Please, Proceed to the Nearest Exit

Monday, it seems, has dragged itself up on my doorstep and collapsed into an ungainly heap of blah.

Rifling through the crumpled pile of gray muck, I fail to find a single scrap of creativity.

There are nightmare leavings…

Brightly colored anxieties…

A few seeds of depression (which I quickly toss far, far away)…

And the usual muted hopes for the extraordinary to finally arrive and sweep me out of the quicksand that is my life.

*a heavy silence falls*

*several in the audience glance left and right and then left again for that darn emergency exit*

*an old man whispers to his wife, “I told you we shouldn’t have come, Ma. The crazies live here.”*

*the erstwhile blogger sighs and then sheepishly apologizes…*

Sorry.

Got caught up in a bit of my own mental crap for a moment there.  

Won’t happen again.

The good news coming out of this little foray into the gray is that there actually are a couple of pockets of imagination hiding in this Monday. Meaningful, useful work might get done today, after all.

Speaking of work…

Got another 615 to do on Writhe’s sequel this morning. Remember, I will reveal the title to Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series tomorrow!

*another silence falls*

*the erstwhile blogger ignores it, carries on obliviously…*

In other equally exciting news, I have decided to forgo writing an official synopsis for my “Six Brothers” project.

Even though progress was made on the troublesome thing yesterday, it wasn’t enough to warrant my continued attention. Instead, I will simply spiff up my chapter outline and send that to my literary agent for her opinion.

Once that spiffing is done, I will then turn my post-Book Two writing attention back to The Sun and the Sand Cat (mainstream Romance Thriller set in modern day Africa, ¾ complete). I’d like to try to get that finished sometime in August.

Apologies again for the quicksand crap up there. But, unfortunately, that kind of b.s. comes with the Chloe.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Roadblocks and Disapproval

You know that look of disapproval.

Hit a bit of a roadblock yesterday, as the synopsis-writing for my Revolutionary Way-era mainstream romance (dubbed in my head and in this blog alone as The Six Brothers project), came to a screeching halt.

*fifteen pounds of dog/muse levels her “Must you always exaggerate things?”-look at me*

*blogger sighs*

Alright, when I say “screeching” maybe I’m really meaning: the synopsis came to a stumbling pause.

 *sighs again*

Jeez, sacrificing drama for truth really takes the zing out of things, doesn’t it?

Oh well, I’m sure you get the idea.

The whole “Who is the main character?” question I bemoaned to you yesterday continues to trip me up.

I’ve just about come to the decision that all six brothers have to be considered the protagonists... or at least three of them.

*GRRRRS!*

This is soooo frustrating and I’m tempted to just forgo the synopsis altogether and send my literary agent the chapter outline instead. Since I’m only seeking her opinion as to whether I’m heading in the best direction with the story, the outline should suffice.

But…

I hate quitting.

But…

Time management is important here and spending hours and hours on something not necessary at this point seems silly, not to mention stupid.

I think I’m going to give it one more go after I get my work for Ravenous Romance done for the day. If inspiration doesn’t suddenly strike me like a thunderbolt from the heavens during the first hour of trying, I’m calling the whole synopsis off.

*GRRRRS!*

Did I mention that I HATE quitting?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Synopsis Tussle

It’s never a good sign when Chloe’s popping chocolate before she’s popping her morning Prozac.

Fair warning.

I, my dears, have a big headache (either that or someone tried to lobotomize me in my sleep and failed spectacularly).

However, I and my left frontal lobe (which feels like a giant, throbbing bruise with a nasty case of carpet burn) will soldier on and try to post something approximating an informative blog.

You’re welcome.

Or…

My apologies, for those of you hoping for a day off from me. Better luck next time. *smirks*

As Writhe’s sequel (a book that will have its official title announced here on July 1) is still going swimmingly (i.e. shockingly) well at the moment, I have been able to concentrate half of my writing hours to, you guessed it, my Six Brothers project… I’d perform a happy dance here if one side of my brain wasn’t trying to outflank the other side for the Ibuprofen I swallowed two hours ago.

Since, as reported yesterday, I have completed the detailed 21 chapter outline for my Revolutionary Way-era romance/drama, I have begun the task of writing the novel’s synopsis.

Yeah, I know. Yuck.

