music-images-19I find writing tragedy remarkably easy.

What that says about me, my psyche and the bent of my imagination, I choose to ignore. (My psychiatrist has enough on his hands already.)

Yesterday, a day of minimal writing time thanks to an air conditioner in its death throes, I began chipping away at the tragedy-ridden subplot at the heart of the Six Brothers.

Like I said, it was easy.

Rather ghoulish of me, I fear.

If writing was a waltz, the tearjerker and I would be flawless dance partners.

All the little details that wring heartbreaking sorrow from a reader fly off my fingertips with troublesome ease.

I could write one heck of a “Love Story”-esque novel… If I really wanted to… which I don’t.

I abhor reading tearjerkers. My emotions are tattered enough with my every day, screwed up life that I really don’t need to send the old heart-strings through a paper shredder just for jollies.

Oh well. I guess I don’t really have to read what I write.

The blind tragedian, that’s me.

Hurrah.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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

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