It is true. As reported last night in my potentially flammable post, I
and the four-legged, furry muse are at last home!
The Hushing Days, in all its 18th novel splendor, can
finally come out of hiding and present itself properly to me for its
much-delayed Final Edits…
If only it was that easy.
Alas, The Hushing Days is not a soldier under my command. It is under
no obligation to do anything I say (which is pretty crappy if you ask me; I am
the freaking author of it, but I digress.)
If we must keep with the military analogy, I would liken the book to a
squirrel loose in my mess tent. Actually laying hands on the little scoundrel is
battle enough, but trying to train it to sit quietly while I, editors, agents
and publishers poke and prod its ticklish roundness is another matter entirely.
So, please, wish me luck as I try to catch the spry, tempestuous
critter today. I do hope to find him before he spies the abundance of nuts in
my larder.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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