Wow, fimfiction has changed quite a bit since my humble beginning where I first drunkenly stepped through the door and picked up a keyboard. It's been a crazy time reading the writing here and it still captivates me to find such outstanding writers that join together to write about ponies. I can only wish to be half as good a writer as many people here. A mastery of spelling and forming sentences at least would be great but hey, I won't ask too much.

So recently I put up a preview of the chapter I was prepared to put out, and as many would notice it is still not there. The reason for this is I've noticed it needed quite a bit of work still, and perhaps I might have rushed it through a bit too much for the sake of trying to finish Rorschach in Equestria. Not a very good idea, so right now I'm in the process of improving it. So as of yet I continue to work on it in my spare time meanwhile starting the rough draft of my own novel.

Oh another thing, I've been contacted before from people seeking to write their own Rorschach stories and base it on this one. My response is always going to be go right ahead, I honestly do not mind at all and love to see spin offs of this or different interpretations. Just remember to link it to me so I have the chance to read it! Oh, and the usual courtesy of mentioning me if you take from the storyline or specific events. Beyond that I, in no way, am exclusive in Rorschach or Watchmen crossovers into Ponydom. Go right ahead, I will encourage it.

Stupid idiot, what were you thinking taking in this crying, pooping, miserable little mess he thought bitterly to himself. It’s been two days since he found the little mongrel and she wouldn’t stop making noise. Always flailing her hooves around like a fool, either laughing or wailing at the top of her longs. He hadn’t managed to sleep in all that time. I’m hungry she’d cry out in her baby speak, pay attention to me! she’d scream like a banshee, I’m happy! she’d screech just because.

It was mind numbing. At this rate he was losing feathers by the clump full. His once beautiful sharp wings looked ragged, aging by decades with each hour spent with the rascal. Usually he’d distract the little pestilence by giving her a bobble to play with. It made a popping noise like bubbles which caught her attention, he’d discovered that trick very quickly. She loved bubbles, it worked wonders to give him at least two hours of slumber during the day. Nighttime didn’t work, she had nightmares, keeping him up like a zombie wandering the darkness.

How quickly his entire life revolved around that little filly. It brought a flair of anger to his mind. He tried to do a good deed and now his life was miserable... though it wasn’t like it was much better in the first place...

Letting out a ragged side he shifted on old cushioned sofa to glare down at the babbling annoyance on the floor. The little grey filly was playing with some blocks now, bouncing them against each other as she talked to herself, her pegasus wings fluttering in joy. The little tuft of blonde mane poked wildly in all directions despite attempts to keep it contained. Others called her adorable but he failed to see what the fuss was about. When he looked at her all he could see was a hemorrhage to his life. A disgusting little source of bodily fluids that liked to trip over herself and break his stuff.

“You’re sure happy with yourself,” he grumbled in his deep bass voice. The filly looked up from her toys to him, those big eyes shining with happiness. She reached out to him with her little grey hooves. Even as he spoke she was oblivious to what it was he was saying. “Little annoyance, you sure are happy about that, huh? You can’t even understand what I’m saying you stupid sniveling baby.”

Reaching out he tapped her forehead when she tried to get up. She fell back to her haunches, momentarily stunned from being sent back to the floor but quickly returning to babbling happily with one small difference. Her eyes had gone cross-eyed again, that dumb thing she did sometimes when she was happy, or just for no reason at all.

“Look at you, derpy eyed... Heh, maybe that’s what I should call you instead of Ditzy. Derpy stupid little hooves. How does that sound?” he asked mockingly to the baby. The baby’s answer was to squeal in delight, ignorant to how she was being taunted.

Grumbling in annoyance he watched as the filly tried to get up again to go to him. He reached out again to tap her forehead to keep her away. He was startled to find that he suddenly couldn’t pull away. His heart skipped a beat,  eyes widening in surprise. The little filly had clung onto his talons, hugging the pointed digits affectionately. He was stuck, unable to pull away from little Ditzy as she held onto him with all of her meager strength.

And then she started to slobber all over his claw. The moment was lost and his heart continued to beat normally once more. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and pulled his talons away from her drooling mouth. Wiping away the spit on the side of the couch he reached out again to scoop up the baby.

“Come on then, let’s see if you’re hungry you little ditzy thing.” The gryphon said, carrying the still giggling Ditzy to their meager little pantry. So little food left, and with the last of his valuables sold they’d run out of bits and coins very soon. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do, already he was skipping meals to feed her.

He didn’t know what the two of them were going to do when the food ran out. The babe couldn’t tell but he was worried, they might have to leave their home soon if he couldn’t find work....

Hello everyone, I guess it's been awhile since last I said anything. My abrupt return was pretty much just a sudden appearance before a disappearance. I put out a chapter, perhaps half-cocked, and went back to lurking in the shadows with the light of the computer monitor illuminating me. Rather melodramatic but hey I'm in one of those moods, and what a mood it is.

Depression is not a word I use often. I'm the type of guy who bottles it all up and sucks up the hardships of the world as just life. Mellow, going in stride. When I'm bothered or sad  I put on a smile and pretend to be happy. Even before I knew of Pinkie Pie and her wondrous ways I was always the one to cheer up my friends or even people I didn't know just for the sake of them being happy. I guess I rather never cared if the stress got to me or contemplated what happens when I'm finally broke down. I just kept on smile and keeping it a secret that I was drowning on the inside, too prideful to admit I need to help. But hey, I always survive and get through so no worries. They always say if you mimic the actions of a happy person you'll be happy, right? Well they forgot to mention it sometimes hurts to smile.

As some of you might have known. Well, things aren't exactly going very good for me. They still aren't, and I don't know when they'll improve so I'll come out and say it. I don't when I'll finish Rorschach in Equestria. It won't be one of those stories that is forgotten and forever left unfinished. So don't go unfavoriting it or anything if you want to see the eventual completion of it. But for now I don't see myself being able to write as I once did.

I'll be around, I think I won't ever leave this site or the community. I'll be giving praise to my favorite authors, helping others start out or proofreading for them. Talking to fans that still want to chat. And just all around try to be a part of the brony community. But for now I'm ashamed to say that as a writer... I wouldn't exactly call myself one at the moment. So in the meantime I'll just be some guy. Just another brony.

I don't do Q&As but as always questions in the comments will be answered.

Oh, and Happy Holidays.

-Ex

Dressed in the rags, your wonderful neighborhood tramp Ex Nihilos welcomes you into his humble abode. What was once a wondrous apartment with furniture and wondrous cultural icons like an 'I can haz cheezburgr' posts and an Beatles poster with a coffee stain on the corner now lays barren. A homeless man sleeps in a corner and a condemned sign sits in the meager trashcan.

"Hello my friends, come in, come in! Don't mind the dead rat, that's my dinner for tonight. Alright so you might have noticed, I might have a made a few teeny tiny mistakes in the form of bad judgment, a few bad investments, and getting caught running a pyramid scheme on the elderly...."

He goes silent to reflect on how badly that last endeavor went.

"Anyway! I am... relatively back. I have been stockpiling chapters to get back on a semi-regular basis of posting rather that 'whenever I feel like it'. But knowing life it's going to pimp slap me in the face and I'll have an excuse ready to go as to why I can't pay the landlord!"

"...So! Any questions? Post them down below and I'll probably ignore it! Naw, I'm kidding I'll answer them..."

Got to meet Anthony Daniels, Seth Green, Timothy Zahn, and attended a bunch of writer's seminars.

Oh also spend my entire life savings on Star Wars stuff but totally worth it!

And now back to College and writing.

'nother year older to date, whoop-de-freaking-do.

What you're probably thinking is: SCREW YOU, WHERE'S MY CHAPTER?!

...I'm noticing a theme of disappointment going on here so I'm just going to chalk it as me being a terrible person, or in this case tackling quite a bit of writer's block.

There is a chapter though, pretty much done but not proof-read yet, but at this point I'm trying to make it better because I'm not happy with it- at all.

On top of that I'm moving this week and probably won't have internet for a few days, and then the next week I start college again. Lots a stuff but hopefully that working mindset will get me going again on finishing this bloody story.

Too long, didn't read: Still working on Rorschach in Equestria, I'm not dead, and lurking in the background of this site like the creeper I am.

Now let me eat this cupcake alone....

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Shameless plug-in! Tired of waiting for my sorry arse? Then you should go check out my friend Azore24's new story Lunar Rising. It's new, it's sexy, about Stargate SG-1, and its updated on a regular schedule! Go check it out!

This is a rather serious blog with no bearings upon any story I do. Just something I wanted to get off my back and have it stare me in the face when I come to this site- a constant reminder for myself to give me pause.

If seriousness isn’t your thing then you shouldn’t pay any attention to this- carry on you wayward son and all that, I’ll have the next chapter of Rorschach in Equestria done with Sunday being my deadline.

For those who care.

I want to make a confession: I am a compulsive liar.

I’m not sure where it began or why I started to lie but as far back as I can remember I’ve always embellished the truth in some way or another, made up stories to make myself more interesting than what I really am. It isn’t a conscious effort, not anymore at least. Over the years it’s just become so easy to lie, and as my lies grow and expand they become entire stories. I truly begin to wonder what the truth was and what the lies I told myself and others were. Sometimes lying was fun, making up stories until they were too fantastic to believe, and other times it was out of confrontation, lying to keep face when being judged or berated.

Nowadays, I’m ashamed to say I’m a very good liar. I can make up an entire story for you on the spot and have you believe every word of it, I know this because I’ve done it so many times before to impress my friends, my family, and strangers. Even when I’ve been caught in a lie it doesn’t seem to bother me anymore, all it takes is more lies to seal the wound my one discovery had created. I’ve had too much practice than I care for and recently I’ve started to change that. For the lies I’ve already told there’s no way I can take them all back but I force myself to tell the truth now, as often as I can and correcting my own attempts at lying. It isn’t as easy as it seems, not for a man who’s spent his entire life building himself on a shaky pyramid of lies and deceit.

Even now, I find myself still telling lies on the small things, details that don’t matter at all yet still I have the need to embellish them. At least my lies don’t harm anyone except myself any more, and it helps now that I have an outlet.

When I write I have control over what I say and do: I make the conscious choice to lie where it is to my advantage and to speak the truth where it is appropriate. And like it or not I’ve only allowed myself the truth in my writing when it did not pertain to the genre of fiction, what I write here on my blog is the truth. I don’t want to lie, even though I have the urge to do so, because it’s just too easy now to hide behind a screen and tell you what I might be, too easy to fall back into that pit of continuous lies. Awkward moments in my life, my instances of being drunk, that time I fell out of a tree, and my love of exaggerating my weird southern/english accent into phonetic words is all fact. How trustworthy my own word can be… well, only you can decide how far to trust the words of a man who sees it fit to lie before the truth has caught up with his mind. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, sometimes I don’t even trust my own mind about what’s the truth and what’s fantasy.

Perhaps the reason I’m a writer is because I’m a very good liar. I can’t say for certain, a writer’s opinion on writing changes on who you ask. Lord Byron once wrote, “And, after all, what is a lie? Tis’ but the truth in Masquerade.” While Ralph Waldo Emerson believed that, “Every violation of truth is not only a sort of suicide in the liar, but is a stab at the health of human society.” I’ve known these two quotes for some time, forgetting and remembering them as time moved on, trying to decide where I stood in my stance upon lying. Was it so bad to lie when the lie is so meaningless that no one would care of its existence, or is even the smallest lie a slippery slow down into a web of deceit? It’s only recently that I’ve realized that both Byron and Emerson are right, that lying is a two sided blade.

I can tell myself that lies are merely the truth in some form of guise and that it was just a convenience to lie, but I cannot hide the fact that it hurts when I’ve realized what lies I’ve told my friends, how undeserving I was of their trust, and how pathetic it is that I can’t even stop myself from lying. What keeps me up at night isn’t the fear of having my lies discovered now, it’s the act of lying that haunts me- that moment where I told the lie sticks in my mind like that one embarrassing moment from high school that makes you cringe even to this day. For the true friends I’ve made over the years, the ones who’ve put up with my antics and randomness as well as my faults, my lies to them bare down on my thoughts more than any worry about finances or academics.

To those I’ve lied to in the past, tricked into believing false lives I lived, I don’t expect your forgiveness and even if you offered it to me, I wouldn’t forgive myself. What I do want to say is that never have I meant to harm anyone with my lies. I never intend to hurt anyone but myself when I lie. Looking back it feel so selfish to think that it was only myself that I was harming when I told a lie, like a child whose scared of punishment and blames the spilled mess on the dog I didn’t seem to realize it was the dog that would get beaten and not me.

I bring this all up because I have to. Writing is the only place I have left where all I can say is the truth, the whole truth, and not the embellished lies that escape me like hot air when I talk. Even then I’m not without fault, I catch myself typing out a lie so many times it scares me. I hope that someday I can change, that I can tell you that you can trust every word I say when I talk to you in person or in instant messaging, but for now... well, take things with a hint of salt as they say.

That’s it, thanks for your time,

Ex-Nihilos

Simple facts of truth:

I live in Tennessee

I say mate, 'drop the 'g in 'ing, and y'all all in one go.

I'm pretty sure my family is insane.

I had my first taste of beer when I was 13.

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Wow this post was serious, needs more Derpy.

DERPY!

Father: So I took the time to read the first five chapters of your... story... thing.

Me: Oh God no...

Father: Shut up, I'm not done yet. So I read it and I have to say it wasn't half bad.

Me: ...I feel like you're getting my hopes up just to completely crush them.

Father: Darn you beat me to the punchline. Yeah, my verdict is going to be: you'll never amount to anything and you should be ashamed of your own prose.

Me: Gee thanks.

Father: Yeah, anyway you're stupid little fans are asking for more so get off your arse and go write some more.

Father to my Aunt: "Oh yeah, my son is an excellent writer, all his work is highly praised!" He turns to me, "well except that one story you're always pissing and moaning about but never bother to show me."

Me: "Yeah that one... yeah I'm never showing you that one."

Father: "Well as long as it isn't ponies and unicorns, it can't be that bad."

Me: "...."

Father: "...."

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WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!

Me: "Alright say it did include ponies and unicorns, what then?"

Father: "Hmm I'd probably run outside and shout, 'I have no son!' Then get bored and go do something else."

Me: "That seems to be a common theme for you."

Father: "I assure you I'm very disinterested in the crap you do, I would only care if I caught you preaching about hippy s**t like peace, smoking oregano, and tolerating your fellow human beings. You -know- how much I hate tolerating other people!"

Me: "You made that painfully obvious earlier this morning when you ran that toll booth giving the attendant the bird as you drove by... you didn't even need to pay a toll, I don't understand why you needed to escalate things."

Father: "It was the principle that mattered, Barret. The principle of me not paying for sh**."

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AND THE CONVERSATION CONTINUED!

Me: "Okay we're not having this conversation again about socioeconomic solutions. I just want a straight answer from you, would you care or not if I wrote a story about... say ponies and a super hero."

Father: "Is the super hero Batman?"

Me: "Maybe? I don't see how that matters to the question."

Father: "Well if the super hero isn't Batman I don't see why your question deserves an answer."

Me: "You know what, screw this I'm just gonna write a blog complaining about you."

Father: "You do that, son. Because you know what?"

Me: "What?"

Father: "Nooobody would care. Not one person."

Me: "....yeah I'm a brony."

Father: "Noooobody cares!"

Me: "You don't even know what a brony is, do you?"

Father: "No and I do not care. Not even gonna bother looking it up, that is the amount of interest I take in  anything you say."

Me: "....Rick Berman made Star Trek better."

Father: "You take that back... right now."

One of my favorite writers here on FimFiction a few months back asked me my name for a sequel he was doing.

Well he finally came through and I squee'd like a mad man! Go read his story and read me in my glory as a mailman! (Barret)

The Brony Guard Unlimited

The rest of the story is pretty amazing too, shower him with love!