Let me tell a story about how I’ve written nothing worthwhile and the semester is almost over.
Once upon a time, Allee wrote for three months, looked back, and realized it wasn’t good. In fact, it had no spark. It was a jumble of quotes and messiness. It made her heart cry big tear drops.
I read writing like Rhett’s, or Ben’s, or my editors and I feel like shriving up like a raisin that’s been in the sun too long.
I swear, I used to be able to write well. I promise.
Current mood: about like this.
There was a much better one. I just deemed it inappropriate.