The Squashing

Hear ye, hear ye! Let all rumors of my untimely demise and/or institutionalization be squashed. I am alive, relatively sane and present… despite my unseemly and rather inexcusable absence from this daily blog yesterday. 

In short…

The a/c still broken.

Temporary arrangements to guarantee survivability made.

Blogging will now recommence.

Writing career will continue to sputter along at irregular intervals for the next 10 to 15 days.

Complaints of heat will now cease and desist entirely.

Positive thinking re-engaged.

Apologies for the blogging hiccup given and hopefully received.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

State of Albatross

A balmy indoor temp of 86 degrees welcomed mom, muse and I home yesterday afternoon.

A balmy indoor temp of 81 degrees still hangs around our collective necks like an albatross this mid-morning. In other words, still waiting on the a/c tech, trying not to drip bone marrow on the carpet.

Someday, I will write again.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Melting

The sauna calls.

Yep, it’s time for me to return to my air condition-less abode. An army of technicians are en route. The muse is off to the groomer’s to get her sweatbox-do. And the hogtieing of my mother to “encourage” her coming along is nearly complete.

So, tomorrow will be the dreaded travel day. No blog. Wednesday’s edition will arrive contingent on my surviving the bloody hot.

Until Wednesday…

Chloe

Burning

I was on fire yesterday!

I doled out 800 words here, cropped 500 words there.

Chapters were minced, diced, then reassembled with factory finish shine.

Orphaned plot points were kissed lovingly on the cheeks and shuffled off to new homes in new novels.

I was one smoking hot author whose residual steam somehow managed to power a new, long overdue “Tiptoeing Soul” travel post to be readied for release this weekend.

I sizzled, ladies and gents!

*pauses… rereads this post… cringes painfully at the horror of mixed metaphors*

Well, that is certainly embarrassing.

If this “on fire” thing happens again I’ll be sure to have my muse hose me down well before getting anywhere near this blog.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Flattering Form of Failure

Progress is progress.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

So there.

*pauses to nibble on a hangnail, studiously ignoring the ugly, cloying truth of the matter*

One hundred and fifteen words is progress, darn it! Anytime you leave a manuscript fatter than how you found it, success can be rightfully claimed.

Right?

*nibbles on another hangnail, refusing to acknowledge failure in even its most flattering form*

Needless to say, I hope to do bulkier work on the editing of The Hushing Days today.

*accidentally rips a nail off from a finger, but keeps nibbling furiously anyway*

My air conditioning is out.

Repairmen are coming this afternoon between 2 and 6.

Housework to make the house acceptable to visitors will take most of the morning (seeing as I will be working in conditions approximating an over-achieving sauna).

My nerves will kick in between 5 and 10 minutes after I post this post. Therefore, I’ll be lugging flu-like conditions around in my sauna-like conditions. Therefore, the closest I’ll probably come to The 

Hushing Days today is my bemoaning its neglect in this blog.

So, that one hundred and fifteen words I managed yesterday was indeed a whole boatload of progress compared to what I won’t be doing today.

Like I said, progress is progress.

So, um, there.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Good, the Bad and the Pucker

Bloodied and battered, as it were, by a nightmare apparently hopped up on PED’s and Jack Daniels, I am in no condition to write anything coherently. (Four minutes to get that sentence out, for example.)

However, not in the mood to give up entirely on today’s blog, I will continue in the manner of bulleted prose. (Is there even such a thing? I doubt it.)

Enjoy! Or at least muddle through.

- Sex has come to The Hushing Days! Yesterday, I set to flame the lovers I’ve been babying on the stove all these long months. This is good.

- Sex in Revolutionary America is a little unwieldy coming off the contemporary romance writer’s tongue. My efforts were clumsy, juvenile and singed nothing but a few eyebrows. This is bad.

- Sex will again be tried in its fictional form today. Hopefully, all the little girl bits and boy bits will play nicely today. If not things will once again turn hilariously ugly. Really. I could write a book on bad sex… Oops, I think I just did. *smirks*

Well, it is clear now that bulleted prose does nothing to hide the utter ineptness of my brain today. Pardon me while I retreat.

Have a better day than me, folks, and watch those eyebrows.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe