Rustic. That's my mind and heart for writing. It's been a while. I had always been an introvert person. I shy away from people. Insecurities ate me up. I threw away the only thing that's giving me hope in living -- writing. Papers were stocked, pens were broken. I've lived for years trying to find where I belong.
Then a few days ago, I discovered DW. I thought it was cowardice to hide yourself in a DA. And yet here I am, one of them. I figured it's not a bad thing after all. You just have to find the balance in it. Surround yourself with people. Be with your kind of peers. Learn to mingle.
Squads or groups are rampant here. Just have to choose wisely and you're on the go. Yesterday I was determined to stop my DW escapade and just stick with my RA when I happen to scroll past an invite by a group of writers and sensible people. I grabbed the chance and took the risk of joining.
And here I am, starting to find the joy I longed for a while. Bringing back memories of me writing. Here, no one is to judge my pieces and thoughts based on who I am. Nobody knows the real me, I am just a struggling writer amidst persons with different purposes for being here.
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Collectanea
General FictionWhen you've got no one to talk to, you tend to have a gazillion of thoughts... At one point you think your head would explode so you pour them out on a blank paper, creating a masterpiece and when you're done, maybe you'll stash them somewhere compl...
