Despite efforts my muse and I would describe as Herculean, The Hushing
Days will not be done before the end of this month.
There. I said it.
Somebody write it down. Carve it in stone. Embroider it on a freaking pillow.
The book will not be done in two weeks.
Phooey, et al.
So, as always, me and mine are readjusting our expectations, shimmying
out personal deadline back a few weeks and aiming for a Hushing Days Halloween.
It’s ok. Really. We’re flexible here in the Stowe household. Been
called rather gymnastic in our contortions in our day.
Bottom line: Be fluid. Hug the wishy and the washy of the authorial
profession. It’s a rare treat in stuffy old career-land.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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