Birthing Cora -or- Welcoming a New Penname into the Fold

After a very fruitful week of writing on The Hushing Days (averaged just over 700 words a day), I am hoping to redirect a few of my professional labors this afternoon into my new gardening blog.

*coughs into fist, studiously ignoring the piteous dismay on my dog/muse/drama queen’s face*

Perhaps, a few words in my defense are needed.

This new, NOT daily blog will be written under the penname I am planning to publish The Hushing Days under. “Cora’s Garden” (subtitled The Misadventures of an Author, her Muse and their Garden) will hopefully start getting the Cora Douglas Sands name out there.

As I’ve stated before, I will proudly state that I am also the writer Chloe Stowe who has published bunches and bunches of goodies in the m/m romance genre. (Just give the coradouglassands.com site a look and you will see on the home page my Chloe Stowe logo.)

Besides the possible career help, I think it will be lots of fun to chronicle the hobby both my muse and I adore. Of course, this does not get you out of the horticultural loop. My daily blog here will continue to toss in a healthy amount of gardening mishaps and victories. This is after all who I am.

If you get anything out of this post (besides a painful eye-roll), I hope it is this…  

Marketing your penname is your job. Consider it a second career. Like it or not, this is how the publishing machine rolls.

Alright, enough of my chatter. Have a great Saturday!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Perspective Overdue

It’s been remarked that I’m entirely self-centered. (This is a complete fallacy, mind you, but a misconception I’ll allow to remain for the purpose of this post. Now, let’s carry on, shall we?)

I want what I want when I want it.

Alliteration aside, I believe this is a fair assessment of most of our lives. After all, selfishness is key to the healthy concept of self… (Feel free to jot that one down. It is rather spectacular.)

The point is, I deserve more.

I work bloody hard; though no one, but I, seems to take note of it.

That ends today.

I, the much-maligned “four-legged, furry muse” of this blog and dear Chloe’s entire, though miniscule, life, have hijacked this morning’s post for a well-deserved, oft-forgotten smattering of applause.

Go ahead, then. I’ll wait.

There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?

*sighs, well-satisfied with the morning’s toil*

You will find Chloe secured safely in the treat closet. (It’s that drab little room off the kitchen where she is ever-intent on hiding my treats. As if I could not turn the knob and open the door whenever I wished. Really.)

Now, a snuggle on the couch is calling.

You may carry on with your lives.

Until tomorrow…

The Muse

Writing Interrupted

The grocery store looms today.

While by definition grocery stores rarely “loom” (after all, “Let’s go Krogering” was not meant as a threat), toss in a nifty panic disorder into your brain and a cotton-ball takes on a sinister air.

These are the days of utter embarrassment. Mentally cowering at the thought of the potato chip aisle would be laughable if it wasn’t just so darn sad.

While I am miles and miles better than I used to be (medication will do that to you), I am still so far from normal that it sucks. I feel like a hermit being forced to come down off his mountain for supplies, while the whole produce section gawks at me, wondering if I’m that yeti they’ve heard tales about…

*slaps self in face, leaving a nice mark for the canned fruit aisle to whisper about*

Ok.

Enough of the complaining.

Time to get my crap together and go get peanut butter.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Reimaging of the Muse

The muse is clingy this morning.

Plastered to my hip like a warm, fuzzy band-aid, she is snoring to the beat the band. I wonder if this bodes ill or well for my writing day?

*sighs*

Aren’t muses usually fluttery little things that dance in the sunlight? (Picture butterflies with feet.)

Or, at least, ethereal souls wrapped in fine silk togas? (Picture Greta Garbo on the steps of Delphi.)

Furry, fifteen pound dogs who take haughty exception to bows in their ears and cats in the universe are not the typical muses.

Well, maybe they should be.

Loyal, stubborn and pushy to a fault, what else could you possibly want out of a muse? And if some come with attitudes and pensions for chasing lizards, so be it. I won’t complain.

Just remember… Pamper the muse and she just might pamper you right back.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe and her warm, fuzzy band-aid

Knick-knacks

Just a couple of knick-knacks for you this morning. Feel free to shove them to the back of your shelves and let them gather dust.

1.) Overwhelmed a bit by The Hushing Days at the moment. There are so many historical doo-dads to tuck into the storyline that I’m constantly feeling that I’m missing something.

2.) Despite knick-knack #1, I have been churning out a steady word count every day. The 1k battle plan I lauded last week has been downgraded to 800 words per day. My brain and all its colorful oddities feel a bit more comfy with that number.

3.) Thinking of starting a gardening blog at my Cora Douglas Sands website. It would get some traffic going to The Hushing Days’ penname site. I’ll keep you updated.

4.) Knick-knack #3 would NOT be a daily blog. I’m not that insane.

5.) Tired of trying so gosh-darn hard at this writing career thing. It would be sooooo much easier just to settle into leach-hood and accept my role as familial burden with a mellow smile.

6.) I’m too stubborn, hard-headed and ornery to ever surrender to knick-knack #5. Whether this is a good or bad thing, I have no idea.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Author's Tool #15... Reality Checks, Early and Often

After nearly getting bowled over and trampled into little, messy writer-pieces this weekend, I knew it was time for another Author’s Tool.

While the relative ease of research these days can be a boon to an author, the influx of information can get rather… well, intense would work. (Painfully belittling with a side of “Get me the heck out of here!” is another option.)

This is particularly true when working on historical fiction.

Case in point: Just as I was finally getting at ease with the whole life-in-the-American-Revolution thing, I make the mistake of glancing at another research source. I nearly got blown away by all I realized I hadn’t known.

I panicked… Yeah, yeah, big surprise for Ms. Chronic Panic Disorder, I know. But trust me, this could easily happen to the most sane of you out there.

My mind went many places, including:

How dare I even consider writing a story about Revolutionary War-era New York City when I hadn’t known that the Liberty House “prison” was located on the west side of Broadway, directly across from the Common (today City Hall Park)?

Or that there was a ferry wharf just down from Bear Market?

Or that the Provost House faced Chatham Street (now Park Row)?

Or…

Alright, I’m sure you get the picture. These tidbits of historical fact can quickly drown a naive author. You may go into the story promising you’ll be as “true” to the time period as you can possible be, but reality will sooner or later hit you square in the face and send you sprawling.

So, if you don’t want to end up whining over your sore butt all the time, call for the reality check early on.

Even if you were standing in the middle of Broadway as General Howe’s troops came marching in, you still wouldn’t know everything.

It’s impossible.

So, give yourself a freaking break!

And here ends this essay on “Sleeping with Historical Inaccuracy and Loving It.”

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Command Decision Time -or- The Dreaded CDT

Command decision time.

*four-legged, furry muse tucks tail and runs*

Despite what my dog, and probably my mother, would claim, “command decision time” does not necessitate the drums of doom swelling in the background. Not all CDT’s precipitate bleak, life-changing announcements (such as the classic “I’ve decided to quit school because I’m going insane” gem back in ’92. I’m sure my mother still shivers at the memory of that one.)

Nope, this CDT is quite boring. A yawner, if you will.

I’ve decided to scrap the daily word quota today and only write as much as I want to write.

While hardly earth-shattering news to the generally sane public, this “wildness” on my part is big in my little abnormal world (the guilt-ridden, obsessive perfectionist nut world, to be exact.)

So, please join me in either applauding this unexpected break from my stringent routine… Or throw a tomato at me and call me a slacker. That command decision is yours.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Naughty Hopscotch

Getting up to blog two hours before dawn is either a sign of fervent dedication or feverish lunacy. Just saying….

Well, actually, my dog is “just saying.” She’s looking at me like I’m a loon. Dragging her out of bed at 5 am to stare helplessly at a blank screen is not her idea of good times. I’ll be paying for this transgression the rest of the day.

*sighs*

When I started back double-timing it on The Hushing Days (formerly the Six Brother project, remember) this past Monday, I had this grand plan to write the book from Prelude to Epilogue straight-through. No jumping around, no playing hopscotch with the chapters. I was going to write it chronologically with great calm and efficiency.

Yeah, well.

Monday thru Wednesday, I was a good girl slaving away on Chapter One.

Thursday thru Friday, hello naughtiness and Chapter Sixteen.

I have no explanation for this. There is no excuse.

Let this serve as my confession… then let me get back to my naughtiness. Chapter Eight is calling.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Hiccups and Diamonds

On a morning of heavy rain, sporadic lightning and stormy expectations, I yield to the weather.

Dredging up gems of authorian wisdom (yeah, ok, more like rocks shiny with sweat and tears) is really hard to do on a sodden, soggy and generally icky day.

I bow to the wet and humbly retreat.

Before I scurry back under the awning, I would like to proudly report that I have knocked back another 600 words on The Hushing Days. And they were stellar words too. Me and my pen were moving and grooving… until my brain hiccupped and I went down for the count with a bad headache. Oh well.

But fear not. I will no doubt shine that pebble of brain discontent into a sparkling cubic zirconia and present it to you ever so soon as a priceless authorian gem.

You’re welcome.

Stay dry, everyone!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Crying Fluke

One of those “Is the glass half full or half empty?” moments this morning.

I got 500 words of The Hushing Days written yesterday… Bravo me, right?

I was aiming for 1,000 words… Under-achieving gutter rat, right?

Yeah, either my great 1k Battle Plan outlined in yesterday’s post is foolhardy and pompous or I really am that destitute slacker my nightmares have been accusing me of for decades? Fine choices there.

Of course there is a third option. A rather namby-pamby excuse that would usually hold little water with me, but one my frayed confidence is clinging to with sweaty hands…

Maybe, just maybe, yesterday was a fluke.

An anomaly.

A departure from the norm so extreme that all its data should just be tossed.

*closes eyes, contemplates the quandary until…*

*four-legged, furry muse takes a sharp nip at my obsessing butt and tells me “Just get on with it. Geez!”*

Hmm… rather good idea, that.

Pardon me while I “get on with it.”

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The 1K Battle Plan

Strategy time.

After receiving a glowing report from my psychiatrist yesterday, and with all the Christmas hub-bub well into the past, it is time to get some measurable work done. The couple hundred words per day I’ve scraped together the last two weeks is simply NOT going to cut it.

With my self-imposed April deadline picking up frightening speed and bruising bulk on its approach, the time for just “fiddling” with The Hushing Days (remember this is the new and official title to the Six Brothers project) is over and done.

From here on out, I’m aiming at putting down 1,000 words per day.

*the four-legged, furry muse slips her resignation letter onto the keyboard and walks away*

Despite the drama queen now packing her toys, I will bravely soldier on. (She can’t reach her treats. And she ain’t leaving without her treats, trust me.)

So, in the upcoming days, weeks, and months expect frequent reports on the 1K Battle Plan. Successes and failures will be admitted to freely (though I will try to limit the dwelling on failures to a psychiatrist-recommended level.)

Wish me well. It could get ugly in here.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe and the drama queen

Ne'er Hush the Muse

So, you might have heard that my much ballyhooed, work-in-progress mainstreamer the Six Brothers project finally has an official title… The Hushing Days.

*imagines thunderous applause amidst “ooh’s” and “ahh’s”…*

*four-legged, furry muse tosses psychiatrist’s appointment card on the keyboard and suggests going a few hours early*

My dog’s opinion aside, I’m sure there are some of you out there who would like to know the meaning/story/explanation behind The Hushing Days title. (At least allow me this illusion.)

While I’ve had the title bouncing around in my head for a while, it wasn’t until I wrote the novel’s brief Prelude the other day that I knew I had to go for it.

“Hush the children. Extinguish the light…”  This is the first line of that Prelude.

It is a short scene of a man who witnesses the arrival of the 10,000 British troops on Long Island from his home’s window one night in August 1776. His apprehension and terror are palpable. The war has arrived on his doorstep and life for his family will never be the same. The occupation of New York City has begun.

Hence, the hushing-thing.

Got it?

I hope so. Because even though I just made a mess of explaining it, the Prelude is really cool.

Trust me.

Trust the hushing…

*dog noses that darn appointment card again*

Yeah, yeah, I’m going.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Prejudice, However Small

It had to happen sooner or later.

“The Six Brothers project” was an ungainly mouthful to call my big splash (note confidence, here) into mainstream romance.

Apart from the fact that it sounded like a spoof of the 1954 musical “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” (lumberjacks dancing is not the visual I’m going for with this book), it was just plain boring… Unless, of course, you were of an erotica reader’s mindset and, well, that visual at least was a lot more entertaining to think about (not to mention potentially spraining).

Anyhow, as I announced to the Sunday morning crowd yesterday, the official title has been chosen! And here, ladies and gents, is its blog debut…

The Hushing Days
by Cora Douglas Sands

Two notes, if you please.

1.) I’ve decided to publish this under a new penname. As sad as it is to admit, there is still a lot of prejudice toward authors of gay romance. Some readers and some publishers will immediately shy away from writers of such works. It is an ugly reality. As this is my one and only career, the only hope I have of becoming truly financially independent one day, I must give this my best shot.

