It's been months. Probably more than a year. What have I been doing all this time that I couldn't steal an hour or half to type down some mindless drivel that I'd probably flush down the bog at the first opportunity? Mindless drivel it may be, but it's my mindless drivel, and it's swung me over the forbidding line of neutrality towards happiness on more occasions than one since I was half the size I am now.

There are one or two points writing-wise that I've concluded in the past year of linguistic drought. Firstly, write for yourself and yourself only. It's glaringly obvious, it's tiresomely clichéd, it's been repeated over and over again until the good people of the world want to slap their hands over their ears and pretend it's not happening. But see, that's the thing about clichés – the fact that they are overdone like a steak on a grill in so many instances simply means that people stop listening to them. And so we forget why they were clichéd in the first place: they are truer than your eyes are too close together.

I am in fact not throwing clever people's words back into everyone's face and praying for ignorance to let all believe that they are my own: I can't remember when it was, but I started posting some of my work on a site called Fanfiction. Once I discovered the sister site, Fictionpress, my old friend was thrown to the winds in a fit of excitement and I moved on to realms of literature where the characters could be my own and the plots entirely weaved according to my singular desire. This was thrilling. People I didn't know and who would never know me could tell me I was wonderful and my stories were good and my jokes delightful: for what is it that we pathetic beings desire more than acceptance from our neighbour?

The novelty wore off steadily until I stopped writing altogether, simply due to the fact that I was not writing a single word I actually liked. I cringed at my thoughtless summaries and uncreative plots: writing became a way to gain attention through reviews and favourites rather than an ever-improving process where I could put thoughts and feelings and dreams into immature words and smile at them later. It was lame. I gave up.

Hence, my message to you: whoever you are. For God's sake, don't put any story up until you've written the whole thing to your own satisfaction, until you nod at your reflection in the mirror and pat yourself on the back and tell yourself "Good Job, Son" – for you are your greatest critic.

A second factor that has come to my attention is that the genre of romance is not solely an interesting field in which avid writers can delve and explore and fictionalize – it is poison ivy and can be thrown into a soup to add some flavour but shouldn't be marched into, because it fucking itches. God, what romance has done to me and my words. It has swallowed up my creativity and individuality and stuck its chest out obnoxiously until it has effectively eliminated any chance of me appreciating any other genre. Screw you, romance. Screw you.

I don't know when I wrote this – it was discovered as I scrolled through my Word Documents on my Desktop, and I couldn't help breaking into a grin at some parts of it. I was clearly pretty bitter when I was slamming this one out, but to be honest, I completely agree with my past self. I'm annoyed that I haven't been writing, I'm annoyed that I haven't been happy with most of the things I've posted onto this site and I'm annoyed that I've sat and bristled in annoyance instead of doing something about it. I accepted my writer's block and was practically muted (in a literary sense) for more than a year, and in all honesty, that's pathetic and embarrassing.

I haven't been completely useless in this time though. Completely skip this one over if you don't give a shit about me, but I've developed an obsession with film (I want to show you lot but I'm not comfortable with the idea of putting my films on Youtube since I'm terrified of the whole anonymous hate thing), I leapt enthusiastically into my last year of school (after not really doing an amazing job in my exams but whatever I'll redo them) and I've applied to University (to study Psychology and Neuroscience and I'm pissing myself because what if I don't get in and what if I hate it and what if the course isn't right for me).

I'm going to start writing again. For real. It's one of my favourite things to do in the world, and I won't let it go that easily. Tell me guys, have any of you suffered from a writer's block? And while we're at it, tell me what the highlights of your years have been. I've missed you. You've been more supportive than I could ever have dreamed.