And Then I Found Myself Here

I’m a terrible writer. Abysmal. It doesn’t get much worse than this. And it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. It’s an obsession, an unstoppable drive. The very thought of writing, of acceptance letters and books and libraries and page after saturated page gathering atop my desk in small mountains– my body feels beautifully flooded. There’s nothing in existence that can compete with this passion. So why am I so inept and unqualified to follow through? I recently read an article extolling the virtues of hushed, spontaneous writing; no editing, no overthinking or second-guessing, just blasting the … Continue reading And Then I Found Myself Here