My hair, which has always been its own sordid entity, had erupted overnight into a right awful parody of a clown wig.
A bad clown wig.
As my dreams weren’t particularly gruesome or soul-scarring, I place the entire blame for my hair on my “Absurd Workload: Day One,” (i.e. yesterday).
Carrying on a somewhat intelligent (I hope) daily blog while working on three separate novels is a new kind of madness even for me. Shall I elaborate?
*a cowbell rings from somewhere in the audience*
*wonders briefly if that should be taken as a “Yes” or as a plea for milk*
*decides on the former and carries on*
Writhe’s sequel is my first and foremost priority. I already feel guilty about asking for an extension on its deadline (from July 1 to July 15), something I loathe to do.
You make a commitment; you keep it. That’s how I try to handle this whole life thing (despite the varying, often laughable results.) So, Book Two’s daily word quota is the first up to bat after breakfast. Not a problem. 615 words is a very doable goal.
Next up is my mainstream Romance Thriller set in Africa, The Sun and the Sand Cat.
My literary agent really wants me to finish this up (it’s ¾ done at the moment) so she can send out queries to the large publishing houses who will want to see the whole thing if the first three chapters and synopsis tickles their fancies. So, yesterday I re-familiarized myself with Sabella and Conyer and organized the heck out of their love story.
After hours of that drudgery during which my dog and her enthusiastic teeth lent a hand the moment I turned my back, I now have a precise list of the scenes needing to be finished and the chapters yet to be written. (Remember: I hardly ever write a story from beginning to end; I write whatever strikes my fancy that day.)
By that point, I barely had enough creative juices left to give my mainstream Historical Romance project (that would be the infamous “Six Brothers” story) more than a weathered glance.
No wonder my hair Bozo-ed itself out last night.
*pats down said-hair AGAIN and chuckles*
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