I Hate Being a Writer

**I’m posting today because moving is exhausting.** 🙂

Sometimes, I hate being a writer.

It’s hard.

It’s hard to create things from nothing. It isn’t fun staring at a blank screen, willing it to be something, anything. It isn’t pleasant looking at all of the books around you and thinking, “how am I ever going to compete with those?”

Sometimes, being a writer sucks.

But only sometimes.

Because there are other times where the magic settles in between the words and thoughts, comingles with long-standing ideas and you get something you never expected.

Sometimes your characters, who you thought you knew everything about, surprise you. In a big way.

Every once in a while, the things you write just work.

In those moments, those few and far between moments, there’s nothing else I would rather be.

And, dear reader, I had one of those moments a few weeks ago.

I found a random prompt on the internet, and it said nothing but “write a story about a frayed edge.” So, I did.

The edge was a cliff.

The story turned out to be the end of one of my main characters. Yes, you read that right. One of my main characters died.

I didn’t know you could do that in writing. It feels kind of like a writing sin, but it happened. I didn’t try to stop it, or intervene, because in those magical moments, I am nothing but a scribe, telling the story of people who act on their own accord.

I am nothing but a writer.

But writing is everything.

Life and death, even.

Sometimes, being a writer sucks, but other times, it can be wonderful, if only you know where to find the magic.

I found it on the edge of a cliff.

See you soon,


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