Questions...

I don't remember how old I was when I decided I wanted to be a writer. All I know, is that since then the desire to create has consumed me. However, perfectionism has become my downfall. Its fed off the doubts I've willingly handed it, and tainted the only thing I've ever purely loved doing.

I'm eighteen now, and after so long, this is the first time I've ever considered doing something other than writing.  There are options which seem more realistic, and would make me more money for me than the meager life of  a writer. The question is though, could I put to rest the one thing about myself I've always been sure of? That I could write, and that if everything else failed, I would always have my writing. I've compared my talent with so many others, that in some ways I've pulled apart the threads to the canvas I was just beginning to design. There were choices that I made; choices of comfort over trying something hard.
Last night was the first time I felt regret for being who I am. How can I go back to a life of normality, when I've tasted such raw magic? ---But, how can I continue on, when with every step my desire to make things perfect destroys just a bit more of the dwindling pool of creativity I have left.
There are questions. So many questions. What will I do with my life? Is my writing salvageable?  How am I going to pay for college? Should I major in my second love, science? Why are people so hard to work with? Science is so hard, can I really do it?
Yet it all comes back to just one simple thought: I love writing, with a passion nothing else can touch. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to improve it, I don't care how I have to do it.

Shadows cast by the sun

I want to touch the stars---to reach high into the air, and grasp the unattainable; even if it's just for a moment. I want to feel the warmth of their pulsing bodies, as they melt into silver streams down my arms.
  It will envelope my features in a mask. A mask made from the undefined, from the hollows between eternities. I must shatter the heavens,
only then can I find her.

   Magic, in its purest form. A child's laughter; the breeze ruffling the pages of an old tome; the scent of memories, of times spent reveling in the warmth of a new world.
   Because there is a world here; within my mind, there is a world made of starlight.
   A place of rolling hills, with flowers blossoming in so many vibrant colors the mind cannot possibly conceive their spectrum. The rain is warm, and appears as freshly broken glitter falling from the sky. The butterflies, have scales made of diamond.  They leave trails of colored smoke, which lightly disperse into the breeze.
   This world is a part of me,
and yet I have not traversed its lands for so long.

   She holds the key.
   In her mind,
   in her heart.

   But fear has taken hold of me.

   It has corrupted the pathways leading me home. It has trapped me here, within these four walls.
   I cannot see, I cannot breathe. My world, is becoming nothing more than a lovely dream.
   I'm losing a part of me.
   I am losing her.

   No.

   I am desperate to hold on. More than ever now.
   I keep these memories locked away in crystal spheres, hidden beneath my pillow.
   But every night, another one shatters.

   I love her---me, the one who traverses that world.

   But she's fading,
   The broken girl is fading; and with her, everything I love.

   How cruel life is. We cannot have one, without the other.
   I cannot dream, without the fingers of death circling my heart.
   I cannot live,
   without these memories I treasure,
   haunting me.

   I don't want to lose her.

A peculiar touch of darkness

   There are people who are different. 

   People who don't drift easily in the sea of humanity; people who still strive for beauty and virtue, while shrouded in a raiment of ashen silk.

   There are shades of black, yet white can only ever come in one form. It is endless; eternal. Unlike its counterpart there is no depth to be found in its spectrum. The terror of its power is without a veil.

   Black is to comfort. It is to clothe, to shield.

   White is the herald of destruction. 

   Yet in the folds of darkness; there is also a more sinister intention. It clothes itself in lies, deceit, and filth. It makes a mockery what is beautiful, and seeps into others though the shadows it proffers before it.

   There is darkness; and there is this.

   And I'm afraid, this world has become lost in it.

   There are people who are different. 

   And we are fading.

So, what now?...

This blog, was formed with the concept of pain in mind. My pain. Over time, however, it morphed into a jumbled collection of my thoughts---a journal in some ways. Yet now, I feel I have reached the end of a long traversed road. While the hollow echos of my soul were keenly felt in the beginning, there is nothing now. It's a good nothing; as it stirs no loneliness, no depression lingering from long ago. Yet, somewhere along the way I've lost my reason for writing this blog. It's no longer therapy, and it's no longer a journal... what is it then?
   This is the question that has been hounding me for the last several months. Many say, that a blog can only be successful if it has a sole purpose. BUT, my blog has lost much of it's purpose. I've grown up, I've won my battles, and now I stand as a conquer overlooking the road which has lead me here.
   There's no doubt in my mind that the pain will return one day. When it does, I fully intend to again take my pain, and redirect it into words. Because words are so much more beautiful, when fueled by something real.
   For now though, the question: is what I'm doing now, enough? begs to be answered. Is this blog still functional, without a sole purpose? Some blog about books, others blog about politics. Still others blog about beauty, and maybe photography. Me? Where do I fit into all of this?
   I've been at this keyboard, so many times before, and not known what to write about. It isn't writer's block that holds me back, it's the lack of a definition of what I can write about.

   I blog about me. But is me, enough?

Twenty One Pilots. There are no words for how much I love them.

Our Love

Shackles of the Gardian

Art via pinterest.

Fingers dripping with the dew of an unshattered sky; crimson blossoms from the darkness hollowing his chest, darkening his pallor unevenly. Marbled lips part, an exhale of blackened smoke clouds the air, casting his features in obscurity.
   A wolf, she told me long ago. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. I knew she was right, yet in blindness, I smashed the mirrors lining my haven so I couldn't see. So that with time I could forget those memories, and simmer in the heat from what I felt within.
   He haunts me now. In my dreams; in the newly erected mirrors I've set within my marble palace. Vapors from his past still linger, the dark fumes which escaped his lips, pressing slowly into me; like a drug. Slowing my heartbeat, and sickening my mind.
   He's here, all around me. I feel it in the walls, I see it in the imprints left between the roses silently dripping from the balustrade like ruby blood.
   My haven is not a home; it is a tomb.
   His tomb; and I the guardian.

Pros and Cons of Roleplaying

VIA Pinterest--(isn't everything?)

   For those of you who are not familiar with Roleplaying, let me give you a quick overview of what it is. A group of people associate via an online group, and write a story together using paragraphs per individual. For example:

Player one: Caroline rips the sword from the beast morphing before her, glancing over at Peter. "We have about ten minutes 'till this place lights up like Pompeii during doomsday."

Player two: Peter wipes his brow; beads of perspiration mixed with onyx blood trickling down his face, "you think I don't know that?!" He bellows across at her, wondering if this will be the last time he has the chance to speak with another human being.
   They're coming now, faster than ever. Through the shattered window to his left, he sees them flooding across the landscape below. Spreading like a dark spill across a pristine canvas.
   Coming to take their humanity from them.

    As you might imagine, Roleplaying is incredibly fun if you can get the situation right. Instead of just writing with your own pool of ideas, you are able to loop others' creativity into your plots in a seamless manner!
   Putting aside all the glitter and gold however, it's the darker side of Roleplaying that has urged me to write this post. You can say it's my way of both warning and inviting, future prospects looking into the tumultuous networked world of Roleplaying.

(Though you can find roleplays anywhere, I've always used Goodreads.com; just because people are more literate there, and tend to be aspiring authors.)

_______CONS:

   ✘ The Addiction
   I think the hardest part of getting into a fantastic Roleplay, is that it's hard to separate real life from fantasy. I'm super guilty of repeatedly refreshing my Goodreads tab to check if anyone replied to my post over the course of a few seconds. Which is not a great thing for those who actually have lives, and in particular: schoolwork.

   ✘ The Excessive Amount of Pansies
   When I say pansies, I mean people who melt down every three seconds with some fit spurred on by some serious background problems. The amount of people who are overly concerned with intentionally getting their feelings hurt so they can start a drama fest is just ridiculous. I've been tempted to quit Roleplaying several times because of the preschool tantrums that go on there. Let me tell you, It's excruciatingly aggravating.

   ✘ Getting Looped Into Roleplays With People Who Can't Write 
    Everyone has their own style; I get that. However, there are quite a few people whose style happens to be:

Player one: caroline blinked
Player two: Sam at on da prk bench
Player one: Ur not sittin on da chair rit Sam like stop
Player two: ok
Player one: Caroline blinked
Player two: he sighed
Player one: "what is wrong Sam?
Player two: nothing
Player one: ok then"
Player two: I like you
Player one: Kisses Sam me to

   I am NOT joking right now. This is literally the dialog that some people waste time Roleplaying with. You'd think that the individuals writing this tragedy would get bored, but no! They have more diligence in hammering out their two word responses than I have for spewing out praises for Brandon Sanderson and Lindsey Stirling; and that is saying something! I wouldn't mind this situation so much if these people didn't tend to end up in 1x1s with me. (It makes escaping harder.) I can live with one liners doing their thing amongst each other, but when they try and reply with one word to my arduously detailed passages--things do get messy. 
   
 ✘ Roleplayers Who Take Three Years To Reply
   Oh wait... I'm one of them.

 ✘ Character Templates That Require You To Write A Novel
 This gets really aggravating. Some groups become so infatuated with the concept that if people are willing to write ten pages in pre-background for a character, they'll surely have some skill in actual writing. Ironically, I've found this not to be the case. For some reason, quite a few individuals seem more adept at making character templates look fancy, than actually turning those templates into characters.
   *It's also my firm opinion that any group requiring more than basic information from a template isn't taking into account that characters are born while writing, and not while planning. 

_______PROS:

ღ Amazing Roleplayers
   There is nothing on this earth quite like getting into a great Roleplay. It's nearly as exhilarating as riding on a euphoric moment while writing your novel; that moment when suddenly the world at your fingertips just comes alive. Not only that, but there is someone with you to share your passion for the story, and who can give it the inspiration needed to carry the plot over rough spots that would usually leave most sitting at a desk overcome with writer's block.
   To be quite honest, this is the sole reason I Roleplay at all.

ღ Getting To Know Other People
   There really is so many flavorful personalities out there, and over networks such as Roleplaying, that becomes very evident. I find that people generally are very accepting of who you are as a person when you share writing in common; and not just who you are as a Roleplayer. You can just drop into chat threads, and start up friendly conversations with strangers as though you've known them for years. 

ღ Having Something To Do That Isn't Incredibly Wasteful
  Though Roleplaying itself really has no point, the writing practice that you can gain through it IS helpful. Getting to read experienced writers posts, can in some ways enhances your skills as a writer too. 

___________________________________

   I hope those of you who are familiar with Roleplaying were able to empathize with this post, or at least have a good laugh at some of the items addressed here. Do understand that I intended no offense to anyone in writing this; this is just some of the things I find annoying/enjoyable about a particular hobby.
 Thank you your support, and for sharing these posts with your followers! 
 It means a lot!