A kitchen, a chef, an ungodly mess of flour and egg shells.
Cookie cutters lay strewn about. A cutting board and a rolling pin are piled next to the sink, while the full dishwasher runs.
A toasty warm heat emanates from the closed oven whose timer has ticked down from 12 minutes to 1.
The chef, a confident, well-experienced baker, waits expectantly beside a stack of baking racks. Potholders on hands, she bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet. The rush of creating something sweet and tasty for her guests never fades.
The timer rings.
With a blush of excitement, she opens the oven’s door, prepared to greet her newest batch of her little bit famous Sugar cookies…
“What the f**k?” she thinks but never says (the dog by her side is particularly sensitive to crude language on Mondays… another “What the f**k?” she has learned not to question and just to accept).
Pulling out the oven’s rack, bringing the baking sheet out into the better light, the accomplished Sugar cookie chef stares down in astonishment at…
Chocolate Chip cookies.
After checking her Prozac level and satisfied that the mind is still running at its full 72% capacity, she hesitantly pokes at the frankly delicious looking Chocolate Chip cookies.
“Hmm,” she thinks. “This is interesting.” (Prozac has kicked in and the world goes a little mellow *lol*)
Pulling the surprise out of the oven, she quickly transfers the dozen cookies to the cooling racks. She sneaks a peek at her dog, sneaks a peek at the mysteries cookies and excitedly takes a nibble…
*the screen fades to black*
Yeah, well, sorry to leave you hanging. I know the pulse-pounding action was intense (*rolls eyes and thinks another “What the f**k? after re-reading this post), and that a cliff-hanger was cruel, but this being a metaphorically true story I can only give you what I know.
After weeks of painstakingly putting together a Romance Mystery, Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series, popped out of the oven yesterday as nothing but pure, unadulterated Drama.
I’m still scratching my head at this. Where the hurt/comfort feelies have come from is as mysterious as those darn chocolate chips showing up in the sugar cookies. A reimagining of the whole baking effort will now be required. *giggles just a little at the intriguing surprise*
Will these chocolate chip cookies be as good as the planned for sugar cookies?
That’s the bloody cliffhanger, folks.
Acclaimed author of 17 novels (my dogs and mother adore me), World traveler (I’ve felt the Sahara Desert between my toes… still gobsmacked over the stars in the Sahara) And survivor (of three dirty-fighting gremlins named Anxiety, Panic and OCD)… My name is Chloe Stowe. Hello. If you’ve found your way here, you’ve most likely arrived on the coattails of my blog, The Words and Madness of Chloe Stowe. Started in 2012, my daily rantings now number in the thousands. Ranging from humorous to moody, poignant to absurd, these tiny tidbits of thought began as a way to get my name “out there.” It has long since morphed into an effort just to “be there” for anybody out there struggling with words or madness, like me. Quick biographical sketch of me? Nerd turned nut at nineteen. In my sophomore year at Auburn University, I was taken out at the knees by severe panic attacks. Chronic anxiety soon joined the dogpile, followed shortly by OCD tendencies. Oh, it was ugly. I eventually had to quit school and soon quit life, as well. I spent a good chunk of my 20’s not able to leave my room. Twenty years later, it’s still can get ugly in my head. Thanks to meds and doctors, however, I am able to lead a better life, now. I still can’t work outside the house, but I can live and smile and write. So, here I am. Broken, but stubbornly present. I hope my voice proves company to someone lonely out there. Thanks for reading! Chloe Stowe