Spent

The Hushing Days has finally claimed paper, a riotous amount of ink and paperclips aplenty.

The whole of the novel lies across my kitchen table in an inelegant sprawl reminiscent of a long-legged teenager just in from finals.

Held together with the aforementioned clips, the bulk of the manuscript rests in quite readable font on crisp and new paper.

The last three chapters, however, lie crammed in miniscule script on the back of earlier chapters, as my paper supply ran dry. Chapters 17, 18 and 19, therefore, will require a magnifying glass and possibly tweezers to edit. Well done, me.

Besides that tee-tiny glitch, the printing out of the first draft went remarkably well. Relieved to the point of shock, I followed my book’s lead and committed an inelegant sprawl myself across the couch.

Hard copy days are, well, hard… at least for someone with the mental stability of a spent dandelion in the wind.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Battling the Undertones

There’s some leeriness going on. Some precognition b.s. spoiling a perfectly good Monday morning.

Normally, I would just pop my meds and wait for the mellow to hit, but since it’s not my brain stinking up the joint with doomsday-ness I’m at a bit of a loss.

No, I can’t even blame the four-legged, furry muse for this one. She’s tucked and stuffed and snoring at my side. No ill inklings coming from that quarter.

So, where, oh where are the fateful undertones coming from?

Um, well, that would be my printer.

See, my printer is neglected. Terribly. I’m literally going to have to Swiffer it off before I turn it on. So, I suppose, a little nerves at the prospect of printing out the entire first draft of a honking-huge novel is reasonable, but…

I could really use some team spirit from the office supplies, ok?

Yes, yes, I know that paper jams and ink shortages are on the horizon, but there is no need for apocalyptic thoughts.

Really.

I promise on those four horsemen coming over the hill.

Great. Now, I’ve caught the leeries.

Run.

Save yourselves.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Hard Copy Masochist

It’s hard copy time!

With only one more Brone-Reimagined scene to sweet talk out of the old imagination, tomorrow I will be ready to send the whole of The Hushing Days to the printer.

It will be the first time the novel will feel paper beneath its words.

The first time it will luxuriate in ink upon its plot.

The first time it will feel the dreaded Red Sharpie of Rebuke across its back.

Trust me, it’s going to be a long, hard process.

There’s still a heck of a lot of writing to be done, a lot of writing to be tweaked or tossed outright.

Glaring holes in storyline and character will be tripped upon, breaking ankles and spirit.

It will no doubt be a day of slack-jawed horror for all involved…

But, man, I’m looking forward to it!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe the Happy Masochist

Sated

It was late in the day, and I was feeling like a big, authorial zero.

Although I had gotten 200 words written in prose I was reasonably happy with, the other 600 lay in front of me like fresh roadkill, i.e. best to look away before bloating and projectile vomiting occur.

So, feeling like a failure, down in the proverbial dumps, I forced myself to write at least one more strong, literarily sound sentence…

50 minutes later, my 600 words were staring smugly at me on my computer screen all fierce and cocky with their bad selves, and I was staring right back at them with a big, “Look what I just did!” grin.

Writing happens like that sometimes. A “Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am!” moment from the writing gods.

Treasure these quickies, my friends.

Luxuriate in the afterglow.

They are, alas, few and far between.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Plan Coming Together

Now that I’ve been re-couched (in a hot, little, red number, no less), I am ready to resume the “Full speed ahead!” pace on The Hushing Days.

With only 5 more full writing days left before my self-imposed deadline on July 1^st, I have a lot of work to do.

But, fear not, I also have a plan!

The Brone situation has just about cleared itself up. (The troublesome major character has been shifted into soft side-lighting, leaving his supposed honey center stage.) I should only have another two days of writing to get that plot nicely fleshed out and ready for edits.

Speaking of edits, here comes the plan… After all Brone issues are tidied up, the first printing out of the entire manuscript will occur!

Once I have the entire book laid out in front of me, a critical eye will be raked across its body. Notes of blemishes, inefficiencies, over-efficiencies, and completely absent parts will be made, studied, hyperventilated over and then dealt with using an abundance of speed, tact and TUMS.

How long this process will take is anybody’s guess. Fingers are crossed for two weeks, but reality is planning for four.

*feels a cold sweat coming on*

I think I’ll get a head start on those TUMS right now.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe  

Acknowledge the Cocoon

An author is loathe to allow changes to her fragile writing cocoon.

Once she is ‘in the groove’, as they say, disturbances to her immediate environs is dangerous not only to her project but to the disturber as well.

For example…

Yesterday, two men came and took my couch. (The fact that they worked for a charity, and the fact that I am receiving a brand new, better couch today is not the point, ok?)

While I have many other places in which to settle my writer’s derriere, my creative spirit wanted only the couch yesterday.  Chairs, beds, floor, and one really frightening moment at a desk, were all tried and dismissed with a disgusted huff. (FYI: My four-legged, furry muse jumped on the “This is crap” bandwagon too. I can always count on my dog to help things along.)

So, I got no writing done yesterday.

Nada.

Instead, I fussed and fumed and spoiled-bratted myself into quite a tizzy.

Bottom line: Acknowledge the sanctity of your cocoon and bow to it… i.e., always have a spare couch handy.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Keep That Jack in the Box

I’ve had to temper myself of late.

Tamp down on that “I could be a great mystery writer!” delusion of mine.

Put a cork in my desire to put a Miss Marple or a Sherlock Holmes in my every story.

While I’ve been rearranging Brone’s place in The Hushing Days, I’ve found myself upping his significant other into Poirot status.

Not good.

You can’t overwork a romantic lead. Fine tuning them to the point of blinding brilliance is bad form. The reader will not only scoff, the reader will put the book down.

Very not good.

So, put any Doyle-ish aspirations aside when sculpting an ensemble romance. There will be time to shatter that delusion later.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Question of Jiggle

For a book which is so agonizingly close to being done, there is a heck of a lot of fluidity still left in my old gal.

Whether this manipulability practically throbbing from The Hushing Days is good or very, very bad, I have no idea. My four-legged, furry muse is virtually mum on the subject, only giving me an enigmatic little smile whenever I beg her for answers. “Oh, you’ll see, young one,” her eyes gleam in a very Yoda-like way, “You’ll see.”

Excuse me, but I’d prefer just to be told.

Or a little written reassurance would do.

Would a thumbs up or thumbs down from the muse in charge be too much to ask for?... Apparently the answer to that is “Uh, yeah,” since my muse/dog has no thumbs.

*sighs*

Fine. Me and my waterbed-ish novel will go off and slosh now.

Anybody have some Dramamine?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Soaring on Simplicity

With the re-imagining of Brone and the addition of the historically inaccurate Pettypool, The Hushing Days has taken on a simplicity that is both kind to the writer and refreshing to the reader.

Yes, I feel my confidence soaring. (Admittedly, it’s more like a single engine prop plane put-putting across the sky than a Boeing jetliner, but I’ll take my soaring however I can get it.)

With only 9 days left to reach my self-sanctioned deadline, I know I’ll make the word count. That has been my chief goal, and I am absolutely giddy at the prospect.

Loose ends, connecting paragraphs, last minute fluffing and unfluffing is incredibly easier when you’re not checking out the word count every other sentence. (Been there. Done that. Hate it.)

So, excuse me while I enjoy a little literary high-flying.

It certainly is pretty up here.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Drowning in Cement

Hang with me on this one, guys. It will only take a second…

Lahar: a volcanic mudflow or debris field with the density of wet concrete. It can be of such width and depth that it creates its own path, defying prediction. As long as it is moving, the lahar is fluid. When it stops, it quickly becomes solid.

Found this word last night as I was trying my very best to keep my troublesome little, panic-pocked mind out of the weeds… in other words, it was a bad mental health eve. 

Anyhow, I thought it described perfectly my chronic Panic Disorder.

Tomorrow, this blog will be back to The Hushing Days frenzy, but today a nod to my true everyday battle needed to be made.

Thanks for your patience.

Have a blessed Sunday, everyone.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Novel Liberation

If there had been any doubt left about my normalcy as a writer, all lingering “hmm, maybe?”s were put to a rest yesterday.

As you are well aware, I am busy finishing my first mainstream, historic romance novel... Big deal for me. Huge.

So, I’ve been very careful about the historical accuracy of the Revolutionary War-era drama… Hedging all bets here. Don’t want to be called out on the carpet for a petticoat issue.

So, as would be expected, I have been especially careful about the real historical figures who flavor the novel. There are only two. Neither well-known, but both are legitimate, honest to Pete, factual characters…

Or at least they were.

Yeah, well, yesterday I finally got up the nerve to kick their historicity to the curb and make them my own!

Their names were changed to ones of my liking. (Who could resist plopping a Colonel Pettypool into a tale? I mean, really.)

Their ranks, their personal backgrounds and their looks were also tweaked just enough to fit their fine butts into my story with the rest of my characters.

It was so freeing!

So liberating!

I burned that bra and jiggled, baby!...

(Just kidding. No undergarments were set on fire. There was no jiggling. And I’m quite aware that it’s not the 1970’s, thank you.)

Anyhow, the fact that it took me nearly a whole calendar year to have the guts to fictionalize a couple of way dead dudes is way beyond normal.

Just saying.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Muddied Up

Clerical matters with The Hushing Days were undertaken yesterday. Yes, a bore, but also an essential.

Chapters 11, 12 and 15 were plucked from the manuscript on Scrivener and overhauled on Word.

For some reason, this change of venue always helps me fiddle with the placement, flow and overall appearance of scenes. 

I somehow doubt that this will work for most other writers (crystal clear sanity is surprisingly prevalent in mostromance authors), but I suspect there are a few of the muddied-up sane who might find this tip helpful.

Consider this a “For What It’s Worth” and dispose of it appropriately.  

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Puppeteer's Jinx

Perhaps… just maybe… I might have finally gotten a hold on Brone.

*quickly crosses fingers in hopes that I’ve not just jinxed it*

Brone, the one character of The Hushing Days who I’ve just not been able to get a grasp on, was tackled yesterday, wrestled down to the ground, and unceremoniously strung up with my puppeteer strings.

Finally.

Whew!

Have no doubt that an author is simply a master puppeteer. You’ve got to have your hooks well sunk in every extremity of your characters to give the audience a truly virtuoso performance.

One loose leg, one floppy arm and the whole puppet show goes to pot.

Seriously.

Been there, done that.

But not this time, baby! The unruly Brone has been well and truly hooked (maybe, perhaps, hopefully) and the final curtain on the novel can now be readied!...

As long as I haven’t just jinxed it.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Kissing the Brick

I ran into a brick wall yesterday with my writing.

SPLAT!

Bloody ideas everywhere but not a word on paper.

This was the first time since I started the June push to finish The Hushing Days that I’ve failed to reach my targeted word count. I’m pretty bummed out about this actually. However, at least I know where to place blame.

For the second day in a row, I worked out at the gym. And while I’m having a ridiculously giddy time of it (the gym, after all, is nothing but a playground with equipment way cooler than the monkey bars), I’m realizing that I’m going to have to adjust my writing schedule around the daily, early afternoon forays.

I’m emotionally wiped when I get back from the gym (fending off panic at every turn takes a lot out of a girl). Thus, I am in no condition to string two words together afterward. I’m lucky I can find my way home, actually.

So, major restructuring of my work day is in order.

There are no words to describe my enthusiasm at this prospect. (Ok, maybe a few, but my mother reads this, so, no.)

Off to reshuffle now, while keeping a weather eye out for brick walls.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

When the Earth Moves

The lingering Brone issue still lingers.

While I’m well over halfway done maneuvering the behemoth of The Hushing Days story around the one brother I simply don’t like, I’ve still got some heavy lifting to do in the next two weeks.

When every plot point is so interconnected, moving one piece moves them all.

Literary Plate Tectonics?

Perhaps.

Hmm. I feel a doctoral thesis coming on.

*slaps inner geek silly and moves on with my day*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note… In a triumph of spirit over mind, I not only went to the gym yesterday, I actually went in and worked out! Bravo, me!

Counting Chicks

Wisdom dictates: “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

Sound advice.

However, when the halfway point of a final writing push is reached, I think it’s ok to do a little head counting.

So without further ado, here is The Hushing Days Chick Report as of June 15…

12,000 words written this month!

12,000 more words to go!

I’d like to thank my four-legged, furry muse for not flying the coop. It’s been a hard time in the old hen house this month, but she’s kept us all in relative order.

