Maturity

stockvault-deer-nose151250Maturity rankles.

Oh, I’m not talking about age. (Forty-four is a beautiful age, bested only by forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, etc., etc.)

I’m talking writing maturity. You know, the point in your career when you can’t pass your own bad writing off as good, even to yourself.

Let’s face it. We all suffer from the occasional stinky writing. Experience doesn’t stop the stink, it just makes it harder to recognize. But when true maturity is reached, your nose crinkles immediately at the stench.

It’s an ugly moment… but you can’t help but be grateful for it.

Yep, it rankles. It rankles bad.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Post-note: Still smarting from a bout of particularly foul writing yesterday afternoon. Teach me to try to squeeze a bit of creativity into my week of weed management.

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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