Well, I guess that title’s decently relevant.

Dunno why, but I’v been spamming Pain by Three Days Grace on my iTunes recently. I don’t feel particularly down (albeit extremely reflective), but it’s been helping my thought processes in recent times for whatever reason.

Now, as for topics of discussion for today, I haven’t got too many, and by “I haven’t got too many”, I mean it’s been so long that I’m going to bury you guys under a deluge of text—I guess I’ll include tl;dr at the bottom.

First up is my personal impressions of season 3 of ponies thus far:

When I first saw The Crystal Empire (or whatever the opener special was actually called), I really, really didn’t like it. I can explain why, however, and it stems back to a problem I’ve had since season 2, when I started paying attention to writing staff and how their styles diverged/melded together. And it turned out that every episode I personally considered weak was written by Meghan McCarthy. Now of course, this is just personal preference, but I can explain why, exactly, I feel the way I do.

I’ll lead by saying I don’t get paid like Meghan. I’m not working for a company that genuinely loves its consumer base and seems to do whatever it can to pander to them/keep them happy. I’m not part of something that has literally changed lives across the globe and brought back from the proverbial grave a toy series that everyone probably considered finished. I’m not part of the herald of great cartoons on the Hub. What I am is an amateur writer with an opinion, one who could easily be considered jaded and biased. And who doesn’t have many followers to begin with. This alone can disqualify my opinion, but I’ll state it all the same.

I don’t really feel that Meghan McCarthy has, necessarily, a great grasp on the characters or an idea of how to march characterization forward in the grand scheme of things. Don’t get me wrong—she does good world-building type stuff. But world-building, if I haven’t stated it before, is not my thing. I greatly prefer seeing characters interact and develop instead of exploring the mysteries of a world—ever wondered why I hate Skyrim, Lord of the Rings, and just haven’t been able to finish A Song of Ice and Fire? You have part of your answer.

But back to my original point—Meghan always, in my eyes (and the eyes of several of my friends, not that that qualifies my statements any more), paints the characters as wacky caricatures of themselves, aside maybe from Twilight, who has been grating more on my nerves lately. Dash ends up brutish and lazy, Pinkie’s so wacko she’s practically just comic-relief bot #57, Rarity’s more than willing to lose sight of her goals (and friends) for shinies and fame, Fluttershy is kawaii-desu-moe (redundant, yes, and I know she wrote Dragonshy, where that stereotype was proven wrong), and Applejack…pretty much might as well not be there.

If there’s one thing I just haven’t been able to stomach, it’s forgetting lessons. Dash had to learn not be praise-mongering twice and Rarity had to learn to keep her eye on her friends twice (In Sonic Rainboom and again in my least favorite episode ever, Sweet and Elite, though one might argue that lesson was different, something about not worrying whether your old friends will fit in with your new friends, but to me it’s mechanically similar and she seemed to have forgotten to appreciate her friends). Those, to me, are the most egregious offenders, but I see it as a general pattern.

Now, as for episode, no, I’m not really in the line of thinking with Phoe that Sombra represented some form of failure for Twilight, and that the mere threat of him scaring everyone made him a good villain. I still think he was not that great of a villain—the theme in that light is something I can totally respect and I appreciate Phoe’s ability to break it down like that, see past the scope of just what’s in front of her. I simply don’t agree. Now I could try to offer up reasons beyond “He only said rawr and slaves” and “He was just a cloud of smoke that took shape at the end”, but many people have already explained it better than I could, being that I don’t typically look too far past surface value. For example, to me, The Old Man and the Sea is just a story about an old man on a boat. It’s exciting and tense to see his struggle for survival, and I love that book, but that’s all it is to me. Or The Lion King—it’s just a story about a lion growing up and taking back what’s rightfully his, sticking it to the villain, not some stuff about Jesus.

Call it a carryover from my days of watching anime and whatnot (and yes, I’m aware that not all anime is meant to be taken at face value), but I like my villains to actually do something, like Discord and Chrysalis. Now, there are some “villains”, like Chernabog, that are just so terrifying that they don’t necessarily have to do much to be frightening and even disheartening. It’s a matter of what they might do at that point rather than what we see them do—I think I might have discussed this before with survival horror games.

But that’s the problem—whatever Sombra represents, I don’t feel he represents it well enough. Call me dense or plebeian, but that’s just how I feel. He wasn’t scary, threatening, or even disheartening. Maybe to children, and that’s who the show is made for, but not to me. But hey, I’m a survival horror vet—it takes a lot to genuinely frighten and intimidate me. Hell, Sombra looked like he was flying through the air to eat Spike and the Crystal Heart in one bite or something. I don’t know what he would’ve done—nobody does. But I do know he just didn’t do it for me.

