I didn’t realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and I was gone.
THAT ACTUAL PHYSICAL ACHE YOU FEEL WHEN YOU LOVE A CHARACTER SO MUCH YOU SCREAM ABOUT THEM IN CAPSLOCK 800% OF THE TIME
Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.
Someone needs to start teaching people that asking an author to rewrite the ending to their series to suit their own liking is extremely disrespectful
“I’m a writer” I whisper as I look up war statistics
“I’m a writer” I whisper as I look up when the blender was invented
“I’m a writer” I whisper as I figure out how many times you can get shot without dying
“I’M A WRITER” I shout when someone uses my laptop and I left the page open to stab-wound references.
“I’M A WRITER!” I yell as I stare at a wall for hours instead of actually writing.
I cared once. Fucked me up.