To Sacrifice the Notion of Being Good | The Afterword to "A Night Like Any Other" · 3:24am Jun 21st, 2021
In the attempt to become a good writer, I had forgotten what it meant to be a writer.
What causes something to be a good story? Is it the endless thinking and plotting of an idea and its inherent beats? The living of critical moments to flesh out the overall structure? Is it the feeling and revising of a character? The waiting and sudden stumbling on a pivotal point within the work?
There is some truth to all of the above.
But that also requires that all of the above be done before one even begins to write. Of course, once you have one project set, one writes in that and, in so doing, plot ahead for the next work. This allows for structure, but discourages genuine, spontaneous works.
I drank my first wine last Sunday.
It was for RarityEQM's birthday.
I don't plan to go into all of that now, as I've already held back too many tears in the course of writing this story. I write this afterword now only to share a truth with the few that have settled onto these words.
Writing is a twofold process. It is a discovery for both the writer and the reader. I did not know what I set out to write this story, the same as you did not know the full extent of the tale by its short description. But something about it, for whatever reason, drew you into the adventure of figuring it out.
RarityEQM died on a day that was the same as any other. She worked, was tired from work, and was in her usual depressive phase. Soon, she reckoned, she would come out of it, and that she would start writing again, and that the problems of her life would be mostly solved come to the end of it.
She then got into bed, turned off the night, and did not turn them on again in the morning.
I don't like that. I don't think I will ever like that. I play it in my head on how things could be different. It's within living those fantasies of somehow inventing a time machine that you could go back. But nothing can be done even in that context. All one could do is share a drink with them.
But there is folly in that.
Spike doesn't actually find a time-travel spell to go back to Rarity on her last night. Even in a fantasy, he cannot ask her anything, for all the answers would come from himself. All he can do is indulge in her imagined presence, regardless of how limited it would be, and enjoy a drink.
Writing is the living of our fantasies.
It's the chance to make the passive into the active—even if only for a little.
The goal of this work was to release this aspect of myself that I had not shared with anyone. To create a story that captures this element of me for you to experience. To design my context and to evoke my grief.
But I need not be a part of that equation at all. The story itself sets its own conditions. It tells of a dragon who wishes to go back in time to have a drink with a friend—and he cannot even do that. Then he goes on to live a day that's the same as any other.
There is no moral or point.
Rather, it's a pocket of my existence, which you can live within for but a moment.
I wrote so much back in the day to transport myself onto the page. So that I could rip a feeling or thought, or an aspect of myself and put it into the written word. It shaved a weight off me. It saved me from the ordeal of having to remember. Once something exists on its own, it no longer depends on you, and you are saved, somewhat, from its burden.
This blog also has no point or moral.
Only that, sometimes, it is better for a person to be a writer than it is for them to be a good writer.
Cheers. Love you all. Even the ones I hate.
~ Yr. Pal, B ~
Sometimes, the best thing you can have, is a true outlet. I've found over the years that setting pen to paper, or talking with a professional, are oftentimes the only way people can truly process their thoughts and feelings... and even then, pen and paper have often times been the only way I actually succeed.
Friends are fine, but they fade or flake. Music is fine, but it's strangled by its rules. Art can work, but the issue is it only really encapsulates a single moment in time. There is no resolution.
The narrative... it's something special. I think it's why the few people I've talked to, who know what they're doing, often frame things as stories as well. Because that's just how we learn and process things best. Even if there's no end, there's a journey.
I think this is also why I've found it impossible to write journals or diaries without feeling like some core element is missing. Because it probably is.
Like, I discovered through looking back at many of my stories, they had a common element. Some negative core emotion or pretense, which is then overcome by some interruption, and the pleasant outcome afterwards. Be it a sad princess needing a nose-poke to distract her, someone who's alone and yearns for his love (who breaks through his window), or simply a couple of friends having a fight that turns out to be all in good fun when they pause for a moment.
It had some interesting parallels when I realized it. Even more when I took a moment to realize at what point that need changed.
It was sometime around the point where I gained a real connection with my oldest brother, I think.
That's when the basis... changed a bit. It was about the negative core emotion, and then the interruption, and then the pleasant end. But it had something new tacked on. The growth and development. It wasn't just the situation- it was how it was done. How people need to shift and change to free themselves from their lowest points, but also how they need to want to do that as well. And perhaps more importantly, how we need to free ourselves from what's holding us down. Even if it can't be immediately... we still fight to free ourselves eventually, and take off whatever shackles we can first to make the journey easier. We fight for our happiness. Even if we need some help along the way to achieve it.
Considering the shitshow that happened around the time I started writing Catharsis, I was definitely going through that IRL character arc. Freeing myself doubly included. And while shit isn't perfect, because I'm still working towards getting rid of some of the biggest shackles I have, I am still working towards it. Because I want my happiness. And the little I've succeeded in so far has definitely shown its results.
Even writing those paragraphs, I'm laughing, because that's the exact direction I'm going with the sequel to my first story now too. The exact emotional arc, and the element of freedom. Hell, the very next chapters, on top of the last few in the story, are going to lean hard into the literal and emotional freedom aspect. And I'm completely fine with that. Because that's what I want to write.
The written word, funnily enough, reflects the person writing it. Who'dathunkit?
Whether I'm a good writer or not, fuck everyone, I'm writing.
I've written thousands of words this past week and I feel FUCKING ENERGETIC.
I dunno if this really has a moral either, and that's fine by me. Sometimes we just write for the sake of processing our thoughts. Which considering a few discussions I've had with complete strangers over text... yeah, it is just for the sake of processing our thoughts. We need to do that sometimes, and brooding over things doesn't help most of the time.
Like, even just obnoxiously hovering over someone brooding, in order to distract them, can solve a lot. I won't say how I know this.
I guess I can cap this off by saying 'sorry for writing a blog in response to your blog' and 'I enjoyed the story a lot.'
So-uhhh... yeah, that's it. I'm about done.
Have a good one, B, and don't let those tears go to waste. Use that feeling to rise above, and work towards your happiness. It's a fucking struggle, but it's all worth it in the end.
Think like the obnoxious (I love you though bro even if I don't message you nearly as much as I should) writer you are- it's about the emotional journey.
I'm gonna go fuck off and keep watching this P5R playthrough until I pass out. It's 1:30am. Sheesh. I can never end these things quickly.
those fish are singing "Kiss the Mare"
also <3 ya B, stay strong