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It’s a strange moment when you stop writing.

I’d been convincing myself that I was playing the role of extrovert. I was out making friends and being social and going out for dinners and happy hours and working out, but I realized I wasn’t any happier because there was something missing. I couldn’t figure out what it was exactly, just that something was off and I wasn’t sure what. But every time I sat down to look at my writing or opened a journal I was at a loss as to what I was supposed to talk about. I know what I didn’t want to talk about: The current drama in my life. Well, I wanted to journal about it, but not share it. I wanted to discuss more positive things. I wanted to stick to my brand, and be the sunshine and happiness in people’s lives. I didn’t want to make people sad, I wanted to inspire them. I mean, let’s be honest, in the world of fiction I want to crush the reader’s soul so they come out fresher and clearer on the other side, I want people to have experienced and l…

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