Well..... That's a wrap. That's my first book. At the time of posting this it's maybe four months after writing this thing and i'm currently sixty thousand words into the next one and writing better than I ever have. And I'd like to say a few things.

See. Like every writer, I've always been an avid reader. And one part of books that i particularly enjoy is afterwords. Specifically ones that talk about the writers journey in the process of writing the book. Those have always been intensely interesting to me. They're like the story behind the story and to me those can be almost as interesting at the story itself.

So I wanna talk about that. I wanna talk about the story behind this story.

Some of the more avid reader on royal road might have stumbled across me before. The first story I posted here was "I got reincarnated by a blade of grass." The story saw massive growth from the moment I posted it. It got something like seven hundred views on the first few chapters. I couldn't take the success. And didn't feel like I measured up. So, I dropped the story and later deleted it. That wasn't the first story I had written. The first story I wrote was a six thousand long story about a man seeing people as shadows and killing his family. It took me two weeks to write. Now if wanted to I could write that in a day. And somedays I might write alot. Almost that much. Because I love writing. And let me tell you why.

For most of my childhood I was mired with mental health issues which left me dysfunctional. It was so bad that I dropped out of elementary school. (I'm a straight A student now though.) When I first started writing, I was fourteen. (I've been writing since Nine but those were just essays, I would write a few a week for homeschool.) When I started writing fiction, something changed in me. Around the same time, I made friends and started working out. And i attribute both of those changes to the writing. Because writing removed the steel wool of self-hate and insanity that my mind was swaddled in, I would take it out and put it in a story. And even though it was only a brief respite for the duration of my writing and maybe half an hour after.

That mattered. And so like any young fool who fell in love with art I thought. "Maybe I could make a career out of this." And so I started writing two thousand words a day. I was reenrolled in school at the time. So i would get home from school. Run three kilometers and write for two to three hours. After those long writing sessions, I could barely speak. Keep in mind. I had just started.

There was a thought constantly wriggling in my mind at the time. 'You'll fail. Your work is horrible.' Whether or not I will fail is still a question of mine, after all. I'm still trying now. And I haven't left limbo yet. But there was one thing that i didn't question.

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My work was indeed horrible. Because I was just starting. And I didn't let it be bad. I couldn't accept my creation and just create. And so I would write and drop and write and drop. The second story I wrote. I got reincarnated by a blade of grass was written to forty thousand words. Before I dropped it. The largest of that time was fifty thousand. But nothing was that long.

And then came the panic attack. Around the time that I wrote and dropped the murder system (Which is still on my profile.) I had a mental breakdown. I was suffering from heat stroke at the time, and I was permanently trapped in a scalding room. I would meditate for two hours a day—study for one. And write for another two. On top of that I was running five kilometers every single day. I think a good part of why I pushed myself so hard back then was because I wanted to redeem myself in the eyes of my peers—stupid kid stuff.

After that panic attack I quit writing. And I thought I was done for good. I wanted to be done for good.

But the urge grew. And with every month the urge grew more. It became like the yearing one has for a lover they haven't seen in months. It was overpowering. And I couldn't resist.

So while my peers were chanting. 'Inconsistent! Lazy! Quits like a bitch!'

I unquit. I didn't say a word about how i had started writing. I just got up and started doing it again. I started writing around a thousand words every other day. The first thing I wrote was so bad I could barely call it a story. And I wrote it slowly over the course of about six months. It was around forty for fifty thousand words.

And then summer came. I had time. Nothing but time. SO much time. And I started writing seriously instead of the every other day shit I was doing before. I wrote this story on my phone while on hikes because I couldn't sit down without being afriad. And this time I did something that i had never done before. I kept going. I kept writing and writing without any drops in between. And as I kept at it with one story and let the story be bad. Something magical happened. I improved.

For the first time in two years I was finally starting to get better. I wrote this story named Hero Dies in Another World to sixty thousand words. And then I dropped it. Because I thought I could do something better. And I started this story—this book.

I wrote. And I kept writing. I slowed down when I lost hope and sped up when I found it again.

"It's a marathon not a race."

It's a Marathon not a race. Every writer will tell you that. And Marathons are all about chossing you pace. Go as fast as you can keep going. I know that there are about thirty loyal souls who have read this far. To those people. Thank you. Not even my friends can do that.

And also to those people. I bet you like the smell of pig pens, because this was shit.

Maybe about half of this story was actually something other than trash. That half was okay. And maybe some of you read for those flashes of coherence. But I know what I did. I could feel it as I did it.

This was a trash story. Half of it was good and the other half was barely a story. And I've learned something recently: writing matters. But Rewriting and proofreading is where the stuff with genius is made. And so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write this book. Then, edit it all. Then, post it. To make something worthwhile.

Meaning you'll have to do something very special.

Wait. Wait for me to make something. I promise that even if you don't like it. At least I will.

At the time of writing this I am seventeen with one and soon to be two books under my belt.

Mrbookman signing out.