… You used to be able to write a story without that unnecessary sense of dread? When your favorite pastime was curling up in a corner with your ridiculous & expensive hipster notebooks and pens and write characters that are like you, but unlike you enough that simpler people can’t tell the difference? Remember that chest of notebooks in your old room that your Mom doesn’t know about and if she ever found them, she’d disown you as her child?
That was awesome.
Instead, now, in the frigidity of your empty room, you fear the blank page. You fear white walls. Everyone around tells you to dive, dive, dive. And all you can think about is how you’re going to drown in it.