I've been worrying recently. Worrying about losing things. Namely, my ability to write.
And no, I don't mean simply writing stories and lettered, etc. The ability to write as myself. Recently, I haven't really had a lot of time to myself, to just sit and let the words flow. Any writing I've been doing lately has just been essays, essays, and more essays. And today, I tried to sit and write a short story. Nothing huge, just a quick little one shot about whatever came to mind.
Nothing. Not one single solitary thing came to mind. And when I tried to just put words on paper to try and get things flowing, it failed. Miserably. And it frightens me, because this isn't the first time this has happened. Since the beginning of this year, it's been getting harder and harder to write anything that's not MLA format and double spaced, with times new roman font point 12. It scares me; writing is supposed to be my escape from the world, my outlet, the one thing I can do with complete and utter freedom. And now that doorway, that outlet, it's being closed off, more and more alarmingly rapidly.
YOU ARE READING
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Short StoryBasically just a collection of shorts inspired by (possibly) too much time spent in the Quickie section of Wattpad and indecision on my preferred subject matter whenever the writing bug strikes. Enjoy.
