Dear readers,
I don't even know how to say this anymore.
Lately, I've been looking at my books and all I can think is, *they're boring.* Every story feels empty. Every chapter feels forced. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. And somehow, I keep finding myself writing stories centered on incest, and it genuinely scares me. I don't know why my mind keeps going there, but I hate that it's becoming all I seem capable of writing.
It's breaking my heart because writing has always been the one place where I felt alive. Now, it feels like I've lost a part of myself.
Every single day, I sit in front of my Mac, open my documents, stare at the blinking cursor, and tell myself, "Just write one sentence." But nothing comes. Or if it does, I end up deleting it because it feels lifeless. I can't force myself to continue stories that I no longer believe in.
The worst part is that I haven't lost the desire to be a writer. I've only lost the ability to feel the magic that once came so naturally. It's like my imagination has gone silent, and I'm terrified it may never come back.
I'm sharing this because I don't want to pretend everything is fine when it isn't. Right now, I'm exhausted, frustrated, and honestly heartbroken. I miss the version of me who couldn't wait to tell stories.
I hope she's still somewhere inside me, waiting to come back.
Until then, thank you for being patient with me.
