#current project

Writing is so fucking stupid. I had a scene pop into my head and now I’ve spent the last year and 100k words creating the necessary contextual plot/character depth to earn the emotion in that scene. Ridiculous. Absurd. Why.

Someone, an actual human being, a real person wants to make fanart of my book that doesn't even fully exist yet. I will die and go to writer heaven right now while clutching my imaginary pearls.

For whatever it may be worth, I'm putting together a poetry collection for self-publication. I'm cognizant of the fact that the world doesn't really need another poetry collection, nor will it do anything to alleviate the horrors currently at large, but the work keeps me going. And if I don't keep going, I can't be any use to myself or others.