Scrappiness

With the end of the month upon us, I proudly present to you my grab bag of blog scraps!

Try as they might, these little tidbits of posting ideas could never quite bulk up enough to become a full blog. Perhaps one or two of these might be of some use. Enjoy… or dispose of accordingly.

1.) When creating characters for a new story, I inevitably turn to contemporary actors for my male roles. They act as placeholders until my own fictional fleshing out occurs.

2.) On the other hand, when creating female characters for a new project, silent movie actresses are called upon as the seat-fillers. Delving into the reasons for this discrepancy I leave to my psychiatrist.

3.) Every query letter seems to require a different length of synopsis. Understandable, I suppose. I’m flexible. I was a gymnast. I can deal. However…

4.) Why does my 3 paragraph synopsis sound like its describing an entirely different book than my 5 paragraph synopsis? Don’t even get me started on my 1 paragraph summary versus the colossal 2 pager.  Excuse me, but… AARGH!

5.) With all this querying, crafting, researching and worrying about said-querying, etc., my brain feels like a limp lasagna noodle. Just saying.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Noteworthy?

In an effort to exploit my OCD-ness for good, here is a list of late 18^th century surnames present in the western half of Connecticut during the American Revolution…

(Yes, I’m serious. Now, stop laughing before I develop a new complex.)

So, please, allow my eccentric, psychiatrically unsound approach to research aid you in finding that elusive character name.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: Of course this list is far from complete, but it’s a nice start.

Surnames of Late 18^th Century Connecticut

Abel

Andrews

Andrus

Atherton

Ayers

Baghrah

Balhaldon

Ball

Bard

Barley

Barns

Bartlett

Beach

Beecher

Beeman

Bement

Benjamin

Benton

Bestow

Bevins

Bidwell

Bigelow

Bingham

Blish

Blodget

Boland

Bosworth

Boyd

Brett

Brewer

Brooks

Buck

Buel

Bulcroft

Bull

Camp

Carley

Carrington

Caser

Caulkins

Chalker

Chapin

Chapman

Churchill

Clark

Cleaveland

Collar

Colman

Conkling

Cooper

Couch

Covell

Cowdry

Cowles

Crocker

Culver

Dailey

Dauchy

Dean

Delano

Delin

Deling

Devaux

DeWolf

Dewsnap

Dibble

Dickens

Dote

Doty

Dutcher

Eells

Eldred

Eltruda

Emmons

Fenn

Finley

Folliot

Fox

Frink

Fuller

Garret

Gernon

Gibbs

Goodale

Goodrich

Goslee

Graham

Gray

Griswold

Groat

Hale

Hatch

Hills

Holden

Hollister

Holly

Holmes

House

How

Hubbard

Hull

Hundt

Hunter

Hurd

Hutchinson

Ingersoll

James

Jarvis

Jewell

Joslin

Juckett

Judson

Keeney

Kembel

Kidder

Kilbourn

Kimberly

Knibloe

Knickerbacker

Lambert

Landon

Latimer

Latison

Lemley

Lomes

Loomis

Loveland

Lovell

Low

Lyons

Mallory

Marryfield

Marsh

Mather

Maxim

McAllister

McArthur

Mead

Merchant

Methvan

Mills

Mitchel

Morley

Morse

Moshier

Newill

Nichols

Nodine

Northrup

Nye

Orr

Orton

Parlin

Parsons

Peck

Perry

Pew

Porter

Post

Pratt

Priest

Rawley

Reed

Reynolds

Risley

Roarback

Rockefeller

Root

Russell

Ryant

Sardam

Scott

Scoville

Sherwood

Shirtliff

Shook

Silvernail

Slover

Sparks

Sterling

Stoddard

Stratton

Strickland

Strong

Sturges

Swift

Talcott

Thorp

Ticknor

Tobey

Towsley

Treat

Truelove

Tryon

Tucker

Turner

Turrill

Twing

Vandeusen

Vosburgh

Waldron

Warner

Weir

Welden

Weldon

Welles

West

Wetherell

Whiting

Whittlesey

Wickham

Wier

Wilcox

Wilkin

Willcocks

Wire

Wolcott

Woodward

Woodworth

Wrisley

The Eager Heart

While Novel #18 sits uncomfortably in literary agent limbo, Novel #19 is thriving! Like a six week old Lab, it’s all eager, wagging butt and big, laughable feet. It’s wonderful…

Of course, my 14 year old, four-legged furry muse who has been on the job centuries and is wise to the ways of young manuscripts is not yet impressed.

“Trust not an eager tail,” my Yoda-like muse imparts. “Trust only an eager heart.”

Good advice, I’m sure, but… I’m still eating up the puppy kisses.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Smarted

One rejection down.

Ok, yes, it smarted… (It came darn close to grotesquely wounding but I shook myself out of that self-pitying wallow before allowing myself near this blog. There are standards of exaggeration by which even I abide.)

So, it indeed smarted.

But far worse has been had… (“And far worse is likely to come,” the grotesquely wounded part of me pipes in cheerily.)

*sighs*

I think I’ll leave it there where the glass of milk sits as much half-full as half-empty.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Primordial

Back to the grind today.

Query letters this morning.

Machete to backyard at noon.

Shower and wire brush to body around 2.

New novel exploits until catastrophic physical collapse and messy mental ungluing by 10.

It’s good to be home.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: Seriously, it is indeed good to be back home, but my yard didn’t need to go quite so primeval on me.

Backpedaling

Backpedaling is allowed.

It may not be encouraged.

It may even be frowned upon by certain parties in your life.

But backpedaling is most definitely allowed.

Sometimes standing still, gathering a much needed breath is simply not enough. Sometimes, a head of steam is required to travel that next mile, and if that requires you to briefly revisit already trodden trail, do it.

Do it.

Do whatever you must to ultimately gain that most treasured ground.

Until Tuesday (travel day Monday, I hope)…

Chloe

Post-note: Apply this entry however you like. Be it career or mental health or simply a trip to a new laundromat, it was just something the little nutters in my head thought needed saying.

Graveyards and Umbrellas

With the fluidity of my travel plans in evidence again, I am here, instead of not.

Hooray, I suppose. I’ll leave that determination up to you.

After a wonderfully nice birthday, I ended the evening foraging Colonial-era graveyards for names.

Creepy, I suppose. But since I was doing it online and not on foot with a flashlight and a nubby pencil, I will again leave that determination up to you.

I should be here tomorrow (Sunday), but who knows? Like Mary Poppins, I go where the wind and my umbrella take me.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Forty-Fourth

Today is my 44^th birthday!

In lieu of showering me with gifts such as…

-long book contracts (although these can be slipped under the door),

-travel vouchers (although I will be accepting these tomorrow and thereafter),

-or Publix cakes with buttercream frosting (the four-legged, furry muse will be taking care of these today),

I ask only for you to pop back in on Sunday (tomorrow being one of those dreaded travel days) when this writing blog will return to its rightful business of writing.

Have a splendid day, everyone!

Until Sunday…

Chloe

Post note: I would like to personally thank Jake Arrieta of the Chicago Cubs for tossing me a no-hitter last night! This diehard Cubs fan thanks you, kind sir.

The Diamond in My Pocket

On my first night in Milan, a mere three weeks ago, I enjoyed a perfect plate of lasagna at a charming little restaurant in the Galleria.

It was opera night.

La Scala, the opera house built by Empress Maria Theresa in 1776, was within sight’s distance. I imagine the orchestra was beginning to mull around in the pit, the overture only an hour away. The opera crowd in their finest accoutrements weaved their way through the Galleria’s crowds. I silently mingled in their midst as I worked my way back to my hotel in the shadow of the Duomo…

It is these rare, glistening moments of my life that I pull out of my pocket and stare at slack-jawed and humble when flat, colorless days such as today stretch out endlessly before my tired, wobbling mind.

Bottom line: Always keep your diamond moments within easy reach. Their worth is manifold.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe 

Missing the Mark

As my brain had reached the saturation point of synopsizing fictional lives, I took a break last night from my query lettering to fix a Mexican dinner…

Mistake.

The lesson learned? Chloe might cook Chimichangas, but Chloe does not cook Spanish Rice… or at least she shouldn’t, like ever.

Very well. Now that I’ve committed two of my blog pet peeves (addressing myself in the third person, and going all like “Valley Girl” on a poor unsuspecting follower), I will depart to join the Spanish Rice down the garbage disposal.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Hack Job

Despite battling significant rust on my query-letter-writing parts, I have somehow managed to send off my first query letter for The Hushing Days.

-Insert hearty applause here.-

Today, another query will be sent out on a hook and a synopsis-fashioned prayer. (I’m aiming for one a day for a while. Best to keep the momentum going while I’ve got a “steady” grip on my nerve.)

Side note: I have managed to hack my 1k word synopsis down to a more pleasing 500. It’s New York debut will be made today with Query #2.

Ooh, I’m so looking forward to sampling that fine, bile-laced test of rejection again. I have missed it so.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Gristle

Well, I wrote a meaty synopsis yesterday…

Let that sentence sit in your mind a moment.

Let it fester.

When one is trying to craft a 500 word synopsis for a 95k word novel, “meaty” is the last word you 

want attached to it. (At last cringing count, my summary was hovering at the 1k mark.)

So, beyond sending out my first query letter in an eternity today, I will be picking chunks of gristle and fat from a synopsis that needs to be sent out attached to another query letter tomorrow…

Pardon me. I think I just threw up in my mouth.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Impatience of Shadows

I do believe it’s been years since I’ve had to spit curses at a synopsis. I do loathe the little buggers. Finagling 300 pages of a novel into the span of two is really absurd.

Alas, it is a necessary evil… especially when career-moves shuffle impatiently in the shadows.

I will be facing the little synopsis devil this afternoon.

Wish me sanity, my friends.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Suffering a Loom

Career moves loom.

I do not enjoy suffering a loom.

Enough said, I think.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Here Be a Mountain

While I have as of yet to engage in a full body bear hug with a storyline for my 19^th novel, I have commenced in a little eager nuzzling with a certain nubile plot.

Early, early stages yet.

No talk of commitment but a second, more hands-on date awaits us this afternoon.

Will share juicy details once we reach a consensual accord…

Don’t roll your eyes at me. Some must make mountains out of mole hills to coax a smile out of a 

frustrating day. Welcome to my Kilimanjaro.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Beetle in the Well

Ok, I need a plot.

Like now.

Not just a wisp of a burgeoning idea. I need a fully kitted out storyline with location shots determined; directing choices storyboarded; characters signed, sealed and delivered; production dates, well, dated.

Like a big, ugly, leggy beetle dropped down a deep, dry well, my imagination is scrambling furiously for any kind of purchase.

I need something to grab onto.

Like a plot.

Like now.

See? My grammatical skills are rotting as you read.

AARGH!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Self-Inflicted

Itchy with doubts about the short-term fate of my just finished novel, I am in the right humor to admit to a few psychiatric bumps I stumbled upon in my recent trip abroad… (Ooh, I’ve never said I’ve traveled “abroad” before. Now, I’m feeling all tingly. *grins foolishly*)

Anyhow, on two particular meals with a group of cruise-going strangers I confess to falling flat on my awkward, anxiety-ridden, panic-blotched, stupid face.

I freaked.

I stayed, I saw the 3 and 5 course meals through, but I freaked. (I also rubbed the side of my hand raw during one of the dinners, giving myself a rather gruesome road rash to cover up the rest of the trip.)

Bottom line: Mental illness stinks… even in Venice.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe 

With Precipitous Care

Whether I liken them to the sultry strands of Saffron or a pungent pinch of Cayenne Pepper, travel stories should always, without exception, be dispensed with precipitous care. One does not want to overwhelm the palate, after all (or send writing blog followers running for the nearest exit).

So, don’t worry. I will not bombard you with holiday quips from Italy (or from JFK Customs & Passport Control). Expect only the occasional exaltations of Venetian glee. So, moving on…

Haven’t heard back from my literary agent since sending in The Hushing Days manuscript nearly 3 weeks ago. I will not panic. I will not. I will not… yes, well, you get the OCD-laced picture.

Will try to get back on the writing track today. Lots of new ideas floating about, just have to decide which to lasso and drag down into fair reach.

Now, off with you! Have a splendid day, people.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe 

Bewhittled

Your wayward blogger has returned home!

After eleven days of being here, there and everywhere (most notably: Milan, Venice and JFK Customs), I am back… but whittled down to the very marrow of my bone.

*sighs, operatically*

Hence I will make this first post short, sweet and relatively painless to us both (unlike JFK Customs… yes, there is a story there, but it is for another time and a stronger constitution.)

It is good to be back, my friends!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe