I woke up today and seriously considered quitting writing for a while. What has it ever gotten be but heartache?
It's either the creative heartache or monetary and to be honest I'm much better at flaying and filleting myself creatively.
I have too much of my self-esteem tied up with the words I produce and it seems I've chosen a life both destined and doomed to be obscure. I've been saying that to be a writer one has to be persistent and consistent.
Right now, all I am is tired.
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