#Sorry for the word vomit I'm on ADHD medicine and wooo baby

[morgana-ren]

why do u keep writing if u hve no passion then? not trying to be hostile btw sorry if it comes across tht way. im just curious bc an alarming amount of writers reblogged tht post so im just wondering why u keep doing smth tht makes u feel miserable? esp when ur not getting paid for it. u post all ur writing on here for free but if it doesn’t make u happy why continue? /gen

I mean, it's a valid question. I get you. There's a few reasons, and I guess you can judge for yourself whether or not they're valid. (Sorry it's long, I'm a little torqued right now and I'm just word vomiting personal shit no one cares about lmao)

Firstly, I do technically get paid sometimes. I do take commissions and I once again would like to apologize to all my commissioners for shit taking so long. Been a long year already and last year was just as bad. I swear I'm on it lmao.

Now that that's outta the way:

Truthfully, I'm a lonely person. I'm lonely by choice. I don't get close to people, I dislike being touched immensely, and I dodge and weave relationships like a professional despite having people that I get along with and are interested. I distance myself on purpose so don't get me wrong, it's my own decision, but unfortunately, I'm human which means that's not exactly healthy to isolate socially the way I do. The closest I get to intimacy-- physical and mental-- are these stories. It's a weird form of happiness I don't expect to ever have irl.

I kinda live vicariously through them without all the anxiety of not having control over the other person. I know exactly what Tomura/Astarion/Strade/Vulpes/etc are thinking and feeling at any time because I control them. If I say they love me, by the Gods, they do lmao. I can write out whatever scenario would soothe me, and bam, now it's there and I post it so other people can enjoy or relate if they want.

Sounds pathetic but ayyye, that's me.

My writing developed from my maladaptive daydreaming when I was younger. I've always lived in my head and go through life watching my own actions through a secondary screen, kinda like I'm watching someone else live it. Never been invested in it. I've been writing since I was literally old enough to reach the computer. It's just a part of me at this point. I drift away from it but always end up right back here, fingers on my keyboard with googledocs open staring at a blank slate cause I got shit I gotta work out and it's how I find happiness and peace in a world where I otherwise don't have those things.

When I say I write for me, I mean it. I write things that I would want and that I like to think about. Putting words on the page is somehow soothing, and it feels like I've actually done something productive for once in my sad little life. Most of what I do consists of video games and reading and other 'second lives', so I'm not exactly out here grinding and hustling and accomplishing goals and developing myself (I actually fucking despise that mindset but to each their own.)

I've stopped taking this blog as seriously as I did a few years ago. I treated it like a job back then, and it just wasn't good. Now I write when I feel like it and what I feel like and if other people dig it, dope. If not, well, move along. (Part of why requests and commissions take so long because I refuse to force myself to write them and have them come out half assed when I'm not feeling it.) It's all under my control, and if writing makes me unhappy, I can simply walk away and come back when I want to.

I guess to say writing makes me miserable is hyperbolic and dramatic. It doesn't. I enjoy it or I wouldn't do it. But I will say I can't relate to anything I write at all. I don't share those parts of myself with people. So when I write/read these slutty smut scenes, I do it with a straight face and no arousal at all because I guess I just don't quite click with it irl. I can read or write the filthiest shit and there's just a disconnect there. I can't honestly say I've ever felt genuine passion for anyone or anything at all so even if I wanted to, I don't get excited or anything because my head just doesn't know what to do with it. The closest I get to it are these fictional characters. It's pure fantasy, and a fantasy I can never ever have. It's miserable for a different reason-- cause even if I wanted something like this or to have someone want me like that, I'm my own worst enemy. I won't allow it.

(Also clearly my idea of what I find hot is extremely dangerous and any man or woman or enby that would go along with my insanity is a red flag unless SERIOUSLY and EXTENSIVELY talked through and consented to and I just can’t be assed to do it. That’s a lot of mental intimacy and I ain’t about that life at all. I’ll take a rapey OC daydream over all the work of actually getting this shit into place irl. All the benefits and none of the drawbacks, you feel me?)

Writing is a safe space for me to explore the places in myself I'm uncomfortable with and refuse to share. I can have my characters do the most disgusting and deplorable shit and wholly control how they feel and what happens. I'm a control freak. It's an outlet for me, and one I have total hold over. No variables. No eventual and inevitable abandonment. No questioning.

Don't get me wrong, I could give a fuck less if people know about them and are aware of what I'm thinking or what I want. I'm not secretive about my work. I just don't indulge in it in real life because I've never once trusted someone enough to ever do anything or act on it. The stories are a weird catharsis and how I bridge the gaps in my head that my heart craves but my mind denies.

It's bittersweet I guess is what I'm getting at. I do love writing and creating things and seeing as my shitty writing is the closest thing I have to any semblance of talent, that's what I do. It sucks in some ways because it's a constant teaser of what I want but can't have, but I suppose if it made me miserable, I wouldn't do it.

I'm sure all authors have their reasons for reblogging it (lack of engagement and loss of enthusiasm, habit, humor, etc) but there's a less-than-short version of mine.