I Dearly Wish I CouldMature

I've re-written this page about twenty times.

Each time my computer has accidentally reloaded, or I waited too long before posting and another author beats me to the punch, or I decide that it isn't a good enough answer to a plea for help. 

So this is going to be my final draft. Okay? I'm done. And if this isn't good enough, say so, and I'll delete it. Quick as a snap.

Even though each time I press the backspace button a piece of my heart wrenches itself away and my heart is leeched out through my eyes and I waste even more time trying to desperately get it right.

Because writing? Writing is my life. And writing is all about putting words in the right order. And sometimes they twist themselves and bend back and do acrobatics to get away and run into a crowd of letters and they lose themselves.

But I'm getting off track.

I want to be able to help. I really, honestly, do.

I can't.

I'm looking at all the other wonderful pages posted on this work, and I...

Can't properly say anything.

I cannot help you because your words are your own. They are water, and I can't do anything about whether they dissolve or dissipate or flood without hindrance from iron gates.

I did not write this to complain to anybody, or to spout a bunch of unhelpful words. Just simply because I did come to write this. I am a writer. That is what writers do.

Try to write when you feel like it, don't force it when you don't, and do anything to rid yourself of writer's block.

Maybe try writing something mindless, not even what you meant to/want to.

Just write. You are a writer.

Don't ever forget that.

(For the sake of everyone who just read that, I apologize sincerely.)

The End

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