While most of the time an author waits to write the one to five page synopsis until after the book is finished, I want to get my literary agent’s opinion on its structure and storyline choices before I begin. (Hey, I’ve never had a literary agent before so I’m planning on using Tish’s expertise as much as I can.)

What I’m finding hardest to do with the synopsis is deciding who is the major character of the story. Stupid, right?

I think I’ve spread out the storyline evenly over three of the six brothers (the other three bros playing major supporting roles). Of course, with these chosen three protagonists come their “better” halves, women who play an equally starring role in the drama.

So, who do I choose as chief protagonist?

Can an entire family unit be deemed the main character?

The answer to both questions is: I don’t know.

*sighs*

But I am working on it and will hopefully have a better answer later today. (I want to have the synopsis finished by Monday.) I’ll keep you updated.

Now, get on with your Saturdays, good people. Have spectacular ones!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Crossing that First Finish Line

The proverbial house.

The outline for “The Six Brothers” manuscript is complete!!

Shall I say it again?

The outline for “The Six Brothers” manuscript is done, fini, wrapped up and ready to head to the synopsis stage!! I’m still pulling confetti out of my hair this morning…

*dog stares at me with her “You are such a liar” face*

Ok, in actuality, I’m still fighting off the headache I gave myself nailing this sucker down but you get the idea.

Twenty-one chapters encompassing 100k planned-for words are sitting all nice and tidy in Scrivener (and in other places; I’m not stupid, I’ve backed this baby up on every platform known to mankind *lol*).

Although, knowing my current writing trend of short, 2-3K sections, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the book turn into 40 or more chapters. We’ll see how the books flows when I actually start putting the story down into pretty, readable words.

The point is: I’ve got all of my planned-for storylines nicely weaved together into a coherent plot that is equal parts Romance, Drama and Historical Intrigue…

And I’ve got enough characters to choke the proverbial horse.

*chuckles a little nervously*

As I’ve said before, I’ve never done anything this BIG before. It’s a handful but I’m hoping it has just enough breadth and heft to appeal to agent, publishing house and (most importantly) the readers.

Whew!

I’m done…

And as you can so plainly see there’s not an ounce of creativity left in this ol’ girl this morning. So, I apologize for the rather unimaginative blog. I’m creatively pooped.  

I’ll do better tomorrow, this ol’ girl promises.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Behind the Garden Gate Lies a Barren Soul

A long time ago, in a season far, far away…

I planted a tomatillo seed.

Actually I planted 15 of them. Five have survived to adulthood.

Two are now carving a life out for themselves in the sweltering humidity of north Alabama. Apparently they are loving it there as reports continue to surface that they have bunches of husks popping up, readying themselves for tomatillo glory.

Three survive here with me in northern Florida. “Survive” being the key word since they certainly aren’t busy tomatillo-ing it. Oh, they are huge and sprawling and very artistically branched. They even are prettily dotted with little yellow blooms all over the place. Yes, they are beautiful.

However…

*cue the violin*

Between all of their fine branches and sculptural stems only one, lone, solitary tomatillo has been born. And yesterday she was ready to be picked.

So picked her I did.

She now sits on my kitchen table, neither of us knowing quite what to do with her now that she is here.

What does one do with a single tomatillo?... (Hey, wouldn’t that make a great title for a children’s story? I can see the illustrations now. We could call her Tituba and give her a backstory full of… * dog growls at me in warning*… Pardon, the author in me was showing again. And the very last thing this author needs is to start another project. So, as you were, everyone. Carry on.)

Bottom line: my tomatillo plants are barren once again.

Beautiful but barren.

*sighs heartily*

Perhaps my uterus-less-ness has carried over into the tomatillo patch? I bet there’s a scientific study to be had there. The effect of hysterectomies on husked plants.

I’ll notify Harvard right after I work out Tituba’s sordid past.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Sideshow Groans

*in classic sideshow barker’s garb, climbs atop her couch and bellows…”*

Today, one and all, I present you with a smorgasbord of writing tidbits, a colorful cornucopia of authorly goings-on!

Expect no sane order here. These tasty, intellectual (*coughs into hand*) treats offer variety not staid cohesion.

Step inside and be amazed by a randomness that will make even the greatest brains scatter and run for the hills.

Come now and be astounded!

