The Leftovers

The end of the month is nearly upon us and so it is time to gather leftover thoughts and present them to you in a tidy list. Dispose of them as you wish.

1.) A short story idea has recently arrived on my doorstep. I have yet to decide if I’ll let it in.

2.) The current state of my mind resembles a piece of cheap card stock run through a paper shredder and glued back together again by a thumbsy kindergartener… i.e. impassioned but sloppy.

3.) Travel day on Sunday, so you’ll have to muddle through without me until Monday. Expect sporadic posting times next week… i.e. daily but sloppy.

4.) Two crape myrtles have joined my garden menagerie. They are the Frances Twins. Join me in 

welcoming them to the madness.

5.) The four-legged, furry muse is currently suffering through very fuzzy feet. With the dog days of August near, this will simply not do. The groomer calls. Furry toes will answer.

6.) Of course I’ll let the stray short story in. Who the heck was I kidding?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Limp Thought

I fear there’s very little a limp noodle can create that would stand up to a squint or a canted head. Therefore, with my brain exhibiting a certain “damp rigatoni” air this morning, I will bow out of this post before I embarrass myself beyond redemption.  

I do apologize. Tomorrow, my mind should have recovered enough from my psychiatrist’s poking and prodding to string together a reasonable thought.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-Note: Apparently, my wordiness filter was particularly damaged in Wednesday’s appointment. So sorry. 

Quality of Life

As so often happens in life, it’s an either/or situation. There is no in between. My choices?

A.) Stick with the current meds that have been beating down my panic disorder for the last 10 years and just accept that occasionally I end up hiding behind furniture when there’s an unexpected knock at the door… accept beating the occasional frustration bruise into my body while hiding behind that blasted furniture,… and accept worrying myself raw before, between, and after such belittling, horrifically embarrassing incidents.

B.) Add meds to the regime that would probably deal with the furniture follies but would most definitely change/dull/blunt/mask/shroud my personality into something unrecognizably fuzzy and ill-defined.

Bottom line? It’s a quality of life decision.

I’m going with Option A.

I will not lose me to the panic.

So, world, this is as good as I’m getting. Deal with it.

*smirks defiantly from behind the chair*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Defining Burn

Like a lit cigarette ground into the carpet with a steel-toed boot, the stain of my panic disorder remains and must be dealt with.  So, off to the psychiatrist I go for my quarterly wire-brush scrubbing.

While it is hardly as demeaning or as painful as that, on the dreaded “day of” everything is a thousand times worse.

*sighs*

I tire of this burn, yet am still defined by it.  

Sometimes that just sucks.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Irony of Choice

Authors get to a certain point in their careers where they employ different styles of writing for different projects. (At least I’ve reached that point, and since I am the quintessential poster girl for “normal” we’ll go with this generalization as gospel truth, alright? )

Anyhow this point is not without its drawbacks. (Especially for the “normal” girl with OCD tendencies and anxiety issues up her wazoo.)

Imagine you have a job interview that is all about how you present yourself, including how you arrive at said-interview. If you’ve only got one car in your driveway, you hop in that serviceable Honda Civic without a second thought and tootle along.

But if you’ve got a BMW convertible, a Lexus SUV, and an extended cab Ford pick-up in your garage to choose from, well, some serious contemplating is called for. (Monstrous pitfall for OCD’ed, anxious chicks.)

Bottom line:… Hmm, there is no bottom line. Just reality here. With every good comes its share of bad, I suppose. (Take this pretty but pointless post for example. *smiles apologetically*)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe 

Flawed?

No matter how dark the heart, a glimmer of hope must remain… or some other such rot.

However you want to put it, this, I fear, is a fatal flaw in my writing. While I can create incredibly vile villains with intentions wholly wicked and methods incredibly obscene, I inevitably hide a kernel of, well, good somewhere in their withered-up, craggy-edged souls.

Just as a very young Van Gogh once lamented to his brother Theo that he feared he could never draw just landscapes because his brush would always find something figural in the scene, I cannot write a night without the promise of a day.

