stuff
wow. It has been a long while since I've written in this thing. It looks rather dusty.
Regardless, I am beginning to think that all my potential for writing is primarily focused on my sadness and ill feelings. I can't write one thing without coming up with some sad undertone. I was trying to write something encouraging; something heartfelt. But I couldn't. In the end of it all, I just continually produced some tragic thing involving unfortunes casted upon my characters.
It is odd how my encouraging facade is not without a sense of depletion. Mr. Danforth said that Hemingway's writting was a form of therapy for himself, it was not for others. Am I different in that regard? At one spectrum I want to impress but at the other I need the release.
Regardless, I am beginning to think that all my potential for writing is primarily focused on my sadness and ill feelings. I can't write one thing without coming up with some sad undertone. I was trying to write something encouraging; something heartfelt. But I couldn't. In the end of it all, I just continually produced some tragic thing involving unfortunes casted upon my characters.
It is odd how my encouraging facade is not without a sense of depletion. Mr. Danforth said that Hemingway's writting was a form of therapy for himself, it was not for others. Am I different in that regard? At one spectrum I want to impress but at the other I need the release.