The Weak Wick

The chance of me getting any of my works-in-progress to Carina Press by September 4 is dwindling like a flame in a hurricane.

Maybe if my mental wick had a bit more girth and balance the whole endeavor would be able to weather the whole restoration-of-my-parents’-house storm?

Oh, well. I will carry on with my weak though stubborn flame and see how far I can get.

Until the Sunday update…

Chloe

The Napkin Scribblers

I envy those writers who can spin a beautifully flowing tale in just stolen moments. Fifteen minutes here, an hour there, a spattering of lines on a paper napkin and voilà! A publishable story appears like magic.

I am not that kind of writer.

If the last few weeks of reconstruction mayhem have taught me nothing else, it is that. I’ve got to have at least two hour stretches of uninterrupted authoring for my work to be worth a darn thing.

These self-realizations sting, and I don’t appreciate them. Just saying.

Until the Friday update…

Chloe

The Almost-Done's

Here, I am again. As promised, my every other day update as I wade through reconstruction at my parents’ house has arrived. Enjoy!

Carina Press is accepting submissions for in-progress works until September 4!  So, I’m cleaning up an armload of my almost-done’s to send their way.

First up, my m/m romance, the former Clockwise Heart.  I’ve picked out the 3 chapters I’d like to send and now just have to flesh the beauties out. To freshen things up, I’ve renamed the novel The Clock Keeper’s Vow. It makes no difference, of course, but gives me a needed “Zing!” to get things rolling. Writers are so weird.

Anyhow, now, I’ve just got to find the time to write between plumbers, painters, insulation-installers and carpenters.

Yeah, no problem.

Until the Wednesday update…

Chloe

The Absence of Flies

There was no fly in my water this morning.

In the absurdity which is my world of late, the absence of a corpse on my nightstand is a moment to celebrate.

Issues of house-unrest (water damage, new leaks, bad washers, bad sinks, worse plumbers) have consumed my time the last few days. Blogging has simply been impossible. I am truly sorry for this unannounced absence.

The next week looks equally bleak as far as posting goes, but I will try to get something out once every two days at least.

Until then, may no flies turn belly-up in your water, my friends.

Chloe

The Household Gods

Household disasters ruled yesterday. Plumbing leaks, water damage, industrial-sized blowers, and an air-conditioner giving up the ghost were the players in my story yesterday.

Apologies for holding them close to the vest and not sharing them with you.

I tend to hoard my ill-fortune.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe (who hopes desperately to scratch at least a word or two on paper today… if the household 

gods allow it)

The Feral Storyteller

I propose that the heft of a new journal is directly proportionate with an author’s budding desire to fill it. The weight, the feel of its bound pages in a writer’s hands feeds a the need to own each line of the fresh tome.

It is most likely something feral in us storytellers, indescribably and incalculable to those not of the breed.

Just saying.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Filling Bloom

When expanding a short story into a novel, the easiest thing to do (for me, at least) is to bloom out the supporting characters.

The minor players should offer more than contrasting bursts of color; in a novel their presence should tickle all the senses. Give them body, a flow, a scent, a cadence of thought as rich as the leads. They will add so much more to your book, once you add so much more to them.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Pompous Pluck

So, I’ve decided to pluck out all the “clunky” details-of-place littering up Blue and condense them all down to an introductory few paragraphs after the Prologue.

As I’ve noted before, I am OCD-ing about getting this intro just right. However, I’m also feeling a little iffy about the overall idea of an intro.

It feels almost, well, pompous.

My weirdness gets really tiring, you know?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Y of It

I’d like a playbook, please. You know, the x’s and o’s of how to navigate the publishing world successfully while maintaining your hard-fought-for sense of self?

Oh, I know it can be done. I see people do it all the time. Just not me.

Perhaps, the problem is that I’m neither an “x” nor an “o”?

Maybe, I’m simply a “y.”

Yep, that somehow seems appropriate.

Until tomorrow…

Y 

The Tale Knitter

I knit tales indiscriminately.

I am constantly picking up strings of ideas from ridiculous things and crocheting them together into something wearable, literarily speaking that is.

That’s all well and good when I have time to sort the doable from the stupid. This last week, I have not had that time. Hence the pile of story scraps grows and will likely overcome me by 2:00 this afternoon.

Bottom line: Sort your knitting daily.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Fuss

In my re-imagining of “Blue,” the Prologue’s transformation went slick as a whistle. Grins all around.

Unfortunately, my OCD has kicked up a fuss over the introductory paragraphs in Chapter One. A big, curse-ridden fuss.

So, please, pardon the new bald spots in my ‘do, as I yank out my hair one darn introductory sentence at a time.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Flies in the Window

Even when your house is particularly sparkly and clean, you’re liable to find dead flies in your window.

Well, yesterday, I found a whole murder-field on my sill. I had to deal. Hence, I didn’t get to blog.

Apologies. I’ll try not to let the insect corpses pile up so in the future.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe