Tidbits, Truths and Lizards

With the final day of July upon us, it is time for the monthly gathering of Chloe tidbits!

Please enjoy these specks of the writerly me. They are neither contagious nor itchy.

1.) Stymied once again about chapter length, The Hushing Days and I are aiming for 4,500 words per parcel. Whether this is too long or too expected, I have no idea. But I’m tired of thinking about it, so 4,500 it is.

2.) I might, perhaps, possibly have developed a thing for Bryce Harper’s collarbones. The Washington Nationals outfielder has a habit of wearing his jersey open at the top with nothing but lovely skin beneath. Hence the collarbone thing. Surprisingly, I feel no shame in this. My motto: Enjoy the things that make you drool in this life. What’s a little spit among friends?

3.) Speaking of sexy, The Hushing Days’ MPAA rating has yet to be firmed up. Certainly it’s at least PG-13 for violence and dastardly thoughts, but whether the sexual content will stretch to an R level or not is still very much up in the air.

4.) Thanks to the ungodly steam and storm of this July, my little garden is now a little jungle. The size of the lizards has grown alarming, and I fear monkeys have moved in.

5.) I’m ready to be done with The Hushing Days.

6.) I’m scared to be done with The Hushing Days.

7.) Have I mentioned Bryce Harper’s collarbones?

*smirks*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

In Queue

Apologies for the tardiness of today’s post.

A 1 ½ hour sojourn to the auto shop to get a new tire knocked me right on my psychologically ill butt.

SPLAT!

Gathering what remains of my badly chipped psyche took a bit of work (and 2 chocolate chip cookies). But, here I am! Teetering but present.

The big news of the day is this… I FINALLY finished Chapter Four of The Hushing Days!!! It is so dolled up and decked out in literary and grammatical splendor that I could plop it down on a potential editor’s desk and walk away with a smile.

Of course, this leaves 19 more chapters to do.

19.

Awful big number…

But a number less than 20, so let’s pop the champagne, folks!

While you all enjoy a little bubbly, I’m off to start on Chapter 5. (The fact that the Prologue and Chapters 1-3 are still waiting in editing queue doesn’t bother this girl a bit. The fact that it should bother me is another matter altogether. *sighs* Somebody pass me my Prozac.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Fact Mining

I’m not one to complain.

*dog falls off the couch laughing*

Despite the antics of my four-legged, furry muse, I really don’t enjoy complaining. Pointing out the cosmic inequities of this world and how it relates directly to me is another matter. This, I believe, is called Fact Mining.

Fact Mining I enjoy.

It’s pro-active (in a sort of a “hands up, don’t shoot me” kind of a way).

It’s generally humorous (my life would be nothing without sarcasm).

And, most importantly, it forces me to find those elusive silver linings (even if I have to draw one in with a silver crayon).

So, here’s what I mined up from yesterday’s general crappiness…

1.) I had a flat tire. So, I couldn’t go to the gym. So, I had to call AAA. So, I had to deal with the very nice mechanic in my state of very embarrassing fluttery-ness. Hello, panic disorder.... (Silver lining: I had the flat tire while I was at home and didn’t have to force my fluttery-ness on anybody but the poor mechanic.)

2.) The headache I’d been babying along in the morning grew fangs and an attitude in the afternoon… (Silver lining: The migraine-wannabe stayed under the level of puking. I appreciate that.)

3.) The power went out for nearly an hour in the middle of a day with a heat index of 106 degrees… (Silver lining: It came back on before ice baths were required.)

4.) One of my favorite baseball players was traded away from my team… (Silver lining: He’s going to a contender. Unfortunately, I am not.)

And there you have it.

Fact Mining.

Care to borrow my silver crayon?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Score!

Twenty years ago today, I popped my first Prozac. And I haven’t stopped popping since.

For those of you out there who are wondering if this is a milestone to be celebrated or damned, let me assure you it is cause for confetti and sweet tears.

My life may be far from perfect, I might still struggle with my chronic panic disorder every single day, but I am so much better than I was it is truly a blessing.

