Found Magic

A quiver of arrows (dead daylily stems)…

A bow of weathered oak (found tree trimmings at the street)…

Hardy sustenance for a long journey (sippy cup of grape juice)…

A glorious treasure to trade in the home markets (an uncracked walnut to swap with Daddy, still at work)…

And a year long trek into uncharted lands (an hour’s walk in Grandma’s suburban neighborhood)…

Mix these together with your six year old nephew and a warm September dusk and voila!  A cure for Auntie’s silly blues wondrously appears.  

Magic.

Who knew?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe  

Singularity

I’ve seemed to have miscounted, misallocated or heck just plain misunderstood.

For months and months and, dare I say, months I have been droning on about the three storylines in The Hushing Days (troublesome novel #18).

Which plot is the lead? Can there be co-plots that share equal time and equal sweat? (My sweat, mind you; the three plots did little more than bask languidly in my obsessive attention) Can an ensemble historical romance be successful in a publishing world of lone storyliners?

You’ve suffered through these machinations with me. You know the pain.

Well, guess what? There’s only one freaking storyline.

One.

ONE!

Yesterday, in some cosmic moment of everything coming together and singing “We are the world”, the three plots merged into one glorious tale.

It would have been beautiful if I hadn’t wanted to strangle its whole nutty one-ness!

*deep breath, deep breath*

I’ve got a week left to get this thing done and no more rabbits better pop out of this hat. Just saying.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The "Magic Hose" Plot

It wasn’t planned.

Let’s get that out of the way right now. There should be no misconceptions about that.

There should be no “Bravo!”s, no boxes of candies laid adoringly at my feet. Cancel the skywriters and send the Goodyear blimp merrily on its way…

Don’t worry. These admonitions are not for you. They’re for me.

Yeppers. I can get rather full of myself when something really brilliant pops out of my writing process… Alright, maybe “brilliant” is a bit of an overstatement, too. Sorry… “Think meek, Chloe. Think meek.”

Anyhow, before I hurt something trying not to brag, let me tell you about the goody I found.

You know those garden hoses you see advertised on TV that can fit in your pocket? Those that are all shriveled up and prunish until there’s water flowing through and “Whammo!” it’s a full-sized hose?

Well, I’ve got one of those in The Hushing Days.

One of the three major storylines in my historical romance, the storyline that has been patiently waiting in the wings all this time for its time in my authorial spotlight, is a magic hose.

Really.

Since it is a plotline that occurs in a different locale than the rest of the novel, its size, intensity, strength are all variables I can adjust. When I reach that ¾ point in the writing of my mainstream behemoth, I can sit back and objectively look at the novel written so far and see what needs to be added to make the book truly fierce.

Now, the only reason I’m able to do this is because of my “down to the character’s every pore” outline I’ve forced myself to abide by. All the connectors between the major storylines are there just waiting for that magic hose to be attached at the end and “Whammo-ed!” into publishable perfection!

Nope. It wasn’t planned and it probably makes no sense whatsoever to anyone lucky enough to be outside my brain, but this magic hose storyline thing could really catch on…

Hmm, maybe that blimp will be needed after all?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe the Meek Deficient

The Importance of the Momentary Gloat

Please note: I got rather full of myself yesterday.

Puffed myself up quite alarmingly, as a matter of fact. I’m surprised I didn’t pop.

Despite how I may come across in these daily blogs of mine, I am spectacularly unsure of myself as a writer at most times…. Perhaps, I need to correct that? I am unsure of myself as a professionally successful writer. Yes, that’s better.

Oh, I know I can spin a yarn. Even plucking a set of words out of the dictionary and plopping them effectively in print is a “thing” I can do pretty darn well. (Years, and years, and years of trial and error will do that to even the clumsiest word-oaf.)

However, planning out and writing a novel carefully, abiding by a much worried upon outline, relying on the story to naturally give me the word count that is needed, is new for me.

In my previous 50k novels, I rarely had more than 2 months to write them. While a lot of very good writers can crank out a brilliant 2k of words a day, I cannot. At all. So I was constantly feeling rushed, with the “Must reach 50k!” mantra always forefront in my mind.

With The Hushing Days, I have finally reached a place in the creative process where I can trust the story to give me the length the publishers want. I know, really know, if I follow the outline and write each scene to its most powerful the word count will naturally come.

I had never been to that place before. Just realized I was there yesterday. Hence the puff.

I’m going to enjoy this momentary gloat. Might even wriggle around it naked for a while.

Writers, bask in the momentary gloats wherever you may find them. They are magical places to be.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe