stockvault-sunset-on-the-freeway148596Potholes happen. On the road to writing a “Come and buy me!” story, they are an inevitability.

Jagged, unplanned gaps in the creative process are nasty things that can rarely be prevented or predicted. Trying to avoid them, attempting to plan your route around these jarring bumps is useless and time-consuming.

You will hit potholes.

Accept it.

Got it?


So, what does a writer do?

Defensive driving, baby! Learn it, become one with its tricks, make it second nature. When you hit that inevitable, violent bump react, don’t overreact.

Swerving off to the shoulder, crossing that center lane, or abandoning the trip altogether is NOT NECESSARY. Keep a firm hold on the wheel, keep your gaze straight ahead and motor on.

Got it?


Until tomorrow…


Post-note: This blog was written on a pothole-ridden stretch of my own creativity in which warning lights are currently in use and the side of the road is looking awfully dandy. So with sweaty hands upon the wheel and eyes to the horizon, I post.

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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