So, as I drag the last scene of Chapter Four kicking and screaming and biting and spitting into Final Edits today, I am going to be smiling like a loon.

If it wasn’t for Prozac, there wouldn’t be a Chapter Four…. Or 17 published novels before… or a life in Florida under the sunshine and palm trees.

If it wasn’t for Prozac, there wouldn’t be this Chloe.

So, here’s to twenty years, ladies and gents!

And here’s to twenty more!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Jambalaya Construct

Think jambalaya.

Well, actually, think making jambalaya… (in the abstract, people; no kitchen tools or seafood will be necessary for completion of this blog - although, really, more’s the pity, right?)

Anyhow, writing an ensemble romance is a lot like cooking up a great pot of jambalaya.

You’ve got your meat.

You’ve got your seafood.

You’ve got your celery, peppers and onions.

You’ve got your rice and your stock.

You’ve got one big pot to put it all in, and you’ve got a crowd of hungry takers beating down your kitchen door to get to it.

Sure, you can just throw everything in the pot, turn the heat up to high and hope the health department doesn’t show up.

Or…

You can baby each ingredient. Enrich each of its flavors. Make it stand out on its own merits before dancing it around in the culinary crowd.

Then, and only then, can you put everything together and season it as a whole… as jambalaya.

Alright, this was admittedly a rather lame post, surely not one of my best efforts, but I brought seafood to your Monday morning. That’s got to be worth something, if only a little forgiveness.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Bribery Is Good

Barring flood, quake, pestilence or bodily strife, Chapter Four of The Hushing Days will be done tomorrow.

It will be the first chapter into the Final Edits pool, where only grammatical finagling and fact checking await.

“Final Edits will be spa-like,” I’ve assured the unwilling and hesitant Four. “You will just lie there and rest while magic fingers will dabble you with commas and semicolons. It will be utterly delightful as your overly manhandled body will be gently massaged into perfection.”

Yeah, well,  Four wasn’t buying it.

So, I sweetened the pot with the promise of tea-cakes and Mai Tai’s.  

Four is now onboard.

Remember, young writers: Don’t be afraid to bribe your story along. Whatever it takes to make it move, do. You can deal with the crumbs and Mai Tai stains later.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Unexpected Uphills

Life has thrown at me a couple of roundhouse punches this week.

While I bob and weave a bit today, please excuse the total failure of this post this morning.

Tomorrow, I hope to be a little less bleary-headed.

I will see you then, my friends.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

J'accuse!

My muse in her sharp-tongued wisdom is accusing me of dragging my heels with The Hushing Days.

She asserts that the sole reason it’s taking forever and a fortnight to shove all first draft chapters into final draft-ness is that I’m scared. Squeamish, even.

She claims that since I’ve worked so long and so hard on my premier mainstream romance that I’m leery of the results. That I’m cowering in the face of doneness. Shaking in my proverbial boots.

The inevitable fact that I’m going to have to be rejected a ton of times before some poor, desperate publishing house takes pity on the poor, desperate crazy girl and buys The Hushing Days from her for a pittance, the furry, four-legged muse charges is bringing me up short. Holding me back. Cutting me off at the knees…

Please.

As if.

Whatever.

Bring it on.

Etc.

Etc.

Etc.

Ok, I need a drink.

Somebody give the dog a treat. My freaking muse is right again. Darn it, darn it, darn it.

Alright, everybody get out of here. I’ve got work to do.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Check Your Speed

Hoorah?

Chapter Four is halfway done.

This is great and all.

Really.

I mean, I’m actually happy with the final product so far. There’s been no cringing at character motivation, no rolling my eyes at juvenile sentence structure, no head-pounding, no teeth-gnashing, no moaning, groaning or cursing.

The progress has all been rather boring, in fact. Which, don’t get me wrong, I love. Cranking out a final draft should not be like giving birth. The experience should be more like sending your kid off to college. Sentimentally biting from time to time but not physical torture requiring scalpels and a mop.

Yep. So, hoorah for me.

However…

At the current pace I’m setting, I will finish The Hushing Days sometime around my 92^nd birthday. By that point, I believe, problems of structural continuity will have taken on a whole new meaning.

*sighs*

So, please, wish me a bit of speed before I’m too old for this crap.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Tread Wisely

Writers must be careful when approaching their unedited manuscript.

They must be smart. They must be considerate of trivialities, open to differing views, confident in purpose but soft as to means.

In short, they must be everything the Europeans were not when “conquering” the Americas.

While the wild, unedited, jungle version of your novel might at first glance beg for civilizing, tread softly. There is much to be learned from worlds unhampered by our silly norms.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note / Explanation: Armed with machete, musket and grim determination, I was fully prepared to invade Chapter Four of The Hushing Days when I began to notice some truly beautiful things had grown from the under-structured mess. Sure, there was a lot of crap to hack through (crap is crap no matter the civilization), but there were also untapped themes to be learned, surprising character traits to meet and greet, and fresh loves to be found… Hence, this post and its wee-bit of quirkiness.

Prepare Yourself

May notice be taken!

Until further word, Chloe Stowe and her much-beleaguered, but still sassy, four-legged, furry muse will be neck and top-knot deep in Chapter Four of The Hushing Days.

Neither will emerge from this dense, jungle-like scene-scape until every musket has been cleaned, every petticoat has been aired, and every “Fare thee well” has been properly fared and well-and-truly welled.

Chapter Four, its author and its muse will not re-emerge beyond this daily blog until the pool of Final Edits has been reached and belly-flopped into.

Considering there are 16 more chapters to wrestle into submission after this Four has fallen, this editing war promises to be long and bloody.

Prepare yourselves.

(I’d suggest rain ponchos and goggles, myself.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Heartless Writer

It’s always encouraging on a Monday morning when your computer refuses to acknowledge that there is or ever will be anything called an “Internet.”

Big, baleful eyes with the innocence of a swaddled, newborn lamb look up at me and blink ignorantly. “But I don’t understand,” the poor PC snuffles, “Connect you to what?”

And while the pure-hearted, dreadfully misunderstood laptop offers you a tearful hug instead of a www.whatever-the-crap, you (the writer with a honking huge novel to shove over the finish line) cannot be appeased.

So, as dawn of your work-week rumbles to life, you are cast as a Trump-like bully with the compassion of a tree stump.

Oh, yeah. I’m feeling good about today.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe the Heartless

Flatline Finishes

I’m looking for something a bit anti-climactic here.

Unlike a really good novel which reaches a stunning crescendo before sweeping breathlessly to the end, I’d prefer my final days of writing The Hushing Days to be rather bland.

Boring.

A real yawner, as it were.

Just let me drag the poor weary bones of myself and my muse over the finish line and collapse on the other side of “Done.”

Drape a towel over my shoulders, shove a Gatorade into my hand and guide me to the nearest recovery tent and I’d be good.

So, please, if you have any extraneous drama buzzing about just looking for a place to, well, buzz don’t look this way.

Please.

Pretty please.

We’re looking for flat-line finishes only, here.

Oh, how wonderfully boring that would be.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Ill-Suited

A chronic panic disorder does many nasty things to a soul.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to enumerate them here. (As if any of us have time for that pity party.)

Nope. I’m just going to state one and let its fowl-ness lie there and stink.

Ready for it?

It’s the chicken suit.

The darn disorder stuffs its sufferer into one every time you hesitatingly step foot outside your front door.

It’s a big, bulky, hot, uncomfortable, itchy suit that is thankfully invisible to the rest of the world but freaking real to its bearer.

And let me tell you, it takes a lot of guts to try to make a chicken suit look good. Most of the time you fall on your feathered behind, clucking up apologies as you try to maneuver your poultry-self into a fetal ball…

But sometimes you strut.

For a fleeting moment, you are the cock of the walk.

And, man, you feel good! Nobody can pull off chicken-wear like you…

Of course, most of the time you simply just lay an egg and squawk inelegantly at the world, but I guess that’s life as a chicken.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Understudy, Please

At this point, I’d like to call on my understudy to finish things up.

Retiring to the wings while others have a go at The Hushing Days sounds like a brilliant idea to me. Relatively speaking, there’s so little left to be actually written on the thing that I really shouldn’t be bothered with such trivialities.

Me and my overtaxed muse will just sit right here and munch on some Pringles while all the loose ends are either tied up or whacked off. 

Perhaps we’ll even nod off as the dozen or so missing connecting scenes are fleshed out of thin air? After all, the flow and cohesiveness of a novel is highly overrated. Bumps and the holes in the narrative are exciting. They keep the reader awake. A nervous, uncomfortable audience is always a fine thing with a sweeping romance.

So, please, carry on with the next two weeks of work, and let me know when the royalty checks start rolling in.

…

If only.

*sighs*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Creeping Time -or- The Flush of the Butterflies

I had this whole spiel laid out. It was beautiful. Really.

There were old English gardens, creeping thyme, glass hummingbird feeders and cobblestone walkways. Ridding the pale ivory roses of aphids, trimming the boxwoods back into fanciful creatures, hanging silver wind-chimes to fragrance the wind with song, all of this was at the tip of my tongue. Alas, my charming analogy of first and second drafts being phases in tending a walled garden was not to be, however.

“Why?” the brave might ask.

My computer had to update its tedious little self.

It had to update itself a lot.

Fifty freaking minutes of updating that sucked all life out of this post’s busy little bees and fluttering butterflies.

Yep, one analogy flushed down the loo.

Feel free to extend the same courtesy to this post.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Naked Amusement

The oddest things amuse me.

While I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise to my regular readers, it is a statement of fact that needs to be tossed out there every once in a while just to keep the honesty of this blog at its most naked and raw level. (Honest remark #2: That was a crap sentence. Way too much run-on; way too little comma. Just saying.)

Anyhow, back to my amusement at the odd.

Last night, while watching the All-Star Game, I spent my very valuable writing time designing scene-breaks for The Hushing Days. (You know, the squiggly little lines or row of four asterisks publishers love to use to denote change of scene? Yeah, those.)

I repeat. Yeah, those.

Fiddling with the fonts, shuffling through the symbols, delighting in the debate of BOLD versus italics… Wow! It was such geekish fun!

Seriously.

I was seriously amused with this for over an hour.

I went to bed shortly thereafter and contemplated my existence.

Alas, no answers were forthcoming.

I think I’ll leave it there.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Issues of Tumbleweed

 

Ok, nobody be alarmed at the tumbleweeds.

Most are quite small and move with the gait of a soused tortoise. Avoiding these troublesome literary mites should be easy.

It’s the bigger clumps of dried up authorial imagination I’d worry about this morning. Large, menacing, and occasionally hairy these wads of uncreative fluff and thorn sure smart when they hit an unsuspecting shin. Best to keep your eyes peeled.

Of course, far wiser a course would be to absent yourself from today’s post altogether.

*sighs heavily*

I haven’t a fleck of insight to share with you this mid-July morn. Not so much as a kernel of a writerly tip to impart. I’m bone dry, man.

Hence the tumbleweeds.

Tomorrow will be better and wetter, I promise.

Now, pardon me while I go check on how the muse’s rain dance is going.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Narrowing the Spotlight

A long time ago, in a galaxy no larger than my couch, I tried my darnedest to write a synopsis for The Hushing Days.

Now this wasn’t going to be any old run-of-the-mill, humdrum synopsis either. Oh, no. It was going to be masterful.

I researched and studied and researched a little bit more about how to write a smashing good two page blow-by-blow of my first mainstream historic romance.

The problem emerged early on.

Every pundit, every writer, every know-it-all who had bothered to write a guide to synopsis-penning asked for a lead character.

Yeah, well, since my book is an ensemble affair with a handful of fine characters who all wanted to take the lead, I was stuck.

Eventually, after trying to stretch the one lead formula over my whole gang, I bit the bullet and chose one couple as my lead. (Yes, I know, that’s still technically two people, but I’m ornery.)

Needless to say that didn’t work either, and I ended up tossing the whole synopsis idea in favor of a detailed chapter outline to pitch to my agent.

It worked and, a year later, here we are on the homestretch.

But the funny thing is that the couple I chose (with great and tortuous thought, mind you) to take the lead are far from center stage in the soon-to-be complete The Hushing Days. They’re a good level or two above supporting, but they are hardly on the marquee.

Bottom line… Let the novel take you where it will, and when it’s all done, the story will cast its own lead.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Diagnostic Dialogue

After running a complete diagnostic on each of The Hushing Days twenty chapters, I am ready to put down the cold objectivity and reach again for the creativity!

Every scene in every chapter has been heartlessly evaluated for its completeness, its right of place and its functionality as part of the whole. Weeded out thus, each scene was then tagged with…

a.) a check mark… (“You’re good to go. On to the Final Draft for you, my friend!”)

b.) a terse but polite note to please “Fill In”… (“Well, now, aren’t you the slacker? Get your fleshless bones back in line, mister! We’ve still got some meat to put on your butt.”)

or

c.) the dreaded “Add”… (“You should be ashamed of yourself! Where the heck is your head? Where are your feet? What the crap happened to your torso? You’re so full of holes, I’m ashamed to even be in your presence.”)

Yes, now that that delightful part of the process is done, I can get to the business of fixing things.

Thank goodness.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Grunt Work Ahead

Arrogance required.

It’s a fact. An ugly one, but a fact.

Being a published writer necessitates a certain level of “I’m hot, and I know it.”

I hate that.

It’s not natural for me. While I am very confident in my abilities, while I know my creativity can kick butt, while I’m quite aware that my fondling of words can lead to orgasmic results, I despise having to say that out loud to potential publishers.

I despise it.

I loathe it.

Ok, I choke on it until projectile vomiting is involved.

But, you know what? I do it.

Why?

Because it’s what is required for the job.

Remember, fresh authors, that being a professional writer is a job. It might be an escape. It might be a good time just waiting to happen. It might be splendid fun. But, it’s also work with bosses, regulations, pay grades and annoying co-workers.

Don’t walk into the career blind. Know what to expect. Know what you’ll have to do to succeed in it. But, above all, know that you can do it… even if a little projectile vomiting is required.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Rock & Rolling

Two more days and all the chapters of The Hushing Days should be once again even with each other.

All the unwieldy boulders (First Draft chapters) will be lined up side by side only a mere six inches from that big yellow finish line (that would be Final Edits).

While none of these stone behemoths will have yet made it to the Second Draft stage (yeah, that would be three inches from that imaginary but startlingly yellow finish line… please, don’t ask how my brain works), the chapters will be so use to my manhandling them around that I’m hoping they will simply surrender themselves to my clumsy machinations and simply roll a bit.

I could handle a roll.

The muse could handle a roll.

Alas, neither one of us is expecting a roll.  

*sighs*

Will keep you updated.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Worms of Contention

Please, pardon the worms.

I opened two cans of them yesterday and their squiggly little butts are still all over the place.

Let me explain.

*”Good luck with that,” the furry, four-legged muse gripes from the right side of the keyboard. “I’ve been squashing the squishy things all night and I see no end in sight. Save yourselves.”*

Can #1… When authors sit down and take hard, objective looks at their works-in-progress sometimes a particularly vile worm of contention will raise its slimy head and proceed to cuss the writer out. It doesn’t matter if you had honestly thought that an admirable job had been done with a character or a situation. It doesn’t matter if your way is structurally and dramatically sound. The worm is out and must be dealt with before the darn thing breeds and takes over the whole of your literary landscape.

*the muse shakes her fuzzy head in disgust. ”Ok, that made no sense. I’m living it, and it made NO sense. Just move on to Can #2 before you lose all credibility, babe.”