I’d also like to thank all of you who have put up with not only my baseline foolishness but all the extra hiccups of crazy this month has produced. Well done, you!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Haywire

Delayed reaction to my show of guts on Friday is occurring.

Apparently, posterchilds for severe panic disorders are not supposed to spit in the eyes of Fate by joining a gym without repercussions. *sighs*

Last night, my dear brain went a little haywire. There were no sparks involved. Nothing between the ears began to smoke or burn. No emergency protocols were put into place, but...

Crap, it was unpleasant.

Not about to let a little brain revolt knock me down for the count, however.

Today, The Hushing Days will continue to roar to its planned completion at month’s end.

Today, I will grocery store myself with aplomb and only occasional tremors.

And tomorrow, I will march into that gym and show the world what a freaking posterchild can do.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Who?

Joined a gym yesterday… (Psychiatrist wants me socializing more; beat back my hermit tendencies a bit.)

Shook like Krakatoa the entire time…. (Honestly. My signature on the contract is mostly likely unreadable. Seeing as how I was just on the good side of sheer, irrational panic, I really didn’t give it much thought at the time. When my name comes up on my membership card as Kiki Floats at least I’ll know what happened.)

Grinned the entire ride back home, throwing a fist pump in the air only at traffic lights.

Walked into the door of my house, twirled my dog/muse around a couple hundred times, then cleaned up her puke… (NOTE TO SELF: teenage dogs don’t appreciate “twirls” numbering more than two under any circumstances.)

Went to bed last night so freaking proud of my Panic Disorder-self that I nearly cried.

Until tomorrow…

Kiki

This Is Not Your Novel

Thankfully, a novel is forgiving.

It is not art etched out of stone.

It is not sculpted out of marble.

It is not whittled down.

A novel is built up.

Whole chunks of the storyline may be disposed of at the beginning of the process, only to be reapplied in different shape at the end.  

If a particular part of the piece is seeming a bit heavy and overdone, its weight is “easily” redistributed. (“Easily” is a matter of perspective, of course. Do not get me wrong. This is still hard work.)

When one character (Brone) is underperforming, deflation of their performance is possible, if tricky. (Brone in The Hushing Days is leaking like a slashed tire, at this point. It’s messy and a tad violent, but, man, does it feel good!)

Bottom line: Remember your novel is pliable. Don’t be afraid to work it hard.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Intrepid, Are We!

“Intrepid, arctic explorers, are we!” I stated this to the muse last night after a tedious but successful day of finishing up The Hushing Days. (The History Channel had been left on, and there had been documentaries. Enough said on that.)

My furry, four-legged highness, however, didn’t appreciate the comparison. Particularly troublesome to her was the fact that in all those early 20^th century treks of infamy, the dog is eaten first when the food runs out.

I winced, then quickly assured her that her 15 pounds of fur and attitude wouldn’t be worth the bother. I may have used the word “stroppy” to describe her would-be meat.

She appreciated this even less and retaliated by refusing to come to bed with me last night, clearly showing me what “stroppy” can really do.

I mention this debacle to relate just one of the interesting hiccups a writer faces when mad and accompanied by dog.

Take it for what it’s worth… or, better yet, flush it with malice and forethought.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Blasting Zone

Despite the thunderstorm that rocked my house this morning and quite unkindly stole my electricity for several hours, I am determined to have another good Brone Management day.

Brone, the troublesomely blah brother of The Hushing Days’ six, is slowly but surely being maneuvered out of the spotlight and being reimagined as a supporting player.

Surprisingly, the storyline shuffling has been remarkably easy so far. Working with an outline as detailed as mine was, I am shocked some messy demolition hasn’t been required…

Yet.

The muse still has the dynamite at the ready.

Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that no fuse will be lit.

Erring on the side of caution, however, hard hats will be required in the blog auditorium staring tomorrow.

*smirks*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Curse of Apathy

Sometimes a character just doesn’t grow on an author. There’s no active dislike, mind you. Only apathy.

Apathy is a terrible, terrible thing for a writer.

*”Why?” a chorus of visiting five year olds screech from the back of the blogging auditorium… Excuse me, but what happened to field trips to fire stations and zoos, for goodness sake?*

To answer your question, it’s because apathy in the writer leads to apathy in the reader.

