What do you think about this piece of writing?

I know it's not the best, it is the first draft, I'm just trying to get the story down first. I really love weaving stories and I've always wanted to publish a book. There was absolute stillness. No air stirred the small patches of grass. No clouds drifted in the grey sky high above. Nothing. Not a... show more I know it's not the best, it is the first draft, I'm just trying to get the story down first. I really love weaving stories and I've always wanted to publish a book.

There was absolute stillness. No air stirred the small patches of grass. No clouds drifted in the grey sky high above. Nothing. Not a sound could be heard. It was tranquil, but not a peaceful tranquility, more eerie than anything else. There wasn’t much plant life either, all the leaves from the few trees scattered around had already crumpled away as autumn melted into winter, and the cold bite of winter only emphasized the dullness of the environment.
From one of the houses a girl sat with her bedroom window open, the cool crisp air of the night nipped at her and her breath seemed to die off as it left her mouth as she stared absentmindedly out the window, the street below her stretched out far beyond what she could see, one each side were identical semi detached houses, with the same dull grey path running down the side. The stained yellow glow of the streetlights bathed small patches of pavement. Everything was the same. So dull, it sucked the colour from the surroundings. She hated it here.
Update: She rested her chin one the bottom half of the open window and closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she closed the window and turned to face her room. A place she once saw as a home, now felt like she was trespassing in a place owned by her past. This room was everything she was not anymore. This was not... show more She rested her chin one the bottom half of the open window and closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she closed the window and turned to face her room. A place she once saw as a home, now felt like she was trespassing in a place owned by her past.
This room was everything she was not anymore. This was not her home; she had felt that way for ages now, months, maybe even a year now.
Update 2: Should I just quit? I've been writing all my life and I'm still useless at everything.
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