The Price of the Silk Worm

Before the four-legged, furry muse and I cowered in the bathtub hiding from tornadoes, a remarkable spate of writing was done yesterday. Like ribbons of pressed silk, the words flowed out of me in flawless order. It was a rare, rare moment indeed.

Then came the tub.

Followed by 8 ½ hours of no power.

Apparently, the silk worm charges a steep price.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

She Huddles

Amidst my tiny maelstrom of literary agent chaos, I am sharpening up the finished manuscript The Hushing Days a bit. Seeing as it might be headed to fresh eyes soon, I’ve picked apart the Prologue (which I was never completely happy with) and am rearranging its remains.

A prologue should sing, mine merely hummed.

Waste of time? Oh, who bloody knows.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

It Brews in the East

Like a storm brewing threateningly in the east, a new story has begun to churn on my horizon.

This is worrisome on many counts.

1.) Next week, when my writing schedule should return to pre-holiday hours (pardon the “Yippee!” at this), The Hushing Days MUST be finished before anything else is begun. This is cold, hard fact.

2.) My mind does not need a new cache of characters muddying up its already chaotic waters. Sorry, but there’s no room in the madhouse.

3.) This new story would be another venture into historical fiction… i.e. this new story would be quite old by the time a “The End” was latched upon its tail.

4.) To further expound upon #3, this story is based in a time period and a land which I do not know in the least. Bad idea, all around.

So, please join me in belaying this latest story gremlin. Someone buy him a cup of coffee or something. Keep him occupied for a month or two more and I’ll get back to the sprout with fresh eyes and real time on my hands in February.

Inspiration, alas, is often ill-timed and fleeting.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

The Cowering Shepherd

Imagine, if you will, a dog terrified of thunder.

(My ego suggests you picture a fierce German Shepherd, while my reality suggests a hairless Chihuahua. It is your choice, however, how you choose to picture your blogger as a canine. But, please, be kind.)

Anyhow, imagine this dog so panicked by a storm that she tries to flee the monstrous noise by running from one end of the yard to the other… constantly. Again and again and again, the Shepherd races from one fence to the other, yelping at the heavens to please “Shut up!”

No matter how long the thunder lasts, the dog runs. It is only exhaustion that brings her senseless terror to an end. She finally cowers at her water bowl, panting, but much too tired to drink.

The storm passes slowly overhead until it departs altogether. Only then does the Shepherd have the nerve to quench her painful thirst…

Got the picture? Good.

Three deaths in the small circle of people I know have rattled me these past two days.

The fear, the panic these uneasy deaths spark in me are not rational. While everyone is made uncomfortable and leery of a sudden storm, few are truly terrorized by the inevitable noise.

Panic Disorder is an embarrassing burden that often leaves my “neighbors” angry and my tongue unattractively wagging.

Pardon my fear. It will pass and your author will return to her wits momentarily.

Until tomorrow, when this blog will once again try to be helpful…

Chloe

When the Thunder Rolls... The Approach of a Writer's Deadline

It’s far too rainy to be creative, clever, quaint or, God forbid, cheery. May this serve as a warning for anything that might happen below.

*winks wryly*

Another day of editing is planned. Fortunately, I have not reached the slash and burn stage quite yet, although it is coming soon (like a thunderhead in the west, all you can do is watch it lumber toward you and prepare to take shelter when the tornado sirens sing).

To continue with the analogy (an analogy which is painfully trite and common, but appropriate for a day in which I’m feeling a bit masochistic), once the storm of cutting scenes is past and only destruction and half-standing houses remain, it is the work of rebuilding I most fear.

Suring up the scenes that are left with fresh and potentially rushed construction is never fun. If the hysteria I spoke of in last night’s post is to come, it will come then…

Goody.

In other news, that requires no tired metaphors, I’m tickled to find another of my novels (Torched, this time) has re-entered Ravenous Romance’ Top Selling Ten. While I realize this tiny little jolt to my ego is fleeting and probably silly, I’ll enjoy my pleasure where I can take it on a soggy morning such as this.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, so I’ll mention it again. I have joined not only Romance Writers of America, I have also joined my first chapter of RWA. Rainbow Romance Writers is a home for we purveyors of lgbt romance.

So, two professional organizations I now claim membership in… that probably shouldn’t make me feel quite as proud as I do, but, again, I’ll take it with a childish grin.

I believe I’ve babbled enough for this morning. I don’t know if I’ve added to or taken away from the gray of the day, but at least I’ve done something… Some days, that’s all a writer can ask of themselves.

Until tonight…

Chloe