Apologies and News · 2:07am
Dear My Beloved Readers, Curious Visitors, Friends and Those Who Arrived Here After Losing Your Map,
How do I explain myself?
First, I was dealing with depression and writer's block, then mostly depression. Many factors, like schoolwork, writing, reading better fics contributed and it all snowballed from there. I was doubting my abilities as a writer and my ability to write well.
But I won't bore you with the details.
All I can say is that these were the reasons why I couldn't give you the chapters that you guys were waiting for. I know this is not an excuse. I can only offer a lesson I learned to those who feel their writing isn't up to snuff or they can't reach their potential or that they feel like their writing isn't as good as they want it to be.
Does it ultimately matter if others are better than you? In my honest opinion, I'll say this, it's not worth it to ruin yourself hurting yourself over obsessing everyone else being better than you. What's 'better'? Is it a measurement that other say in your stead or is it simply something you decide for yourself? What's better should be something you determine. Just remember this, those better writers came from beginnings such as everyone else. They're the same as you, writers with flaws and strengths in their writing. Acknowledge that. They got better by writing, but they still have flaws today that they strive to work to fix. Understand that, to a certain point, you can never be a better writer to everyone and maybe not every flaw will be fixed from your writing. It will make your writing pains much easier to swallow. There is always a better writer and weaker writer in comparison to you. So where's left to write for, other than improvement?
Write for your own satisfaction. Despite all the rumors that we, writers, are amoral monsters who plunge characters into utter hells or comical ones, we're still human. We should put ourselves before others at times and simply be content with the joy that writing brings us. Let the words flow gently, let the stories be written for your own smile, your own amusement. A little selfishness goes a long way. If we don't, we just end up turning into word churning machines that write and work at the demands of others.
Remember that a fic, a story, is simply a ride you take yourself, every reader is something who hangs around for the ride. Even so, you can take to heart their presence. Cherish the ones that compliment you, for you have put a smile on their face in regards to your work. Acknowledge the ones that might not like your works, you cannot please everyone. Take in the constructive criticism, they simply want you to learn and every writer, no matter how big or small they are, always has much more and beyond to learn.
Never forget that. If you have taken my words to heart, I hope this will allow you to grow far and beyond as a writer and as a human being.
I'd like to give special thanks to these users for getting me out of this funk and listening to me when I was at my darkest hour:
This group has been helpful to me and given me a lot of fun and laughs in the past few months of knowing them. Behind their cynicism, maturity that reminds us that growing up is optional (though, let's be honest, maturity is overrated, hahahahaha), and overall slapstick comedic atmosphere is a group that's always willing to help out a friend and cheer him up. I won't forget that and others should know that caring side about them. It's unfair that they get so much crap for writing HiEs when they're writers, such as countless others, who support and listen to each other when things get rough.
The people there at the lowest point:
Thank you all for being there at that time.
A very nice guy, someone you could pal around with, who's usually willing to take a look at any ideas that can be refined into something better. A terrific friend, you won't go amiss with him. Plus, he's Jackie Chan right now. Nuff' said.
A bro who I've relied on with my ideas, I'll admit, I wonder sometimes if I drag him too much along the road at times. But I can always count on him to give me constructive criticism. A friend that I can count on, outside and inside writing fanfiction.
Others outside the Chessverse:
He's a swell guy to be around and a guy you can confide your writing pains into. He gives quite good advice in terms of writing and is willing to help out new writers, so don't be afraid to give him a PM if you're feeling insecure about your writing.
A true bro. Honestly, I don't know how I would be without his helpful advice. He's truly someone dependable and he deserves more attention in his music and his fic which is setting out to be quite the epic adventure.
Very Special Mention:
My best friend, who's always there even when I'm getting pissy or going on a coke binge. Tears, jokes, jabs at each other, teasings, we've both been on the spectrum of that. Even when I'm studying, I can always expect him to never make those times dull. He's a bro, true and straight, and is someone who's always been there at every dark point of my life since I've met him. Great guy and definitely a friendship I wouldn't trade away for anything.
Okay, now that we just the especially teary, at least for me, stuff out of the way, I should probably tell you guys what's happening in terms of writing.
I haven't dropped The Heroes We Are. I've actually been writing it very slowly, throughout all the family issues, school work and writer's block. It sits in my computer at a word count of +6k... and it taunts me slightly.
I have dropped The Pride of Dust though. Not entirely, just for an indefinite hiatus. I still plan on writing it, definitely. It's my psychological mystery through human flash backs and reality warping Pinkie Pie.
Aside from current projects... I have a new verse lined up for you all. Magiverse, cut from the same vein as Visionary verse, is a serious fantasy setting with plenty of political conflict, mundane everyday life, dark designs from magi and character discovering themselves, the past, present and future of their world.
There is a one-shot I have lined up though. A project meant to relieve stress and is something written for fun. A oneshot detailing Twilight Velvet's (Twilight Sparkle's mother) struggles with becoming a writer and how much of it stems from her childhood troubles.
That being said, I don't wish for you all to be left hanging at just that...
So I'm previewing all of these current projects. A few hundred words, but I hope this will be a sufficient reason to forgive me for keeping you all waiting:
The Heroes we Are: Chapter 3: Mage and Knight: Twilight of Phenomenons
A girl was crying.
She wept freely, her tears pouring out of her like a torrent of rainfall. Every second her tears flowed freely, her face contorted with rage. Her tears twisted her features into a demon, hell-bent on anger and despair. No longer was her countenance gentle and kind. Forgetting everything except hatred, she lashed out at the world.
“I hate you,” she cursed.
“I despise you,” she screamed.
“Get out,” she sobbed.
Every moment standing there, her face grew further weary from sorrow and signs of frustration were etched on her brows. Rage tore at her throat and only scornful words were roared out. I could only stand there. I could not comfort her, I could not help her.
Those tears weren’t for me, the tears cried out for someone who meant the world to her. Her resentful howls filled the grey rain soaked sky, with me just standing there, doing nothing.
Why did this happen? How did it ever come to such a moment? The questions repeated in my mind while I witnessed her tears being poured out like the rain. Many questions persistently whispered in my head. Only one was asked with perfect clarity.
How could I do this to her?
I could only watch with her tears that judged me, told truth that fed to my guilt and anguish. I could only watch while her tears continued to tear at the world. I could only watch at her despair that splashed down the ground, the pit-pat of the tears roaring resonantly at my heart.
I could not do anything to help her because I was the root of her despair.
I try to turn away. I don’t want to see anymore of this tragedy. Once was already bad enough. If seeing this the first time was driving the knife into my heart, then this second time is twisting it. I slowly walk away from the maiden in the rain.
Suddenly her hoarse cries come to an abrupt stop. Only silence fills the world. I turn back to figure out this sudden change but I learn to regret it.
Suddenly, my world turns red. The sky turns a murky crimson. Droplets of blood stain the earth I stand on. A landscape of tragedy is seen through my eyes. A desolated land, void of human emotion is bought to existence. The barren brown is soon seeped in brilliant red as the rain of blood soaks through the earth. A sight that surpasses any horror I’ve seen in my life becomes horrible reality.
I start to sweat and feel sick, the air is making me nauseous. I wobble forward and hear a crack. I look down and immediately hold back the urge to vomit. Bleached white surface, hollow eyes and a fractured top, from when I stepped on it, is what I see. I look up to turn away from this sight. I only see more colors of white littering this earth, surpassing even the horizon.
Most of them are cracked. Some of them have white pillars jutting out, like the legs of a crab, in their centre. Some of them have legs and arms bent in unnatural angles, angles that, in life, would be physical impossible. A few of them were etched and showing signs of decay with the carving of nature’s knife, the wind.
The rain continues to reign on, crimson falls. Trying to restore a lost flow in life, the rain dyes a deep red throughout the white. Soon, they are covered, from head to toe, in sanguineous fluid, but that only increases the dissonance between what is alive and what is dead.
A violent twist of reality, an abrupt look at such atrocity is all I see. This coupled with this feeling of sickness, makes my body react. I couldn’t look anymore and, on the bloodstained earth, I regurgitate all the contents in my stomach. The oozing vomit soon becomes covered in red, becoming another facet of this bloody land.
One thing is the same on these fleshless carcasses share is that all share a puncture wound in the back of their heads. Like if someone shot a bullet through their heads. There is no sign of remorse in these wounds. Only a steady shot, devoid of any emotion, ended the lives of these corpses.
I try to cover my ears and close my eyes but the sounds of the bloody rain still rings clear in my head. The scene of my betrayal still plays out in my eyes. The sounds of her anguish, by my account, still clear in my ears. I don’t want to see this anymore. Please, just make it stop. Anyone…
Suddenly, a heavy weight burdens my hands. I open my hands to take a look. I see my black hands saturated in blood. An accusation at me of the sins carried here. The last thing I remember is a wretched call, full of despair and horror, screaming bloody murder before oblivion takes me.
Preview for Magiverse:
Eirlys Crestwalker could only hear the sounds of hooves encroaching towards her, thundering their intruding presence onto gryphon territory. The screeching winds of avian winter were secondary menace to her.
The rush of harsh blades of frost cutting into her face, were nothing compared to the fear of a spell crippling her movements. The magi behind her, with their horns shimmering, glared a deadly omen.
The moment they caught up to her, it would all be over, a fate of experiments in the name of magic was left for her. So she ran, her feet smashing against the snow and pushing forward to her homeland.
The blizzard concealed the sound of her movements, the roar of the winds crushing every other sound uttered in the white world. With her fleeting feet driving her forward, she might actually make the border. She might make it home.
A blazing fireball brushed against her cheek, singing the feathers there and leaving a smouldering crater where she was about to walk into. Her heart already stretched past its limits, she leaped over the crater, a ragged breath as her price. Her fear of a burning inferno to the face prevented her mind from considering turning her head around. She kept running, while her throat cried out in anguish cries of exhaustion.
How did these blasted magi know where she was? She realized her brown fur was a factor in all this. The blizzard might have blocked out her excessive sounds, but her appearance was a disability that was decided from birth and exploited now.
Auburn brown coat with tamed fur dangling down her back, this gryphon was the apex of normalcy in her kingdom. However, such a common sight was still a weak spot in the whiteness of this torrential storm. The magi, who could use their magic to enhance their eyesight to lock onto her brown coat, pursued with a zealous drive that went beyond normal, hunting her down like an animal.
Eirlys’ mind remained steadfast in its destination, her feet now pounding against the compact snow and running towards a brighter future. She placed her claw onto her stomach, giving a tiny pat before steeling her mind against the fear threatening to erode her confidence. This wasn't just about her anymore, it was about others.
Preview for Twilight's Pains: (Tentative Title)
The candle light flickered, a lone light of solace for the worn out author, struggling to help alleviate its master’s weariness through light.
Twilight Velvet frowned from her seat. The words weren’t coming together, the prose wasn’t meshing properly and the grammar was merely passable. She tore off the paper from the typewriter, a flinging of irritation throwing the written paper on the floor. A hatred for the useless scrap of paper emanated as she exhaled a tense breath.
She reclined onto the leather chair she was sitting in, the squeaking of the fabric interrupting her thoughts. The silence of the room was stifling, mocking her for the fact that her hooves weren’t rattling the keys of her typewriter. Exhaustion began to take hold of her expression, the furrowing of the brow of a mare without a few nights’ sleep slowly being etched onto her face.
Twilight sighed heavily as her mind began to wander off, her memories replaying in her head like a film. The sound of the candle breathing its last breath accompanied the thoughts that came inevitably, like the roar of a tide.
Where did she go wrong? She was born into a modest family, resulting in an unspoiled childhood. During her childhood, the times she made friends came infrequently and far apart to separate from them without much fuss. Perhaps that started everything, a need to spend her time, away from the loneliness and pitiful nature of her life.
Did it start with a spark? No, the pen did not ignite a passionate fire in her at first touch. She wrote, writing to free herself from the pain of a lonely child, devoid of any meaningful friendships. She knew she was being selfish, writing based on wanting to liberate herself, and not on principle or love.
Through the whimsical nature of fantasy, she managed to write herself into worlds of candy forests, brave knights and courageous ladies. The kinds unfound in reality, a mere phantasm. Every moment she was with her works, she felt an inch of a smile seep through, cracking her lips into a smile. It was a truer show of magic than anything her horn could produce.
She knew, as age reared its inevitable head on her, the fantasy wouldn’t last forever. As she grew from a small filly into a reticent mare, her writing took a more grounded approach, befitting for a mare and not a filly with her head still stuck in a dream land. This was to be expected of Twilight Velvet.