An ON AIR sign flashes on somewhere I can’t see.
A spotlight, hot and messy, pours down from the ceiling making me sweat.
“You’re on, lady! Say something!” a voice in my ear pleads.
My nervous gaze scours the white walls, the white floor, the white ceiling for even a leftover shadow of an idea, a crumb of a subject, the faintest impression of a spent narrative…
Alas, Chloe Stowe finds nothing.
Not a scrap.
Not a speck.
Just the sweat prickling the back of my neck, the tinny whispers to “Do something… do something… do something” ringing non-stop in my ear.
With a guttural groan, I fling my head back and scream!
A virulent strain of Writer’s Block that affects even the hardiest of bloggers.
It strikes without notice, care or regard…
It has struck me.
Fear not, my friends, it is not contagious and its effects are only brief.
Tomorrow, when the spotlight falls and the microphone is again shoved into my hands, I will answer.
Blog Block will not fell me. This I vow.
*my dog rolls her eyes, knowing this will be a very long day indeed*
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