2.) While my penname will be different, I am NOT separating Chloe from Cora. I will happily and proudly tell all who ask the genre of this author’s birth (as evidenced, I believe, by this very blog). This is not a dirty secret, it is not a penised skeleton in the closet, it is simply a career strategy. Be it Chloe or Cora, this girl, alas, must eat.

In the coming days, the reasoning behind this title will become clear. (Not trying to be all mysterious here, just don’t want today’s post to go too long.)

I sincerely hope I have your approval for both title and penname. They would mean the world to me.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Hodgepodge Solution

Welcome to a Sunday morning hodgepodge.

As my mind is a bit scattered today (think: spilled marbles in a pitch black room full of rocking chairs), I have decided to surrender to this chaotic state. Below is a list of tidbits of varying importance that are neither grand enough nor lucid enough to deserve a post all of their own.

Feel free to pick and choose as you will, tossing out the crap as you stumble upon it.

1.) I have officially decided upon a name for the Six Brothers project! As a bit of a treasure hunt, you can find it at my newly refurbished Cora Douglas Sands site (the penname I’ll be using for my historical romance). “Look in the trees,” is my final advice to you…. www.coradouglassands.com

2.) As the above is silly, childish and probably a bit pompous (at least my dog tells me it is), I will of course reveal the title to you tomorrow. I will then retire the “Six Brothers project” tag officially.

3.) After just finishing reading the life story of Mary Silliman (Revolutionary War wife, mother, daughter, diarist), I am most certain that I wouldn’t have survived back then. Nope. Dead in the Hudson River I would be.

4.) As the above is rather morose (according to my dog who wholeheartedly agrees with me but thinks I should put it in less hopeless terms), let me correct. After long years of struggle, strife, valiant effort but messy loss, I would have no doubt slipped through the ice on the Hudson River and drowned in frigid misery… Yeah, that sounds worse. Scrap that and revert back to #3.

5.) Psychiatrist appointment Tuesday. Can I hear a “Huzzah!” (Revolutionary War-speak for “Freaking hooray!”) My dog, meanwhile, simply grumbles a “Thank God.”

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

 

Selective Ignorance -or- Crowbars and Tampons

Selective ignorance.

I’m terrible at it.

Once I learn something, it’s ridiculously hard and rather painful to ever get it out of my head again. (Think a crowbar trying to budge a three bedroom Brownstone.)

Yeah, a useful trait in academia. Not so nifty in historical romance.

As I continue to wrestle my way through writing the Six Brothers project (100k historical mainstreamer, if you recall), I’m finding myself having to shove a lot of facts into the “Forget you ever knew that” closet.

All romance authors participate in some level of selective ignorance (i.e. bathroom breaks post sex, post-coital sheet messes, etc.). However, in historical romance there are literally tomes of stuff you’ve either just got to leave out or lie your butt off about.

Fine and dandy, I suppose, for a regular minded soul. Not so peachy for a perfectionist riding an OCD high.

So if I turn up missing one day, check the “Forget you ever knew that” closet. I’ll be hiding out there with the heroine’s tampons.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Burn Pile List #4... Apathy

I wrestled with this one for a while. (And let me tell you the gyrations were most unpleasant.)

Apathy is a terrible thing. And while it is preferable to hate (isn’t there enough of that going around these days?), the margin of “victory” is small.

I wince even saying this, but hatred is a useful tool in writing. Characters are often driven by the emotion. Just ask the iconic literary villains. Even the good guys use hatred to feed their heroics.

Apathy, however, is vacuous Nothing comes out of it but inaction. This is not to say that characters can’t feel apathy. Of course they can. But this is about the author.

Experiencing apathy teaches the writer nothing. The state of cold, unwavering indifference is the antithesis of what an author of fiction is.

So, onto the burn-pile with you, apathy! And good riddance.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Leap and a Prayer

Five-year plans are a very popular notion nowadays. People with real jobs, making real money, who have things like 401ks and stock portfolios, seem to rely on this concept very heavily.

Quite accidentally, my life as a professional writer has followed this set-up.

Five years after I graduated with a Masters from FSU, I sold my first short story and signed my first book contract. (I still like saying that. The sound of the words rolling off my tongue gives me the giggles.)

Now, five years (and 17 novels later) I am officially jumping genres.

