What’s your fear? My greatest fear is the inability to write stories. And guess what? It came true!
The follow post will contain strong language. Viewer discretion is advised.
If you know me, you know I love telling stories. I love telling stories of my childhood, the foods I’ve eaten, to traveling to places I’d never dream of in a million years. But most importantly, I enjoy creating stories and characters and writing about them. That’s what gives me joy.
A Little Garbage History Lesson
I’ve been writing since 2001. Ever since I first wrote my botched Final Fantasy IX fanfiction and dear lord, it was the most appalling piece to come into existence. The story was littered with grammatical mistakes, run-on sentences, and an avalanche laughable tropes and of course, there was an iconic Mary Sue. God damn. At the time, I knew I was bad at writing it, but I continued writing since it’s not for public viewing. A few years later (when I was much older), I edited it, proofread it, and printed it out on cheap paper. And yes, I kept it to myself. And no, I haven’t considered myself as a “writer” yet.
The later versions of it were better, but wasn’t great. The story was convoluted, botched, filled with mistakes, loopholes, a toned-down Mary Sue, and other things I won’t mention. But, something was different this time; the story was more personalized. What do I mean by personalized, you ask? Well, I figured if you inject real life experiences and emotions into the characters, they’d come to life. And that was what I did.
I realized stories could be better if you made characters relateable to the reader. It kicked off my writing journey to write other stories, whether it was fanfiction or original stories, poetry, and prose. I had a knack for writing with a touch of realism in it, even if it was a fantasy piece. That was my mark.
When Shit Hit the Fan
I really kicked off as a writer around 2010 when I fucked myself over. I won’t go into it, but it was bad enough I spent the next remaining years in absolutely mental garbage. When shit hit the fan, I began writing humor/parody stories. I wrote a lot of it; it was a way to cope with all the turbulence in my head.
My stories did very well, surprisingly. I never advertised my stories and what not; I wanted the reviews to come organically and it did. What was the fandom I wrote for? Beyblade, mainly after the events of G-Revolution. Laughable, right?
These were the stories I was mostly proud of:
Later onward, I shifted to another fandom, Final Fantasy XIII-2. My style of writing matured. The written scenes were more descriptive, poetic, yet, filled with uncertainty. By this point, I understood the world was a garbage place and thus, the stories reflected pessimistic thoughts, torment, lies, and episodes of lost hope.
I was damn proud of them. I established myself as a writer and wrote for the sake of entertaining the masses. However, I never catered to writing smut. It’s just not my forte. There’s more to life than smut, y’know.
Strangely, my skill set was established as Visual Writing; the ability to publish my thoughts/dreams onto paper. Someone used to tell me the way I described things was similar to reading manga. People “saw” what played in my head through my “writing”! Fuck yeah, I was happy!
All is Lost
Fast forwarding today, I can’t write like that anymore. I’ve lost the ability to visually write and produce written works that read like movies. I can’t do it. And you know what? It kills me inside, knowing full well I’m unable to be descriptive. Everyday, I struggle trying to regain back my writing groove I had from 2010 – 2015. It’s gone. Just like that, gone. There were times I tried writing a story, but it wasn’t the same. The story lacked vocabulary diversity, feeling, tone, and “color”.
Red Rebellion (FFXIII-2 story) is a good example to show the decline. Compare chapter 1 and chapter 7; it’s two different things. Chapter 1 is more “vivid” and real, even if it is a fictional story. Chapter 7 is a half-assed writing attempt to continue the fantasy. I have no words to describe it. It sucks!
During my heyday, I “saw” most of the stories in my mind. I could “hear” the characters speak, “smell” flowers or the sea or the sound of chirping birds, “touch” water and grass, and so much more. The scenes in my head were vivid color. But now, it’s all monochrome. You know how fucking depressing that is?
If you told me to write, I’ll write. But, it’ll be “colorless” and devoid of all emotion.The writing becomes stale. I hate it. How can I be a writer again when I can’t even “see” the stories, characters, or the scenes? I understand a lot of people will never understand my plight, which is fine, it’s just that, you won’t know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it.
I’ve lost the ability to write compelling stories that tugged heartstrings. It’s a writer’s nightmare. And it’s possibly something I will have to live with for the rest of my life.