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)

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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