His Story
There was a guy once. Yeah, that's all there really is to him. He wasn't a kid anymore, not really an adult either. Some said he was mature for his age, some said he wasn't. He didn't care, because he never did in the first place. He never cared about what people thought of him, good or bad.
People get injured, everyone does. Sometimes it is so bad that they need surgery. That's exactly what this boy went through. On his birthday in early spring, he underwent surgery to repair his shoulder which had been nearly destroyed in a prior accident months ago. Everything went fine, and he began his road to recovery just days after the initial surgery.
He wasn't very sociable other than at school, and even there his encounters with others we few and far between. He wasn't necessarily an outcast, more of a... quiet type. Some thought it was strange, but he still got along with just about everyone. Back to him not being very sociable. This could probably be blamed on the fact that he lived far from any of his friends, especially the ones that he truly cared about.
It was on one of his recovery days, maybe two or three weeks after the surgery. He was bored, and he was physically unable to do much to keep himself entertained. However, one of the few things he was actually able to do was browse the internet, YouTube to be more specific. It was on this site that he would discover something new, something that would change his life for God knows how long.
He found a video about something he'd heard a lot about, something he scoffed at. It was a full episode of a show he'd heard about for years, but never really knew much about. It was a kids show, something you'd see your daughter watching on a Saturday morning. There were these colorful ponies running around on screen all happy and such. He had been taught by society itself that this show in particular was a taboo, and that someone his age and gender should stay away from it.
He had never been one to follow society's rules, not by a long shot, but this was one thing that he was weary about. However, curiosity takes hold of all of us at some point, and despite his decision that he wouldn't even touch the show, he decided to watch the video. It was only twenty minutes, what harm could it do?
Little did the boy know what was in store from him. He opened the video, he watched it, and much to his amazement, he kind of enjoyed it. He didn't know why, heck he didn't even know why he clicked on another video to watch yet another episode of the same show.
Days went by, then weeks, and then months, and it wasn't long before he had watched every episode that existed for the show. He was happier than he'd been in a while, yet he was also scared, scared of what society would say. His confidence in himself was slowly fading away as he actually started to care what others might think of him. So he kept it a secret. He just couldn't let anyone find out that he watch a show about ponies made for children.
Skip ahead a few months to about early fall. The boy had seen every episode over and over again, and still nobody knew about what he enjoyed in his free time. However, the boy was getting slightly bored with just the show, and this bothered him as he was afraid he'd lose interest in the thing he looked forward to every day.
So he went back to the place where it all started, hoping to find something that would spark his interest and to reignite the flame of passion he had. He went on YouTube, where it all started, and found a certain video, a reading to be more specific. It was of a story, something he didn't know existed. It was called a fanfic, and while the video in specific didn't really catch his eye, a link in the description did. He clicked on the link, and the page shifted over to one he hadn't seen before. A site called FIMFiction lied in front of him, and it drew him in as if it had arms pulling him in through the screen.
It wasn't wrong before he found several stories all containing his favorite ponies from the show. He specifically enjoyed stories where humans we inserted into the land in which the show took place. He held some of these stories close to him, as they were an escape from the harsh world around him.
However, all good things must come to an end, and the boy found this to be very problematic. He wanted more, but there wasn't any to receive. There was only one option left for the boy, and while he knew it would be a lot of work, he knew it was the only way to get what he wanted most.
So he made an account on that site, and began to think about everything he looked for in a story, everything that he found to be amusing. He started writing around mid-autumn, and he just couldn't stop. He published his first story, and sat back, waiting to see if others would enjoy his story.
He checked back a few days later, and to his horror, his story was a complete flop. Out of shame and anger he deleted the story, and swore never to write again out of fear of failure.
Early winter came around, and the boy found himself slowly losing interest in the show that he had at one point loved with a passion. He opened his laptop, and went to the site he had abandoned almost a month ago. He logged in, started a new story, and began writing. He had an idea this time, and he learned from his past mistakes, and swore he wouldn't give up this time.
He posted his second story, and prayed that this time it wouldn't be a failure. And it wasn't. The boy was thrilled to see the positive feedback he received, and this only drove him write more, and more. He was finally a writer, something he was proud to call himself.
So he kept writing, slowly gaining a following of loyal readers who enjoyed his content. The Writer had one major flaw, however. He let the positive feedback get to him, and he started feeling like he was better than other writers, though he never let anyone else know that. It was another one of his secrets.
It was about mid-winter when everything changed for The Writer. He was starting to lose motivation, losing interest in being popular, about his fifteen minutes of fame. He was close to quitting, so close that he almost made an announcement about him leaving. Fate itself must have jumped in, as The Writer received a message one day just before he gave up.
