Writing is getting harder. Sometimes, I wonder why I put myself through this. I know I like to write. I have these characters in my head just begging to come out. But I cannot find a way to let them out in a way that really makes me feel like I am doing them any justice.
It is hard to explain to someone who is not a writer. It is like being a painter, seeing the perfect picture in your mind, but unable to bring it to life. It is like seeing the perfect house or home in your head and not being able to build it or find it.
That, to me, is what this life as a writer is like. I loved this story that I had started, but now, I do not know what I am doing with it. I do not know what I am doing with anything. I feel lost, floating, adrift in a sea of words. Then they hit me like a wave, scattering around and refusing to settle back.
See, I can write pretty metaphors. But they do not always make sense. Even if they do, it never really has any true application. They are not ones that you would use in real life! I mean who would use “lost in a sea of words”?
Well, besides a writer, I guess.