I have had two novel ideas and three fanfiction ideas in the last month and all I have wanted is to write a short fictional story for this damn website. I have done everything I know to do to get inspiration and it is just not happening. Well, that’s not true, it’s happening, but in the wrong place. I thought that if I wrote those fanfictions and started on those novels that I would feel at least some of the satisfaction that normally comes from me writing. Yet, here I am, writing what feels like an apology to all three of the people who actually read this blog regularly (you have my infinite thanks, by the way) and to myself for so many things, including not writing anything on here in over a month. There is something about the instant gratification that comes from writing on this website that improves my mood by a thousand percent. Even writing this, this sad, meaningless paragraph, knowing it is going somewhere that people will see it feels rewarding. Fictional stories and opinionated ramblings alike get seen, whether it be by all three of you or not, it feels like I am doing something, like I am accomplishing something with my time that brings me a little closer to becoming a real writer. That’s all I want. I know that I would be one step closer if I actually put some time into the thirty novel ideas I have had over the past few years, but I just cannot bring myself to pour so much of my heart and soul into something that is going to take years to mean something to anyone besides me. I know what I write now, on this website and others, means nothing as it stands now, but it is at least being seen, whereas these novel ideas might not work out or might fall flat or might just never make it anywhere past my laptop. What I am trying to say is, I throw myself into what I write, and I do not have the energy, the willpower, or the heart to spend that much time on something so important to me (read: my writing) just to watch it fall. I am perfectly okay watching it happen to the rest of what I write, but for now, I cannot bring myself to do something that means something without letting it break me. I have no strength for that and no inspiration for anything else, so for now, the three of you get this. This sloppy, miserable, way-too-long-to-be-a-paragraph paragraph, that I hope serves as means of an explanation/apology, but will hopefully not only alleviate this heavy feeling in my chest that comes from not producing anything worth showing to an insect, but also aid in my lack of inspiration.