If an author doesn’t care a wit for a guy, how is the audience supposed to scrounge up any feelings for him either. Caring whether a character lives or dies, suffers or prospers, disappears from the page or owns it entirely is key to a successful story. It just is.

So, Brone’s continued blahness in The Hushing Days must be addressed. Relegating him to background fodder is impossible at this point, but readjusting the story’s focus just a bit is doable.

Accordingly, that is what I’m doing… Although, honestly, I’d rather slip out with the five year olds and head to the monkey house.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

SMACK!

Every once in a long, long while, Brilliance sneaks up from behind and smacks the writer soundly on the head.

There is rarely ever any rhyme or reason to its timing. Never a warning. Never a polite calling card admonishing one to “Keep a pencil at the ready. You’re going to want to write this down.”

Nope, none of that.

Just SMACK! and Brilliance is there… and sadly just as quickly gone, as well.

Yesterday, out of nowhere, I got smacked good and hard.

It was, well, brilliant!

The final scene of The Hushing Days has now been written, and, pardon me, if I say… it’s really, really good.

Oh, I’ve still got thousands of words to go before month’s end to finish the novel, but that last scene is in the can!

It is fini!

It is done and gone and beaming in my rearview mirror…

*the four-legged, furry muse interrupts to inquire, “If it’s ‘gone,’ how can you possibly know it’s ‘beaming’?*

*sighs*

But, alas, the Brilliance fades and leaves behind nothing more than half-baked metaphors and smart aleck dogs.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Roundup!

Roundup time!

*four-legged, furry muse looks at me and emotes quite clearly, “Put a cowboy hat on me, and I’ll gnaw off your toes.”*

Let’s bypass all the old western allusions, shall we? Yes, I think that would be best.

So, here’s a collection of tidbits that didn’t make this week’s blogs. Enjoy!

1.) I’ve met my word quota every day this week! With only 23 days left to finish up The Hushing Days, I am surprisingly right on track to do just that. Jaw-dropper, ain’t it?

2.) I’m feeling kind of sad all the research on the book is really, really done. I think my geek is showing.

3.) My new, big, red chair in my study is working out splendidly. Curled up in that cushioned behemoth of luxury, my writing mind soars! Seriously, I’ve been getting double the word output per hour this week. Why, oh why, didn’t I do this sooner?

4.) The muse also loves the chair. The aircraft carrier-sized ottoman is hers alone. A blanket and one of her afghans have already made it up on to the S.S. Hassock. I’m expecting a pillow to show up by mid-week.

5.) I was NOT going to put a cowboy hat on the dog… I was thinking more in the line of spurs.

Have a great Sunday, everybody!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Clueless

Could someone, please, direct me to Missing Persons? Or a Fading Persons Department, if you’ve got it?

In fact, a Columbo-like detective would be most appreciated.

I have all the details right here.

Name: Brone

Occupation: Would-be romantic lead in The Hushing Days

Last Seen: Well, it gets a little sketchy here. I’ve never really honed in on the man completely. Never managed to sink my literary teeth into him, you understand. The man’s more an idea than an actuality. Will that be a problem?

Friends, Family, Close Associates: He’s got five brothers. Yes, all of them are “real.” He supposedly has a romantic interest waiting for him, but she’s as clueless about the bloke as I am. Pity, really. They would have made a fantastic couple on paper.

Enemies: If we’re being completely honest, I guess you’d have to put my name at the top of the list. I don’t actively dislike the man, mind you. I’ve simply had no trouble ignoring him until recently. Well, this last week to be exact.

Abnormal Recent Events: Ok, you’re going to make me say it. Fine. This past Monday I actually sat down to write him. I think that unexpected attention might have startled him a little out of existence.

Emergency Contact: That would be me again, I suppose. I wouldn’t bother his would-be missus. She’s currently making sheep eyes at one of his brothers. A little sordid, I agree. But this is the world of Romance, so what could you honestly expect?

Please, let me know if you sight the poor lad. He’ll always have a place in The Hushing Days, even if his dancing partner is no longer guaranteed.

Thank you.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Pedal to the Metal

Reached a bit of a milestone yesterday.

Thought about throwing a party, inviting a few of the local cats over to give my four-legged muse a thrill, but decided against it. With so much work left to be done on The Hushing Days in this final month of its “production,” celebrating passing a checkpoint really sounded absurd. (Besides the cats were being ornery and demanding fresh squirrel meat as party favors. How gauche.)

