%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   A blog detailing my writing over the next however long. |
| December 17, 2023, 11:30am I am sitting here, in the library (using their public wifi) on a Sunday late morning and my life feels like it has achieved nothing. My son is going through an issue and I can't be there to help him; my daughter has withdrawn even more into herself, and I can't be there to talk to her. The woman I like is really down because of her own family issues, and she won't accept my offers of help. The counsel of my friend in Florida who had her operation the other day has not let me know if she is okay. I feel so useless. And then there is my writing. I did a few hand-written pages of my horror and a single typed page of my short story series. I also outlined an article for Weekend Notes. But because I am feeling like I can't do anything and can't help anyone, I feel like my writing is not worth continuing with because it is not being read, not being bought, it's just there. I guess this is a "woe is me" sort of blog entry, and so I know I will cop crap from those who think I shouldn't express myself like that, but it is affecting my writing. I can't help those I love/really like and it is affecting my creativity. And when I try to help others, it feels like I am shouting into the void. I hate this time of the year. It always gets me down. I get older and I look back and see how little I've achieved in the past 12 months. Worst year of my writing career since 2017... and yet I wrote more than 400,000 words of completed work. Impostor Syndrome, sure, but that does not stop the thoughts. Sorry. I'm being a jerk here. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
