You brew another cup of coffee, or maybe it's tea for you. You've rearranged your desk, taken a walk, read a book, and still—nothing. Your characters, once vibrant and full of life, now feel distant, like old friends you've lost touch with.
You’ve heard the advice: “Just write, it doesn’t matter what, just get words on the page.” But when you try, it feels forced, flat. It's like there's a wall between you and the vibrant stories you used to tell with ease.
You’ve scoured blog posts for tips, maybe even bought books on beating writer's block, but they only added to the noise, the pressure—the block that's been haunting you.
You might start to question yourself: Is this really for me? Can I even call myself a writer when I can’t, well, write?