, busy, busy but not a single plant do I seem to pollinate.

*sighs in utter frustration*

Zero work was done on Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series. Probably because I’m on pins and needles waiting for the release of Book One. Duh. (“Buzz”)

“Sicily,” my rambunctious little short story for Carina Press, I didn’t dare touch with a ten foot pole today. It needs a little time to sort out its genre identification issues. (“Buzz denied”)

The period drama I’ve been toying around with, I toyed around with a bit more today. (“Buzz, buzz, buzz”)

Based on the true story of six Scotch-Irish brothers who fought for America during the Revolutionary War, this story would certainly stretch my writing muscle. I’ve just got to decide if I’m going to go for it.

I haven’t even gotten far enough in the proposed project to come up with a list of pros and cons for pursuing it. All I’ve got in that area is this…

Pro: Stretching the aforementioned writing muscle while adding another genre to the Chloe Stowe repertoire.

Con: Finding a market for it. I’d have zero idea where to go, how to sell it or even if it would sell. Waste of time perhaps?

*sighs even louder*

*Frank chuckles from his end of the couch*

I’m giving myself until the release date of Writhe to make a decision on it. Of course, it would help if I had some idea when that elusive date was going to be but I’m done whining about that.

I’m a patient woman.

I can wait.

And while I wait, I will buzz.

*smiles tiredly*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

By Any Other Name

Betsy? Is that you?

Chapter Seven:
Face planted into his pillow, one arm tucked under his nude body, the other draped over Brevyn’s equally naked waist, Sam wrestled his way out of a dream involving the Pope blessing soccer balls to mumble a barely coherent, “What?” (Writhe, page 54)

Do you know what’s odd?

(Anyone who just shouted “Chloe!” I appreciate your humor but no.)

I’m talking about the importance an author (ok, yes, I’m talking about me here) puts on the name of a character. It’s as if the character isn’t real and solid until he or she has the perfect name.

Admittedly, this may simply be a Chloe-thing that doesn’t apply to most authors, but I offer it here for your consideration.

If you’ll remember, while writing “Ravenscar” (the short story purchased by Dreamspinner Press last month) my main guy was carrying around the moniker “John Doe” until the last hour of the deadline for submissions.

If you’ll also remember, I was not happy about that. (Whining my butt off over it might be an appropriate phrasing of the situation.)

While I had my “Ravenscar” guy down to the nth degree of detail, John Doe simply didn’t exist as an entity separate from me until he was finally christened Ethan Holloway.

Before anybody starts to get uneasy, I do realize these characters are fictional. They do not truly exist outside of the imaginations of author and readers. I am not setting a place for them at my dinner table, nor have I started knitting them sweaters. Worrisome calls to the mental health professionals are not needed at this juncture.

Anyhow, back to the point…

Names of major characters are just as important to the authors of a novel as they are to the readers of the story. Just as the audience wouldn’t have reacted the same to Scarlett O’Hara in “Gone with the Wind” if Margaret Mitchell had named the chick Betsy, the author wouldn’t have related to Betsy the same way she did Scarlett.

It’s an odd relationship writers have with their characters. While authors seem to have the upper-hand in the relationship when it comes to names, it’s often the characters themselves who force what gets scribbled on their birth certificates.

“As God is my witness,” Scarlett O’Hara evokes against the painted Georgia sky, “I will not be called Betsy again!”

*lol*

Until tonight…

Chloe

Tied to the Bumper, Going for a Ride

Lashed down to a giant intertube, computer strapped to my lap, I scream for mercy as a snowmobile drags my clueless butt through the Italian Alps.

Up.

Down.

Left.

Then right.

I’ve got no control over the situation. Where we go, how we go, if we get there in one piece: are all variables I’ve got zero say in.

Through the woods, buzzing pine trees, we finally fly out of the forest. A ski lodge sits invitingly on the hillside. Warm and cozy, promising hot chocolate and sweet treats, I begin to relax, enjoy the ride a bit…

(Yeah, we all know that’s not going to happen.)

Sharp 90 degree turn and we’re heading to the river!

