Three Years

Three years ago today, my uterus was carved out of my body and disposed of, I hope, in some ghastly manner befitting the staunch troublemaker it was.

Life has been inestimably better since saying goodbye to ol’ Ute. So, today I raise a glass to the empty spot in my abdominal cavity and thank the good Lord for the void.  

Until Monday…

Chloe

Post-note: Travel day tomorrow. May your Sundays all treat you well, my friends.

The Squeaky Wheel

First, and foremost, my father came through his outpatient surgery just fine. The one little hiccup is being addressed and all is well.  (The fact that said-hiccup scared the stuffing out of me for a teensy bit is neither here nor there. Panic and I are familiar foes. These days, I know mostly when to duck… mostly.)

Now that breath has returned to my lungs, I can turn back to The Hushing Days without guilt, regret or any other “nasty” worry always leaves me.

I have managed these past two days to keep a steady drip of marginal progress going on the novel (220 hard fought-for words yesterday).

Hopefully this means that wheels will not need to be re-greased, a task both tedious and time-consuming. (Picture the Tin Man and his squeaky little oil can. With no Dorothy or Scarecrow around, I’m relying on an eager but thumbless Toto to deal with the oil can and any of my accumulated rust… a humorous but frustrating prospect, let me assure you.)

So, it’s back to work I and my thumbless muse go.

Wish us no flying monkeys!

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Scrambling the Jets

Newsflash! Writing is not the same as working an assembly line.

*pauses as the world moans a consensus “Duh!”*

Please, just keep your seats a minute more while I pile some relevance onto that statement. I promise this will be brief.

Surprising to everyone, I actually worked on an assembly line one summer years ago (back when the mind hadn’t learned to buck so violently at that concept.) 5am to 4pm every work day, I put in my time and was a darn good computer innards put-her-in-her.

The point is, no matter what was going on in the world I got my job done every darn day.

I liked it.

It was good.

Writing, however, is way different.

My father is having outpatient surgery today on something relatively minor. But even though I am not logically concerned about it, my subconscious is panicking and scrambling the F-16’s.

Bottom line: It’s hard to write Revolutionary War-era romance while your choking on jet fumes.

So, I’m writing off the meager 156 words completed yesterday as excusable. After all, writing is not an assembly line.

Right?

Pretend with me on this one. The guilt is strong with me this morning.

But most importantly please keep my dad in your thoughts and prayers today.

Thank you.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe