apologies to anyone who ever thought i was cool and reached out to me only to discover i am just a weird little hermit who can't carry on a conversation to save my life

"What are you reading right now?" My own wip because apparently I forgot my own writing style

Non-writers don't understand how much of writing is just googling things like "when was the croissant invented" for worldbuilding reasons and staring off into the distance.

sometimes your brain really just offers you one banger of a sentence and then that's it for the entire rest of the day. creativity expired, the ability to think has clocked out for the day, context for as to how we even get to this sentence? sorry we're all out. this one sentence is all you get.

writing is hard. you’re doing it anyway. you’re basically a god. a really tired, under-caffeinated god in pajamas.

oh don't mind me. i'm just pacing around my room reading my scenes out loud to judge their worthiness.

writing again after months is like summoning a demon you forgot how to control. suddenly he’s got a tragic backstory and you’re crying at 3am.