*breathlessly waits for the storm of eager onlookers to storm into the tent*

*and waits*

*and waits*

*boots loyal but unwilling dog inside and begins…*

-I am proud to announce that I have officially completed the first half of the “Six Brothers” outline! Ten chapters plus a prologue have been set down on paper with coherency and flair (I hope). Laying out something so big (100k words) is rather daunting… but a good daunting, like staring down a humongous ice cream sundae you’ve got fifteen minutes to eat.

-Writhe’s sequel is going surprisingly well at the moment. The 615 daily word quota has stymied me only once so far, but like a real trooper I battled through and got the job done. I’m really liking this story again, and I’m finding stepping back into Sam and Brevyn’s shoes a welcoming respite from all the unknown scurrying around in my writing life right now.

-Moving The Sun and the Sand Cat (3/4 finished mainstream contemporary romance) over to Scrivener is finally picking up speed. The software is going to be a tremendous help in finishing this jewel up… And my agent, no doubt, will be thrilled to hear it.

*looks down at the dog who looks utterly miserable inside this stupid tent and sighs*

I don’t care what the 15-pounder on the floor thinks, this sideshow wasn’t too bad.

It was short, to the point (more or less if you negate all the sideshow crap), informative (if not particularly entertaining) and best of all free…

Yeah, ok, it was bad.

Apologies.

Hmm, I wonder what a sideshow barker outfit and a tent will bag me on Ebay?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Book Toes

...times, like, a 100k.

Somebody smack a gold star on my forehead and give me a “Bravo!”

*silence descends eerily on the blog auditorium*

Ok, so no takers.

*shuffles feet, scratches back of neck*

Well, this is awkward.

Shall we just move on?

*a smattering of applause drowned out by some guy shouting, “Hey, lady, I was promised beer!”*

Apparently my choice of seat-fillers (a la the Academy Awards) could use improvement. Sorry.

*beer-guy is escorted out at the behest of my dog’s teeth*

Alrighty-then, back to the gold star and the reason for it.

Along with meeting Book Two’s word count quota by 2pm yesterday, I also got the first 5 chapters of the Six Brothers project outlined!!

Yes, the monstrously long Revolutionary War-era, mainstream romance my literary agent is so anxious for me to get to work on has officially been given bones…. Admittedly, only a few bones (think the spine, a possible knee and a couple of toes), but every skeleton has to start somewhere, right?

Seriously though, I’ve never attempted to write something as long as this (my agent wants me to aim for 70-100k). Figuring out how to structure something this monstrous (twice the normal size of a Chloe Stowe novel) has proven to be quite challenging.

Thankfully, I’ve definitely got the story for it. The plot can handle it without being stretched thin, and there’s enough “stuff” that happens at regular intervals to keep the readers reading… I hope.

In truth, this is all so new to me that I feel like a kid at Christmas given a 100k piece LEGO set with a note from Santa that reads simply, “Build something grand.”

*pauses, rethinks what was just said and winces*

Great.

Now I feel like I’ve got my relationship with Santa hanging on this Six Brothers thing.

I need a drink.

Hmm, where did that beer-guy go?

*lol*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Stick Shift Days

You owe me.

You really, really do.

I have decided not to bore you (i.e. scare you; i.e. worry you; i.e. gross you out) by recounting the gruesome animal sacrifice (i.e. tiny dead albino frog splayed out on a rock in my flower bed with a gazillion bugs gorging themselves on its corpse.) I stumbled upon this weekend.

Nope.

Nobody needs that image in their head.

You’re welcome.

*smirks*

Ok, sorry, but it was remarkably icky and creepy and, well, YUCK!

*shivers down to me corpuscles*

Alright, enough of that (in fact, could somebody please scrape the image from my corneas, please?)

We are here to discuss writing. So here we go…

I bought the “Scrivener” software this weekend. For those of you not in the know (like me before Saturday), Scrivener is a writing tool for authors. While it does have a word processor, its main objective is to serve as a gathering spot for all your scraps of ideas, mountains of research and countless working drafts.

It really is amazing (although it does take some getting used to… like driving a stick shift after years of automatic). For me who likes to write via the “giant mosh pile of unconnected scenes” method, it is great for arranging little snippets of creativity into one cohesive whole.

I am loving it!

All three of my in-progress novels are getting moved there. However, this is a frustratingly slow process because of the stick shift virgin at the wheel *lol*.

Yesterday, after getting my work for Ravenous Romance done, I made some fantastic progress on getting the “Six Brothers” (Revolutionary War-era mainstream romance) ready for its big outline premier. I’m thinking it could be stepping out on stage by the end of the week (to my literary agent’s sheer delight.)

