It’s been fourteen years since I wrote my first story. Didn’t even have the guts to finish it. I started about ten times more projects than I finished. I gave up, again and again. Some days I just wouldn’t want to write anything. I’d hate it; I’d loathe the fact that I had to edit my stories, that I had to read them aloud and realize they’re not as good as I thought when I wrote them. I’d despise the fact that some days it just didn’t work. The words wouldn’t come.
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