Sometimes I wonder if writing is just a pipe dream. I feel like I am completely wasting my time. I have always wanted to do it, but now that I am actually giving it ago, I feel like I am getting nowhere at all. I have an entire folder of works in progress and, lately, all I want to do is delete everything I have ever written and find the nearest corner to cry in.
I was working on one that I really loved, but I got oly so far and then it just faded on me. And now I can't come up with any way to rework it or continue it that I actually like. Part of that is that I invested so much of myself in the characters that they have solidified themselves in my head and now I cant think of them in any other way. I have a few like that. Stories that meant so much to me that now feel like they are bound for the litter box. It hurts a bit.
It doesn't help at all that no one in my family seems to take me seriously so trying to get some uninterrupted time is almost impossible. There is nothing I hate more than admitting that I can't do something, but what good does it do to chase after something you are never ever going to do?
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