While this is hardly news to my regular followers (since I’ve been babbling about it on and off for the last year), today it becomes a lot more real to me.

With Quiver now released to the literary world-at-large, I’ve realized that I may never, ever see another release day. There are no guarantees, no book contracts awaiting me in the mainstream…

*gulps*

*hyperventilates for approximately 2 minutes and 41 seconds*

*returns, still a little green around the edges*

“Scared straight” would be wryly appropriate in describing this monumental, eyes-wide-open but praying like mad, leap into the mainstream.

Yep, that about says it all.

Now, pardon me while I return to my hyperventilating.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Author's Tool #2: Ego

Ego.

A writer needs one.

Correction: a writer who wants to sell his or her work needs one.

In today’s publishing world of self-promotion, self-promotion, SELF-PROMOTION, you’ve got to slip on that “I am great. Hear me roar!” mantle or you’ll never get to stay in from that non-published cold. (They might let you slip in the door once, but you’ll be hustled back out into the snow before the frost is off your buns. Trust me.)

Don’t get me wrong. You don’t need to become an ego-maniac. You are more than likely not a literary god at this moment in time.  No need to act like it. (There’ll be time enough for that once you actually scramble up the authorian Mt. Olympus.)

But, you do need to be able to put on a good “Read me now” show.

Fake it if you have to. Use that imagination that’s gotten you this far to spin yourself into the next great, big thing. Eventually, it will be true.

(And you and your literary buns will shiver no more.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

CONFESSION: My ego is held together with spit and glue (and the occasional rubber band when things get particularly squirrely.) It’s tenuous at best, particularly on release days like tomorrow. So, don’t fret if it doesn’t come naturally. Just hold it together long enough to sell, sell, SELL!

Frustration vs. Perseverance... Winner Take All

Trust the story.

I keep telling myself this. Heck, I’m practically tattooing the thing to my frontal lobe. But I’m still obsessing about style.

My highly anticipated jump to the mainstream (a.k.a. The Six Brothers project) is continuing to be hampered by nagging doubts on how to tell the darn thing.

I know I’ve fussed about this before, and I have claimed to have solved this dilemma many times over (all honest if fleeting proclamations). But the word “obsessing” in this case is a clinical term… as in, “Yep, I’m nuts.”

Thankfully, obsessing about writing style is a lot more productive than obsessing over how many times to flip on a light switch before entering a room (a sad but true reality that gratefully now resides in my distant past).

No matter the relative “healthiness” of this OCD variation, it still is a royal pain that continues to slow my progress on the novel to an embarrassing crawl.

I am frustration personified.

Fortunately, I am also the poster child for perseverance.

Frustration versus perseverance. There is no doubt which will win (I’m a world-class scrapper, after all), but I readily admit that I’m tiring of the fight.

Oh well. At least I look rather sexy in boxing gloves.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Writer-Widget Wars

Back to the writing grindstone today.

Please pardon any extraneous words or messy plot points that might fly your way. Wearing safety glasses and a snazzy leather apron is suggested in this workshop.

Of course part of the pro-author gig nowadays is keeping up a website. Fine and dandy for the tech-savvy who know what the heck a widget is. But for the rest of us, a day of dot-com upkeep is a frightful thing that exposes all sorts of insecurities.

Well, that was yesterday and will probably be a huge chunk of today as well.

Yuck.

But with Quiver (17^th novel, baby!) being released Thursday, I’ve got to tidy up the old virtual homestead in case company comes a-calling.

Allow me to repeat: yuck.

However, I’m hoping that the call of that old grindstone will be answered sooner rather than later today. I’m all decked out in leather and goggles just for such an occasion.

Remember newbie writers… Writing nowadays is unfortunately more than telling a good story. It’s about selling that story. So keep up that storefront, no matter how yucky the job may be.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Cowering Shepherd

Imagine, if you will, a dog terrified of thunder.

(My ego suggests you picture a fierce German Shepherd, while my reality suggests a hairless Chihuahua. It is your choice, however, how you choose to picture your blogger as a canine. But, please, be kind.)

Anyhow, imagine this dog so panicked by a storm that she tries to flee the monstrous noise by running from one end of the yard to the other… constantly. Again and again and again, the Shepherd races from one fence to the other, yelping at the heavens to please “Shut up!”

No matter how long the thunder lasts, the dog runs. It is only exhaustion that brings her senseless terror to an end. She finally cowers at her water bowl, panting, but much too tired to drink.

