ginvael

For a long time, writing had been basically the only outlet I had for all the feelings growing inside me. I hated the real world, its injustice and cruelty, and art was something I could control, something I could build up and crush and demolish and build up again. It was all mine, exactly the way I wanted, and for a while, it had been enough. Then, the horrors of the real world had crept up on me. Writing was no longer an escape; everything I touched was tainted by the same ugly fear and desperation I felt when waking up and looking through my phone or out of my window. I began listening to bad advice, too, and tried to keep my writing under lock and key, thinking I had to polish it more before I could share it. Or that I needed to push myself to finish every project before I was allowed to start something new. This was how I spent my winter, thinking that before my art could see the light again, it had to become better. Then, the spring came. It is difficult to estimate what took a bigger blow - my mental or my physical health, but a lot of things began to fall apart. Money, job, health, family, immigration status - everything became a concern at once, and my voice got drowned in the sea of fear. I am doing better now, and while some issues will still need to be tackled, I can at least breathe again. But the writing did not come back easily. It was a long process of bargaining with myself, trying to regain that confidence and the ease with which I came up with words, strung them together in sentences and paragraphs. Nothing cooperated; I went back to unfinished drafts and outlines, trying to put together something I had not touched for months. I hated it; I hated myself. I could not believe I had allowed myself to stop and lose the talent I had been so proud of. And then, I thought about why I was even trying to do any of that. Of course, there is no small measure of personal pride, but there is more. As Florence Welch has sung, "but there is nothing else that I know how to do but to open up my arms and give it all to you". It is the truth that writing is what I have always felt most comfortable with, and thinking about you all helped me pull myself together. I am not a celebrity or a global star, but I like to think that I still have an audience, some people who, to this day, would want to hear from me again. Your comments, your asks, your thoughts kept me afloat even when I did not want to be anymore, even when I thought I would never write again, even when I did not open ao3 or scrivener for weeks on end. Without you, there would be no writing anymore. If you somehow read all this and reached this point, you will probably be glad to hear that I have some writing to share. This includes updates, a fic I had posted on anon before I lost my spark, and a brand new multichapter, among other things. I will not promise the same level of productivity I used to boast (remember when I wrote a million words for HOTD in one year? Yep, that's not happening again), but I finally know that I have not said everything yet. There are still words in me, however many, and they deserve to be heard. As I said, I cannot say I am returning in full. A big part of what had made fandom fun for me had been the people I was close with, and many of them are no longer writing, sadly. I miss what we used to have, and I suppose my former pace will never be regained again. Still, doing something is better than nothing at all, right? Apart from all that, I have been thinking about writing an original novel, doing cross-stitching and seeking solace in books and music. There is so much beauty in this world to see and experience, and I could not be more grateful for the inspiration in every single day I get to live. If you have read this far - thank you for listening. Even if you just scrolled down - I'll see you on ao3 again, I guess. Faithfully yours <3