Chloe Stowe's Blog: The Words and Madness of Chloe Stowe, page 8

Twitch

Trying desperately to keep my mind on Cozies, sleuths, red herrings, and murderous intent. Trying desperately to avoid thoughts of packing suitcases, loading up trunks, pulling out of driveways… and totaling cars. Tomorrow, I will try once again the road trip I was only two blocks into when the big wreck happened. I must admit to being twitchy about it. I don’t twitch well. So, my thoughts turn to clues, suspects, bloody daggers and arsenic-spiked tea. Perfectly normal, indeed. Commitment papers are no doubt in the mail. Until Monday… Chloe #anxiety #accident #commitment #avoidance

The Pedestrian Ratio

Do Cozy Mysteries bar passersby? Must everybody in the story be bumped up to a supporting actor gig from the role of an off-the-street extra? I have yet to find a rule for this. A code. A guideline. Admittedly, most not-nut writers wouldn’t be looking for a firm ratio, but… Nut, here. So, I’d appreciate some numbers by this afternoon, people. Until tomorrow… Chloe #pedestrian #OCD #ratio #supporting

The Rightful Chooser

Pick and choose the truth, dear authors. When a fictional locale is based on a real one, don’t feel obliged to be true to source. There are certain realities about the deep rural South that simply don’t fit with my Cozy Mystery’s plot, so I pick and choose what truth to reveal. Embrace this privilege, writers. In an era of alternative facts, you alone are the rightful royalty. Until tomorrow… Chloe #location #truth #alternative #South

The Scapegoat Clock

I need a schedule. Nothing hard-lined, sharp-edged or otherwise testy. Just something cloudy and soft and that drifts with the winds of the muse. As many writers do, I tend to dawdle. I idle on projects that aren’t producing just because I’m stubborn and refuse to let the story loose of my jaws. Perhaps, with a pillowy schedule, I’d feel the permission to let go sooner? I could blame the timesheet instead of myself for failing to see a tale through. A scapegoat clock, per se. Where does one find such a beast? Until tomorrow… Chloe #schedule #blame #clock #scapegoat

Found

I have returned! Despite a momentary panicky hiccup in the National Gallery of Art and an unpleasant zesting of my nerves at Reagan’s Gate 44, I come back to you fantastically proud of myself. I bumped into my whole these last four days in DC. The person I would have been if mental peculiarities hadn’t set in and festered at age 19, I suddenly found in my shoes. I liked her. In fact, I was kind of amazed at her. I wonder if she can write? Until tomorrow… Chloe #DC #self #found #return #whole

Challenge Incoming

Adventures are about to be had. Tomorrow, I leave on a five-day explore of Washington DC. Crazy girl in the city time! I consider this a splendid challenge, both as a writer and as a nut. So, I’ll be posting updates on my twitter account chloeontherocks for anybody interested in following along. However, the daily blog will be going dark until my return on Tuesday. Apologies for that, my friends. I leave you with one last “Bottom Line” to see you through the weekend. Bottom line: Be it cracked or hard, always challenge your inner nut. Until next Tuesday… Chloe #challenge #DC #explore

The Appendage

I have dug. I have bored. I have burrowed and mined, excavated and quarried through every messy scrap of the car accident searching for meaty bits to attach to my Cozy. I have found one. One. A juicy emotional appendage to lop onto my sleuth. How morbid of me. Bottom line: Sometimes you must be to your story what Dr. Frankenstein was to his monster. Writing, alas, is not for the squeamish. Until tomorrow… Chloe #appendage #bottomline #Frankenstein #sleuth

Recoverable

Every writer must be a bit of a cadaver dog. Once an emotional crash-up is over an author must plod back into the disaster area and sniff out the recoverables. You know, what experiences and feelings can be re-used in their fiction. It’s a dirty, unpleasant job and it stinks. Currently I’m holding my nose and sifting through mental unspeakables left from the car accident. So far, not a salvageable ping of emotion has been found for my Cozy Mystery. But I keep looking in spite of the stench. Until tomorrow… Chloe #recoverable #disaster #dog

The Crooked Soul

My car is indeed gone. Totaled by the insurance company yesterday afternoon. Is it terribly wrong of me to feel a little heartbroken at the loss? I felt safe in the little Civic I had dubbed “Sangiovese.” My skittery mind felt confident in taking him for lone 7-hour drives (a huge accomplishment for a panic-pocked lass like me.) While the blessings far outweigh the negatives of the accident, the crazy, crooked soul does mourn. Until tomorrow… Chloe #anxiety #panic #loss #car #accident #confidence #safe #mourning

The Glums

The accident has flattened my creativity. Left it vapid, dreary, colorless and as glum as a forgotten sugarplum. Oh, I know this is only temporary. And I realize it has more to do with my exhaustion-soaked brain than the breaking of any talent I might have had. But, still… When the highlight of a writer’s day is the line “glum as a forgotten sugarplum,” what author wouldn’t sigh and worry just a bit? Until tomorrow… Chloe #depression #accident #imagination #creativity #flat