Sitting here between angered and peaceful walls, under a cloud of pachouli smoke I stare at my journal and watch it mock me. Write, it says, yet I already edit the words before the ink touches the page, and the journal to this day, remains empty.
I don’t know about you but I always seem to be grappling with a serious case of writer’s block. There is nothing more frustrating than sitting down to write and finding yourself staring at a blank page for hours on end. 727 more words