It is such a struggle to be authentic. This cannot be just me.
In this time of polarization, where a chasm has begun to form that seems to get wider each and every day, I feel almost burdened by this propensity and desire for understanding.
Every life is a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Buying a whole box of cookies, or a cake, for no reason.
Like under that gross attitude and propensity to belittle everyone, there’s actually, like, this really cool guy who just, you know, has feelings and stuff.
1. You start writing a piece about procrastination and then sit on it for about a month without a shred of conscious irony. (What? Just me?)
Your life doesn’t restart when love steps in.
The issue isn’t with the idea of a rape scene in a story, it’s including a rape scene that serves absolutely no purpose.