The message told The Writer the story of someone who was hurt and broken, ready to give up in a similar way to The Writer, only much worse. The person who sent the message told The Writer that they were battling against suicidal thoughts, and that one of the very few things that helped them through the day was The Writer's stories. This really changed something in The Writer, something that reignited the spark. He started writing again, now filled with a raging fire of passion and motivation. He no longer cared about the followers, or the likes, or the views. Instead, he cared about his readers and put them ahead of himself.
The Writer went on to dedicate his abilities to helping others by either helping them with their own stories, or by simply entertaining them. He couldn't have been happier knowing that he was helping others, even if it was only a few. Still, nobody really knew The Writer. Who was he?
Well that's simple to answer.
I am The Writer.
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- BombShelter · 1.8k words · 51 4 · 2.4k views
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A writer writes to free himself of the strange and many voices that all clamor at once in his head. He is a world within a person; a universe within a single organism. The ability to create thoughts and write them down is a talent unique to humankind; and the ability to convey an entire universe through but the written word is something few appreciate.
words are powerful. And stories hold meaning. Thus, stories of words or words of stories will always have powerful meaning behind them.
Yet the trial of a writer is never easy. The life of an artist hardly ever is. Some would call us insane, sitting at our desks, hands to keyboard, mulling over the lives of fictitious characters whom, in the real world, most people don't care for. Some would call us stupid for wishing for a fantasy that isn't real. Some, however, may call us dreamers, idealists, people who wish to be heard through their written word. Some, may call us artists. Some, gods among men.
Not some, but all, are right.
Whether by fanfiction or by real novel writing, it is clear to me that you, the author, appreciate writing and what you have accomplished on this site. I've found many parallels within this texts and my own life. I doubt that was intentional. Either way, I wanted to let you know that you've given me something to think about; and I'll be thinking about it for a long time.
I can definitely relate to this. Thank you for the story.
First thing I thought of was this:
7117467
That's all I want to do. To help others see just what they're capable of :)
7117652 That is scarily fitting.
7117659 Five minutes of pure, unadulterated metalcore, my friend. It fits everything.
7117685 Even fits a funeral?
I did nothing in this.
7117750 Yep.
7117467 relatably.com/m/img/deep-memes/953834e085547db0913ce700fd9357792b6913dd718186eddaea4d4f066a26a9.jpg
From here onwards I started to believe "The Writer" was in fact You, BombShelter, and I've gotta say, you blew up my mind with this story, thank you for all these stories you are writing and you will write, you've got a talent boy, and I think it will help you in your life. Never give up on that.
Peace...
Well... that was something... I guess?
gifsec.com/wp-content/uploads/GIF/2014/04/unsure-gif.gif?gs=a
Don't listen to him.
Getting into writing is a strange thing. For myself, I wrote a few stories as a kid, one even got an award and featured in the school paper, but I never got caught by the endeavor for whatever reason. Then in my late teens, I endured some terrible experiences by hanging with the wrong crowd, and somehow found myself reading and writing fiction again. it helped me work through some emotions, but I petered out again without really connecting to writing, despite hindsight showing I had been feeling something special in it without knowing.
Then I come around to the present day, years later. My life is overall a mess, depression is tearing at me every day I drag myself out of bed, and threatens to take me under completely, and yet...
I have this story of mine. This one single effort in my life that is absolutely and totally mine and mine alone, that nobody can finish without me, because it is purely reliant upon me to continue. This world I build resides within me and is something that could never be taken from me, because nobody could ever write what it is going to be. Nobody else has this one power in my life, and it keeps me grounded in the darkest moments. It's a goal, a reason, an urge, an anchor. Even if every single other part of my life truly did get stripped away, nobody can take the story I am telling away, even if I couldn't publish it and it was just for me alone.
Writing fiction might be a potentially pointless endeavor in a normal practical sense, but make no mistake all the same. The work you do is yours alone. Others might have some similar ideas, but only you, the writer, can write the story you have within.
In a sense, the words I write are a reflection of my very spirit. Other stories may be similar, but never quite like my own.
The biography of a typical fanfiction writer? I like it.
Do tell me my good man, what was the first full episode you watched?
7155365
Read it and Weap
Now this just hits home.
Very good story.
Dear BombShelter,
I just want to say that I really, honestly enjoyed reading your stories, especially Point of Impact and its sequel. I hope you are well.
A couple of spelling errors, but aside from that
Inspiring. Well done.