Treasure the Piggish Hours

I wrote good yesterday.

Pardon the lack of fireworks or gratuitous adjectives.

Sometimes they’re just not necessary.

Sometimes the truth is just that simple.

(Although I’ve now come across as a boorish twat thumbing her nose at all those inconsequential worker bees of the past like Dickens, Eliot and James… *dark clouds gather rapidly in the skies above*…That snap, crackle and pop you hear is literary lightning striking and frying the uppity Ms. Stowe. Good riddance to her too, I say.)

Ignoring all of the above nonsense, I did enjoy a refreshing streak of “Wow! That really is kind of awesome” writing yesterday.

That “I’m good and I know it” groove happens so rarely with me that when I accidentally stumble upon it, I roll around in it squealing like a little pig in fresh mud. (It’s all rather embarrassing.)

I mention it here to spur on the newbie writers out there who are suffering from the dry spells all authors suffer through.

There is mud out there.

You will find it.

And you will roll.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe