I wish I were a poet to explain how I feel about writer’s guilt.
Then I could adequately express my annoyance with it, at a raw and visceral level. I would paint a picture that covered the five senses.
Writer’s guilt would look, feel, taste, sound, and smell like this in my poem.
But I’m not a poet. I’m a simple writer. So here’s my ode to writer’s guilt:
Writer’s guilt, go kick rocks.