I used to be a writer… I wrote 13(!) romance novels. They can be read for free on a site called Wattpad. They are about same-sex couples and are unedited.
I used to be a poet… I published 2 books and countless poems on this site. I haven’t written a good poem in a while.
I used to write short stories. Touching words.
These days, I am only whining about the pain in my shoulder. About my fragile state of mind.
I am not sure why I can’t write anymore. I am trying. I am trying to find routines. I am trying to be inspired through music (which always worked before). I read a lot. I even tried working with prompts. I want to write, but nothing with value fills my pages. And I don’t want to pressure myself, but I wonder: if I don’t write, what am I doing here?!
I don’t want to waste space and time. But I am. I am melodramatic again, sorry.
Just take a look at the short stories category… There are some touching gems in there.
I am sad. Tired. In pain. Exhausted…
Sorry about this.