So, instead I would like to simply announce the following… The Hushing Days has officially become my longest work ever!

I blew by my previous record with a grin upon my face, my dog’s head out the window and my foot firmly down on the pedal. It was fantastic!

Now, with a grateful nod and a decided lack of squirrel parts littering things up, I hereby bring this celebration to an end.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Good, the Bad and the Pucker

Bloodied and battered, as it were, by a nightmare apparently hopped up on PED’s and Jack Daniels, I am in no condition to write anything coherently. (Four minutes to get that sentence out, for example.)

However, not in the mood to give up entirely on today’s blog, I will continue in the manner of bulleted prose. (Is there even such a thing? I doubt it.)

Enjoy! Or at least muddle through.

- Sex has come to The Hushing Days! Yesterday, I set to flame the lovers I’ve been babying on the stove all these long months. This is good.

- Sex in Revolutionary America is a little unwieldy coming off the contemporary romance writer’s tongue. My efforts were clumsy, juvenile and singed nothing but a few eyebrows. This is bad.

- Sex will again be tried in its fictional form today. Hopefully, all the little girl bits and boy bits will play nicely today. If not things will once again turn hilariously ugly. Really. I could write a book on bad sex… Oops, I think I just did. *smirks*

Well, it is clear now that bulleted prose does nothing to hide the utter ineptness of my brain today. Pardon me while I retreat.

Have a better day than me, folks, and watch those eyebrows.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Flashback Fallout -or- The Stupidity of Jack

Question for you… Are writing flashback scenes cheating?

I have a sinking suspicion that they are.

Having just written the lone flashback in The Hushing Days (freshly flowered with historical tidbits, trivia and scholarly knick-knacks), I’m wondering if I could have done more with it?

Make no mistake. I very much liked what I wrote and how I wrote it. In fact, a “Cheers, Chloe!” might have been said in the mirror after the whole birthing of the thing.

But…

The missed opportunities inherent in flashbacks are troubling me.

By having a character recounting an event instead of simply remembering it, a whole layer of subtext is added to the scene. For example…

A flashback: Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.

A recounting: “Stupid Jack dragged me up the hill, all because he wanted an equally stupid pail of water. He then, of course, fell down the stupid hill and stupid me fell on my ass after.”

See what I mean?

Color is lost for the good of clean lines of fact.

Although I know necessity dictates the use of flashbacks in certain novel situations, I still find myself mourning the lost stupids.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Tipping

After flicking snails off the backdoor when the muse (four-legged, furry variety) had to go outside at 4:31am and nibble grass-tips, the morning has lost a bit of its “Go get ‘em!” luster.

*sighs heavily, as even 4 hours later, Bermuda grass is still being picked out of the dog’s teeth*

What this “I want to upchuck! I want to puke!” attitude from my muse says about the upcoming day of writing, I frankly shudder to contemplate. So, we’ll ignore it and carry on with this really fine, fine day.

Yesterday, to the surprise of one and all, I got a ton of good writing done. Having not really written in weeks (unplanned familial sabbatical, remember), I was shocked I could still put two words together and come up with fiction.

Monday’s word count: 1,185!

I also managed to do some maintenance work on the chloestowe.com website. In an act of supreme laziness, I have simply linked the blog on my author’s site to my Wordpress account. I should have done this months ago, but the wheels of progress churn slow in this old noggin.

So, it’s off to Day 2 of The Hushing Days “Homestretch.”

Cue the puking muse!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Don't Look Down

I’d say, “And so the madness begins!” but let’s get real. Madness sticks with me like gum on a shoe, so really what would be the point?

Anyhow, the particular insanity I speak of today is, of course, the homestretch of The Hushing Days.

Thirty days.

25k words.

The big “The End” waiting for me at, well, the end.

Before the calendar strikes July, my long awaited, head-first dive into the mainstream pool will be ready for swimming cap and goggles (i.e. final edits)... and yes, that “Hallelujah!” you just heard would be from my agent.

So without further chit-chat, my muse, my gummy shoes and I will start our climb up to that final diving platform. Twenty-five thousand steps to go, people.

Nobody look down.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe