Bought a sage thingie to combat negative energy. It still amazes me, the capacity to believe in magic, in spite all the necessity of logic in the world. Magic, people, that is the key to wondrous things.
Writing a follow up to my first book and what stops me is this sinking feeling none of what I do matters anyway. Self-pity or wisdom? Perhaps both. Sigh. Why even write? Every writer answers this question every day whether they like it or not.