...

I posed the last chapter of Conjour's Masqurade, finishing up a series I've spent almost five years writing...

And instead of the joy/sadness/whatever I thought I would feel, instead I feel nothing. Another task completed, but nothing more.

It's something I've felt every time I've tried to write since mum died...I'm just too...disconnected from everything to even bother caring about what I once loved.

I hope this goes away, because to not write...to not enjoy the worlds and plots I've created, twisted, braided, etc is a depressing thing, and to not write ever again...what the hell do I do with myself then? I know I'm not a great writer, and I'll probably never fullfill my dream of having at least one book out there with my name on it...but it's what I DO...well, did.

I do I live each day, without opening a blank page and creating something wonderful?