Maybe reaching creative rock bottom is part of the next phase, sort of destroy to create, and from nothing something started and became all.
The truth is, it’s a full blank canvass, and there’s not a single thing in it, just emptiness. I’m guessing it’s yet another stage I have to suffer through before being able to flourish.
One thing is definitely serious: This is going to be a very excruciating winter. It’s barely mid-October, and we’re facing a cold-front lowering temperatures to 38F-46F throughout the day, with 17mph-20mph winds. Fucking unreasonable.
Now I truly understand the cliché of writers retreating to a cabin while working on their new book. It’s to leave all the city bullshit behind.