The storm passes slowly overhead until it departs altogether. Only then does the Shepherd have the nerve to quench her painful thirst…

Got the picture? Good.

Three deaths in the small circle of people I know have rattled me these past two days.

The fear, the panic these uneasy deaths spark in me are not rational. While everyone is made uncomfortable and leery of a sudden storm, few are truly terrorized by the inevitable noise.

Panic Disorder is an embarrassing burden that often leaves my “neighbors” angry and my tongue unattractively wagging.

Pardon my fear. It will pass and your author will return to her wits momentarily.

Until tomorrow, when this blog will once again try to be helpful…

Chloe

White Flag

After sitting here, blankly staring at the empty screen for twenty-odd minutes, I’m seriously considering raising the white flag on today’s blog.

I could toss out a half-baked Author’s Tool #Whatever or throw some more piteous kindling on the Burn Pile List, but I’d rather not.

The sun is shining, the day promises a touch of warmth and all I want to do is go outside and play. This, unfortunately, is not very conducive to piecing together a meaningful daily writer’s blog.

*sighs, contemplates professional duty, and then… slaps that white flag right down on the keyboard and bolts for the door*

I’d apologize but the blue skies are calling and this little girl in her mittens and frost-kissed giggles is answering.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Keeping the Muse out of the Brambles

Alright, people, let’s do this thing!

*four-legged, furry muse rolls her eyes and rues NFL Playoff weekends*

*with a reminder to her fuzzy, low-to-the-ground mentor that it is only Friday, returns to the blog at hand…*

After stuttering a bit yesterday on my Six Brothers project (my first, massive historical mainstreamer), I’m trying to rev myself up for another day of Colonial-minding it. (Slipping into the 18^th century mindset can be a bit like struggling into wet jeans.)

I found myself tangent-ing all day Thursday. (You know, wandering off onto little storyline side-roads that are excellent for character development but crap for plot-tightness… And, yes, “plot-tightness” is a technical term.)

So, please, wish me well on keeping to the highways today. My dog would much appreciate a day out of the deep wood brambles.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Burn Pile List #3... Emotional Hoovering

Tool #3 to add to my collection of crap not useful to a writer is the curse of unintentional emotional hoovering.

No, don’t toss your Dyson out into the yard just yet.

And, please, don’t picture me with an actual vacuum cleaner attached to my head.

This emotional hoovering, like most things I talk about, is only a metaphor/allusion/a-pretend-to-understand-my-madness bit… Yes, another one of those. So sorry.

Please, let me explain before you storm toward the exits.

When big “breaking news” occurs, I have a tendency to suck up every single emotion every single person in the horrible event is feeling.

Just call me the Suckerfish of Empathy. And yes It’s as ugly as it sounds.

Even worse for my selfish little existence, however, is the way in which my hoovering of grief, fear, panic and helplessness drains the life right out of my writing (i.e. it’s hard to concentrate on fictional melodrama when real life sh*t is going on right in front of you.)

For instance, yesterday, it took nearly seven hours of on again, off again work to get 200 words written on the Six Brothers project. That’s just crap, ok?

So, to the Burn Pile List all unintentional emotional hoovering goes.

May it burn bright.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note: Yesterday I learned that my 17^th novel Quiver will be released on Thursday, January 15! A bit of good news on an otherwise bleak day.

The Toddler Progression

Prayers to France this morning.

My “travails” with my manuscript, of course, pale in light of this terror attack. But I will carry on with the rather silly details of my work simply for not knowing what else to do. Just know my heart weeps for Paris.

…

Returning to the Six Brothers’ project for the first time in a month went surprisingly well yesterday, although I did little more than throw the threatened spitballs at the Manuscript (200 words written, organization all around, and a general getting-to-know-you again meet and greet).

However, it was work.

It was progress.

And there will be more of it today. A doubling of the daily word count is on the board until I reach the 1K a day goal flashing (probably insensibly) in my head.

At this point, baby steps are applauded.

Toddler days are ahead.

So, somebody please cue up “Jake and the Neverland Pirates” and put “The WotWots” to bed.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Writer in the Weeds

Cowering amidst the weeds, here.

Um, let me explain.

After a bunch of family time in Alabama, I returned to Florida yesterday (hence the absurd lateness of my post Monday) to find my wee little garden partying with a host of uninvited weeds. (Seven inches of rain in one day will do that to even the most upstanding of flowerbeds and citrus patches.)

