The Vengeful Tick-Tick-Tick

Red faced, out of breath, with a frightful cross-hatch of pillow wrinkles marring the visage, I am here.

I’m also late.

Real late.

Sorry about that.

Of course, no one in the whole world will notice this lateness other than me (the OCDed nut who bucked routine and slept in for an extra 2 hours this morning… the OCDed nut who is currently paying for her flagrant flicking off of the world order with a bellyful of screaming nerves.)

So, as I’m writing this post I am fighting the constant, over-riding need to check the clock every half-tick.

Really.

No exaggeration there, unfortunately.

Occasionally, for brief spurts of heavenly time, I almost forget about the general FUBAR state of my brain. Almost.

Well, it’s all nice and clear this morning, streaming in Technicolor and Dolby surround sound.

I’m a nut.

A nut with pillow wrinkles.

Thought I’d share.

Continue on with your day.

*chuckles*

*checks the clock*

*sighs*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Spectator Game

“Hands off!” is a mentality wickedly hard for writers to embrace.

It is our nature, it is our joy to hen-peck every detail.

From set design, to cinematography, to location scouting, to directing our characters with a Stanley Kubrick-like obsession for that one perfect take, we want a hand in every aspect of a story.

At least I do.

(For the purposes of this blog, please pretend that I am a “normal” writer. Thank you.)

So, it is remarkably difficult and frankly a little bit maddening to stand back and let a story tell itself.

Yep, talking about Book Three of “The Lion and the Steed” series here.

You remember, that fiendishly ornery tale whose tail overtook its bellybutton last week? The one whose carefully plotted ending simply refused to wait to the end to be told?

Yep, that little beast.

Well, I’ve finally admitted to myself that Book Three is no longer my own production. It has struggled and squirmed out of my hands altogether.

Now, I must simply stand back and watch where the story will take me.

I hate that.

Mostly.

A part of me, a tee-tiny, itty-bitty speck of me is kind of excited to see where my boys will lead me.

So, with much grumbling and fussing and fuming I am trying my darnedest to keep my hands off this production.

It ain’t easy.

And I hate it.

Mostly.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Presence

Running behind before the sun has even cleared the horizon is not good. I’d even call it a case of royal crap if I wasn’t trying to retain a spot of genteelness for the day.

*sighs, breathes deeply, rushes on…*

I’m just going to lay the truth out there:  I’ve got nothing for you today.

No inner turnings of a crazy yet (somehow) very published writer’s mind to share.

No great spates of wisdom wrapped in utter corniness to impart.

No breaking news on the word count wars.

No tussles with specters of imminent failure to report.  (Where the heck is Frank, by the way?)

I’ve got nothing but my presence.

I am here.

Again.

The daily blog rumbles, stumbles, grumbles on just like it has for every single day since the end of January. (Hello OCD. My name is Chloe.)

All kidding aside, I do hope my presence does count for something in the grand, screwed-up, marvelous scheme of things, because that’s all I have got for you today.

So, trusting that is the case, may I say…  “Good morning! Despite my irreverent fussing, it truly is a blessing to see each and every one of you today. Have a phenomenal Friday!”

Until tomorrow (when true usefulness will hopefully return)…

Chloe

Don't Look in the Trunk

Yesterday, I reported on how my Book Three “convoy” had been derailed by an antsy caboose.

(SIDE NOTE:  If that sentence made no sense to you or perhaps frightened you a bit, please see Wednesday’s post before abandoning this blog altogether or notifying any authorities. Thank you.)

Anyhow, my Book Three mad-cap adventures continued yesterday.

Yep, things got even more interesting than the climax wanting to join in on the foreplay.

After getting all my trucks, U-Hauls and sports cars back in a row and heading once again toward that western horizon called The End, the whole honking, romance she-bang (i.e. Book Three) was suddenly flagged down and pulled over by…

Agatha Christie.

You know, the queen of all things mystery? Murder on the Orient Express, Death on the Nile, A Pocket Full of Rye, etc, etc.?

Yeah, her.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Agatha Christie. I’ve got a whole bookshelf of her stuff in my office. Brilliant storyteller. Nobody could ever match her work in the genre.

But…

The grand woman really has no place on the Romantic Smut Highway.

Does she?

I didn’t think so until yesterday when my main characters in their spiffy Jaguars offered the dead lady a ride.

Dame Christie accepted and has now joined my traveling entourage.

What she’s going to bring to Book Three, I haven’t the faintest idea. But I staunchly refuse to look in the trunk she’s lugging around. The last thing this crazy Romantic Smut caravan needs is another dead body… or a Miss Marple. (Lovely lady, I’m sure, but simply don’t have the budget for the dear.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Convoy!

So there we were.

The Book Three convoy and I, cruising down the interstate at a nice 70mph clip.

Fast food joints and trucks stops were zinging by our windows in fantastic blurs of grease and octane.

Bumps were minimal, construction zones nothing but old hat and the weather was real fine. 

The cross-country journey from start of novel to finish was over a 1/3 complete and all the vehicles, from the backstory big rigs to the supporting cast U-Hauls to the main character Jags, were looking forward to an on-time arrival at the publishing house on October 15 when out of nowhere…

WHAM!

Convoy Upheaval!

The nice, tidy, dramatic-as-all-get-out ending suddenly shoved its shocking self right into the middle of my best laid plans and outlines.

Yep, the caboose was now tucked up in between all the passenger cars… (I know. This is train imagery, now. But you deal with some Sudden-Onset Convoy Upheaval and see if you can keep all the metaphors straight. I’m lucky I haven’t drifted off into limericks at this point.)

So, now I’m having to pull the whole line over to the side of the road while I scour the maps and fiddle with the dang GPS.

How I’m going to get this bunch of knuckleheads to the west coast by mid-October is way beyond me.

So, if you’re looking for me in the immediate future best check those southern Missouri Whataburger’s first.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Temptation on the Rocks

Oh, it was calling to me.

Like a Siren perched on sharp, unforgiving rocks, it sang to me.

Blindly, I followed.

Forsaking the outline, the carefully scripted word count, the characters’ bleak whines for attention, I dove into the treacherously calm-looking waters and swam.

For a time, for a blink of an eye, it was glorious!

Cool, cool waters enveloped me, wrapping my overheating mind in its numbing chill…

*stuffed duck hits blogger squarely on the nose and squeaks*

*dog with the freakish aim and an affinity for squawking plush toys stares accusingly at the fool at the keyboard and sighs*

*the blogger caves like a Florida sinkhole*

Fine.

So be it.

In words not nearly as colorful or as dramatic as my Siren on the rocks thing, here’s what happened.

Yesterday while working on my daily 700 word quota, I sort of, maybe, kind of for a tee-tiny while got caught up in…

Research.

Needless research.

As in: a simple fact check on Google accidentally/unintentionally/not-my-fault bled into an hour of research I will most likely never, ever use.

Oh, it really was glorious though!

Following leads, tracking down footnotes, expanding on trivial tidbits like a big, goofy nerd, I could have easily spent the whole day in my researching frenzy.

But I didn’t.

I pulled myself out after a lone hour.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a substantial victory in my OCD-tendency world.

And while it probably didn’t require the Siren on the rocks thing, this little win needed to be noted.

So with that duly noted, the dog, the squeaking stuffed duck and I leave you to your day.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Where Are the Toe-Tags?

With broom and dustpan firmly in hand, it’s time to clean up from the mess that was this weekend.

Now, normal folk (yes, I do believe there are a few out there) would take the above sentence to mean that smashed beer bottles, empty pizza boxes and the occasional broken chair were on the sweeping agenda. Not to mention dealing with that mysterious stain on the carpet you REALLY don’t want to know the details of…

Yes, well, not quite what I’m talking about.

(Everybody who didn’t see that coming please raise your hand. *lol*)

Anyhow, this particular mess of mine is more authorly-related.

Again, a surprise, I know.

I’ll try to make this as short and as painless as possible.

The blog I wrote yesterday was crap. It took half an eon to write and came out choppy and rather pointless. I was not happy with the picture I found to accompany the post either, which put a nice rotten cherry on top of the whole experience. (Again, I apologize for the whole debacle that was yesterday.)

Secondly, the writing I have gotten done on Book Three of “The Lion and the Steed” series this weekend (which is quite a lot, surprisingly)is all lying in an ungainly heap on the floor.

Stray sentences and half-finished scenes are all tangled up together with no identifying marks to tell me where the heck in the story they were written to go.

Now, standing above the tangle of naked men, wry one-liners and Yorkshire pudding (don’t ask), I’m kicking myself for not at least putting toe-tags on the darn things.

Finally, I’ve got enough leftover jitters from Friday’s release of Pound to turn my stomach. Confidence is great and all but it does buffalo dung for the internal tract. Just saying.

So, there you have it.

My weekend mess I’ll be busy cleaning up today.

*sighs*

I wonder if the neighbors have a power washer I can borrow? I really don’t like the look of that stain.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

No Helmets Allowed

Stymied…

Waylaid by a total lack of disinterest by my creative side…

Clogged like a cat with hairball issues…

The failure of my imagination to put in a decent showing on today’s blog can be explained away with any and all of the above.

Of course that doesn’t help you one bit, now does it?

You’re still stuck here.

I’m still stuck here.

Shall we all raise a pitiful sigh as one?

Yeah, not feeling that either.

Would it be terribly wrong of me to concede? To surrender outright to Blog Clog and throw in the proverbial white flag?

Well, let’s be pitiably cowardly and try it, shall we?

We’ll all meet back here tomorrow morning and commiserate on our joint failings?...

Or we could, of course, just scrape today’s stain of a blog from our memories altogether and start fresh on the morrow? A little purposeful amnesia might be delightful in this case.

Yep, I say we aim for a brain injury and call it a day.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Confidence Isn't Always Pretty

Confidence is hard.

In an act of brilliant restraint, I am not going to complain about my stomach’s foul reaction to this confidence-crap.

Neither am I going to note in excessive detail my right shoulder’s rigor mortis like state most of yesterday as all the stress/anxiety/panic/panic/PANIC not addressed my stomach settled like a bloody boulder in my arm.

Nope, not going to mention that.

I will, however, proudly state that while my body rebelled most stupidly at Pound’s release yesterday, I held tight to my newly found confidence all day.

I did not obsess.

I did not curl up into a fetal ball more than three times.

I did not declare my writing career legally dead... at least, not out loud.

I did not obsess.

I did not tear/rip/yank a single strand of hair out of my head when Pound failed to show up on Amazon all freaking day. (Still not there, by the way. At least where I can find it.)

I did not starve myself. (A plate of peanut butter crackers and a bowl of chocolate ice cream is plenty to see a confident soul through the day, thank you very much.)

Did I mention, I did not obsess?

Overall, I survived with most of my dignity intact.

Please insert applause and a deep-muscle massage right here.

Thank you and have a nice day.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

SPECIAL EDITION: Pound

SPECIAL EDITION!!

The Release of Pound (Book 2 of “The Lion & the Steed” series)

 

So, here we are… Another release day with Chloe Stowe!

Before I begin popping the champagne chilling next to the left-over pizza in the fridge, I would like to thank you for stopping by and giving this Special Edition Blog a look-see. It is very much appreciated.

Now, let’s get down to business.

First up, the cover…

 

Ok, let me just say, I’m loving this cover! I’ve published 16 novels with Ravenous Romance over the last five years, and this cover is definitely in my top five.

Up to bat next is the back-cover blurb, the tease, the hook, the “Come hither and read” flirtation…

 

True love is a marathon begun with a breathless sprint. After a wild, heart-pounding start to their relationship, Dr. Samuel Lyon and Brevyn Steed settle into their new lives together expecting the sweet calm of sameness and security to settle down around them. Fate, however, has different plans. When a silent film thought lost to a fire 90 years ago is stolen from a private collection, Brevyn and Sam are hired to recover it. The thief’s trail quickly forces the couple to abandon their New York City environs for the sunbaked coast of Sicily. It is there that they learn their long journey to happiness has just begun.

 

I wrote that.

Not bad, huh?

*smirks goofily*

*dog smacks furry paw upside my head*

*smirk disappears*

Alright, before I get into more trouble with my four-legged taskmaster, here is a list of where you will be able to find Pound today. I will keep updating this list throughout the day as the book makes its debut at each of these fine sites…

 

As of 11am, it is available through my publishing house, Ravenous Romance:

http://www.ravenousromance.com/modern-love/pound-the-lion-and-the-steed-book-ii.php

 

All Romance (available right now!):  https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-poundthelionandthesteedbookii-1604113-149.html

 

Amazon (available later today):  http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_pg_1?rh=n%3A283155%2Cp_27%3AChloe+Stowe&sort=relevancerank&ie=UTF8&qid=1408719733

 

Barnes & Noble (its release here might slip until tomorrow; I’ll keep you updated): http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/chloe-stowe?store=allproducts&keyword=chloe+stowe

 

There, I’m done. Special Edition Blog is now closing.

Thank you again for stopping by. I really hope you enjoy Pound.

Have a terrific Friday!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

In Hardy Celebration of "Now"

“Perhaps the stars will come out for us.”  (page 75, Pound by Chloe Stowe... available today)

---

May we all turn our attention to my psychiatrist for just a wee bit…

Last week he told me to stop feeling guilty over the past, to stop obsessively worrying about the future and to concentrate on enjoying the now.

This, my dear friends, is some advice an author can sink their teeth into. *grins*

Now.

It’s a truly marvelous thing for a three-letter word that is more percussion than grace.

Now.

It’s a terribly fleeting, never ending moment that is always gone before you blink and always waiting for you to open your eyes.

Now.

Today.

This very second.

And this very second.

And this very second, too.

“Now” is so often put on the back burner for a “back then” or a worrisome “when.”

But not today, not now.

My 16^th novel, Pound, will be released this very day.

Maybe it will do well? (I certainly hope it does fantastically well, but that is hardly a shock to anyone, I imagine.)

Maybe it will flounder around for a while and flop? (Nope, not going to happen. No way. Not a bloody chance… or so croons my fledgling confidence so new to a Chloe Stowe release day party.)

But whatever Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series ends up doing tomorrow, next week, next month, in the coming years, I will not think about that today.

Not now.

Now, I am going to drink in the sweetness of a release, letting the flavor of rare accomplishment linger and tickle my tongue.

Now, I am simply going to smile.

Later, in fact later today, I will be posting a Special Edition blog brimming over with blurbs, excerpts, a cover and who knows what else. I hope you will give it at least a quick look-see or pass it on to your friends, but if you don’t, no worries…

Because right now, you are here. A fact which fills my now with gratitude and startling pride.

Enjoy your now, everyone!

Until later today…

Chloe

A Pig in the Hand

“There was a hiccup in the wind, a tiny hitch in the sea that Sam imagined ancient mariners could have read like the backs of their hands. It was just the doctor’s luck that there was nary an old sailor in sight.”  (page 69, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

---

Confidence is a greased piglet squealing for its mama…

Impossible to keep a hold on and hell on your nerves.

I could end this post right there and be quite satisfied that I had expressed my current state of being to a tee.

But I won’t, because I’m a whiny sort with a honking huge vocabulary.

Apologies, I’m sure will be in order.

As my regular readers know, my 16^th novel Pound will be released tomorrow. And I have vowed to you and myself that I would for once meet this release day with utter confidence.

Beyond the daily excerpts I’ve been plopping at the top of my blogs for the last week, I have restrained myself completely from all other supposedly “gaudy” self-promotion (i.e. refrigerator magnets with Pound’s admittedly awesome cover emblazoned across them; mass-mailings to kith and kin and all Facebook directories with either the word “book” or “romance” in their description; and back-cover blurbs scrawled on public bathroom walls.)

But today with the release so very close, my confidence is slipping through my fingers like the aforementioned buttered baby hog.

You have no idea how I yearn to attach Pound’s blurb and cover right here….

Right freaking here!

*pauses dramatically*

But I won’t, because I’m a stubborn ass who refuses to let go of the stinking pig.

Only in my life would this be a source of personal pride.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Her

“Bits and pieces came back to him every now and again, like a stray autumn leaf upon a freshly swept porch.”  (page 57, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

---

In my continuing efforts to note all things truly odd (i.e. weird, frighteningly eccentric) about my writing process, I have come across a new one.

*hears lots of shuffling in the blog audience*

*raises hands and calms…*

No, don’t worry, everyone. Neither hard hats nor plastic ponchos will be required for this strangeness. You can tuck all that paraphernalia back under your seat for next time.

This oddity is particularly formal.  In fact, cummerbunds and bow-ties might be appropriate for the reading of this post. But I’ll leave that up to your individual discretion.

As I’ve been happily plodding and plotting through the writing of Book Three, I noticed yesterday that a certain new character has failed to arrive to the party yet.

Oh, this woman’s presence is there. She is talked about considerably. Whole scenes revolve around her actions and inactions. A true supporting character she is. Think of Melanie in “Gone with the Wind” or Leia in “Star Wars.” Neither story could have gone on without their third or fourth billed star.

Well, my Melanie in Book Three is just as important and with ¼ of the novel written, she really should have stepped out of her dressing room by now.

She hasn’t.

A place card simply stands in her stead.

With an elegant font, her name has been embossed in silver on a 3x2” piece of thick card stock. The card lies propped up against her empty wine glass, while her chair remains tucked firmly under the long dining table.

The other guests have been mulling about for quite a while now, a great number of their conversations revolving around her.

Her absence is becoming rather palpable.

And worrisome.

And weird.

Why I can’t seem to put a body, a voice, a personality beyond a backstory to this woman is a mystery. It’s like I just can’t find the right actress to play the frankly juicy part.

So, I’m left with a place card.

*sighs*

At this point, I’m just hoping the dame arrives before the dessert course.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Powdery Blue Cuffs

“Dinner quickly concluded then.

The walk back to their rooms was made at a remarkable pace for two men holding hands.

Upon the closing and locking of their front door, sex, of course, was had.

Most enthusiastically.

Several times.”  (page 55, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 ---

*steps up to the microphone with a dented frying pan in hand*

Caught Frank lurking in the hallway this morning.

Only I would have a specter of imminent failure with a head harder than cast-iron.

After a bit of a struggle which included several well-placed knees to the troublemaker’s groin, I managed to toss the blubbery cretin out the door onto his considerable ass.

*sighs while looking down at the ruined pan*

I have no doubt that the ghoulish insecurity will be back. With Pound’s release only 3 days away, I expect Frank to be showing up in the most unusual places from here on out.

*a little, old lady in the second row raises her quaking hand and asks, “Pardon me, miss. But what about your “confidence-thing”? It was such a lovely thought, dear.”*

No need to worry, friends.

The “I’m confident. Hear me roar!” attitude I extolled in this blog only a few days ago is still very much there. It’s just a little ill-fitting this morning, a problem I fear will continue…

There will be struggles with its collar (which is entirely too tight around my neck).

The sleeves will no doubt feel too short. (I’m forever tugging impatiently at the powdery blue cuffs.)

The legs are too long. (The dog is constantly snickering as I trip here and there.)

And the color is all wrong. (Three days before a release really should be draped in mauve or something equally austere.)

But…

*the drum rolls*

As you are my witness, I will continue to wear the “confidence-thing!”

*the crowd roars*

*while the blogger mumbles, looking down at her hand…”

But the frying pan stays.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

When Caboose Meets Engine

“Complications arise, and then shatter expectations.” (page 40, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 

Excuse the downer of a quote above, but you go where the excerpt-gods take you.

Bet you didn’t know there were excerpt-gods, huh? Many strange and wondrous things appear when…

a.) Your 16^th novel in 5 years is about to be published. (SIDE NOTE: This is better known as Romantic Smut Exhaustion)

b.) You’ve been up working an hour on a mid-August Monday morning and the sun is still MIA. (SIDE NOTE: This is better known as Nightmare Avoidance 101, and is a rather fair showing of OCD Tendency #17)

c.) You’re on enough Prozac to mellow down the finest Primitive Baptist preacher on the hottest Revival night. (SIDE NOTE & DISCLAIMOR: Despite all appearances to the contrary, this is not a slam on the Primitive Baptists. Although I disagree hotly with many of their beliefs, their devotion is oftentimes extraordinary.)

Ok, now that I’ve just alienated Section 43B of the blog auditorium, I think I’ll move quickly on before I unintentionally empty out another demographics’ group seating…

*pauses*

*ponders*

*slyly grins as the post cleverly (i.e. accidentally) comes full circle…*

Moments ago as the sun began to finally creep over the horizon, I had the “expectation” of this post being good.  Alas, “complications” of a Primitive Baptist manner arose and shattered that delusion spectacularly.

*proudly beams as the caboose has just met up with the engine*

Dang it! I’m good!

(SIDE NOTE: The above is better known as Delusion of Grandeur, Exhibit A.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Confidence-Thing

“No, you’re not.” Brevyn batted the hand away. The crinkle of his brow had been replaced with a tiny, peeved fold of “Bloody no” above his nose. (page 35, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 

With Pound’s release only five days away, I suppose I really should be pounding the pavement trying to get the word out. (Sorry. The pun was irresistible and I folded like a louver door.)

Well, I’m not.  Pounding, that is.

In case you’ve missed it, I haven’t even waylaid you with the classic “Cover Release Party” or “The Blurb Preview Gala.”

You’re welcome, by the way.

While I could claim I was just being lazy or lackadaisical with my blessings (after all, I’m always looking for some more guilt to take on)…

Or I could tag Pride as the culprit (the fact that I misplaced my Pride back in ’93 would have to be ignored, however)…

The truth is even more damning, some would say.

I, Chloe Stowe, am taking the whole confidence-thing for a spin.

*the dog rolls over and giggles like a loon*

I’m serious.

While I admit confidence is a whole new look for me, I’m fully prepared to strut it down the runway this time.

So, let those cameras flash!

Bring on the snob-nosed critics!

Let the dogs roll!

And Frank (my specter of imminent failure) will have to find himself another sucker to fatten him up with crumpets!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m rocking the confident look this week…

From time to time, we may all need to look away.

*lol*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Gator-Wrestling Hours

“What do you know about the Titanic, Samuel?” (page 26, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 

Wrestling with a live gator covered in Crisco would have been easier than writing yesterday.

All slicked up and ornery as hell, the successful authoring bit kept slipping through my fingers all morning and all afternoon.

Finally, just as I was about to dig out the white flag from my back pocket (“Always keep surrendering paraphernalia close at hand” is my motto), 500 words were squeezed out.

And when I say squeezed out, I mean it.

I was taking every paragraph, every half-scene of the 9k I’ve already written on Book Three and wringing it out until all the “descriptor needed here” and the “this could be better” bits were laid out before me.

I then picked each little desperate and wanting piece up and gave it love.

Tough love.

I was in no mood for mushiness.

Hopefully, by the time Book Three releases this late fall/early winter, all of the crinkles and wrinkles I put in the thing yesterday will simply be interesting texture in an otherwise satiny smooth love story…

Yeah, I know.

Even the baking greased gator didn’t buy that.

*smirks*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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

The Looming Afternoon

Nuts.

“Samuel’s breath was warm like honey as it trickled down Brevyn’s back and pooled at the base of his spine. The doctor had moved in their sleep, his head now cradled into the curve of the Englishman’s spine.” (page 15, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 

Off to the doctor today.

Yep, time for the monthly gab-fest with my psychiatrist.

Panic disorder, OCD tendencies, a chronic inability to relax for longer than three seconds at a time are, as always, on the agenda.

Fun times.

But I am relatively hopeful that I’ll get my “required” writing on Book Three done before the early afternoon appointment.

I put in an extra 100 last night just to give me a head-start on today’s 700. And if I get on a roll (which has been happening a lot with Book Three) I should be able to churn out some good stuff before my head is shrunk and flambéed by a paid medical professional.

Of course, all hopes of readable creativity will be long gone post-appointment.

Collapsing on the couch.

Popping an Ibuprofen.

Snuggling with my dog.

That will be all I’m good for.

If I’m really brave, I might even try to force some food down my throat.

But, once the immediate after-effects are over, I will feel better about myself. I always do. And that is the point, after all.

*sighs big and bravely*

Ok, let’s do this thing!

Please, wish me luck, 600 words and painless shrinking.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe