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The Review Review

Abstract

I haven’t written any fiction or poetry in almost three months. There, I said it. That’s a hard confession to make, for someone who considers herself a full-time writer. I haven’t been doing my job (or at least the most important part of it) in a quarter of a year. Oh, I’ve been blogging, editing, reading, submitting, networking, etc. But we all know that the most important part of being a writer is writing. The rest is just playing dress-up without it. I haven’t told this to anyone until now. I am ashamed. And the worst part? It’s not writer’s block. At least that would be a mildly acceptable excuse: “Oh, I’ve had writer’s block for months now! It’s just awful.” But no. I’m bursting with ideas and stories begging me to write them. And it’s not laziness, either. I am a lot of things, but I am not lazy. It also has nothing to do with confidence. I have plenty of belief in my ability, and I’m not afraid of success. I’m afraid of my own emotions.

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