I've found myself stuck recently when it comes to writing. I know a good writer just writes. But sometimes I am not a good writer. I find it more and more difficult to be swept away by my own imagination as the world around me becomes more real. I used to have friends who would build stories and characters with me—usually based on our favorite shows or video games. But those friends are gone.
I try to embrace the melancholy, to use it, but I fear more and more the sheer exhaustion that keeps me from doing so sucessfully. I know that the only way out of it is to keep trudging through.
I feel like Atreyu in the Swamp of Sadness.
Must keep writing, even if the Nothing devours all my hard work.
So lets get back to it. Lets finish something for once.