Now, for today’s episode, it was pretty light-hearted, at least to me, even when it got a little sad. It was fun, something I can’t say I’ve had with an episode of FiM in a little while. And no musical numbers nets it bonus points. Sorry, that’s just my bias. I had no real problems with it.

Now, I could go deeper with this stuff, talk about how I’ve been feeling lately and how my writing is, and whatever and whatever, but I think I’m just going to leave it as-is and talk about all that later.

Now for a question—am I being dense? Do I need to scrutinize and look at themes and whatnot, especially in the stuff I produce? I probably won’t get an answer, but it’s worth a shot. I feel like I’m in the right, but the greatest works of literature weren’t thrown together.

Well, the experiment has long since run its course at this point, and I’m excited to bring the results to you.

Well, it seems like pessimism was dealt a pretty nasty blow this day. I found myself with more energy, more drive to work on and finish things—I even finished a chapter of Strange Bedfellows I’d been working on for quite some time—and generally a more positive attitude about things.

Unfortunately, at the same time, it’s been pretty hard to keep up a positive outlook on things with the events that have been occurring around me. First off, I’ve started to wonder whether the things I’m truly good at—writing, acting and playing video games—are really worth spending upwards of 24,000 dollars on just to enrich my understanding. I have a sister who could pretty much teach me everything about English seeing as that’s what she got her degree in, and if I really want to know more about acting, I’ll practice on my own and move to California.

As for playing video games, there’s never going to be a degree in that, even if it is my dream. Bottom line is, for now, I don’t think college is right for me. Most likely, college was never right for me in the first place—without student loans and the ability to live on campus, the drain on my gas, my physical and emotional well-being, and my wallet, it just isn’t worth it. All I’ve gotten out of it is lost money and lost self-esteem.

So what’s my plan? Well, to be honest, I don’t really know. Without school I guess I’ll be able to work full-time at my next job, and from there I’ll just go on living my life. I’m tired of everyone expecting so much of me and then being disappointed when I can’t deliver like they wanted. And I know everyone says that college is absolutely necessary to being successful in life, but that’s from a monetary perspective. That’s from the perspective of people who want you to get a degree in Com Sci or Nursing or Biology or Electrical Engineering, all of which are things I can’t stand and that I wouldn’t be happy doing.

I’ll probably continue practicing on League of Legends to try and boost myself into the pro gaming community, while continuing to produce content for you guys on the side, probably do some looking for VA roles or something of the sort. I don’t know. I kinda just want to live for a while and continue trying to enjoy life while I’m young, rather than slapping on all this pressure. I don’t wanna wait til I’m old to enjoy life the way I want to.

Now, what brought this on has been covered previously—what cemented it is still coming.

See, when I got home from my friend’s house yesterday, my dad was out for a run. I had somewhat planned to take my car to Subway to apply for a job there, being desperate like I am. I took a shower and, right as I was getting out, my dad asked me to come outside because I had explaining to do. He showed me a dent in the passenger side of my car that looked like someone had slammed their door into it—oddly, there was only a tiny scratch, which made it seem like the metal had just randomly folded in on itself to get me in hot water.

So I tried to explain that I hadn’t seen the dent when I’d gotten in the car at any point or when I’d washed it, but that it had most likely occurred while I was at school. Didn’t matter, the whole thing was “my fault” “my responsibility” and I have to do the legwork with the insurance company as well as pay the deductible to get the dent fixed. At least pay for a dent-puller, some of kind of huge suction cup that can yank the metal back into place. Also he apologized for overreacting.

Now, this isn’t really news—this type of thing happens to me almost constantly. Just when things start to look up, at least somewhat, something terrible happens to either drain my money further, damage my relationship with my dad, hurt my self-esteem, or all three, in this case. And I’m pretty used to getting bullied and screwed over, too, which isn’t to say I haven’t ever bullied or screwed someone over, but whatever.

Now, I have the money to cover the deductible cover the deductible or at least the puller. but paying it will leave me in the hundreds of dollars with no job. This is the other reason I’m not going back to college.

When I started college, my parents I agreed to go halfsies—half from my account, half from theirs. Didn’t happen—all the money was pulled from my account under the pretense that it was “fair and even”, even when the money they’d socked away for me was exhausted. I’ve done the math—if we’d legit gone halfsies, paying this deductible would only leave me a little ticked. Instead, it’s going to pretty much kill me.

So there you go—situation explained. I’m far, far in the hole with this dropped class and now this deductible dent issue, so I don’t really know what I’m going to do about it. But I’ll survive, and I’ll keep outputting chapters for you guys. Life hasn’t managed to break me yet, so there’s no sense in letting it happen now. And I apologize if a lot of this sounds whiny—I’m appreciative of my lot in life. Lots of people can’t even get on Tumblr because of their situation. I’m just trying to make sure you guys know the current state of things for me.

