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You should write more,’ they tell me. Funny, though, how these encouragements come only after a melancholy or down right depressing post. Maybe it’s true after all that writers who are going through misery and heartache write better. Or maybe it’s just true that we human beings take some sort of perverted pleasure in the other person’s suffering, we find comfort in the fact that our pains are not singular. Whatever the reason, I have heard this line from a few different people in the past few months, so it’s given me a bit more courage to just take to the page even at times when I feel I don’t have a particular (or particularly interest eliciting) subject to write about.

So what’s a girl to do while she’s bedridden for an entire weekend and more?

She’ll read (more or less useful articles). She’ll get caught up in the Game Of Thrones madness and fall victim to it’s big budget allure. And she’ll write, of course!

Curiosity pokes at me, though – if I don’t put my bleeding heart on display, will anybody still tell me I should write more? What if there aren’t any more sad words to offer because suddenly the heartache is gone and suddenly “happy” is more than just a word on a piece of paper or a wish on a falling star?

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