My personal essays have been heard on ​​National Public Radio and seen in TV Guide, Newsday, the Boston Globe, New York Daily News, Philadelphia Inquirer, Los Angeles Times, and many other places. 

The following pieces are available in their entireties. (All rights.) Please email CKLowe101(at) for more information. Thank you for your interest.

The Other Chelsea Lowes 
Somewhere in Canada is a scary, alternate-universe Chelsea Lowe. If the wish list I stumbled upon this week is to be believed, the things that most terrify me seem to fascinate this other Chelsea Lowe. She wants books about home canning. Rats. Epidemiology. She wants my book, about obsessive-compulsive disorder (though she doesn't want it very much; like most of her choices, it comes in at priority three).  

This is not the only other Chelsea Lowe I've encountered in my travels (read: Internet searches). There's the missionary...

Green Ache 
My wants: a garage, an upstairs and at least two bathrooms, on a piece of property just large enough for the house, a tree and a birdfeeder.

His: to stay here in our city apartment. See the problem? 

For years, DJ and I have been acting out our own little version of '60s  sitcom "Green Acres." Only I'm playing country booster Eddie Albert to DJ's city sophisticate, Eva Gabor.   

Loud noises—sirens, car horns, guttural shouting—drive me crazy. Open spaces—pastures, mountains, expanses of sky—make DJ nervous. 

The first time I developed a loathing for tight spaces, crowds, insane prices and city filth, I left; found a job in New Hampshire, gave notice in New York and boom.   

Now, of course, everything's harder. I'm half of a household...

Night Moves
​Normally polite in my waking life, I'm told I morph into a Boston driver by night: veering unapologetically into the wrong lane, making inappropriate gestures and acting with a general recklessness toward those around me. 

Just last night, I hear, I sat up, leaning against the wall, hands behind my head, as if resting beneath a shade tree. Later, prone, I kicked my feet straight up into the air. D. said, "You looked like you were doing Pilates." D. saw this because he's often awake at night. He's such a light sleeper, he's been known to awaken and yell, "What?" just because I looked at him. (This happens less often since he's cut down on caffeine.)
Our Friend, Rattus Moridae OR A Word About Rats: BLECH!
Ah, Boston! Hub of culture, higher learning and one-bedroom homes that cost more than a certain ex-president's legal defense team. But did you know that Boston is also home to more rats than Izzy "The Nut" Lubrano's address book? Rats flourish in coastal areas because they have no natural enemies. On the other hand, they don't have many friends, either...