As for the cowering part of my opening statement, I am considering scraping my pennies together and bribing the Manuscript to write itself. The 100k mainstreamer has grown remarkably daunting in its month of merry abandonment.

Frankly, I don’t even know how to approach the thing.

The whole “charging straight ahead with a rallying roar and mighty pen poised to the heavens” would be the preferred strategy but tell that to my suddenly watery knees.

So, I face the beast today with no game-plan whatsoever.

Sorry to disappoint, but even a gal with 17 novels under her belt still has her cowering-in-the-weeds moments.

Hmm… maybe a barrage of spitballs from behind the dandelion sprouts would work?

I’ll let you know.

Until tomorrow…

Your ever-brave and competent Chloe

Abandoned No More

I am trying valiantly not to shudder in the face of tomorrow’s looming monstrosity of a task… i.e. facing the Manuscript.

As some of you are aware, I have taken an unplanned but totally unavoidable month off from my Six Brothers project. Tomorrow, I will return to the novel my agent and I are hoping will be my ticket into mainstream romance.

Despite my knowledge that taking time off from working on a story is often a good thing for my creative process, I am still scared a little dumb at stepping back into the batter’s box on Tuesday. (Um, is it baseball season yet?)

Perhaps my leeriness is being fed by the fact that I’ve set an April deadline for the book. I don’t know if this was a good or bad idea. I’m so used to working under the auspices of signed contracts that freelancing a big (100k) novel is freaking daunting.

In fact, I may throw up.

Just saying.

Until tomorrow when we will face the alluring beast together…

Chloe

The Other Side of the Pillow

Please scrape yesterday’s blog from your memories. You will find a scouring pad and a bottle of Goo-B-Gone underneath each of your seats. Applying both liberally is recommended. Thank you.

…

In the middle of writing this blog, the news that Stuart Scott of ESPN has died, losing his battle with cancer after years of valiant battle.

Always as “cool as the other side of the pillow,” Stu deserves so much more than this unimportant and oh so brief moment of blog silence. But it is all this fan has to give.

I give it to you now with gratitude and a saddened heart.

Rest well my friend… then light heaven up with your smile.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Burn Pile List Addendum

If you remember, the Burn Pile List is a collection of “tools” that have failed to make it on to my ever-growing collection of “Author’s Tools.” (Current score is Author’s Tools: 3, Burn Pile List: 1).

An addendum is required.

Ducky’s Cold Box days are crap and deserve to be tossed on the trash pile, doused with lighter fluid and set ablaze.

Explanation needed, I suppose.

Days in which life has worn you blunt, dull and colorless and the only place you really feel emotionally dressed to be is that chilled box where autopsy docs store the newly dead bodies in the morgue are dubbed Ducky’s Cold Box Days (a la the “NCIS” coroner Ducky, played superbly and wryly by David McCallum, who is forever pulling and pushing the colorless out of those crisper drawers.)

Make sense?

Probably not.

But I’m chilling out dully in the emotional morgue today so I don’t really mind.

Addendum done.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Ant & the Manuscript

No. Unfortunately, it’s not a fairy tale.

Disney won’t be setting this one to music.

The wee little ant will not be turned into a Princess arriving in your toy aisles in time for the next holiday season.

And Mr. Cumberbatch will not be voicing the tome. (Although, that is a true pity. Benedict could do simply masterful things portraying my dark, villainous mania. I mean, that voice. Whoa.… but I humbly digress.)

The rather stark facts are nothing but these…

Chloe Stowe, the author who has taken nearly 3 weeks off from writing anything but this daily blog, is the wee little ant (getting smaller by the second, I fear).

The Six Brothers project (my mainstream diving board novel-in-the-works) plays the part of the Manuscript. Duh.

The tale goes like this…

Every day, tee-tiny ant tiptoes near monstrous Manuscript, as Tuesday, January 6 has been declared the date the two “titans” will again meet.

The ant (who never, ever takes time off from book-battling) grows meeker with every tick-tock of the idling clock.

The Manuscript (as all manuscripts tend to do) bloats grotesquely in its abandonment.

Resentment threatens on all sides.

The thunderous hoof beats of panic rumble from the darkening horizon…

And the poor little ant wets her pants. (Dramatic license taken here.)

Nope. Disney won’t be touching this with a ten foot pole.

…

But all calls from Mr. Cumberbatch will be gladly taken. Duh.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe