"Why haven't you written any stories for such a long time?"
Dear readers, it's because I've lost it.
Lost the clarity and sharpness in my mind. The ability to pick out little mundane things and transform them into larger-than-life Twisted Tales.
And it's not as simple as writer's block. It's because my life is right now shrouded in shades of grey.
Back in college when I learned how to paint (I was horrible at it, in case you're wondering), the lecturer always told us to avoid mixing grey, brown, black or other 'dirty' colours into the paints whenever possible. Doing so would dull a paint's natural hues, making the painting less vibrant and unattractive.
(Bear in mind, this applies only to commercial art. Fine art is a different story altogether.)
When you paint grass, you use pure green and dot it with tinges of yellow or white, making use of dark green for shadow areas. In my amateurish mind, I thought of mixing in a little brown to create a more 'realistic' effect. Bad idea.
In the same way, our lives become a convoluted mess when we attempt to mix in too many colours without an end in mind. I'm learning the hard way now that black needs to be black, and white must remain white. The more grey you allow to creep into your life, the more unhappiness you will endure.
Grey always seems exciting at first. It masquerades as the best of both worlds, freeing you from the need to choose. But just like paints, it eventually runs and smears other previously well-defined areas of your life as well.
You try desperately to fix it. Sometimes it works, if the damage hasn't been done. But if it's beyond repair...
You need to start all over again.
*crumples up paper*
"Sir, may I have more time?"