Strategical Retreat

Having grown tired of babying my mind through holiday affairs, I am retreating back into words today.

This is not surrender. This is strategy.

Naysayers, go gnaw on a turkey bone. I’ve got a story to write.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Attitude

After a weekend of licking my literary wounds, I’m going to drag myself back out into the bloody fray today.

What I will work on in this dog eat dog publishing scrum, I have no idea. I’ll trust the muse to dump me in the appropriate warring pit.

*pauses, re-reads, winces*

Perhaps a little tweak to the old attitude might be in order, too.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Fourteen Days

Home welcomed the muse and I back into its arms yesterday with a big, squishy hug. The skies drizzled out their tears in our honor, while the clouds grumbled out a few lackadaisical hours of thunder.

Weather could do little to dampen our spirits however. The four-legged, furriness and I are ready to dive headfirst back into our work. I should have a two week period of “writing trumps all” and I’m challenging myself to see what me and the ol’ girl can churn out.

So, join me, everyone, as we raise our glasses to fourteen days of speedy fingers, quick wit and a firestorm of creative spark!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Bewhittled

Your wayward blogger has returned home!

After eleven days of being here, there and everywhere (most notably: Milan, Venice and JFK Customs), I am back… but whittled down to the very marrow of my bone.

*sighs, operatically*

Hence I will make this first post short, sweet and relatively painless to us both (unlike JFK Customs… yes, there is a story there, but it is for another time and a stronger constitution.)

It is good to be back, my friends!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Courtship of Writer and Tale

Choosing a new writing project is much like a courtship, an old fashioned one with handholding being tremendously forward and walking in step being fantastically heart-fluttering…

Or at least that’s how I like to approach it.

Respect is key. The story is its own, is shaped by its own boundaries, marred by its own shortcomings and enhanced by its own sweet surprises.

An author simply asks to join it on a stroll in the twilight-tinted garden.

Eventually wordsmith or tale might indeed ask for dalliance to turn affair, but just as likely either may not, simply choosing to bid adieu when the moon makes its first shy appearance.

So many stories, so many characters, so many settings have wandered my way over the years; so many strolls have been taken; so many adieus have been bid… It all could be seen as rather sad. But instead of mourning projects that for some reason or other simply didn’t work out, I try to record each brief dalliance down in my memory in hopes of returning to it one twilight-tinted evening… on an unexpected dusk between The Hushing Days.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: In other words, I am still looking for a project to fill my imagination’s time before I can return to the final editing of my 18^th novel, The Hushing Days. As you can see by this self-indulgent post, my imagination is in desperate need of a flirtation. So sorry.

The Spontaneous Spawn Scenario

With all this galavanting I’ve been doing around the southeast lately, an epic road romance in novel form should spawn from my loins any day now.

Besides two hearts, two hard bodies and a strain of crisp, engaging dialogue, I do hope the little one comes with its own sell copy. Something spicy with a core of angst would be nice.

Until then, know that I have once again returned to the friendly writing confines of my home. For the next month or so, blogs will be morning events once again. Late night postings will be put aside for late night editing on the novel that needs not be named. (One does not poke a sleeping giant… or some other such silly saying. Exhaustion flagged here, my friends.)

So as my muse and I bow to exhaustion, I wish you and yours a good night.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe  

An Opening Agenda

Well, hello there.

*offers hand politely…*

*reconsiders professional restraint and goes for a big, messy hug instead* 

Hope you all have been both well-read and well-written this past week. I have accomplished neither as I threw myself wholeheartedly into the family thing. (Despite the latent guilt, it was loads of fun not being a writer for a wee itty bit.)

Playtime is over, however. It is back to work. Back to blogging. Back to Chapter Five. Back to 18^th century romance. Back to muskets and petticoats and “Pray pardon”s and “Fare thee well”s. Back to…

*four-legged, furry muse bops me unkindly on the head; the “Really?” is unspoken*

Well, you get the picture.

Game plan of the day is simple… Write.

When I’m done writing a little, write a lot.

When I’m done writing a lot, write one paragraph more.

Simple, right?

*four-legged, furry muse laughs hysterically, rolls off the couch and laughs some more*

I’m leaving now.

There’s a too-full-of-herself dog who needs a stern talking-to.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

An Airing Out

As I prepare (i.e. look forward to giddily) for the end of my unplanned sabbatical from writing, I am attempting to view this break from my literary career in the most favorable light possible.

*takes a deep, preparatory breath… that crumbles quite pitifully into a frail hiccup-y cough*

Well, that’s the plan anyway. Let’s have a go at this positive crap, shall we?

Late last night in the middle of another sleepless night (no writing = bad Chloe brain), I decided to look at my sabbatical (unplanned, have I mentioned that?) like an airing out of an old house.

Windows and doors open with nobody about, all the accumulated dust and needless clutter of The Hushing Days manuscript has been gently removed by the warm spring wind. With no work being done amid its hallways, no mad carpenters, pesky third-person omniscients or Lisabels or Rosabels running amuck in its rooms, the novel-to-be has had a chance to just breathe and be.

Ah, how refreshing!

Invigorating!

Healing!

How freaking merry.

Well, that’s all over tomorrow. The dog and my bags are packed and we’re moving back in. Ready or not, here Chloe and the muse come!

