Writing is my time machine: it takes me to the precise time and place I belong

I love to write. Whether it’s a blog post, an essay for school, a story of my own or just scraps of ideas I jot down in my notebook. Writing is like breathing to me; I can’t imagine me not writing.

You know how they say there’s a double of all of us somewhere? Though I’m not so sure I believe that, I just know that if there is another me out there, she (or he…I don’t know if they’d be the same gender as the ‘original’) will love to write. It has to be. Writing is such an essential part of my life, even if there’d be an alternative universe where everyone exists as well, my alternative version would be writing. No doubt about it.

The gears in my head are always working: always producing new ideas and providing me with delicious inspiration. Yet I can’t seem to finish the 19475475923 stories I’ve created. Sometimes I stop just after creating the characters, sometimes after a few chapters. After that….I’m empty. My inspiration is gone. I guess that’s what you call writer’s block, eh?

I think I get stuck because I don’t have any proof readers; people who read my chapters and give me feedback. Because when I get feedback, I start thinking about the story I want to write, not the story I’ve written. So I need to find myself some proof readers. I had a friend who read my stories for me, but she got frustrated with me because I had one written 3 chapters and then hopped on to another story.

She’s really scary when she’s scolding me and I had to stop sending unfinished stuff.

 

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