Ok, I think I’ve done enough yapping at you for today (i.e. I feel like I’m blabbering like a self-absorbed fool, at this point).

Until tomorrow…

Chloe (i.e. The YUCK! Girl)

The Hibiscus Virgin

Pink Swirl Hibiscus from Burpee Seeds website.

I was frightened by a hibiscus today.

Really.

Opened the blinds and WHAMMO! A honking huge Pink Swirl Hibiscus bloom was staring me right in the face.

I did not yelp, scream or mentally fracture (which has been known to happen when I found a lizard in my kitchen... well, that’s another story for another day). Anyhow I take pride in my stoicism in the face of horticultural aggressiveness.

You might remember back in February I planted 15 Pink Swirl Hibiscus seeds. I nursed them, rather obsessively, to wee-little sproutlings until they were finally able to greet the big, bad outside world. Eight have made it to adulthood but none of them had bloomed.

This is where my Hibiscus virginity becomes painfully apparent.

Having never owned a Hibiscus, having never touched one of the large, bright, tropical plants before, I had no idea what a Hibiscus bud looked like.

Well, it looks like a reject space pod from “Invasion of the Bodysnatchers” (1970’s version with Donald Sutherland and Jeff Goldblum, to be exact).

I, of course, had noticed all these weird pods on my 8 plants and hoped that one day they might gestate into something identifiable as a flower bud.

I had not expected a WHAMMO! event however.

So, opening the blinds this morning and coming face to face with a flower the size of a bread plate was understandably a bit unnerving for someone who hadn’t popped their Prozac yet.

Yes, I was frightened by a hibiscus today.

And you know what? I kind of liked it.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe, the Hibiscus Virgin no more

Clowns in the Mirror

I woke up this morning, stumbled to the bathroom, looked in the mirror… and laughed.

My hair, which has always been its own sordid entity, had erupted overnight into a right awful parody of a clown wig.

A bad clown wig.

As my dreams weren’t particularly gruesome or soul-scarring, I place the entire blame for my hair on my “Absurd Workload: Day One,” (i.e. yesterday).

Carrying on a somewhat intelligent (I hope) daily blog while working on three separate novels is a new kind of madness even for me. Shall I elaborate?

*a cowbell rings from somewhere in the audience*

*wonders briefly if that should be taken as a “Yes” or as a plea for milk*

*decides on the former and carries on*

Writhe’s sequel is my first and foremost priority. I already feel guilty about asking for an extension on its deadline (from July 1 to July 15), something I loathe to do.

You make a commitment; you keep it.  That’s how I try to handle this whole life thing (despite the varying, often laughable results.) So, Book Two’s daily word quota is the first up to bat after breakfast.  Not a problem. 615 words is a very doable goal.

Next up is my mainstream Romance Thriller set in Africa, The Sun and the Sand Cat.

My literary agent really wants me to finish this up (it’s ¾ done at the moment) so she can send out queries to the large publishing houses who will want to see the whole thing if the first three chapters and synopsis tickles their fancies.  So, yesterday I re-familiarized myself with Sabella and Conyer and organized the heck out of their love story.

After hours of that drudgery during which my dog and her enthusiastic teeth lent a hand the moment I turned my back, I now have a precise list of the scenes needing to be finished and the chapters yet to be written. (Remember: I hardly ever write a story from beginning to end; I write whatever strikes my fancy that day.)

By that point, I barely had enough creative juices left to give my mainstream Historical Romance project (that would be the infamous “Six Brothers” story) more than a weathered glance.

Whew!

No wonder my hair Bozo-ed itself out last night.

*pats down said-hair AGAIN and chuckles*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Gristle

With Celeste Holm, Anne Baxter and Bette Davis sparring so brilliantly for screen time in “All About Eve,” my Friday has arrived with style, fire and brilliance… Pity I’m about to screw all that up. *lol*

Daunting is the correct word to use for my work load today.

*a bright, young scoundrel by the emergency exit yells “It’s your own damn fault, lady! Don’t ask us to cry you a river.”*

Conceding to the loudmouthed lad in the blog’s audience, I admit that I could have planned things better. Going to see a new doctor –

*”It was a psychiatrist. Geez!” the same annoying little twit corrects”*

*my dog eats said-annoying little twit*

--could have been scheduled for a time not quite so ripe with deadlines. However, with this mental health stuff you’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot (in other words, go as soon as you’ve worked up the nerve.) So, I will forgive myself this planning faux-pas and move on with my life.

I heard from my literary agent yesterday. She’s is very excited about my “Six Brothers” project and wants me to get to work on that as soon as I finish up The Sun and the Sand Cat (mainstream Romance Thriller set in Africa).  This is noteworthy on several counts:

1.) I actually have a literary agent (still not quite believing that one; constantly pinching myself and leaving nasty bruises all over the place *chuckles*).

2.) It actually looks like my Revolutionary War-era Historical Romance (that would be the “Six Brothers” thing) is going to come to fruition. I’m really going to write it. Wow! Who knew, right?

3.) I’ve got enough literary pots on the fire to assure I will never sleep again (remember Writhe’s sequel is due mid-July, with Book Three of the series due in October).

4.) Never mind the sleeping thing, eating is out the window too.

Oh well, as the bits of gristle between my dog’s teeth would have said in his squeaky voice, “It’s your own damn fault, lady.”

Yes, it certainly is…

But ain’t it grand!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Time to Bask

Back from the new doctor (i.e. psychiatrist, but I don’t want to scare any of the little kiddies *lol*) and I have been officially deemed no crazier than we thought!

In fact, it has been confirmed by a very respected professional that I am doing all I can for my panic disorder condition and that I am doing a bang-up job at living with it!!!

Relief.

Utter, total, beautiful relief.

The nuts in the backroom (i.e. the crazy bits of me) for several years had been needling me with “You’re not trying hard enough… You could be better if you really wanted to be… You’re a lazy nutter (which I always found amusing since these are nuts yapping at me).

Well, guess what? With doctor’s finding in hand, I can now tell said-nuts:  “I TOLD YOU SO!”

Don’t worry, everyone. Despite signs to the contrary (i.e. the last paragraph) I am not schizophrenic or bordering on any extra personality. This is simply me humorously handling my “Panic disorder with OCD tendencies.” And apparently handling it exceptionally well!

Relief.

Confirmation.

Affirmation.

Oh yeah, it’s party time at Chloe’s!

Tomorrow: back to work.

Today: bask in the glow.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

More than a Glancing Blow of the Extraordinary

With the dastardly Blogger’s Block behind me (returned to its shadows, no doubt, to await the next the innocent blogger to skip merrily by), I come to you this morning with an admission of guilt…

I took yesterday off.

*the world gasps*

*a drama queen in the second row faints*

For the first time since January, I didn’t do a lick of writing beyond the blog. Now, there have been plenty of days where I haven’t managed to write a word, but I’ve always tried or at least worked on the plot or researched or… well, you get the picture.

Yesterday? Nada. Not a darn thing did I do toward my writing career.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be quite so alarming if I didn’t have a July 1 deadline peering at me over the next hilltop. But sometimes health takes precedence over storytelling.

*section 13B storms out of the auditorium, mortally offended*

As I mentioned a few days ago, I will be seeing a new doctor this afternoon. While my panic disorder is on an even keel right now, I figured it was the perfect time to see if there wasn’t something more I could do to make my life a little bit more “normal.”

“Normal,” I do realize, is a construct that exists nowhere but in each of our own imaginations.

There is no “normal” and the world is a far better place because of it.

However…

A part of me (a silly, silly, childish speck of me) still yearns for it. Just for a touch of it, a glancing blow of the ordinary, perhaps just to remind me how extraordinary being extraordinary truly is… (That last bit right there? That would be my latent although often chatty self-pride kicking in. *lol*)

So, I decided to take yesterday off and just breathe for a few hours to help me prepare for today.

Selfish?

Absolutely.

But I’m extraordinary, what else would you expect?

*chuckles*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Sweat Prickles

Picture me this morning sitting cross-legged on the floor in a big empty room, microphone in hand.

An ON AIR sign flashes on somewhere I can’t see.

A spotlight, hot and messy, pours down from the ceiling making me sweat.

“You’re on, lady! Say something!” a voice in my ear pleads.

My nervous gaze scours the white walls, the white floor, the white ceiling for even a leftover shadow of an idea, a crumb of a subject, the faintest impression of a spent narrative…

Alas, Chloe Stowe finds nothing.

Not a scrap.

