On Persistence

Howdy, y'all.

Today I'd like to tell you a little story. A story about a story, in fact.

Back in November 2013, I created the original story page for A Draconequus' Guide to Immortality. The story's premise had been congealing in my brain for some time before that, but that was the point where I felt confident it would make for a fun story to write. So I made the story page, filled up the descriptions, Frankenstein'd the cover image together, and set to work.

About two days into the first draft, I hated pretty much everything I had written. The concept of Discord educating Twilight on his perspective of immortality seemed interesting enough, but I really just couldn't find a way to bring it to life. It read like a dissertation on the different aspects of immortality thinly veiled as a pony story, and that's the last thing I wanted to subject anyone to. I put the story on the back burner—honestly kinda hoping it would turn to ash and scatter into oblivion—and moved on.

Come January 2014, I decided to take another crack at it. I erased the original draft completely and started fresh with the intent of writing an actual story rather than an essay this time. I managed to get several thousand words in—up to the first scene break in the published story—and I actually quite liked what I had. I was high on the experience and feedback on writing The Firework Lotus at that point, and I think that helped immensely.

But then I realized something, something akin to realizing you've been driving through a beautiful landscape without realizing the road ended somewhere behind you.

While what I had written was pleasant to read, it wasn't the story I had set out to tell. What's more, I couldn't quite see how to turn it into that story, either. Feeling defeated, I left the story half-finished, hoping something would hit me eventually. I had come a long ways with this story, and I wasn't about to let it lie.

February rolls in, and I had finally managed to cobble together the rest of the story in my mind. Still, putting it onto paper would be another thing entirely, but I didn't let that stop me. And so I wrote. And I liked what I wrote! And the story was coming together at last! And I had finally reached the story's most crucial scene!

…And my brain froze about two paragraphs into that scene. A venomous sense of déja vu hit me, and I realized that the story's main selling point—the immortality conversation between Twi and Discord—was shaping up to be just another variant of the dissertation I had so hoped to avoid. Just like that, my whole perspective on the story changed. Everything leading up to the conversation now just seemed like a slightly thicker veil to the essay I didn't want to write. Feeling like I had failed and ultimately hadn't gotten very far from the original draft at all, I left the story with the full intent of never finishing it. I even almost deleted the story page I had created so long ago on FimFiction.

Almost.

Come late February, I looked through my archive of stories in progress and saw the little devil, and I got mad. I was mad that I couldn't write the story the way I wanted. I was mad that my own premise had defeated me. Most of all, though, I was mad at myself for giving up after pondering the damned thing for so long. So I did what any self-respecting author would do.

I finished the son of a bitch, hardly caring how it came out so long as it was finished.

I don't think I noticed it while writing, but my sudden drive to finish this story had actually given me the clarity I needed to see the story through the right way. True, I was just writing it to finish it, but that obligation to finish it gave me the motivation needed to tell the story how I wanted it told. It wasn't an essay anymore—it was a story.

Once done, I sent it off to a friend for pre-reading, made some minor edits, and published it. Regardless of how good I personally thought it was at the time, I didn't really expect much reception on the story. I figured it'd be another candle in the wind, much like most of my other stories.

Needless to say, I was wrong.

If there's something I want you to take away from this little ordeal of mine, I'd like you to reevaluate your definition of "persistence." It's not just a matter of seeing something through to the end no matter what—that's certainly part of it, but not nearly all of it. Far too often I see people making half-assed efforts to finish things in a timely manner just because they're sick of it and they want to move on. I've even heard someone say, "I'd rather have an okay project done than an amazing project never finished."

If I can be frank, that's bullshit.

Persistence is a matter of finding out what you need to do in order to get the job done right. Don't give up, but also don't keep going down a road that turned to mud a mile back. If it's not working out, find a different path. Make a change. Take some time away from it and learn something new. Finish it the way you want it finished, and never settle for anything less. If you put the effort in, you never know how great the situation might turn out…

Keep on keeping on,
—Argon

P.S.: This blog post is also to say "thanks" to everyone who read, rated, favourited, commented on, or otherwise interacted with A Draconequus' Guide to Immortality. You have no idea what all the feedback has done for my self-esteem, as well as for my skill as a writer. Thank you so much!