The exploits I’ve had, the memories made of once tangible worlds, have had their bridges incinerated by Janus. Those distinct character mutating spaces can never be entered for like a firework, the conditions, circumstances, and relationships have dissipated, leaving only fading scent of what was. Who I am now, is another mask with an already lined fresh coat of paint. A product of the river of the innumerable elements of reality; doomed to be strung out of reach of autonomy.
Oh, how my bulb has burnt out. Constant redrafting query letters for a slew of prospective agents, synopses of varying lengths, content tailored made for whatever agent I may decide ‘I guess that’ll work’ through their interest in my genera, and other conditionals has left me too weak.
Amidst university work and other art-related projects, it’s a slow process letting my filament heal, but I think soon, I’ll be able to delve back into the combative and time consuming task of finding an agent.
The State of the Book
I’ve revised the Grand Order to a point that most editing is superficial now. Thinking of doing anything makes me nauseous anymore. Largely, due to this late stage of revisions. At 120 thousand words, post massive rewrites where the book was at around 85-90 thousand, has rendered the manuscript thickly packed.
I do believe that my next work will be superior. However, at this point, aside from some extra chapters, and side content that exist in the periphery of the main story (and are largely for myself); there isn’t much to do, other than heading into the digital metropolis to seek more prospective agents. Alas, I suffer from directional incompetence.
I do, terribly and sincerely beg your pardon from including entries about matters aside from literature and the like, but I find that my pictorial arts to be of importance.
Please bear with me.
Since 2016 I’ve attempted this big art piece of five to six characters (depending upon the iteration), but every time I was unsatisfied with how it was coming along. Especially with the characters. I’ll be redrafting the background and hopefully create a more attractive setting.
Detective Vann Langard, unfinished linework. Planning on making this a simple coloring.
Walking beneath all senses; untethered to our cyclical ends
One yet innumerable austere chroniclers
In living tomes all matters of all things are scrawled
Our apex and extinction will be catalogued along with the next
Been a while since I’ve done any proper artwork. So I thought I’d share it. It’s a quick work so not too spectacular.
All rivers, and ponds dry, and likewise, I fear the day that I have no story to tell. Although I’ve experienced dry-spells where articulating narrative was as difficult for me as lifting an auto, the weight lifted after a while of time and persistence. However, a thunderous looming doom I fear awaits me when no story comes to mind, no character born any-longer and my worth as a story-teller turns to vapor. Despite that fret, I’ll persist with my goals, for what else is there for me to do? Creative impulse is what is always at the end of any hall I walk.
Just putting out some thoughts, digging my fingers into my brain to try and bleed out some writing. I’ve had such difficulty as of late. Hope you’re well all who read this and all who don’t.