Running fast and so brutally cold it hurts to look at, the water is a barrier between us and a tiny little cabin puffing out curly-cues of smoke. A Pizza Hut delivery van has just pulled up into its driveway. I can almost smell the cheese. Who the f**k cares if I get wet, get me to that pizza!

With a cackle of truly evil laughter, the snowmobile swerves into a terrifying right hand turn!

And what’s now in front of us?

The same freaking forest we just left!

AHHHH!!!

*breathes deeply through my nose and out of my mouth*

*again*

*and again*

There. That’s better. Sanity re-engaged.

This childish little trip through the Italian Alps has been brought to you by my short story “Sicily.”

After working on it today, I’m convinced that I’m simply tied to its bumper. I go wherever it chooses to go that day.

“Through the woods, buzzing pines” = basic m/m romance, heavy on the hot

“The ski lodge” = historical m/m romance, a touch of angst on the side

“The cabin with the pizza” = money-making heaven where I don’t care what the story’s about as long as I get paid loads.

Beyond that I really can’t explain where little “Sicily” is taking me and my intertube. I’m simply along for the ride.

You, however, are allowed to get off here.

I wish you well.

I wish you pizza.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

P.S. Apologies for this post, truly. It just sort of happened. A return to normalcy tomorrow.

There's a Tumbleweed in my Well

Chapter Six:
“Sam had picked apart that day a million times, tore away the meaningless bits like fluff. Only the stark bare bones of the hours remained. Heavy and blunt, each action fitting into the next with a design only a god could think up.” (Writhe, page 50)

With Pierce Brosnan and Linda Hamilton battling a volcano in “Dante’s Peak,” I welcome you to my Wednesday morning.

It’s one of those days when I haven’t got a clue what to say. Writing a new post twice a day every day leaves the old well a little dry from time to time. So pardon me while I scrape the bottom of said-well in search of something moderately entertaining or informative to share.

*scrapes*

*scrapes some more*

“Ow!”

*rips a freaking fingernail halfway off*

*tosses Frank in the dry well*

*feels better*

Well, despite cramming my favorite specter of imminent failure (that would be Frank) down a hole, I’ve still got nothing to share.

Chloe, however, never gives up. I might fold from time to time but I always return, however wrinkled (Get it? The folds cause wrinkles… Yeah, I told you there were darn tumbleweeds blowing across the plains of my imagination this morning.)

Hmm… perhaps retreat is the better part of valor at a time like this? Time to regroup, pull Frank out of the well and get a fresh start for the blog tonight?

Yep, sounds like a plan.

Everyone is dismissed. Have a tumbleweed free day!

Until tonight…

Chloe

Tomatillo Therapy

Pink Swirl Hibiscus in my window garden.

And the wait continues.

No word on Writhe’s cover or release date.

*sighs*

*whaps Frank on the head with a pillow*

*feels better*

Patience is a virtue I usually have in spades. So, I will simply dig deep from the internal well until the particulars of my newest release are had. (This is me attempting zen, by the way.)

Frank (the specter of the imminent failure of Writhe)has begun paying rent. Neither of us sees him going anywhere soon. He wants to put his name on the mailbox, but a girl’s got to draw a line somewhere.

Writing on Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series went swimmingly this afternoon, a stark contrast from yesterday’s crawl.  I always love it when the writing flows.

Research on an historical fiction short story I’m contemplating went well too. I didn’t OCD it, always an accomplishment that tickles me.

I spent the majority of my work time today outside. It’s glorious out there. Low seventies, breezy, baby blue skies. Perfection.

Spring is definitely here and I’m just about ready to surrender myself to the gardening bug. The danger of a heavy frost is probably over but I want to give it a couple more weeks just to make sure.

However, if you recall, I have seedlings sprouting up all over the place in my indoor window garden. As of this morning’s count I have 15 Pink Swirl Hibiscus plants and 12 Tomatillos growing like mad (an apparently easy thing to do in a madhouse *lol*).

As I’ve got little to share on the new release front, I thought I’d share a picture of my sproutlings. Not quite a hot romance cover with skin and muscles and twinkling “come hither” eyes, but the best I can do this afternoon.

Hope you enjoy my little gardening folly.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Tomatillos in my window garden.

 

The Creeping Crazies of Waiting for a Release

Chapter Five:
“By all rights, then, the bundle of nerves currently wedged and squiggling profanely in Brevyn’s lower abdomen should not have been present. There should not have been one tremor in his hands as he held Samuel’s face and kissed Samuel’s gorgeous though now shaded brown eyes.” (Writhe, page 45)

May I offer you a glass of milk? Orange juice? A dash of vodka we’ll tell nobody about?

Serving up such a huge mouthful of Writhe demands refreshment.  A good hostess would know this and offer drinks before the hardy appetizer’s arrival. Alas, instead of a good hostess you only have me.

A true bummer, I agree.

*chuckles*

 Nonsense aside, I’m still waiting on the cover and the release date for Writhe. Surprisingly, I have been able to retain a modicum of sanity through this wait.

Applause is welcome here.

Meanwhile Frank (the specter of Writhe’s imminent failure) has gone strangely quiet on his end of the couch. He hasn’t uttered a word of derision in over a day.

I feared (hoped to high heaven) that he was dead at one point late last night. So I poked him with a stick.

He yelped.

I yelped.

The dog rolled her eyes.

And life went back to what passes as normal at Chloe’s.

*sighs quite dramatically*

Normal today will consist of my obsessive checking of my work email a dozen times an hour (when it gets to a dozen times a minute we’ll know that modicum of sanity is out the door… at that point, please run.)

Besides pandering to my mania, I’ll be putting in some more time with Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series (with all belief that Book One will very soon be published, will thrive in the madhouse of the romance market and succeed beyond my wildest dreams… Jeez, even my positive thinking sounds crazy *lol*.)

One of my other projects will also see work time today but I haven’t quite decided which yet.

Feeding Frank his freaking crumpets will also eat up a chunk of the day. Starving the foul beast until he withers and dies is always an option, I suppose. But I don’t need Frank going all undead and haunting me any more than the creep always does…

*shakes head at utter absurdity of the creeping craziness*

I think I’ll take that dash of vodka now.

Until tonight…

Chloe

Watchtower Guilt

Creeping along at the slow, taxing pace of an ant crossing a spill of honey…

That’s how my work day has been going.  How has yours been?

Hopefully considerably speedier than mine. 

My two hundred and fifty words on Book Two of “The Lion & the Steed” series couldn’t have come much slower if I had chiseled each letter out in stone.

I got them done and I’m actually fairly satisfied with them but… did I mention it took FOREVER?

Oh, yeah. I guess I did.

Moving on, then.

*smiles tiredly*

Confession time. I have this ‘thing’ with poetic license. You know, the idea that a writer can fib the facts to better tell a story?

Yeah, well, this ‘thing’ I have about it is, uh, guilt.

I feel stupidly guilty changing even the most mundane facts about a location or a person to suit my silly old needs. And when I say mundane, I mean mundane. Let’s go to an example.

I’ve spent the day researching a foreign city where the bulk of Book Two is going to be taking place in. I wanted to get all the describers of the city down, making sure they shine with authenticity and flavor. I always want my readers to be able to visualize the locale in their heads. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the feel of the air on your skin should all be there in a select few of my words.  So, yeah, I think it’s real important to my story. I want to get it right.

So, today I found out that my city has a 16^th century watchtower. One source tells me it’s at the foot of a mountain. Another source says it’s on the coast. While geographically both can’t be actually true, I made them true.

PLOP!

Down I sat that stinking watchtower on a rocky outcropping at the base of a sea cliff.

Totally conjecture on my part.

 Complete poetic license.

 A “fact” that plays no part whatsoever in my story except to exude atmosphere.

And how long did I spend deciding if I could move the freaking watchtower? A whole hour. Did you hear me? A WHOLE HOUR!

And now, with the deed done how do I feel?

Guilty.

????

I feel guilty for not being true to a place I’m pushing my fictionalized characters onto.

????

Yeah, sometimes I think my whole life is a string of question marks.  

