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I've been writing like crazy lately. In the last two weeks, I've written about 33 pages, which, for me, is huge. That's more than double what I usually aim for in that sort of time period, and this week isn't even over yet! I think the cooler weather is kicking in. I feel way more energized, and it's leading me to be more passionate about writing. I can't decide what I'm more excited about: where I am in the stories I've been working on or every other story I want to work on. Because I've been writing plenty of both. The notebook I keep on my desk for random ideas and such is getting covered lately. Everything creative is just whirling like crazy in my head... and in my heart.

The only thing that's getting a bit in the way is a recent fear for one of my stories. I'm getting close to the end, but I'm not worried about that in the way I used to be. It's just that the end is very depressing. Sort of. I think it's perfectly fitting, and I just couldn't see it any other way. But I'm starting to wonder if... well, it's hard to explain any further, for fear of spoiling the ending completely. Let's just say that people might take it in a certain way, and that's not exactly what I'm intending. Or maybe it is. I guess that's mostly what I'm worried about. But it's not really that I chose for this story to end that way. The ending, like most parts of my writing, chose me. And that's just the way it is.

...I just hope it doesn't upset people too much.