Not a speck.

Just the sweat prickling the back of my neck, the tinny whispers to “Do something… do something… do something” ringing non-stop in my ear.

With a guttural groan, I fling my head back and scream!

…

Blog Block.

A virulent strain of Writer’s Block that affects even the hardiest of bloggers.

It strikes without notice, care or regard…

It has struck me.

Fear not, my friends, it is not contagious and its effects are only brief.

Tomorrow, when the spotlight falls and the microphone is again shoved into my hands, I will answer.

Blog Block will not fell me. This I vow.

*my dog rolls her eyes, knowing this will be a very long day indeed*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Where Have All the Sugar Cookies Gone?

Imagine for a moment…

A kitchen, a chef, an ungodly mess of flour and egg shells.

Cookie cutters lay strewn about. A cutting board and a rolling pin are piled next to the sink, while the full dishwasher runs.

A toasty warm heat emanates from the closed oven whose timer has ticked down from 12 minutes to 1.

The chef, a confident, well-experienced baker, waits expectantly beside a stack of baking racks. Potholders on hands, she bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet. The rush of creating something sweet and tasty for her guests never fades.

The timer rings.

With a blush of excitement, she opens the oven’s door, prepared to greet her newest batch of her little bit famous Sugar cookies…

“What the f**k?” she thinks but never says (the dog by her side is particularly sensitive to crude language on Mondays… another “What the f**k?” she has learned not to question and just to accept).

Pulling out the oven’s rack, bringing the baking sheet out into the better light, the accomplished Sugar cookie chef stares down in astonishment at…

Chocolate Chip cookies.

After checking her Prozac level and satisfied that the mind is still running at its full 72% capacity, she hesitantly pokes at the frankly delicious looking Chocolate Chip cookies.

“Hmm,” she thinks. “This is interesting.” (Prozac has kicked in and the world goes a little mellow *lol*)

Pulling the surprise out of the oven, she quickly transfers the dozen cookies to the cooling racks. She sneaks a peek at her dog, sneaks a peek at the mysteries cookies and excitedly takes a nibble…

*the screen fades to black*

…

Yeah, well, sorry to leave you hanging. I know the pulse-pounding action was intense (*rolls eyes and thinks another “What the f**k? after re-reading this post), and that a cliff-hanger was cruel, but this being a metaphorically true story I can only give you what I know.

After weeks of painstakingly putting together a Romance Mystery, Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series, popped out of the oven yesterday as nothing but pure, unadulterated Drama.

I’m still scratching my head at this. Where the hurt/comfort feelies have come from is as mysterious as those darn chocolate chips showing up in the sugar cookies. A reimagining of the whole baking effort will now be required. *giggles just a little at the intriguing surprise*

Will these chocolate chip cookies be as good as the planned for sugar cookies?

That’s the bloody cliffhanger, folks.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Bonfire of the Rebels

With “A Fistful of Dollars” accompanying the obsessive brain tic camped out in the back of my consciousness, I believe I can quantify myself as “Crazy Cool” this morning.

The “cool” bit I’ll leave to Mr. Eastwood and his poncho.

The “crazy” I’ll handle myself.

Despite all my best intentions of putting some hot flesh to Book Two’s bones this weekend, I’ve done little more than work myself up into a right tizzy about the whole thing.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I can handle a tizzy, been handling the suckers all my life. However, most tizzies of the literary ilk have some basis in fact, i.e. character rebellion, storyline stump or, my least favorite, author ineptitude (when said-author has lost the ability to string two sentences together, aka writer’s block *shivers*).

What is plaguing me this weekend, though, is just plain screwed up brain chemistry.

I’ve got an appointment with a new doctor on Wednesday and while I view this as a HUGE step forward in battling the lingering panic embedded so deep (so stupidly) in my life, certain rebel parts of my brain (OCD!… OCD!… OCD!…) disagree on this strategy and have set up camp in my brainstem.

These little OCD buggers are driving me and my logic / rationality / sanity to absolute distraction. I’m not so much as worrying about the appointment as I’m thinking CONSTANTLY about it.

Like every second.

And the occasional half-second.

I can’t concentrate on a darn thing and it is so beyond aggravating that there simply aren’t words for it.

And since there aren’t any words for it, I’ll just say:

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

No Bowl for You!

Handling a sequel is a lot like handling a bowl full of jell-o… without the bowl.

