I went on a beach trip with some of my siblings (lucky me) and since today is my first full day back, I've been trying to get into writing and have realised why I don't write as much. While I was on the trip, I found a lovely place on the dining table to type, with a window next to me to look out and be surrounded by everyone in a beautiful clean environment.
Being back home, I have realised I haven't got a place like that. In my room it is too cold and a bit cluttered and it's a bedroom. The rest of the house is just too cluttered for my brain, and this makes me sad and has opened my eyes to the reason my books are never finished and/or I don't like them.
It is really sad that my environment has such an impact without me realising :(
