Inspired by Adelina
Write a story about a struggling author who hates their own book but knows they must finish it.
(TW : Suicidal Ideation)
I lack inspiration,
But I don’t want to write about the things I’m trying not to think about,
As that defeats the purpose of avoding them entirely.
But without suffering,
What is there to write about?
Not when my life isn’t unique or profound.
Not when I have no transcending love that will live on in fairytales,
No calling I woud die for,
“What are you writing?” the bartender at Atomic asks me. I’ve been camped out here for the last several hours, damn my 70 year old house and its faulty wiring. As soon as my raise comes through — if my raise comes through this year — I will absolutely have the whole place gutted.
Honestly, I’m getting real sick of losing power every time a squirrel farts outside.
Hrmmm, that might be a line ...
But I have to follow through
This is my life’s work we’re talking about after all…
There is no room for indecisiveness
I am now committed
Where I wish there would be inspiration there is not
Where I search for passion I don’t find it
But it’s what the people want
It’s the same as any other book...
"I hate it. That's all there is to it. I genuinely hate the fact that Urban Bloodshed gained the popularity that it did. A popularity that it gained overnight…over the fact that it’s a bad book."
Robert's eyes narrowed and his lips contorted as though Brandon had grown a pair of horns. He cautiously took a sip of his coffee before setting it on the table in between them.
"Isn't this what you w...
I’m not sure if I have anything to say.
At least that people would want to hear. How do I know what people find interesting? What would intrigue them? Can I do that?
It’s these unknowns that make me struggle. I wrestle with the self doubt and anxiety every time I write. My finger hovers above the “Post Writing” as I contemplate if anyone will care.
I like creating a world that no one has seen, ...
I slammed my pen hard on my desk and rubbed my fingers against my head to see any ideas would come out. I groaned after a hot second and hung my head off the back of my chair.
“I am actually the worst author ever!” I yelled with a sigh. “Why can’t I think of anything at all!” I towed my head off the back of my chair and positioned my elbows to lay on the desktop. I finally placed my head on m...
Day after day Arther grew more irritated as he couldn’t muster the guts to finish his novel. After basing the book vaguely on his childhood and early adulthood he couldn’t bring himself to finish the story. He tried to keep the core elements of his experiences in the book while changing minor details to keep the reader interested but now that the story had reached the climax he began to regret int...
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