Oh, there is some slight definition to it…

You know how long it needs to be (same length as its prequel).

You know who the lead characters will be; heck, you’ve even got their names all picked out and shined up to a reader-friendly glow.

You know the genre; i.e. no zombies popping up at the wedding if there were no undead during the courtship.

You’ve even got your major characters’ personalities already established in your head. By this point they’re probably living, breathing souls camped out on the couch inside your head. You not only know what makes them hot and handsomely bothered, you know how they take their coffee.

But…

Beyond these parameters  (which are a little more wobbly than you can imagine; you are, after all, the author of the whole mess and if you really want to put an undead guy in there, you can… of course, all hope for Book Three is probably out the window, along with any prospects of the straight-lace romance publishing house ever knocking on your door again. So you’re left asking yourself:  Is a zombie really worth it?), all the normal basics a romance writer relies upon are missing.

You’ve already been there and done that.

Such as…

How the lover’s meet.

First kiss.

First laugh.

First grope.

First fast and dirty sex-capade.

First night of making sweet love.

First break-up.

First “I love you.”

All these bulwarks of a romance novel are denied the writer of a sequel.

You, you fine maker of best-selling jell-o, are denied your bowl.

The best advice I can give the first-time sequel writer is this… Wear an apron. Things are going to get messy.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Letting the Child Be

With the World Cup party finally underway (Close your eyes and listen, America. That delicious hum of excitement you hear from the south is Brazil)…

The U.S. Open visiting Pinehurst (even without Tiger, there is Phil, Rory, Graeme, Keegan)…

And my Tampa Bay Rays riding into Houston on a 1 game winning streak (this year, that’s something to savor like a fine wine)…

My sports weekend is loaded for bear!

*coughs gingerly into her fist*

I only wish my writing weekend was just so absurdly equipped.

For the last two days, I’ve let Writhe’s sequel just be. Let it linger and gestate and grow into itself without eager Chloe-hands all over it. I, of course, have fed it regularly though sparingly (400 words here and there), and have pruned its environment into nice, well-defined chapters. But other than that, I’ve just let the story breathe.

All very Zen of me, don’t you agree?

So, this morning I woke up and stumbled in to check on my youngest…

*pregnant pause*

And found Book Two…

*bated breath, everyone? Yeah, good.*

Different.

Better.

Did I mention different?

The setting which was to be 98% Sicily has developed into something more akin to 60% Sicily and 40% New York.

The story’s focus has changed from Lyon to Steed. (A shocking revelation I had never once considered… that’s why hands-off time is so important to a story and its overprotective “mommy.”)

The core mystery, while remaining the same, has changed tone. (Instead of concentrating on the C7 Vertebra, I will now be focusing on T2… a small change for the observer, but a heck of a change for the patient.)

Different.

Better.

Now, it’s time to go groom the kid for Harvard.

*chuckles*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

When the World Comes Down to Cricket Nibble

Admittedly, this is a grasshopper.

Should anyone be looking for me this morning, please direct your attention to the “Bad, bad author!” corner. That will be me with her back turned to the group, a guilty slouch to her shoulders and telltale mulch on her shoes.

Anybody care to guess what Chloe did wrong?

*hands shoot up across the world*

*a very serious faced guy in the front row hisses, “Traitor!”*

*an equally mulched and mussed lady in the back yells “You go, girl!”*

Yes, Chloe Stowe gardened yesterday instead of writing.

I didn’t write a single, gosh-darn word.

Apparently the world didn’t end as a result since I am sitting here in the Failure Corner this morning feeling sharply guilty (but just as sharply proud of my rebel self *lol*).

Oh, I’m sure I will pay heavily for yesterday’s frolicking in the Pentas, Winter Squash and Ixora. In the next few weeks as Book Two’s deadline roars into my face, I will no doubt be fussing and fuming over my irresponsible author behavior. Jiminy Cricket will be chiding heavily from my shoulder about “Responsibility” and “Putting my nose to the grindstone”…

I will of course then remind him that he is a freaking cricket, and that he should be appreciative that somebody is assuring his kind has green, pretty stuff from which to chirp from.

A stalemate will then hopefully be reached, and I won’t have to threaten to have my dog rip the whiny little bug’s body into cricket nibble.

Until then, however, I will be sitting in the “Bad, bad author!” corner wearing a smirk on my face and a Penta blossom in my hair.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe