The objective is to somehow finagle each rock across the line before August 1.
All manner of implements of assistance are allowed, save for dynamite. The stones are as small as they’re going to get. Deal with it.
This is a one-player game. No mercenary clans, slave armies or Middle-Earth Orcs may aid you. You, my friends, are alone.
*a furry paw slaps the keyboard in heated protest*
Ok, correction, you and your four-legged, furry muse are alone to face this task.
What are you going to do?
I repeat: WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!
Yeah, well, this is the problem I’ve found myself in with The Hushing Days. I’ve got 20 chapters in various stages of being done. The bright yellow line is Final Edits. I need to get all chapters across that line before August 1 (self-imposed deadline, by the way; I work better under a time crunch).
So far my strategy of simply “putting my back into it” isn’t working.
It’s time to get creative!
Yeah, um, I’ll let you know how that goes.
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