Victory Declared

After limping through Thanksgiving with my usual lack of grace and social skill, I have emerged on the other side ragged but whole. I will take that as a win and celebrate appropriately… i.e. throwing myself into the lions’ den of Black Friday shopping.

Why, oh why, do I do this to myself year after year?

Masochism must reside in my marrow… I do hope the lions find it tasty.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Masochism with Shovel

So, according to my best calculations (i.e. a recounting of fingers and toes this morning), I have 30 days to write 43K words.

Doable? Certainly.

Realistic? Not so much.

But since reality and I have never really gelled, I don’t see a problem.

Therefore, ladies and gents, please join me in feeding my newest delusion… The Clockwise Heart will be done one month from today!

*gulps uncomfortably at the freshly dug pitfall at my feet*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Hither and Yawn and Back Again

Hither and yawn and back again. That was me yesterday. And along that long, long way I had not a smidgeon of time to blog for you. All this hither and yawn-ness was unfortunately also unplanned so I hadn’t even a chance to fire a warning shot to you.

Fear not. I will be digging out the cat o’ nine tails from the back of my closet and lashing myself enthusiastically with it immediately after I “Until tomorrow…” you down below.

Beyond surrendering to my always pesky self-harm issues (i.e. pinching, bruising, scratching, all other crazy trivialities of me), I will try to get some more work done on The Hushing Days edits.

“Try” being the operative word since more hither and yawn-ness looms. So, expect a bit of “up in the air” posting this week, folks. Apologies in advance.

Ok, time to dust off my masochistic gear.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post Note: While I do suffer from self-harm issues, never, EVER have they even approached more than a bothersome level that even my psychiatrist shrugs off as just silly, inconsequential Chloe-ness. So, no worries, kind hearts. I’m A-OK.

The Hard Copy Masochist

It’s hard copy time!

With only one more Brone-Reimagined scene to sweet talk out of the old imagination, tomorrow I will be ready to send the whole of The Hushing Days to the printer.

It will be the first time the novel will feel paper beneath its words.

The first time it will luxuriate in ink upon its plot.

The first time it will feel the dreaded Red Sharpie of Rebuke across its back.

Trust me, it’s going to be a long, hard process.

There’s still a heck of a lot of writing to be done, a lot of writing to be tweaked or tossed outright.

Glaring holes in storyline and character will be tripped upon, breaking ankles and spirit.

It will no doubt be a day of slack-jawed horror for all involved…

But, man, I’m looking forward to it!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe the Happy Masochist

Masochism?

Stumbling, bumbling along, I finally got some real writing in yesterday.

Over 1,250 words were picked off of Writhe’s sequel’s back like bloated ticks off a hound dog...

Ok, admittedly that is not a very pretty picture.

Apologies.

Sometimes, however, writing is more of a task than a joy.

I’m struggling through that right now as I try to detach myself from obsessive sales watching on Book One (see yesterday’s blog for all those pitiful details) and get my ass back to creating Book Two.

*sighs*

Would somebody please pick the bloated OCD tic off of my back for a bit?

*grins shakily but carries on*

What worked yesterday and what I’m hoping will work today in getting those creative juices flowing again is setting Book Two up as a writing challenge for me.

Every writer has things they struggle to write, be it the sex scenes, action, humor, or whatever.

The things I feel like I could do better I’m concentrating on in this sequel. Forcing myself to make those tricky-to-Chloe scenes into strong pieces of writing to be proud of.

Normally, I shy away from my weaker points, going heavy on the stuff I feel I’m really good at. I’m sure most writers most of the time do the same thing. Nothing wrong with that. After all, it’s easier that way.

But Chloe ain’t doing easy this time.

Nope.

No siree Bob!

If the writing is going to feel like a task anyhow, I might as well be learning something from all the hard, picking-ticks-off-hound-dogs work.

Right?

Or have my slight masochistic tendencies suddenly spilled over into my writing?

I don’t know.

Kind of wish I did, though.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe and the bloated ticks