Living rhymes with pretending.
You can write about a bit of everything, even imitating from here, from there, even with a certain suspense (which always attracts masses).
But for you the best thing is to read, a little bit of everything, fiction, non-fiction. Theatre, detective, autofiction.
Although you deceive yourself by telling yourself that reading is the best thing in life, you read so as not to write.
And in recent years you have discovered a better option. The option of Netflix, watch so as not to read, or write… or to exist.
Watch, Read, Write. Holy Trinity.
But writing confronts yourself and your shortcomings, your gaps, your failures and mediocrities.
And, so many times, when facing yourself, alone, sometimes you realize that you don’t like yourself.
You’ve spent your whole life thinking about meaning, about the style of your stories, your tales, your flash fiction. You pretend not to realize that for a long time you have given up recognizing that the energy you have invested is not worth the result obtained.
Lately, the possibility of living and dying peacefully has been on your mind…
You just watched a series in which the main character wants to detox. And she says «there will be lots of screaming». You would also like to scream.
