Post by account_disabled on Dec 9, 2023 5:14:05 GMT
It sometimes happens that the desire to write is diluted together with the desire to create and build, to define one's space in the world, to frame one's path, one's objectives, to give meaning to one's life and everything that surrounds us. Writing has always been my passion, dreams of a boy who chased something that today, as an adult, he still chases and does not reach, like a butterfly hunter who runs across endless meadows with a net whose mesh is too wide to catch those small insects, which they escape by flying away together with his dreams.
And for months I stopped writing stories to publish on the blog - which have never had so much approval - and working on the famous novel and my self-publishing Phone Number Data experiments. Creativity has stopped, it has started to slow down until it stops, but it is not writer's block, it is an internal block, not only mental, it is also emotional, something bigger that prevents the creative flow. Even reading was affected by the nebulous and gray mood, I stopped at least ten fiction books after reading a maximum of 20 pages.
Perceived by those who enter the your blog and finds the Stories section dead and no longer reads your writing, your worlds, your being in the words you formulate. More than a few of my acquaintances and friends, people I respect and who follow my blog and my social profiles, have encouraged me to write, to go back to writing, in fact. When you see that someone believes in you and your possibilities, you wonder how much you are disappointing them – actually I wonder how much they are overestimating me, but that's another story.
And for months I stopped writing stories to publish on the blog - which have never had so much approval - and working on the famous novel and my self-publishing Phone Number Data experiments. Creativity has stopped, it has started to slow down until it stops, but it is not writer's block, it is an internal block, not only mental, it is also emotional, something bigger that prevents the creative flow. Even reading was affected by the nebulous and gray mood, I stopped at least ten fiction books after reading a maximum of 20 pages.
Perceived by those who enter the your blog and finds the Stories section dead and no longer reads your writing, your worlds, your being in the words you formulate. More than a few of my acquaintances and friends, people I respect and who follow my blog and my social profiles, have encouraged me to write, to go back to writing, in fact. When you see that someone believes in you and your possibilities, you wonder how much you are disappointing them – actually I wonder how much they are overestimating me, but that's another story.