When you've faced demons that used to haunt you and accepted your imperfections, what the hell do you have to write about?
I'm not saying I want to be unhappy or depressed, but I do want to be inspired or compelled.
Motherhood is amazing and there's so many new revelations I've had since becoming a parent, but do people REALLY want to read about that? Do I really want to read about that? (No.)
Yes, I know Grief uncomfortably well (an unwelcome friend that visits us all), but I don't want to write or read about that either.
I guess I have writer's block or something, but this has lasted for years. I used to have endless ideas and time. Now, I have neither. It's kind of depressing.
Am I still a writer?
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