When I’m writing. When I’m not writing I’m writing. I file away lines and sentences and emotions. On paper, in my iPhone notes. I write drafts. Paragraphs, pages, stories. I write drafts of blog posts. I rewrite. I revise. I write and publish blog posts. It’s all very exhausting for the mind. But I can’t stop. I’m not famous. No one knows who I am. No one is waiting for my next novel. But it’s not that. It’s because I have to.
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