The axe, permanent hiatus.

Hello, anyone hopeless enough to still be reading this. I regret to inform you that I have decided to give up A Dull Gray To A Vibrant White. Whilst I have no doubt that this book had potential, I found myself consistently failing to fulfill it's potential.

Due to my shortcomings as a writer, I will sadly be giving up on this book. Nevertheless, this was a good first attempt at literature for me. It really helped me realize what's important when writing as well as what to avoid.

I found in my own opinion that I wrote the beginning to fast, then switching it up and speeding through introducing many "special" characters who I had thought of gimmicks for. I had all these fun ideas and failed to properly plan on how to use them, hamfisting them into the story by force.

It's by far most prevalent when you meet like the 9th character with what is this book's version of The Shining.

I've also found that I just got really tired after a while. I had started out with two 1000 word chapters a day, every day of the week, every week in the month. Then I slowed it down to 1 chapter a day, every day of the week, every week in the month. Then every two days, some weeks. Now, radio silence.

It would've made sense to just have days where I wasn't writing at all instead of simply reducing the workload per day. My writing practices ultimately weren't sustainable, leading to burnout.

When I approach a challenge like writing, I find that I need to throw all of my effort at it. Then, when the results aren't absolutely stunning, I get a little depressed. Then I get demotivated and produce less, slowly going back into this pathetic sedentary mindset. It's one of my fatal flaws, actually.

I've also recently been struggling with a lot of stress and mental health issues, causing me to just sit in bed and stare at the ceiling most days.

I feel pitiful, like this disgusting blob of flesh that dares call itself a human. I have no mouth and yet I must scream.

I lack the motivation to function even as a basic human, disappointing those around me frequently and having to rely on others. I don't particularly know what I'm doing with my life, but I had hopes to be a writer.

I'm simply grifting through life, trying to find something hopeful to latch on to. I'm aware that, by many people's standards' I have an excellent life, but knowing this provides no solace. I was born into a trailer down a road known notoriously for crackheads, not ever given the mind to truly appreciate the life I live.

I am the worst person I know, whether the people around me are aware or not. I've never done anything criminal (besides breaking into an abandonded church and smashing it's windows (I'm sorry, Jesus.).), so sometimes I wonder if my perception of myself is really that skewed.

Regardless, I'm going to go think up the next piece of "literature" I can dream of.