I think I found someone who gets exactly what I feel when I think about writing too.
For too long I’ve revelled in my ability to write. I seem like I can. Speak like I can. Am educated to a level that implies that I can. In my head, I am weaving stories that amuse, shock and titillate me to no end. There’s a mythical world somewhere inside of me with many characters living extra ordinary lives. Ironically, whilst these people that do not exist go forward and live all the excitement I can only dream of, I am stuck in a room, staring at a wall, a book, a screen doing nothing.
I know that I can write, but that means nothing if I do not take pen to paper and actively do it. My writing stays stagnant in my head, never to be edited or critiqued because as soon as the story happens, poof it’s gone and these characters and scenarios often are lost never…
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