Pity.

Or is it?

*winks*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Kinking the Plot

I’m amazed at the difference an extra 10k words can add to a novel. With all but one of my previous novels targeted to the 50k range, I hadn’t figured that The Clockwise Heart at 60k would be all that different. Just add another sex scene here, pinch in some witty repartee there and I was sure I would have it.

Um, not quite.

I could, I suppose, simply slow things down some, have the characters linger in certain moments a bit longer than planned, or…

*evil genius laugh cackles forth*

I could add another entirely new, entirely dastardly kink to the plot!

Oh, yes, this could be wicked fun.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Knockout Punch

It always surprises me who the heavyweights of my novels turn out to be.

Case in point: In my latest contemporary romance, the first six weeks of writing has been spent on Main Character “A”. Certain that “A”’s dramatic past and rather heroic present would dominate the story, I put all my creative chops on the lad.

Yes, well…

Main Character “B” had a problem with this. “B” threw a fit and mulishly refused to do a darn thing toward the story. It even got to the point where I was making calls to back-up Main Character “C”’s people to check availability.

Main Character “B” got wind of this treachery, demanded to be put in the spotlight and has since blown my little writerly socks off with depth, wit and purpose.

Bottom line… Leave yourself open to that knockout surprise.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Antagonistic Tendencies

ANTS!!

Five million of the despicable critters invaded my walk-in pantry last night turning my mother and I into mass murderers and my kitchen into a slaughterhouse.

This, I fear, portends poorly for the day.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Souring Wait

My patience sours.

It rots.

It decays with lurid ugliness and stinks up the joint.

I am trying my wholehearted best to remain positive about the way my literary career is being handled.

I am failing.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Balance Found

I was wrong.

Attempting to use The Clockwise Heart as a practice run for the single POV in The Nightjar was a mistake.

It wasn’t fair to the boys in TCH. Their story deserves to be told from both sides of the romance… just like I’ve always done. The success of 17 previous novels should not and will not be ignored any longer.

Today, Sterne Westcott will find his voice and TCH will finally find its balance.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Smashed Plot

I’m considering a little plot tweaking.

Right now, the storyline of The Clockwise Heart doesn’t resemble an arc so much as it does a drunk-off-its-ass giraffe passed out on the floor of a honky-tonk bar.

(Let that visual linger with you for a moment and wince with me, everyone.)

In other words, a big mountainous lump of action, followed by a long stretch of thin, finished off by a glassy eyed hump of overwrought emotion.

Yep, a little tweaking is definitely in order… before someone calls the ASPCA on my poorly-plotted 

butt.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Hazy Intent

Sometimes a character is born in a fog.

Oh, he might have been conceived under brilliant blue skies with clear intent and sharp purpose but when he pops into your storybook world his definition is hazy, his lines fuzzy.

Sterne Westcott, co-lead in The Clockwise Heart, had lingered in just such fogginess until two days ago. Only then, 14k words into the novel, did the fuzz lift.  

Finally.

Why or how it did so, I haven’t a clue. But it happened, and it was stunning.

Bottom line: Keep a firm hold on your character. If you can’t lead them out of the fog, perhaps they’ll lead you.  

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Prunish

Ten hours in a car.

Brain shriveled like a prune.

Enough said?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Fool's Kiss

My single POV prowess is little more than virginal, I admit.

*blushes down to my literary toes*

So, in an effort to familiarize myself with the soft curves and hard angles of the single perspective my novel The Nightjar is demanding, I’m honing my single POV moves on The Clockwise Heart.  

Or at least trying to.

Trying very, very hard actually.

So far, it’s working but it’s been embarrassingly awkward at times. But bloodied noses and cracked teeth aside, I’m finally learning what goes where.

Bottom line: Don’t be afraid to play the fool sometimes. Every hero began as a fool.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Looking Away

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it,” a family member always says when something terrible happens in the world. He then turns away and seems to give not another thought about it.

While this is true, there is nothing he can do about what has already happened, we can share in the pain.

And while this sharing of pain takes none of the burden off of those living the tragedy, perhaps it makes the world a smaller place, a better place… a place where if one hurts we all hurt… a place where no one turns away.

Until that happens, I will write. I will watch. I will not turn away.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

NOW!

“Are we there yet?!”

Yes, that would be me whining in my best 5-year old, kicking the front seat, hyper with sugar cookies and Kool-Aid, ear-splintering voice that makes Mom pray for a tequila  and Dad  threaten to “Shut this whole vacation down NOW!”

In short, I am ready for the next stage in my writing career to commence NOW!

I am tired of being patient. I am sick of being the ever-hopeful “trooper” who always keeps trudging along through all manner of foul, fickle weather.  

I’d like some results –say it with me, everyone- NOW!

*deep breath, deep breath*

Pardon the childish outburst. I’ll just go slip on my hair shirt and get on with my day.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Loose Reins

Trying to keep a tight hold on the angst for The Clockwise Heart. While I do adore the idea of true love being born out of gut-wrenching trials of the soul, heavy drama is not always called for in every story. I know this. I even applaud this, but…

Slippery are the reins of angst.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note: Apologies. My inner-Yoda got away from me there for a bit.

Delusions of Quirkiness

Mental hurdles.

Everyone has them. Every writer, every doctor, every stay-at-home mom, every young ‘un, every oldster. Everybody.

Some just have more than most.

I, for instance, am thoroughly convinced that there’s a little man in my head whose sole job is to place brightly painted, wooden hurdles in whatever path I choose. (FYI: He wears a striped nautical turtleneck and puffs incessantly on a Brigham pipe… Delusions of grandeur are boring. Try delusions of colorful quirkiness to really get your blood pumping.)

Anyhow, I often tire of leaping the old mental hurdles.

Sometimes I just have to remind myself that I’m not the only one out there face-planting on life’s track every freaking day.

Ok, reminder over. I feel better now. On with your day.

*smirks*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

When Imaginations Burp

Out of nowhere last night, a literary drabble popped out.

Just like an old tiresome volcano that’s done nothing but grumble for a century suddenly burping out a single hatchback-sized glunk of lava and taking out some poor farmer’s barn, my imagination hacked up the beginnings of a short story, plopped it unceremoniously down on my screen and left me to clean up the mess.

“And what the heck am I supposed to do with that!?” I growled as I stared down at the pile of crisp, choppy sentences my one foray into published literary story-ness showcased six years ago. “I don’t need this. Do you hear me? I have no time for that…that… goodness!” I sputtered indignantly at the stupid screen.

Bottom line: Watch out for your imagination. It can take out a barn.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Brittle Edges

Odd angles, sharp points, brittle edges? Yes, well, that would be me. So when I’m asked to write a character who is everything but odd, pointy and brittle it can be a little bit of a struggle.

Oh, I don’t shy away from such lovely cuddly players in my stories, but I do view their creation a challenge. Kind of like a bushel of artichokes trying to pop out a peach…

Ok, that makes no sense whatsoever. Apparently one of my brittle edges just snapped off. Apologies. 

Let me go and clean up the mess.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Whiplash

Start. Stop. Start. Stop… My mind’s been doing little more than jerking me around the last couple of days. (Think bumper cars with no seat belts.)

Anyhow, I have managed to keep pecking out a reasonable amount of wordage a day. The Clockwise Heart is now up to 10k. The Nightjar is topping 8k. I’m trying to keep my eyes focused on those positives while ignoring the utter stupidity that keeps ramming into me from all sides of my brain.

*sighs*

Frankly, folks, it’s exhausting and my neck hurts. Psychosomatic whiplash, anyone?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Colorblind

Death is colorblind.

If only the living world was so.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: My heart and prayers and tears go out to the families of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile and the five police officers killed in Dallas.

Redirection

Effort Redirection 101.

This should be a course somewhere. Really. Perhaps a how-to. Anyone up for making an app?

In my particular case, I’m looking for something aimed at literary genre-hopping.

Working on my first Women’s Fiction attempt while simultaneously returning to M/M romance for an 18^th novel-go, has made me appreciate the real skill it takes in redirecting one’s efforts.

While I’m putting equal energy, creative juice, gung-ho-ness in both books, I’m having to funnel each effort into completely different areas.

For instance, spicy repartee is not nearly as crucial in The Nightjar (Historical Women’s Fiction) as it is in The Clockwise Heart (Contemporary M/M Romance). Historical accuracy, plot manipulation, comedic interludes, sex scenes, atmosphere, grit and just plain old writing style also fall into the scope of Effort Redirection.

Yes. I need an app.

Somebody, please, please get to it.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: For any interested, you can now find this blog and other Chloe-sundries on Tumblr. I have zero idea what I’m doing there, but so far I’m pleased at its beginnings. Just a warning: it may at first appear to be a bit more adult-ish over there, but it’s just the same old me. Here’s the link if you’d like to take a peek: http://chloestowe.tumblr.com/

Tumblr

I am now on Tumblr... of course, I have no idea what I'm doing but somebody give me a smooch for trying. *grins*

http://chloestowe.tumblr.com/

Anonymous

My first full day of writing in ages, yesterday. It was glorious!

Jazzed and feeling quite full of myself, I embarked in the always harrowing task of updating my author profiles. Specifically: my biography photo.

When one is forced by mental illness to lead a relatively solitary life, it is extremely hard to find photos of one’s self. People don’t know me beyond my words. I don’t mind this too terribly much (at least I am known, if just somewhat), but it does become an issue at the most awkward of times.

Hence, two hours of selfies yesterday.

Hence, my dog looking at me like I had finally lost my last marble.

It’s incredibly weird to see myself on film. I, too, tend to forget I exist beyond my words.

Hmm, how odd that is.

Bottom line: Leave your mark on this world however you must. Be it a smile, a laugh or a well-placed slash of pen upon paper.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

He

Well, that was a terribly difficult day of writing… or not writing, I should say.

I pecked at the keys for ever so long but not a printable line came out. Once my patience had petered out entirely, I did some shuffling around with the “get-to-know-you” scenes of The Clockwise Heart. Not an altogether necessary task but one that left me with a smidge of accomplishment.

I, then, dove into the always tiring task of defining eye colors, hair shades, skin tones and such minutia. When writing two men, these traits must be distinctive (after all, you can’t just shove a “he” into a sentence and know your reader will know of which “he” you speak.)

Also because they are men, I try not to make the descriptives too girly. While John Doe’s skin tone might very well be a quintessential“peaches and cream,” I’m certainly not going to saddle the poor ex-Navy SEAL with that.  So a bit more creativity is demanded… And that is where I spent my day.

They say: the devil is in the details.

I say: the crush of writers pushed the horned lad out ages ago.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Fourteen Days

Home welcomed the muse and I back into its arms yesterday with a big, squishy hug. The skies drizzled out their tears in our honor, while the clouds grumbled out a few lackadaisical hours of thunder.

Weather could do little to dampen our spirits however. The four-legged, furriness and I are ready to dive headfirst back into our work. I should have a two week period of “writing trumps all” and I’m challenging myself to see what me and the ol’ girl can churn out.

So, join me, everyone, as we raise our glasses to fourteen days of speedy fingers, quick wit and a firestorm of creative spark!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Grunt Work

Perhaps I should spend more time with a grubbing hoe?

While I was out prying old stumps out of the ground, my Christmas novella from way back (2011 to 2012ish, I think) has found a new home!

Riverdale Ave. Books will publish “Forever Bound with Tinsel” as a standalone this December. Formerly ensconced in Ravenous Romance’s Well Hung by the Chimney anthology, my boys will get the spotlight all to themselves this winter. I’m ridiculously tickled by this. Apparently, this will lead into the 2017 re-release of 5 of my novels currently out-of-print.

Woo-hoo!

Tomorrow looks to be the promised travel day, so enjoy your Sundays everyone. I will see you, 

Monday!

Until Monday…

Chloe