Living with COWS
By Penny Stine

I've got a disease, and I'm finally ready to admit it. I see the world in terms of plot, setting, and characterization; every strange encounter makes me itch to put it in a story, and I can't walk past my computer without a lingering caress of the keyboard. Yes, I suffer from COWS, or Chronic Obsessive Writing Syndrome.

I look at productive, satisfied journalists, convinced that many of them also suffer from COWS. If only I would have recognized the disease at a flexible period in my life! I could've put my COWS to work, writing and getting paid by a newspaper or magazine. But no, I stifled that urge to write and chose a different career path. I never noticed that the favorite part of my day was writing memos.

Eventually, memo writing wasn't enough. I ventured into the public forum with a letter to a newspaper editor about an issue important to me. The first time one of my letters was published, I convinced myself that it was the passionate fervor for a cause that made my heart pound and gave me such satisfaction. It's a common misconception shared by many COWS patients writing in denial. Now I realize that there are few causes that thrill as much as seeing my name and words in print.

Though I ignored the symptoms of COWS and allowed the disease to fester until middle age, I finally gave in to that urge to write a book and send it to a publisher. I promised myself that if it didn't sell, I'd quit and go back to a real job.

Cruel COWS. While waiting to hear from the editor, I couldn't help but write something else, certain that this time, it would be an instant classic. Or at least a sale. When the first rejection came, I'd already written several poems, picture books, and magazine stories, plus half a novel.

The rejections come in fast and furious, but I have an overwhelming optimism that convinces me to persevere. Whatever I'm working on at the time is so good no one could possibly reject it. It's a common delusion of COWS.

I've joined a support group with others who share my disorder, though we kid ourselves and call it a critique group. Who else understands the oxymoronic idea of finding encouragement in a rejection letter? Where else can we relish beating our heads against the wall when an editor sits on a requested revision for eight months only to dismiss it with a "Dear Author" rejection? Only fellow sufferers understand what it means to live with COWS.

There is no cure. The only peace comes from acceptance. I must accept that I have a life-long disorder that will keep me typing long after friends have retired, and I appreciate acceptance from family and friends who put up with my need to play with words and phrases.

Of course, a few more acceptance letters wouldn't hurt, either.

Penny Stine lives in Grand Junction with her husband, three sons, two cats, and one dog. She works two part-time jobs to support her writing habit. She's collecting enough rejection letters to wallpaper the family room and doesn't have enough sense to hear the fat lady singing.