Entry One
14/04/2024
I've successfully started building my website today! It isn't much, but I am reather glad to have done it. It wasn't too confusing for me to pick up (I owe that largely to the tutorial neocities offers). In the past, I would likely say that building a website would be something far too confusing and complicated for me to pick up with any ease or certainty--and then I'd try still. An odd thing, really, to fear failure so terribly and yet do nothing but try. I cannot help but feel that I am the exact type of person I would write about. Am I but a character? No, that's foolish. I am alive and real, just as you are. Our own follies and lives are not plots in a story--that would be absurd. The universe, though wonderful and expansive, is not a mere fairytale of some other world. We are a real, spectacular, alive thing!
Still, I cannot help but wonder what I would be like if I really were but a character in a novel or T.V. show... Would I be beloved? Hated? Would I be lucky enough to have fans that care about me? Or would I be cast aside? Would the writer(s) treat me well? Would they care enough to make me far from two-dimensional? If I were to be a fictional character, I truly doubt I'd be the main character. Oh, I'm interesting and wonderful (though I hope I'm not coming off as egotistical here) and yet being a main character simply does not feel correct... I feel that I may just be a supporting role. A friend of the main character, or a love interest perhaps (though I am arospec). Maybe I would get to go on adventures with the main character. I do hope so. I've waited years for my magical journey. I feel I must accept it will simply never come. Though I (try to) practise witchcraft, the type of magic in fairy tales simply cannot exist, now can it? That question has burned deep within me ever since grade two. Since I was, what, seven years old?
Chris Colfer's The Land of Stories might just be the first piece of media that has ever truly mattered to me. Anyone who knew me as a little kid would be able to tell you that I was utterly enamoured with fairy tales. All because of those books... I wanted to go on a magical journey to another world so terribly. Why, I still do! And yet I must leave those for the dreams. I can dream all I wish and still they can't come true. I must wonder if that's part of why I write so damn much. Do I simply want to live through my characters? To experience a world of magic and wonder? If I am a character in a novel (which, once again, I must state that I firmly believe I am not) then am I but a vessel for the author?
A piece of the artist is laid within each work they make. To create is to first destroy. Neither of these are original thoughts, but no thought can be 100% original. That's okay. The destruction of an author while they create is undeniable. Any author would likely tell you that the only thing that hurts more than writing is simply not writing (again, not an original thought. I believe Defunctland said something similar). Our destruction allows for the creation of these stories, these worlds, these lives. Each character you read in a story holds a piece of truth within them. A piece of the author. Take myself and my characters for example. Chord, always yearning for something more than he has, for some adventure that lies forever out of reach. Danner, transgender and in eternal adoration of plants, flowers especially, and the meanings each one holds. Andreas, feeling unable to fight a corrupted and terrible system, though he would still do anything to find a way to do so. This isn't even all of them! Stories are but reflections of truth. Be that a story that is a reflection of governmental hypocrisy or simply a story for the author to tell about their own experiences without the worries of their own name being the focus. Sometimes the truth a story holds is nothing more than our dreams. The things we dream are true in their own rights. Thus, when we write of what we dream, of what we wish, it's a truth. A personal truth, nothing more than our own wants, but truth all the same.
I hope with this journal I can find some of my truths. The persisting username that I choose for most things being just variations on not-sure-what-im-feeling was never intended to be as disturbingly relatable as it is, and yet here we are. In fact, I was never intended to be. But that really isn't the story for this time. Another time, maybe. Maybe not. Some stories are left untold (though this isn't the example for that. I have told the story of my username before). For now my username shall remain a story as all others--a reflection of the truth.
Signed,
~Xavier
P.S. Take an image of the supper I had! An excellent soup, surely better than sex!