One Year.
This month marks my one year anniversary of truly writing on this site consistently. Back in March of 2016 I created this account and started reading here and there, lurking around various threads after an extended break from writing on another site. A few friends that had moved here from the old place often suggested this site as an enticing place —filled with active writers who thristed to craft narratives. It took some time to gather the courage to dive into this world, and after a few weeks of trying to write merc and fringer type stories I settled into having my titular character immigrate into the First Order as a rank and file agent. The Major, the Director, Sybil (whatever the persona) exists in a strange space while growing in scope: a mysterious place of conflicting values and to an outside observer, shifting agendas. Failing to properly connect with people seems to always be her biggest shortcoming, and she has a way of alienating and making those around her seem like tools to be used. Often my writing focuses on such shortcomings of the figure: resulting in stories about loneliness, confusion, depression, the ever building consequences of using violence as a way to channel one’s frustrations, and the pervasive dread that is feeling like an outsider.
Such concepts are always appealing to me.
I think part of the appeal in such storytelling is that it's easy for me as a person to feel the pressure of such ideas in my life’s experiences. They are relatable concepts. There have been times when I have perceived to be unwanted and have asked myself, “What do I bring to improve anyone’s life? What value or goodness do I bring upon this Earth?”
Sometimes while writing here I also feel like that kind of pressure is exerted upon me, and it feels like some days most people on here would be better served by my sudden and complete dissapearance. It's really easy to lash out in these moments and really indulge in that hot, empty anger —or spit out venom that only serves to get pointed to and laughed at later. But then I realize, like right now, when one stops focusing on the negative and stops being so self absorbed that the reality of being surrounded or waylaid simply isn't true.
Looking outward you see the people who care about you, the ones who depend on you, and the ones you provide a smile. This site is the same: there are friends, supportive people, and all the other writers who just look to have a good time while partaking in this hobby.
It's absolutely bonkers than in a year of being here I've become a Faction Owner. It's meaningless of course because in the end of it all of these things we do are just words a few nerds, dorks, and geeks share; however, also so very neat in its own way. Something in the minutiae is so compelling. Again, the site itself is the exact same way. Wouldn't it be great to able to write all the time and work with other people with the same passion to craft truly memorable narratives? I certainly wish I could write and write well with all of you, and I would love to entertain and stoke your emotions if I could but have the skill to capture and earn your imaginations —but nobody has that kind of time. And hey, you never know how the winds will turn and who you'll call friend next.
The point of this letter to you is to thank you for making this place such a compelling place to write and read in. Sure, not everything goes smoothly and you can't befriend everyone. Things might be a little boring if that were the case. Thank you, those who try their hardest to flesh out characters. Thank you, those who maintain the place and volunteer to run aspects of the community in the hope of making this a fair space for everyone to continue to practice their craft in. Thank you, writing partners. Thank you, adversaries. When all is weighed: without any piece of this complete puzzle none of it works and none of it is compelling.
Thank you for giving this weirdo a mask of anonymity in which she can be completely earnest with (because who actually says what they feel in life, right? That would be stupid).
Thank you for the year, Chaos.
—Marigold