Can #2… Trips to psychiatrists are good, helpful, even necessary for folk like me, but once you pop open the lid on the old noggin for inspection, you never can tell what will crawl out. While my appointment went very well yesterday and all parties are pleased with the progress being made, once I got back home a horde of old, little worries wiggled their way to freedom. One by one, they’re being shoved back into their hidey-holes where we can all pretend they don’t exist. Until then, however, things are a bit messy around here. Sorry about that.

Friday should be less wormy and more coherent.

*”We can only hope,” the dog rolls her bloodshot eyes. “Now, get our crazy butts out of here before they start tossing rotten tomatoes at us.”*

Will do.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Babying the Clunker

Time for maintenance on the old brain today.

Yep, psychiatrist trip.

While it’s “just” my regularly scheduled appointment, the ol’ misfiring jalopy between my ears is getting all cranky about it. 

Threatening to rid itself altogether of its wobbly, balding wheels, promising to drop its spark plugs out in a smoky heap at my feet, harbingering one-way trips to the junkyard, my brain is being a particular pain today.

So, the chances of me getting much significant work done this Wednesday is probably laughable.

But I will try.

And that’s the bottom line.

Kudos to me, right?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Reeling Motives

Not sure if this is a good or bad thing, but here it is. Feel free to stomp on with extreme prejudice or embrace with a blush…

As I continue to muddle through my First Draft of The Hushing Days, I find myself doing a lot of scene shuffling.

For example, you couldn’t have the scene of dear old Jack falling down before the scene of he and Jill going up that troublesome hill. (Unless, of course, you’re writing the story in a flashback. In that case, all rules are off, baby!)

Anyhow, my shuffling is a lot more petty than that. Mine is all about the flow.

Deciding what goes where and when is not always easy when you’re dealing with a large ensemble cast. Everybody’s got to stay fresh in the reader’s mind while not popping up too much to hog the spotlight.

How do I make these calls?

Movies.

You know the ones that have a handful of A-list actors and an equally fine fistful of Oscar-worthy supporting players? “Steel Magnolias,” “Love, Actually” and any 4 hour WWII movie from the late 1940’s jump to mind immediately.

While the literary gods might frown down on cinema leading a writer anywhere, in certain cases, I suggest it nonetheless.

--Insert “Stomping” or “Embracing” scene here—

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Move It!

After a day of recovery (i.e. not doing a darn thing), I am ready to jump back into the literary fracas!

Shoving, yanking, heaving, tugging, cajoling, pleading, bulldozing are all on the table today as I try to flip “The Hushing Days’” First Draft into a Second Draft and ultimately into Final Edits.

As I’ve stated before, I’m viewing each of the 20 chapters as huge boulders that need to be “maneuvered” somehow across that Final Edits finish line a mere one foot away.

So far, Chapters Six, Eight and Seventeen have been shoved, yanked, heaved, tugged, cajoled, pled with and bulldozed several inches closer to that end line.

I’d like to get two more chapters moving today.

My muse, however, is shoving, yanking, heaving, tugging and pleading for another day of recovery (i.e. not doing a darn thing).

We’ll see who wins but I’m laying bets on the party without four furry feet.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note: If the dog figures out how to use a bulldozer, I’m out of here. Just saying.

A Bloody Victory

Pardon the bloodied knuckles.

And the dislocated shoulder.

Pay no attention whatsoever to the constant whine in my voice or the concussed stare in my eyes.

Ignore the boneless heap of exhausted snores that is my muse.

Concentrate only on these words…

Yesterday, in a testament to my wiry grit, Chapters 6, 8 and 17 of The Hushing Days were all shoved considerably closer to the Final Edits line!

Indeed, the Game of Rocks I described in yesterday’s blog is on.

And if you ignore the knuckles, the shoulder, the voice, the concussion and the remains of my muse, it could possibly be said (if you close your eyes and wish really, really hard) that I am winning!

Yippee.

Really.

You all go ahead and celebrate that. I’ve got a busted lip that needs stitches.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Game of Rocks

Twenty boulders of various tonnage sit side by side one foot from a bright yellow finish line.

The objective is to somehow finagle each rock across the line before August 1.

All manner of implements of assistance are allowed, save for dynamite. The stones are as small as they’re going to get. Deal with it.

This is a one-player game. No mercenary clans, slave armies or Middle-Earth Orcs may aid you. You, my friends, are alone.

*a furry paw slaps the keyboard in heated protest*

Ok, correction, you and your four-legged, furry muse are alone to face this task.

What are you going to do?

I repeat:  WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!

Yeah, well, this is the problem I’ve found myself in with The Hushing Days. I’ve got 20 chapters in various stages of being done. The bright yellow line is Final Edits. I need to get all chapters across that line before August 1 (self-imposed deadline, by the way; I work better under a time crunch).

So far my strategy of simply “putting my back into it” isn’t working.

It’s time to get creative!

Yeah, um, I’ll let you know how that goes.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Emptying Out the Old Pockets

As the Fourth of July holiday is upon us, it is time to empty your good blogger’s pockets and see what posting tidbits are lying about with the pennies and the lint.

Enjoy!

1.) Now that The Hushing Days is sitting in a big pile of unruly papers on my table, I’m finding it harder and harder to work. Apparently, my chronic panic disorder does not take kindly to the physicality of sheets with words. When the nerves hit, my meds kick in and flood my brain. Sleep follows soon thereafter, after which I awake ready to tackle the towering pile of paper and… *sighs*… It’s a vicious cycle that nobody bothered to put on a warning label.

2.) The “Chloe Does the Gym” experiment is going spectacularly well. Five days a week for the last three weeks, I’ve gone and worked out for over an hour. I’ve cardio-ed myself into fine, fighting form and my muscles have gotten very cheery. I’m sure I look very svelte sleeping off the Prozac on my couch.

3.) I don’t particularly enjoy the Fourth of July. It’s loud, startling and people insist on barbecuing everything. Give me a microwave, a hot dog and 36 seconds and this girl is happy, no grill required.

4.) After only three posting tidbits, I’ve grown pocket-weary. Perhaps a nap is in order?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Tenacity

In an act of pure irrationality, my work on the second draft of The Hushing Days has begun with Chapter Seventeen.

???

Yeah, a real head-scratcher, that one.

Maybe it’s because Seventeen is a Brone-heavy chapter? And since I’ve been sweating over the guy for the last few weeks, it’s only natural to first dive into familiar waters. (Catch the mixed metaphor there? I’m feeling naughty this morning.)

Or…

Maybe it’s because the one left-to-do scene in the entire novel sits in the middle of Seventeen? And since I’m a tenacious little kook with yappy dog-like tendencies I’m not letting go of my rawhide bone until I’ve digested the WHOLE thing.

Or…

Maybe it’s because I’ve always had a “thing” for the number “17”? It’s as good a reason as any, I suppose.

Who knows?

Bottom line: Go with what works for you no matter why it works for you.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Strike a Match

Now that the first draft of The Hushing Days is staring up at me from a ream of paper, what’s the next step?

“Put a match to it and we’ll toast s’mores!” my always helpful four-legged, furry muse quips from my side. (Her addiction to anything even smelling of chocolate is quite absurd, and needs Dr. Phil’s attention ASAP.)

Don’t worry. Nothing is being put to flames just yet. (And my dog is getting zero chocolate. Ever.) I have other plans for the draft.

I’m doing a hard read-through of each chapter, noting which scenes are completely done (i.e. connector sentences are up; grammar is A-OK; sense, style and romantic feels are present and accounted for.)

Then, I’m noting which scenes have all their skeletal bones in place but are just needing a little fleshing out (i.e. dialogue with no “he said/she said”s; descriptive bits without human frankness; etc.)

Finally, I’m then jotting down scenes I’d like to see fill out that chapter to its fullest. These are mostly tiny encounters between characters that help the flow and the overall shape of the chapter. (I always consider each chapter a work all unto itself.)

When this is done, I will either a.) rev up the writing engines once again and get very busy, or b.) bib the dog and get ready for s’mores.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note: After HUGE thunderstorms rocked Tallahassee yesterday and left me without power for 6 ½ hours, the bonfire plan was seriously considered.