Most of this month’s blogs have been trashed or put aside. So I looked up at the devil in front of me, the same devil that inspired me to write The Archer’s Crisis. That was how guilt blossomed into an idea involving precognition and archery. I used to have good ideas, and I’ve always had so much fun connecting the dots. In between, I would embed my own feelings into my protagonist’s heart and have him or her deal with them for me in silence.
People don’t understand each other’s pain. It’s so hard to connect with another person.
All the adverse outcomes remain on paper within the frameworks of fiction, where endurance is transformative. You stretch beyond reality to gain the fulfillment that you aren’t granted outside your head. Using this opportunity so you don’t get crushed under the weight of reality and the walking mass out there – this is how I’ve always worked.
This is a natural thing to do. Some people need fiction more than anyone. Could you ever resent this person? This person, who has been trying all her life to belong and express herself, and then ended up not giving a shit, but again found reasons why she should try again, and it ended all the same.
In my entire life, I’ve been giving in too often. The mass seemed like a place to go. But it didn’t work at the age of eight, didn’t work at 11, didn’t work at 17, didn’t work at 21, and…No one can say I have not tried.
But no one ever understood.
I have never been so exhausted in my life, and I don’t know what I’m trying to do anymore.
All I see now is self-neglect. Then, I get distracted by what seems romantic but comes with trouble and self-suffocation.
I look down the well and see myself. The abyss gazes back at me with all the inner faculties that I’ve been ignoring: Routine, repetition and the obligation to utter meaningless words that die in mumbles.
I want to remain silent, that’s all.
There are more accuracy and detail on paper and always has been. Spoken words don’t always ring true to your feelings, and there’s a high risk of dissonance that doesn’t correspond with your sentiments.
It took me my whole life to realise this.
I shall not try again.
Since the start of this blog (2009), there hasn’t been one month with only one blog post. Now there is. It’s time to do something about it before the devil on the wall tears a bigger hole with that needle and before the typewriter is beyond repair–before I decide to sleep.
