CROSSROADS
As with so many other times in my life, I find myself again at my writing desk. Also, again, I find myself attempting to write with many fits and starts. That seems to be my lot in life, writing between fits of depression and starts of anxiety. Progressing only so far before the spectre of Imposter Syndrome makes its presence known, and in a bout of self-doubt, I chuck the whole of whatever itā¦
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