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Sometimes, the way I feel is just not fair.
Inadequacy is the big one, and most often felt. Sux.
Lonely, even in a crowded room.
Hollow, no matter how much I eat.

When the bad feelings kick in, I self-sabotage. Eat more. You know, all those behaviors that are bad but you can’t stop yourself.

^all this has an effect on my writing. I write with pain, sorrow, anger, and helplessness. The difference between RL and fiction is that in a novel, I can make everything turn out the way it should, the good people survive and the bad people get what’s coming to them.

Too bad I can’t change life that way! I really need a magic wand!

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