Recognizing that shoulder muscles turning to rot and flaking off my bones like dandruff is a bad proposition all around, I have decided to back-off of the Six Brothers project for today and take a much needed breather.
Battling the creeping uncertainty of writing a mammoth novel (in a genre I’ve only dabbled in with novellas before, I kindly remind you) has quickly resulted in a Gordian knot of stress taking up residence in my shoulder. Short of taking dear Alexander the Great’s lead of taking up a sword and solving the problem with a well-placed hack, I have no idea how to approach this rather painful dilemma other than to retreat for a bit and let all muscular parties rest.
“Cop out!” some might claim.
“Coward!” a few will even call.
“Survivor!” I retort.
Yeah, I know. A little stress in the shoulders is hardly the big deal I’m making it out to be. But me taking a day off is a HUGE deal with a psyche as screwed up as mine. So blowing the whole shoulder-stress thing out of proportion is my way of justifying my complete and utter failure as a writer today.
Living in my head is really weird sometimes.
Be glad you only visit.
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