The Brat's Coffer

It’s high time I stop complaining and get back to the game of wielding writerly wisdom.

*stoically ignores all sniggers from the blogging auditorium*

I am serious. I am tired of fussing about doing this or that to sell my last book. The fact that I have a.) the opportunity, b.) the time and c.) the completed novel in the old coffer to actually peddle are all blessings so many would-be writers don’t yet have that whining about them seems to be rather brattish of me.

I apologize for that.

While I reserve the right to complain when rejections flutter in, I will try my best not to fuss about the querying process in general anymore.

So, Wednesday, expect wisdom.

A whole steaming heap of it.

With that expectation hanging threateningly over your head now, I depart.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Pickling

Liken me to a chicken on a chain, if you will.

A tempest in a leaky teacup.

A Mad Hatter sans chapeau.

Or just picture me as an author jarred and pickled in a house of typewriters and you’ll have me.

*sighs, oh-so pitifully*

A writer without the opportunity to write can be quite a grotesque thing, wouldn’t you agree?

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

A Plain, Brown Package

Wrapped in a tidy little parcel bedecked in nothing more than plain brown paper, a very nice surprise arrived at my work email account yesterday afternoon.

I’ll admit that the unexpected arrival tweaked my curiosity, (wee packages of words, no matter how wee, from your literary agent always gets the blood a-pumping a little faster).

So, with my cardiac system in fine running fiddle, I opened the message and…

Found a potentially colossal opportunity to join a major publishing house!

It is only a possibility of an “in.” There are no guarantees, but…

Someone important in the business will be reading something of mine.

This is good.

This is so very good.

*grins*

Fingers crossed, everybody!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe