- I failed NaNoWriMo each time. Even the camp ones. - I am horrible at poetry. - My short stories turn into super long ones - And when the teacher gives us a writing assignment, I write much more than what was asked for. I turned a 2 page assignment into a 17 page story. Well....it got a 110% but it put her behind in grading other kids papers, set the standards too high and other kids hated me in that class.
Here's my confession - I have no talent. None. Zero. I mean nothing as a human being and my writing means even less. No one cares what I write, no one gives a shit and no one will remember me when I'm dead because I won't even have the smallest book left to mark my time here. I'm a hack, a charlatan and a nobody. Once I enjoyed writing, but now every time I write a story I'm reminded that no one will read it and if they did they wouldn't give a flying fuck. My spirit was shattered into a million pieces a long time ago and no one ever thought to try and piece it back together. I try to write human characters but I'm fundamentally inhuman and empty - so I have nothing of any worth to share with you. I'm just a waste of skin and bone, I shouldn't have even been born for all the good I've done.
I can't write for more than a few minutes without somehow spiraling into a rant laced with anti-catholocism and misogyny. Don't know why. I also tend to be very punctual in my writing. It always makes me angry that the writers I read can describe the most mundane things in tens of pages, while I struggle to stretch a long journey into three.
1. I've never really wanted to write a whole novel, per se. I've always leaned towards wanting to make short story compilations, since I work best at worldbuilding/characterization through short stories.
2. I cannot write villains that are so far into "complete monster" territory. Maybe it's because I still struggle with putting conflict with characters I love or I just don't know how to write evil people.
The priest and penitent are in separate compartments and speak to each other through a grid or lattice. A crucifix is sometimes hung over the grille. The priest will usually sit in the middle and the penitents will enter the compartments to either side of him. The priest can close off the other compartment by a sliding screen so that only one person will be confessing at a time. Kneelers are provided in the compartments on each side of the priest, sometimes a prie-dieu style kneeler, or sometimes a diagonal kneeler built into the walls of the confessional.