Okay so, to be frank, this is going to be purely my thoughts drawn onto paper and we’ll see how this will go. I’ve done something similar in the past, sometime 2016 I believe, and it was some mishmash of stories and ranting. This will, undoubtedly, be similar in style. This chapter isn’t necessarily going to have anything truly weird it’s more an introduction to the madness.

To start, when I say stories, I likely mean shitty metafiction and maybe the occasional story idea I’m somewhat invested in. So to speak that I’ll be basically absconding with em in hand and drawing out a snippet. Basically, think of this ‘novel’ as an anthology with a few interludes of the author’s thoughts and insecurities. Fun isn’t it?

Maybe, I’ll continue this after today, maybe I won’t. Honestly, I just want to write. I’ve been in a rough spot and just wanted to get something down on paper and I read my rants and shit from 2016 when I barely knew how to write. Fuck I didn’t even know how to use an apostrophe. I think the reason why I never finish a story is because my motivation(yes, the social construct in which people use to fuel themselves) vanished into thin air as my muse accosted my face and brutalized my self-esteem further. I guess it’s social anxiety.

See, it’s the fact that everyone sees that gets me frozen and afraid to type more. But it’s the same fact that keeps me going alongside the feeling of improving. Lots of other things, you can see improvement but writing is where I actually felt it. I felt that my writing became better. I felt like, maybe this was something I could do something about.

But it seems like it’s just that. I love writing but I lacked the motivation to continue it. Frankly, this is the first time I’ve ever really faced this issue. I just sighed when I stopped writing and forgot about it, pretending I was just having a writer’s block. This is most definitely something more. And I want to try and see if understanding the issue might help me solve it.

See what I told you about rants? Four hundred and sixteen words discounting these. See? It’s helping. Maybe. Though I’m closing that tool since I don’t want to be distracted by that. When I write I like to listen to music like a lot of other writers. But I don’t like English songs or songs that lack a voice, but for some reason, I like to listen to music which I don’t understand the lyrics to. It’s likely because I like having people talk, it makes me feel like there’s passion near me. But I don’t want to know what they’re talking about in fear that it’s something that’s grander than I can think or believe making me lose muse.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

But at the same time, I sometime pause writing to look up the lyrics and try to understand the song. Since, while I don’t understand it while it’s playing I understand the meaning it’s conveying. That helps me write a lot. There’s also drawing and art. I love it. It’s like that saying.

A picture is worth a thousand words. I can’t explain it in words but it’s a feeling you get when you see the colors, or lack of it, the style; jagged and sharp or smooth and eccentric. Even more. It just tells you loads about it all. Basically, I’m just some kinda shitty art snob. Bite me.

I want to live with alacrity, which is liveliness and eagerness. Motivation to be frank. I love praise as well. It’s something that makes me feel like I’m worth something, even though I know I probably shouldn’t think like that. It also makes me think cynical thoughts, like how I only write just for praise. That’s it. I might be right I might be wrong.

I had a dream, which I still remember today. I just remember it wasn’t this year but I was like. I was an amorphous blob. But you might say that it was boring but, as this amorphous blob I’d go and follow a person. When they cried I morphed into a solid shape but when that feeling passed, I returned to blob form. I hid from their sight but other people would point me out to them, then I’d hide from their sight so it made it seem like that person was haunted. It was the same with other emotions, when one was high I’d turn into a different shape but always solid. When they laughed I’d turn round but like jelly. When they were angry I turned into a spiky spire. When they were terrified I’d turn into a bowl. When they were sad I’d turn into a puddle. Stuff like that.

It was kinda stupid now that I write it down. But there was this one girl, name was some stupid shit I don’t remember but I remember calling it stupid after waking up. Oh yeah, this was one of the last times I really dreamed ‘lucid’ish. Like it isn’t lucid dreaming just I remembered what happened vividly. Basically, she was depressed after her dad died in a car accident, and as a blob thing, I followed her around and basically always was a puddle of goop. Then I remember there was this one day where she went outside into her backyard and she had this swing set which she said out loud was something her dad made her a day before dying. She got on it and started swinging, hanging onto the ropes while crying silently. It was kinda depressing.

She got off but for some reason, I was right in front of where she was getting off and she slipped on my blob pool. She got up and looked around before crying some more. I’m not sure what the hell it was about, to be honest. This was where the dream ended, nothing too crazy I guess? Maybe I could make a story about it. Huh.

I guess this is where I’ll end the first chapter. This was the antithesis of what I ever wanted to write, to be honest. I guess it’s fine though? Thanks for reading through if you did and I’ll be posting the rest in a bit. ...After I extend this to 1.2k words. Fuck you I’m not stopping.

Really. I promise. Honestly, I’ll probably put this in to be approved and get started on the second chapter instead of writing it all before posting like an idiot. I feel like I might write a snippet for the next chapter. Stupid metafic maybe? Ha, this is ass, you are too. I'm curious to see what I do with this though. God dammit.

God this is the worst.