Until Monday (travel day on Sunday)…

Chloe

Buzzardly Echoes

Pardon the flakes of rust all about. I have neither picked up a pen, sat down at a keyboard nor contemplated a single Revolutionary War storyline for a whole week.

My vacation I took quite literally and vacated all work-related areas of mind and body. As a result, my trip to the mountains left me feeling rather hollow with an odd echo in my ill-formed brain. So excuse the flightiness of this my return blog. Rusty echoes are a terrible inconvenience to a train of thought.

To save us both wasted brain cells, the rest of this post will be written in numbered bullet points. Feel free to skip #3 and #6 entirely, they really are useless.

1.) Got two royalty checks while I was gone. The five dollar windfall will go great strides toward buying that McDonald’s value meal I’ve been eyeing.

2.) Read two Archeology magazines from cover to cover up in the cabin. Came up with eleven storylines for novels-to-be. Does this count as work?

3.) Saw a black bear in the woods. The wild, untamed affect was tarnished however by the gaggle of tourists with cameras chasing after the poor thing.

4.) My psyche needs a schedule to retain somewhat normal shape. I had none this week; hence the prickly blobbness of your blogger today.

5.) Despite many opportunities, I did not have to up my Prozac during the back-to-nature outing. I count this as both a triumph and an embarrassment.

6.) A grouping of buzzards is called a “wake.” How and why I learned this on my vacation I’ll leave to your imagination.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Penning the Good Morrow

Had to reintroduce myself to the lads and lasses of Fannett Township, Pennsylvania yesterday. Not surprisingly, my Six Brothers and their honeys didn’t remember their long (1 week, people!) absent author.

After a handful of “Good Days” followed by some “Good Morrows,” I departed feeling a little better about our relations.

We’ve still got some rough spots to work through, particularly the whole “I might rub out Leo” issue, but I think some inroads have been made. I’ve promised not to make any hasty decisions as to brother-whacking and they promised a little more access to their psyches (critical for a writer to really “feel” the character, I believe.)

So, today we will see if the tenuous ceasefire will hold… If I will be welcomed back into the Fannett fold… If Leo will allow me anywhere near his strapping, young, gun-smithing self.

Wish me well on my journey back to late Colonial Pennsylvania… and prepare a ransom if Leo and the boys jump me at The Harrow & Flail Tavern.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Prepare the Poor Fish

Assuming for a moment that the literary world is an actual terra firma place with rivers and valleys and whatnot, I would like to take this opportunity to issue a warning to the authorian lands.

Chloe is back!

Please prepare your carefully manicured flowerbeds to be tromped on by big, ungainly feet.

Please post advisories on the shores of your Mainstream. Clumsy, gangly, but terribly well-meaning Ms. Stowe will be splashing yet again in your calm waters. Fish may be injured.

Please alert your purveyors of weather that a tiny, ragged cloud of panic and self-doubt may indeed litter your cornflower blue skies this afternoon. No need to run and hide; cowering in a spot of brilliant sunshine will do.

All silliness aside, I do plan to start back on the Six Brothers today.

As it stands at this moment, Leo still lives. Most likely the fate of the youngest sibling will not be determined for several days yet.

Perhaps my little forced sabbatical for Thanksgiving madness will have provided the much needed kick-in-the-butt to get things truly rolling? If so, Leo will survive. I like my gunsmith and his significant other. It would be a terrible shame to lose them to Author Ineptness.

So, please, wish me and the literary world well as we again collide. (And keep an especially good thought for the poor fish.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Return

With twigs still knotted in my hair and the cloying scent of bear dung to my shoes, I return from the mountains sane and marvelously fresh!

If you ignore the “bear dung” thing…

And if you allow a loose interpretation of the “sane” thing.

*smirks*

*then whips out the binoculars and checks the blog auditorium for any speck of attendance*

*curses the house lights for blinding the seat view*

This is the point where I sincerely hope I’m not up here yapping at an empty room.

I’m perfectly aware that there are better blog-shows out there. Competition is fierce, and I know I’m at a distinct disadvantage.

While other blogs might have sequined and fancily feathered show barkers touting their blogger’s wares, I only have a certifiable nut of a writer and 15 pounds of four-legged fur and fury to lure you kind folks in to my show.  

So, what I’m saying is this… I appreciate all of you who have hung with me and the pushy canine through our week away. Thank you.

Now, on to the show!

*pushy canine rolls eyes*

I am very proud and very shocked to report that I did not write a single word during the entirety of my vacation!

I did not check my email once!

I did not even muse about future or current storylines in my normally work-obsessed brain!

And, this is the really “WTF? You’re kidding me!” part, I came out of the mountains as sane as I went into them!

As a side note, I also managed not to alienate any of my family members with my admittedly weird/crazy/nutty/”You really need help” antics…

*pauses, reconsiders, then nods*

Yeah, you’re right. That deserves a “WTF? You’re kidding me!” too.

So added.

Anyhow, back to work today with a little over a month left until Book Three’s deadline. I need to average around 700 words a day to get it done which is definitely doable if not a little groanable.

I just hope I didn’t drop my ability to write into that huge pile of bear dung outside our cabin’s door.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe