Sad. Sort of.

Because it doesn't matter whether you remember what your ambitions are, or if you've even got any. What matters is that you stick to your guns, you plod on and toil away and sweat it out; what matters is making damn sure you go the distance.

Needless to point it out, but NADA. No writing juice flowing. I've literally stopped writing for a week now. Everything seems constructed somehow, already done, already written, and I need something so original that the technical right of my brain refuses to cooperate with its artistic counterpart.

Makes me pretty pissed off, truth be told. Is it because I haven't been reading the right books?