Sometimes I feel exactly like this.
Writing seriously (that is, taking the creation of a story seriously) is turning into a giant pain in my ass. I find myself wanting to do a story justice, or a character. I find myself at a loss for how to spill all the chaotic mass of pieces onto a readable format, especially since the process following it will be sheer madness. Cutting out the questionable material, tieing everything together, maybe adding to it… and the cutting out more. Rinse and repeat until it feels right.
The idea of it is daunting.
This, this, is why I say thinking things through is a waste of fucking time. It’s better to be crazy and embrace madness than to drive myself insane with needless worry, concern… the idea of hard work, or of killing a passion by making it to much of a pain in the ass. Put another way (maybe…
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