I have been documenting the highs of writing: the adrenaline and joy of creating a tangible piece of my mind.
I have experimented with fictional characters that embody my character and have included narrations of my voice. Yet, there are more lows than highs lately. There is the infamous writer’s block, the procrastination, the distractions and then, then there’s this:
The anxiety of doubting one’s work, the mess left of the room you inhabit with handwritten notes, the books you picked up to get inspired and left after thirty pages and the fear that some things cannot be expressed. This is my vulnerable mess.