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Celtic Knot

Chapter Four:
“Sam Lyon shuddered and slowly drew his hand back to his body. Cradling it to his chest as if it had been scalded by the starkness of reality, he closed his eyes and rocked.” (Writhe, page 30)

Watching 1970’s “The Dunwich Horror” this morning and finding myself really, really glad early seventies fashion has stayed in the early seventies… particularly Dean Stockwell’s hair. Terrific actor, bad “Dunwich Horror” hair.

Hope you enjoyed today’s Taste of Writhe.  A little angsty interlude to start your Monday.

*clears throat, shuffles feet nervously*

Uh, does anybody have a masseuse I could borrow?

The muscles in my back are re-enacting some ancient Celtic knot.

This waiting to hear about Writhe’s release date and cover is not good for one teetering on panic every other breath. If my nerves don’t eat away at my brain, they tend to settle somewhere else in my body to pitch a fit. I guess my back is the body part du jour. How fun.

*sighs*

At least I don’t have “Dunwich Horror” hair.

Until tonight…

Chloe

P.S. Sorry this is short this morning but the old imagination is still warming up her engines. Hopefully, she’ll be purring like a kitten this evening…  Car analogy ends here. *lol*

To Vacuum in a Red Dress

(Click image for source)

Chapter Three:

“The lust, naked and raw and obscenely ravenous, was so wholly unexpected that it nearly knocked Brevyn back a step.” (Writhe, page 25)

And there, my friends, is your Taste of Writhe for today. Late but steamy, I hope you enjoyed the Chloe Stowe morsel.

While March Madness roared on in the background, I got more work done on Book Two of “The Lion & the Steed” series. Another 300 new words were added. I’ve also got several thousand from Writhe that suffered the chainsaw that need to be reworked to see if they can fit into Book Two. I’m fairly sure at least half of them can. The other half may be seeing some Book Three action.

They could also be held over for Books Four, Five and Six… of course that would mean the series is so successful that Ravenous asks me for a Four, Five and Six. *fingers crossed; wishes taped to shooting stars*

Meanwhile, I’ve kept the researching today down to a controlled swarm instead of an all-out frenzy. The OCD tendencies are knocking but I’ve budged Frank up against the door. That should keep them from busting in for a while.

Tomorrow I’m hoping to get the cover for Writhe. When I do, it will premier here on this blog. I’ve got some vacuuming to do on the red carpet but the bleachers are already set up for the fans. Fear not, Joan Rivers will not be attending the to-do, so feel free to wear whatever you darn well please.

By that point, Frank will be so big he’ll be wrapped in a tarp. The specter of imminent failure (Frank) tends to grow exponentially during red carpet hours.

Ok, time to find the vacuum and my spiffy red dress.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Whale Issues

Sunday has arrived in a bank of fog. Not London or San Francisco fog, but swamp fog. The kind of fog that dilutes everything into a general state of blah. Yuck.

Chapter Three’s “A Taste of Writhe” will be appearing in the late showing of today’s blog. The brain cells are slow to fire up this morning. I need at least a couple of them functioning to pick out an appropriate amuse bouche to tantalize your reading buds.

Surprisingly, Frank (the specter of Writhe’s imminent failure) looks to be losing a little weight. He doesn’t quite fill out the entire end of the couch anymore. I see cushions now.

Of course, we’ll all take this apparent progress with a grain of salt. Once the release date for Writhe has been officially set, Frank will no doubt bloat. He might even start to smell. Not to worry, I have my Febreze at the ready so the sofa will not be lost…

Unless Frank swallows me whole. At that point I’d appreciate some aid being sent my way. Perhaps a rescue unit or two. Sirens might be nice.

Other than avoiding playing Jonah to my own imaginary whale, I’ll be working on Book Two of “The Lion & the Steed” series today. My short story “Sicily” will also get some time.  

In a few days I’d like to set up a deadline for completing “Sicily.” Once I know the release date for Writhe and when I can expect to hit Frank’s digestive tract, I’ll be able to set up firm dates. (SIDE NOTE: We will not discuss the firm dates I’d already set up for “Sicily.” Those dates have long since passed and exist in my mind no longer. Poof! They’re gone, along with any nasty guilt residue they might have left behind.)

Now that I have digressed into ninny babble, I will leave you to your Sunday morning.

Until tonight…

Chloe