I've come back here just to say that I feel as though my luck's finally running out. At one time in my life, inspiration carried me through the day. It doesn't anymore. I am a bad writer...one who needs not only a could slap on the wrist but a crush of the hands so that I cannot possibly put out such terrible fiction anymore.
Oh, this is such a gray day for me, again.
The stories I've written are all just fluff now. Then again, I never had the motivation to publish anything. It's all for self. That means I'm selfish? I don't really know.
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