I can’t exactly say I’ve been stuck in a rut, but I’ve been… well, stuck. In a rut.<\/p>\n
Recently have come to the realization that I am actually not even close to being even remotely good at writing. I can’t ever finish writing anything unless I am tired enough to just sit in one spot and concentrate and write<\/em>. Without second-guessing or questioning myself, or feeling like an idiot who is obsessed with the backspace button. I can’t write.<\/p>\n Which would be perfectly fine if I didn’t grow up with some sort of superiority complex, believing I could<\/em> write. Or that I could draw. Or anything involving creativity.<\/p>\n What use is creativity if I can’t put it to good use?<\/p>\n I do have a lot of unfinished things that I never want to see again, but I haven’t the heart to delete them.<\/p>\n It’s also pretty discouraging when I try to write something, which is then promptly omitted, then rewritten with an entirely different nuance by someone else that everyone says the absolute best.<\/p>\n Looking for perfection. But what’s that? Is it like, the completeness? The absolute best best best? Something that is the epitome and pinnacle and the most flawless to every critic ever? Or just when you can feel self-satisfaction?<\/p>\n Oh well. I try, anyways. That’s why I have so much junk.<\/p>\n And I also have caught the second cold of this year aaah.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I can’t exactly say I’ve been stuck in a rut, but I’ve been… well, stuck. In a rut. Recently have…<\/p>\n