Reflection and a New Year (A Longer Blog Post) · 7:20am Dec 27th, 2014
Sometimes I feel as though there's a weight within me. It's a subtle thing, and I know that I am not alone in this feeling. And I know that there are many who feel this weight far more heavily than I ever could. I describe it as a weight because it often stops me before I even start.
So I am writing this now as a way to write past this 'weight' and perhaps kindle a bit of inspiration. Reflection has ways of doing that.
I'm a quiet guy. SilentBelle... the name fits pretty well. Come to think of it, I've always been pretty decent at word choice when it came to naming things, given enough time. I may not be particularly quick to come up with fascinating and intriguing ideas—an ability which, when I see it in others, evokes a small restrained sense of jealousy from myself, but even more than that, it evokes fascination, admiration, and the inspiration to continue—and I may not be that quick at writing, but that's never been the point of writing either.
I've always been shy, one to not quite stutter, but rather to fall silent as I searched for words beyond the tip of my tongue, only to taste an embarrassing sound of silence in the moments thereafter. So there are certain phrases I naturally began to fall back onto. My phone conversations never lasted more than a minute unless the person I was talking to had some important story to tell while I would simply respond curtly and generically.
Even when writing alongside my peers in school, Junior High or High School, I still felt quite far from my classmates in terms of being able to get my point across comprehensively. This was because I only had those moments in class to write it out. Why did everything in school have to have such a strict time limit? It made sense and it didn't at the same time, a schoolyard paradox if you will. I'd write an English exam, but I'd only had three hours to do it. Of course I wouldn't get a great grade. To write something that I truly found meaningful, I'd have to sit down for an hour to write, get up, go for a walk or visit a friend, then come back to it.
Of course, I never knew that when I was a teenager, I was very ignorant of my own predispositions. The school system didn't present that optimal (for me) style as a viable way of working, and I do see why: there's simply no time for that sort of writing—that way of living—to be viable. So I was stuck inside this somewhat functional school system where the grades had no real meaning in my mind, they became just an assortment of baseless numbers. What meaning I did find while in school was in the handful of friends with which I shared my years. They made the whole thing a wonderful experience. It was in those years that I truly came to understand the importance of having, loving and respecting friends, but it wasn't there that I learned what I needed to about writing. At the time I only had a vague notion that being a fantasy author would be 'cool'.
So I took a course in university on creative writing. It was neat, though the course was forced into many of the same parameters of the school system which I had slowly come to realize wasn't working for me. And it was because of those incompatible parameters that I learned to love writing poetry. Poetry allows the writer to express themselves. Poetry allows one to play with words and find deeper meanings and endless connotations. And most importantly, poetry is simple and quick. It takes a moment of emotion and translates it to a page. While many emotions are quite hard to express, so are many poems hard to read, and many of them rightly belong only to the one who wrote them.
It was in that year that I developed a passion for poetry, as well as an understanding of what made the poetry—the writing—fun for the first time was actually sitting down and doing it of my own volition. To be creating something. In that class, I scored 100% on the poetry section, which made me laugh, simply because I knew that poetry, the language of emotions and passions, shouldn't be able to be rated in such a way. It really hammered home how silly the school system was and I ended that year without taking the exams in my other courses, dropping out, as it were.
It was a moment of shame for me, I'd always gotten decent grades in high school, so dropping out felt terrible. Even though I had been growing increasingly annoyed with the school system over the years, I didn't have an end goal to look forward to anymore. I used to have a vague idea that I would get an English degree and then go on to write books and novels or somesuch. But suddenly my world was shaken, because I had lost sight of the only real path that I had seen in front of me.
So I made a decision to try and find a new path while throwing myself into working as much as I could for five years, while staying close and connected with my family and friends, although all the while I felt increasingly less worthy of their affection, like a pressure slowly building up within. I felt like a failure at times. It was as if I were standing still at the start of a race, a race that I found pointless, yet all throughout my life everyone I had known had been urging me to run down that path.
“Go to university. Get a good job.” It's a mentality that I and nearly all of my peers were met with. And I can see why. University can be wonderful for getting people to working the jobs that they want. But at the same time, I don't think that the system works for me very well. In a world where they treat grades like money—and for that matter where people see money as such an important thing to have—I could only shake my head and give up on that path.
While I worked myself tired everyday on two minimum wage jobs, I could tell myself that at least I was working. I had two jobs, was saving money, and lived in an apartment. That is a success of sorts, and I took some pride in that. Yet while I worked, there was still a small dream within me, that being an author would be 'cool'.
I don't want to make lots of money. Money isn't important to me, though I see its use. But I do want to be able to write stories like what I read in my youth. A story that can pull me away from my life for hours at a time and then when I come back, I can know that the trip was entirely worth it. The Hobbit, Wheel of Time, Game of Thrones, and so many others. I wanted to write something that could make even one person feel that way. Fascinated, inspired, and fulfilled. So an itch to write kindled to life within me, and poetry wasn't enough to sate the desire.
It was around that time that I had found MLP, I saw it as a neat sort of shoujo show, which I found entirely unusual for a western animation, that in itself was intriguing. I have watched many shows over the years, and I had been vaguely aware of fan bases sprouting out around a show, but I had never taken part in any of them. I always thought being so fascinated by media was rather silly. Why hold a particular show so tightly, and rewatch it and talk so much about it? I had always considered the things I took away from the show as important personal things that no one would really be interested in knowing. But there was something I noticed, I think it was the seemingly ironic nature of this show's fanbase that made me stop and actually watch to see what the fanbase was up to.
The quality, the passion, and the beauty of the fans' creations awed me. Over the course of half a year, I started to see a path open up before me. A bridge from the amateur world leading into the professional world. It didn't look like an easy bridge to cross, thin, worn, riddled with holes and filled with hundreds of people slowly making their way across it. Some people stopped to take pictures, some backed away after taking a few steps, and many were looking at the bridge, considering it as I was.
As I watched I began to hear their voices calling out along the wind. I caught the words as whimsically as I cared to, and amongst them I heard the echoing sound of my silent dream calling to me, as a friend's voice as he or she sees you turn the corner of a street and waits for you. And before I knew it, I stepped onto the bridge. I started writing. So simple... yet I'd say it was perhaps the greatest struggle I have ever faced.
At this moment I know that I want to write. I do. By all I know in this world, I want to write. It's fundamental to who I am now. If there were one thing that I could keep doing forever in this world, it would be to write, to express myself and how I see the world around me. When I meet someone for the first time, a new peer at work or anyone else for that matter, and they end up asking what I do, I always say, “I am an author.” I say it with a tint of embarrassment as I prepare for their next question: “Oh? What do you write?”
I see myself as an author, first and foremost, and that's something I will never hide. Yet when I consider the prospect of starting to write on my next story or next chapter, that familiar weight falls upon me. Apprehension? Why do I feel it? I can't answer that. I suspect it is something I'll figure out later on, or I won't, but I don't imagine it to be a simple answer in any case. Writing is tough, but it's one of the few things in my life that I know I'll never grow tired of doing. Writing, being in touch with my family, being a firm and loyal friend, reading... But writing is firmly at the forefront of my mind, every day, when I wake until I sleep.
I'm not writing this out of some sense of self-pity or anything like that. I'm not complaining about writing. No, I love writing and I know I'll never stop writing so long as I live. I just want to share these thoughts on what writing is to me. This is merely a bit of reflection, probably spurred on by the coming new year. After all, it was around this time three years ago that I wrote a three page poem to sort out my thoughts and find my path—that moment before I stepped onto the bridge.
This has been quite the year. I've written perhaps not as much as I had hoped, and more than a few projects of mine are now sitting in various folders on my laptop, waiting to be looked at once again, or left to be forgotten and disappear. Sometimes writing just doesn't work and you have to abandon it. You take the lessons you learned from it, and move on. And other times it just needs a bit of time before you jump back into it.
But this has also been a wonderful year. I want to take time to thank everyone who has commented on my stories. I do read all the comments of course. It is in those words that I find much of my strength to continue upon this path of authorship. While I write primarily for myself, I do find it endlessly humbling that there are people who like what I have written.
I have one particular plan to focus on in this coming year: I am going to finish writing A Heart of Change. Once that is done, I am going to work on Fallen Leaves once again.
I want to thank those who have been willing to edit my work over this last year, the various people I have collaborated with, and the people who have and continue to inspire me with their writing and friendship, as well as everyone I met at BronyCon. Being part of a panel on adventure writing was an amazing experience that will be invaluable to me in the future.
I look forward to the new year in anticipation, and with a slight smile playing upon my lips, I'll get to work on my next chapter.
Happy New Year,
~SilentBelle
Thanks for sharing your brilliant stories with us. I hope you are doing well and that you have a wonderful future.
Good Luck, man!
I wish I could discuss some of the points of the reflection you present there (because it is highly interesting to me when it comes to communication, being an author and human psychology), but then I wouldn't really have listened to what you've written, would I...
So please keep on having fun no matter what the circumstances, and in the end reach those goals that do actually make sense to you.
Happy new year mr Belle, say what you want but when it comes to writing you are not so silent
Have a great future.
You're an amazing writer Silent, and an awesome friend. It's always a pleasure reading your stories and collaborating and sharing panels. Let me know if you feel like doing another next year!
This is a tough blog to respond to; it's very introspective.
SilentBelle, it was wonderful to read how you came on your journey to be a writer. Your stories are wonderful and reflect the development you have undergone on your path. Although writing is deeply personal, it's also personal to others as they read your stories, help you become a better writer, and support you as you will become a great writer. I only hope that I can continue to watch your development in the coming year.
May your new year be better and greater than the last,
Mac349
You know, it was through your words that I discovered whom my favorite little filly is.
And it is your words which is strengthening the love of ponies within a friend of mine. (she is reading the copy of Scion of Chaos, which you had given me at Bronycon.)
Thank you, again, for that, and thank you for the wondrous stories which I so deeply enjoy.
2681520 I'll keep having fun with writing, rest assured. And I hope you'll enjoy it as well.
2681583 Happy New Year, Rame. It was great to meet you at BronyCon. Thanks for making drawing such inspiring pictures, my writing wouldn't be the same without having seen those.
2681727 It's always a pleasure, Wanderer. I'd love to take part in another panel with you someday. I don't think I'll be at BronyCon this coming year unfortunately. However, I am considering going to EFNW though and maybe explore Seattle in the process.
2682298 Thanks! Your editing work is nothing short of amazing. I hope to work together with you some more in the coming year.
2682437 That's amazing to hear. I'm really glad the book's getting some use and is in the hands of someone who appreciates it.
2682672 Would you believe I have three of the five FiMfics that got printed as books, now? I recently acquired Twilight's List.
I spent the day, today traveling the state in search of the last two... came up empty.
2682672 Likewise I thought I was really nice to meet you aswell, and its awsome that you think my doodling is so inspiring, it keeps me motivated.
Very eloquently put. I'm saddened I didn't get to meet you at Bronycon, perhaps another time, another con. I will be at others. As always, I'm looking forward to more of your work.
Please keep writing, I'll keep reading!
A weight stopping you from what you love? Do you have days when you wake up and just can't be bothered to even move, despite knowing you have to? Would you describe yourself as introverted? Is the weight similar to a writers block, but more physical? As in, you can feel it dragging you down?
2706256 I never wake up feeling as though I don't want to do anything. I am very much an introvert, and the weight is similar to writer's block, and it effectively functions as a writer's block from time to time. But it's quite malleable and I can reach through it and write if I focus hard enough on it and actually sit down and write. I'd equate it quite a bit to a candy with a wrapper which is really hard to get into (or a coconut if I really liked coconuts), and once I open it, I enjoy the candy as I always have. The problem is the effort of having to open that wrapper, it's enough to dissuade me some days.
2707335 Alright, the good news is it doesn't sound like depression/anxiety, or if it is it's a very minor case(The kind that everyone gets). The only advice I can provide is if it appears, do what you have been and work through it. Also, try to find someone to talk about it to, or find something quick that helps get rid of the 'wrapper'. Like a 1 minute video that makes it a lot easier to open it. Find whatever works for you.
If you ever want to chat, I'm on here way too often. ;)