So once again, thank you so much for reading, and I apologize if the whole “tell your friends” thing is getting on anybody’s nerves—I’ll stop if that’s the case. But for now, uh…tell your friends!

Later.

In in a little better place than I was when I last posted. Still not especially great, what with all the nihilism creeping in. The realizations that life is only really worth living for the sake of living it, all that kind of existential stuff, which brings me back to the subject of being more foolish/naive/optimistic, whatever you want to call it. Life would probably be easier in a state of blissful ignorance. Also, Chapter 16 has been stuck at 800 words for a week and a half now, in particular while I prepared myself for a tourney at a local convention for League of Legends, so I apologize that I’ve been neglecting that piece of work.

But that’s not the case, and that’s in part why I am able to consider myself at least somewhat more eloquent than some people, especially in my orating, though it never came through in the tired-ass vocal posts I did on my other account. And while it’s been bandied about before, and I am certainly not the first or last to say so, some part of me sincerely believes that intelligence and wisdom both breed bitterness, resentment, and most importantly, pessimism. 

I like to think I have plenty of the former, and I can only imagine what the latter will breed. It also helps that I’m not particularly social (having taken several years to cultivate that excellent aura of “don’t come anywhere near me” to stop the people in high school that I didn’t want to associate with me from talking to me). It’s a tricky thing, cultivating that aura, as someone once said. Not being a social butterfly in a small town may be mostly unheard of, but I enjoyed the small amount of friends I gathered and the two romances I shared, torrid or otherwise.

But being such a “social misfit”, as it were, I’ve had a lot of time to ponder the mysteries of the universe and grind my conclusions about things down to eraser nubs in my pursuit of a well-rounded worldview. Of course, the more I see of the world, the less I want to see of it. It’s a place where people tend to tell you that dreams fall by the wayside in comparison to money. “Oh sure, you can do x…when you have money.” “Are you making money off of x? No? Then don’t do it.” Even lives spent in mediocrity are spent going after money, acumen, station and status, even dominance.

And that’s what all life runs off, isn’t it? Who has the most muscles, the best survival skills, who is the most agile? Who gets the ladies? Life is a matter of self-propagation based around domination. But we already know that. The addition of station—how much money you have, where you are in the world—is a creation of humanity, as a means of giving the advantage to the most intelligent people. It’s tough to beat a nerd up when he has four bodyguards staring you down.

Not that that’s a biased example, mind you—I’m really more in favor for the equalization of power, myself, though not in a state-of-nature sort of way either.

This world is all about finding your place. More importantly, it’s about finding a place that makes you money. You can follow money dreams, but not passion dreams. Become an Electrical Engineering Major, study hard, find big rewards. Study hard for four years, love the next forty. Study Theatre, wait tables. The humanities are dying, they say, and it’s time to get on-board the technology train.

Well, while my aspirations in pro gaming involve using technology, they are not hopping on the technology train, in my eyes, no more than becoming a pro football player is.

But that’s not really the point. My point is that the state of things always manages to make me wonder two things—one, what I can do to find a place in this world that’s out of the box and allows me to do something I love while shoving it in the faces of those who doubted me. And two, why I am the way I am.

Why can’t I accept things? Why can’t I see the way the world is evolving and just fall in line, in lockstep with the evolution of my race?

Why can’t I accept that my pessimistic viewpoint is a relic?

I suppose it’s because, in a world where optimism is the gospel, there still have to be a few sinners. Can’t have gospel without sinners. Positive Mental Attitude, keep your chin up, hang in there—no matter how you say it, we are always encouraged to keep moving forward, full steam ahead, into whatever the future may bring for us, good or bad.

I prefer to sit back and analyze, be critical, and snipe like a complete douchebag. I like to think it’s not because I -am- a douchebag, though some people would tell you otherwise, I think it’s because I prefer to view things through the lens of a confident pessimist. What that means is I know the world can be a really crappy place—but I try to persist, subsist, whatever, in the face of that, and try to realize my dreams of fame, one way or another.

We’ll continue this discussion another time. Happy Two-Year Anni.

Later.

I’ve begun to think that, in the middle of all this, there’s maybe something out there that I can appreciate, something that allows me to keep going on, nevermind the muss, fuss and heartache. A hope spot in the traditional sense, to be sure, considering how I tend to think things are getting better only to find myself incorrect.

But for now I’m going to forge on and take to heart the 500 view jump I received on Strange Bedfellows, along with all the favorites and comments. I must be doing something right.

Our subject today, consequently, is the idea that one can be influential and happy only with views or subscribers or whatever. Some part of me still thinks this is true—after all, I wouldn’t be advertising so much and trying to disseminate my blog/stories if I didn’t really believe that popularity would make me happy. Of course, part of it comes from need for commission money, the kind that doesn’t make me feel skeezy. Because while I continue to look for a job, I also find that I grow more depressed—facing the realities of the world is something no one ever said would be easy, but it’s like finding out Santa isn’t real. Or in this case, like finding out dreams really -don’t- come true.

Anyway, on the subject of needing/not needing popularity for a sense of fulfillment, I’m going to confess outright that a lot of the reason that I do things is because I have extremely low self-esteem, and I feel like I need the approval of others, the opinion of others, whatever, in order to quantify the quality of my work—or something like that. So I can tell you first off that I’m in the “you need fans to make it count” camp as far as my own work goes.

But I’m not here to tell you that’s how you should think—certainly not! In fact, my way of thinking isn’t just wrong—it’s badwrong. It’s bdong. In all seriousness, it’s wrong, and it’s detrimental to your mental state—instead of going “wow, I got five comments! That’s so cool!” or “Wow, I have five followers, awesome!” You start going “Only five comments? I should be getting ten.” Or “Only five followers? My content must be awful, not even worth the web-space it’s coded on.” 

It’s not a good way to be, trust me. I kind of got a dose of realization the other day when I spoke to a friend of mine who listened to me concerns about my lack of followers and how my stories weren’t matching up the way I wanted them to to things like On a Cross and Arrow, or Silent Ponyville, or Past Sins, or whatever. He told me I was being silly, that thousands of views and hundreds of comments shouldn’t have me thinking that way—and I know he’s right, but it’s not easy changing one’s mode of thought. You stop appreciating the things you do and start embittering yourself, closing up into a shell, in a sense, and shutting out everyone else.

I didn’t stop following Pregnant Scootlaoo, but I can tell you that, when I found out the blog’s author also authored Silent Ponyville, I wanted to immediately unfollow him. I wanted to put that blog totally behind me so that I didn’t have to think about the fact that he could draw -and- write, and that (in my own mind) I could do neither as well as he could. Or at least with as much steam or popularity. I actually ended up donating to the guy.

So you have to be proud of the things that you do—even if it doesn’t seem like much, or you’re totally eclipsed, washed away in the shadow of another, you have to keep fighting on, continue appreciating your work because -you- did it. Keep saying to yourself “What I do is good because -I- did it.” Listen to constructive crit, yes, and try to improve yourself, but don’t go constantly hunting for blood like me.

To be honest, I’m low on inspiration and motivation. I write for the sake of maintaining viewcounts and for trying to increase my popularity. You don’t want to do that—consider it a cautionary tale. I’ve forgotten the reason I even started writing, but the reasons I continue aren’t what they should be by any stretch. I’m not proud of or happy with what I have—I have to always have more. Don’t do that—just be happy with what you have. I know plenty of people who are. I suppose if any of you have had the same problem and recaptured your spirit, I’d like to hear the story, get some advice. And even though I always thirst for more, every comment and piece of praise does help—don’t think your voice doesn’t matter.

And as always, if you have commission work that you’d like to have me do, anything else like that, or if you like the blog/my work, or whatever, please tell your friends or come to me. I offer low rates, dissemination of information is always helpful, and you’re all good to me, even if I’m not so much to you.

If you want an end-of-post shocker, here it is: I’ve never read Past Sins, or Cross and Arrow, or Silent Ponyville, or My Little Dashie. 

I could never bring myself to.

Later. 

Well, it’s been a little bit since we reached this venue, hasn’t it? Two late updates in a row, me being low on motivation, etc etc. Now, I mentioned I wasn’t doing too well last week, but I’ve started to formulate a plan of some sort, which has given me a measure of confidence and (dare I say) hope.

The way I see it, I’ve got three options at this point—I can join the military (in my case specifically, the Navy, and that’s the option I’m most considering currently), I can get student loans and put myself in debt for the rest of my life, or I can find a job and continue to grind away at life with little motivation or (what I feel to be) purpose, that being by far my least attractive option. I’ve basically already decided on the military, because I lack organization, I’m physically unfit, and I am in no way self-motivating—three problems that the military can fix. It would also get me away from home, and probably away from some of the drama, which I won’t go into here.

Now, since I’m still trying to get my life in order, I’d like to apologize formally, here, that my last two updates were spaced so badly and took so long to get out—I’ve already written 800 words or so on Chapter 16, so it’s coming along decently as it is. Things have been pretty tumultuous, thus far, but I’m working on fixing that, and getting my updates back on track. I’d like to thank the people who still read my stuff, in spite of everything that’s been going on. It always makes it worth it. And to those who’ve supported me, thanks to you as well. If you have any advice for me, feel free to submit it via my ask box.

And if there’s anything you want commissioned from me, anything you need from me, please feel free to let me know—my rates are pretty low, and I can work things out with you. If you’re a fan, you know what I can do/have done, and if you’re not, I have plenty of material for example. It would really help me out.

And hey, if you like my work or you follow this blog or just happen to find this post and end up liking it, please tell your friends, reblog etc. Dissemination of information is the fastest and best was to grow and gain more of a base, and there’s nothing I’d like more. Thanks.

Well, here we are again—I’ve gone for quite some time without updating, and for that I apologize. I do have a good reason, however.

I have spent the last two weeks or so working on dropping a class—specifically, my Computer Science and the attached lab. It hasn’t been an easy process (lots of heartache at home over the lost money, having to gather all the opinions of my professors and friends, etc, having to do a lot of thinking about what I was doing and where I was going), but I came to the decision that it’s time to change my major—Computer Science was joyless.

But now, here I am, low on money, low on motivation, and I haven’t updated Strange Bedfellows in two weeks or so, even a little more than that. I haven’t been able to pull down commissions, and the pressure to find a job is on and it’s hotter than ever, to say the least. But I’m trying to push it through, trying to make sure that I can work and trying to keep playing LoL in my spare time.

Strange Bedfellows, Chapter 15 is being worked on—it’s about 3500 words at this point, and I’m not finished yet, so know that I’m bringing you something that is quality and that is going to be of such a length that it will be more satisfying than the others. But hey, it might not—we’ll see.

So thanks for sticking with me, readers, and all that jazz—I’m trying. I don’t like to make excuses for being late with my posts and with my work, but I just wanted to let you all know what’s going on. Realistically, I may have to put the story on hold once more—I really don’t want to, but things are extremely hectic right now, and it’s tough to continue finding the motivation to write something hot-blooded and passionate and optimistic when I feel so down.

But I’m working to change things for the better, and knowing that you’re all there is what I’m going to draw strength from—that and knowing that I really can live up to my dreams. After all, there’s no time to be sad and depressed and whatever when you have to deliver, like I do—when you have to keep putting out and trying to do better. Put simply, I don’t really feel that being sad at this point is worth it—there’s too much for me to do.

So if there’s anything you want commissioned from me, anything you need from me, please feel free to let me know—my rates are pretty low, and I can work things out with you. If you’re a fan (I don’t really like to say ‘fans’, but whatever) you know what I can do/have done, and if you’re not, I have plenty of material. It would really help me out.

And hey, if you like my work or you follow this blog or just happen to find this post and end up liking it, please tell your friends, reblog etc. Dissemination of information is the fastest and best was to grow and gain more of a base, and there’s nothing I’d like more. Thanks.

Later.

I think that’s the title of a Seether album. Eh. It resonates with me a lot right now.

It’s been some time now since I’ve posted—I blame lack of goings-on for that, mostly, but it’s also a matter of me not having many interesting topics to discuss with you all. Now I do though.

Firstly I’d like to thank everyone who gave their input on whether I should change my major or not, seeing as I’m quite mediocre at Computer Science and I find it monumentally boring, not to mention overly complex. I’m thinking of switching now to Environmental Science or Accounting, maybe English.

Anyway, our topic for today is that, when you encounter a situation like I did, where the solution, the obvious answer, is staring you in the face, please, please latch onto it. There’s nothing more self-destructive than ignoring the one thing that could potentially save you from a problem you’re having—I knew I was bad at Com Sci, but I’d just switched my major and didn’t want to switch again—having waited so long, it’s thoroughly bitten me in the ass—not to mention my joblessness. 

Strange Bedfellows isn’t coming along well.

Anyway, there ya go! Short today, but it’s what I felt like doing. Later.

Hey, Tumblr. I’ve got a break between classes, with no real need to study at the moment and no way to code outside of Notepad—which is horrible for coding—so I figured I’d go ahead and just jump on here to do Wednesday’s entry. Sorry I missed Monday—I had too much to do when I got home. I’m not sure I have a topic of discussion for today, so I guess I’m just going to free-write something randomly. But as for a quick update, I haven’t started work on Chapter 15 of Strange Bedfellows just yet—I know what I want/have to do, and I’m likely going to get started tomorrow, but this week’s been a little hectic so far and I want things settled down before I get to work. Also, I had to upload Can’t Be Missed to my DA, OrionRyan. Anyway, let’s get started.

He wasn’t sure where this dream—or nightmare, rather—came from. Likely from a place deep in his psyche. A place where all of his greatest insecurities festered and bred among themselves, creating a kind of feedback loop. All he knew was that he wanted it gone, wanted the terrible visions to vanish into the ether and never come back.

In the dream, his eyes opened slowly, feeling like they’d been crusted shut, somehow. The room he was in was dark and foreboding, every inch of it filled with impenetrable blackness that seemed to invade his eyes, darkening his sight. In the distance, he could hear the sound of something hollow—bone, maybe—being tapped. He’d stand there, paralyzed as he stared into the darkness, fearing that something unimaginable was going to leap out and unmake him.

Then, after some time, he’d get the urge to move. He’d start with a leg, and always his mind would be filled with the same burning horror when he found it bolted to the floor, blood seeping from the quarter-sized hole in it where a thick rod had been driven through. He’d try to move his other foot and find it similarly pinned. Even if he tried to wriggle her feet, trying to widen the hole in the flesh to allow the head of the rod to slip through, it never worked—it only sent waves of dull stinging up his calves.

Next came his arms and, because they were strung up behind him, folded in an X across each other and dangling just slightly loose enough that he could move them, he couldn’t see what held them—all he knew was that moving his arms yielded extreme pain in his wrists, sending shockwaves of pain ripping through him.

With every part of him dull and aching, and knowing that he couldn’t escape, he would finally resign himself to staying still, hoping that somebody would come by to help him.

After what seemed like years had passed, a small light would make itself known in front of him. It was always dim at first, but it would grow until it blinded him, banishing all the darkness around him, finally encompassing everything in the room.

That’s when his desires came parading through.

One by one, they came, each of them a physical representation of his unfulfilled needs in life—the women he’d lusted after, the jobs he’d always wanted to have, the recognition from others that he’d sought after—even the love he’d missed as a child. They would saunter through, each taking the time to stop and laugh at him, strung up like a piece of meat—he was even treated as such. They’d inspect him, touch him, grope him, poke parts of him they had no business touching, and always they would find him lacking. They would speak sometimes, but always in a tongue he couldn’t hope to process. Thick groans from deep within their bodies, screeches from high in their throats—sometimes they’d just spit at him.

Some of them even went beyond touching and staring, presumably just for kicks. No matter much he cried or screamed, they would never stop. Finally, when he was bleeding from every part of himself he could bleed from, he would pass out, and wake up screaming.

And that’s pretty much all I thought up on the spot.

Later.

I think that, for some time now, I’ve needed a day more to myself than anything else. And yes, I get those on a fairly consistent basis, from Friday to Sunday, and yes, I’m aware of the fact that there are people out there who get literally no time to themselves. But I think there’s been something interesting in my thought patterns here recently.

I don’t think I really ‘enjoy’ much anymore, in the traditional sense. By that I don’t mean that I don’t enjoy anything I do, or that I hate everything I do. I don’t dislike or find myself disinterested in what I do—but I don’t find the sense of fulfillment in the things I do that other people tend to talk about. A ‘job well done’, they call it. In other cases, it’s the factor of catharsis, the factor of making yourself feel better or working out some kind of anger or anxiety. 

I don’t really feel much of that right now. I guess I don’t feel too much any way, but I really don’t want to whine here, anymore than I have before. I don’t like those people who talk about how terrible their lives are despite being perfectly fine, and I am in the exact same boat. I don’t try to look for sympathy—I just try to state things as they are, objectively, though how much objectivity could I really exert when it comes to my own life? But I try. 

I guess if anyone has any tips for actually enjoying your work, writing or gaming or school or whatever, share them with me. I’m sure that enjoyment is supposed to be inborn and that you’re supposed to feel a measure of pride in the things that you do as opposed to just doing them. I write a chapter of Strange Bedfellows and post it: One or two years, even eight months ago I’d have cared about what people thought and the ratings and the comments and whatever and whatever. Now? I can only think about how much less amazing it is than other works—remember that post a little while ago where I spoke about that? I guess it’s coming to fruition—I can’t take pride in my own work because of the works of others overshadowing my own, in my own eyes. The small victories have dried up. So what’s all this mean in a nutshell?

I guess I feel really inadequate and insecure. I hate to say that, and I guess it’s really not a matter for the internet, but them’s the facts. Which is fine—I’ll just try harder until I can garner that kind of interest. I’ll continue grinding away until I produce a Past Sins, some magnum opus, or until I become a Conner Cogwork, where every work is a magnum opus. It may sound silly and animeish, but I think that even if I felt so insecure that I wanted to quit writing altogether because my works are for the most part niche, which if you haven’t guessed by now by my articulation of this thought is exactly how I feel, I couldn’t stop. I’m in too deep, so deep in fact that instead of swimming strongly I’ve resigned myself to keeping my head above water. I don’t think I care too much anymore, but I’ll keep going.

I don’t really want sympathy for all this—it’s merely self-indulgence in the interest of helping me articulate my feelings to myself. And no, this isn’t all about my writing—it’s also that I never feel improvement in LoL and that I constantly feel outclassed when I try, but I keep trying in the interest of someday being the one to do the outclassing. But really, if any of you out there want to weigh in, if you want to tell me some secret trick about enjoying the things you do in a simpler sense, I’m all ears.

Maybe it’s just that clinical depression creeping back in—for the interested, I was diagnosed when I was about 13 and it’s never been…uh…I guess undiagnosed? Rescinded? All the same, it hasn’t gone away.

Later.

It’s something I do far, far too often, considering the fact that I’m a 19-year-old in pretty good health. I should be out partying, hooking up, and drinking before it’s even legal for me to—that’s what normal teenagers do, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, I’m about the furthest from normal that one could be, as far as teenagers go.

No, instead of going out to clubs where I “like, totally know the bouncer”, I sit around in my well-lit room, surrounded by pony paraphernalia (which isn’t a bad thing, for the record), and I wonder about the past constantly, despite the fact that I’ve lived around a ninth of my potential life. I think about all the relationships I’ve had, romantic or otherwise, the people I’ve helped and the people I’ve hurt, and whether I’m, at heart, an egoist or an altruist. What a way to be a teenager, huh?

Meanwhile, in the background, my dreams of professional gaming, of being a competitor on the world stage and doing what I’ve always loved to do as a living, continue to convert from a metaphysical representation of my desires into so much metaphysical sand rolling through my fingers. 

My life has had a dreamlike quality these last few weeks, something I’ve not experienced since I began to realize, in high school, that it was really all over and that my introduction to the real world, something I’d dreaded since I was just a kid, was here. Maybe that means I’m losing another part of my childish desires, slowly having what makes me “me” torn away and replaced like emotional, like mental circuitry. Like a robot.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the I am. Did you know that? Plenty of times I’ve wished that I could be simpler, and I don’t mean stupider, though that would help, I’m sure. I wish I thought of things in more shades of black and white than grey, that I could go two seconds without questioning how we got here and without questioning the complex and intimate relationships between colorful cartoon ponies. Did you know that? Lots of people wish that they could be more complex, less boring, whatever you want to call me.

Me, I just wish sometimes that I could be like other people and not give a shit when the alcohol distributes itself into my bloodstream (I don’t even drink), not care when the pounding lights overhead give me a headache and make me want to leave “da club”. Lots of times I wish that being a professional gamer wasn’t my ultimate, all-consuming aspiration in life. And most of all I wish I could write in a form that people without English-major sisters could understand. Then again, maybe I don’t give people enough credit. Maybe I need to stop waxing philosophical so much, too.

Anyway, aside from my rambling, anxiety, my fear and dread, my need to espouse all of my emotions here in purple prose, I finished the new Chapter 14. I’m starting edit cycle one tomorrow.

Later.

Hey guys, remember when I said that chapter 14 was all written and that chapter fifteen was on the way?

Yeah, that’s not happening. Sorry.

Basically, here’s what happened—desperate to stay on a tight release schedule and with school pressuring me alongside the need to deliver in a timely manner, I sat down and, utterly drained of both energy and desire, banged out 2,704 of absolute shit. Well, not shit, because shit consists of things like “so Rainboiw DEashe flyed out the windw”, but it wasn’t something I was even close to comfortable with putting out to the viewing public. It was didactic, bland, and generally completely unneeded, aside from one or two sections, which I’ll be carrying over to Chapter 15.

To further elaborate, it was basically AJ, Rarity, and Blink sitting around talking about things I could show rather than telling, and very easily at that. 6 pages of talking, and talking, and talking, plus a small follow-up on the spells that Glow Star promised to teach to Rarity. Didn’t need any of it, that chapter’s going to be deleted, etc.

Yeah, I’m pissed that I did all that work, and that I’m going to have nothing to show for it aside from two or three paragraphs, but I’d rather scrap several pages of bad work and make you all wait longer for something that will hopefully turn out to be better than the drivel. I know you’re all, unfortunately, accustomed to waiting for me to put something out, but I assure you, it’s for quality’s sake and because of other responsibilities cropping up in my life. I’m doing the best I can for you.

No subject for discussion today.

Later.

Namely as to why I do this. I don’t get followers, I don’t get likes or favorites or reblogs or even, most of the time, views. I so guess, in the end, when you consider the writer of a Tumblr to only be obsessed with fame-seeking, I have failed spectacularly in that regard.

But I think what I’ve lost in fame and recognition, I’ve gained twice over in insight. That’s something I wouldn’t trade for all the internet fame in the world. As I sit here, like I currently am at 11:14 at night, wondering to myself why I didn’t update yesterday, I just have to stop and realize that I didn’t start this Tumblr to get followers. In truth, nothing I’ve ever done has been starting for fame-seeking or competition. Those aspects trickled into the world of my fanfiction writing only after I’d sunk myself deeper into it. I wanted success, sure, and I got it, but it was only later that the burning desire to surpass my contemporaries overtook me.

I use this blog to think to myself, mostly—it doesn’t really matter whether someone else looks at it. I’d call it a diary or a journal of sorts, but I rarely talk about my personal life within, excepting back when I had my job and they constantly fucked me over.ThenI bitched about my personal life, even though I had little right to.

In any case, I think today’s topic of discussion is going to be about telling a story with a rough theme, and trying to make it not only your own, but believable as well. Now, I’m going to self-indulge here and say that The Cold Hand of Mercy (now on FimFiction, if you haven’t read it you ought to, etc etc.) is at least a decent example of successfully pulling off a concept that not only is novel, but that is challenging. I wrote the story, yes, to tell a story of a pony forced into a nasty lot in life (or unlife perhaps), but also to communicate with my readers. To give them a feeling, to send them a message.

That no matter how bad things seem, you can always find those pockets of hope to keep you going, that Death is perhaps one of the greatest kindnesses that can be offered in this world (depending on your point of view), and that, with perseverance, courage, and the ability to stick through the bad times, we are always rewarded for our efforts.

Ironic coming from someone as cynical as me, though the story’s told through the lens that you can’t get true happiness without suffering—no rainbows without rain, etc. So how do you do something like that?

Well, to find inspiration is something that takes a personal commitment—something has to truly get under your skin and refuse to leave until you write it. Now if you want to write about flowers and happiness and ponies falling in love with each other instantly, I won’t object. Hell, we probably need more happiness in this world anyways. But let’s say you’re like the mod of Pregnant Scootaloo, or like the writer of Past Sins…I suppose. I don’t like mentioning the latter, but that’s out of admitted jealousy. Let’s say you’re not satisfied with happiness and light and wellness, you want to write a story like that, with hardship, struggle, and stigma.

Let me warn you right now that this isn’t an easy road you’re choosing to go down. You’ll get criticism for shitty material, for being ‘yet another grimdark’, and because people ‘won’t stop killing/hurting/impregnating ponies’. You’ll have to be able to step up and defend your work and tell people that this is what you chose—it’s their right to criticize it, sure, free speech and all, but you have to be able to ask for that criticism to be delivered constructively. Failing that, let’s say you get an obvious troll. Either just ignore them, or do something incredibly awesome, like the author of Pregnant Scootaloo.

I’d also like to make a side-note here that the inspiration for this subject matter came directly from that mod’s response to a troll. You are awesome, whoever you are. And make note—yes, you can find inspiration everywhere, even in things that seem small.

To start, you need believability. Let’s say your genre-busting idea, your magnum opus, is that suddenly, Fluttershy realizes that she’s running out of money seriously quickly. She can’t feed her animals and knows that she only has two options—seek work elsewhere (I dunno if she even has a job or gets paid for her animal-care services), or start turning animals away.

Well, she looks all around and, failing to find any work, starts walking home dejectedly, absolutely destroyed over the fact that she’s going to have to turn animals away or they’ll start starving and dying anyway. Then she sees a flier for a position! Only, it’s for…I don’t know, professional wrestling. So Fluttershy has to make a choice with a lot of grey in it. Expose herself to dozens of ponies, fight, wrestle, and earn enough money? Or does she decide that she just can’t get up in front of that many ponies, let alone fight professionally.

Does all that make sense? You have to think about things—what would a character do in this situation? How do they cope with the resulting grief and anguish, the consequences of their decision? And most importantly, does their ultimate decision fit with their character?

Let’s say Flutters takes on the job. She has to deal with the very real possibility of injury in the ring, has to deal with jeers from the crowd, has to deal with nosy managers and bad locker room conditions, not to mention long hours. Maybe she starts losing connection with her friends. Maybe her decision ultimately means that she can’t take care of her animals as well anyway? That’s a nihilistic view of the whole thing, but you understand my point. The moral of that path could be that, sometimes, what seems best doesn’t always turn out right.

Or maybe she doesn’t do it. She starts having to close her eyes when she sees a cat with a broken leg, has to shut her ears to the sound of a dog baying in pain because it’s getting beaten up in the Everfree Forest? She starts spiraling into depression, and her friends have to care for her, help her through this devastating time, until she can cope on her own. Maybe the moral to that side of everything is that, ultimately, we can’t hope to make good for every single Poor Unfortunate Soul that we come across?

I know this example is silly, but bear with me. I’m trying to make it make sense, and I hope it does.

In any case, to recap, you have to consider the characters you’re using, your idea, how to execute said idea, what the consequences of their decisions will be, and what lessons can be gleaned from the whole thing. And you especially have to consider how deeply you can get hurt without failing, because there will be some hate levied in your direction—Cold Hand got mixed reviews, believe me, and I took pride in that. To me, it meant that no one knew how to react to it all.

In any case, that’s all for today. Later.

God I sounded like a douche.