#lupineleigh’s writing

[lupineleigh]

This is a historical artifact from 1992. Possibly 1991. At least for me it’s a huge piece of my literary history.

I’m a born story teller. I can remember coming up with original stories and original characters since I was four years old, possibly younger.

I wanted to share an idea for a story to act out with a friend and since I never knew when I’d see my busy friend again, I had to write down my ideas to make sure I did not forget them. I also suffer from poor short term memory and Executive Dysfunction which leads to choice paralysis, time blindness, and struggling to start and finish tasks. Because of this, I have gotten by with making notes for myself everywhere I could find a blank spot to write. Here, you can see me reminding myself what time to bathe so I could get to bed on time without getting fussed at.

Since I didn’t know how to draw Darkwing yet, I traced over a picture of him in my Disney Adventures magazine and put my tracing paper picture in my journal. That was the first year I started using markers, too, as my preferred tools for coloring were my awful, cheap, scribbly colored pencils, or my smelly childhood box of Crayola crayons with the built in sharpener.

I started my first Darkwing Duck fanfic in this journal. It was originally going to be a play between me and my then best friend, but I got stumped on how to include her in the story, since I knew she’d want an important role. I asked her for ideas and wrote the ending as she relayed it, with her as the random side character barreling in to save the day and defeat the whole hoard of villains. She was happy with that ending. I…was not. I wanted the hero to actually do something besides be the damsel in distress. 😆 So I started a new copy on loose leaf lined note paper. I redrew DW in the same pose and tried to draw Audubon Bay Bridge, and copied down my favorite prose that I wrote as a kid, and embellished the story with more details, more setting and mood, and ended up with a lot more angst. I remember taking my folder with all those loose pieces of paper on a trip to Arizona and New Mexico and trying to write in the car, and on my grandma’s coffee table. Physical comfort always took a sideline to my need to pour out an ongoing story while I was in Writing Mode. Even though I did not have access to Darkwing Duck episodes or comics then, I wrote from memory and later looked for the comics and episodes I referred to.

**Long post and triggering story ahead. Proceed with caution. Mentions of depression, cancer, death, grief, etc. **

Fast forward to 2010. I finally finished my hard copy of “The Villains’ Revolt” and decided it was high time to start typing the darn thing before my pencil copy became too blurry and faded to read. It was August 11, around six pm… I had just typed “One night, the city of St. Canard was unusually quiet.” And then I got hit with the worst bombshell of my life… My mom came in and said my dad, who was laying on a cot in our living room, suffering from debilitating, rare Lung Cancer that attacked his spinal fluid and shut down his organs and body functions one by one over the course of four months, was on his last breath. She asked me to come downstairs.

I saved my file, turned off the computer, left “Villains’ Revolt” on my desk, and descended into the worst depression of my life. I held my dad’s hand, read to him, showed him magazine pictures, choked out a song for him with other family members, and told him it was okay to let go… That we’d be okay… I was not okay. I didn’t want to let go. I wanted a miracle. I got one, but it was more like a hallucination than the miracle I was praying for… Dad gasped his last, and I hugged him one last time and walked away, told the hospice nurse I was okay, and shut down for the rest of the month, letting my relatives handle all the arrangements. It was awful. It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my chest. It was a weight I physically carried for the next fifteen months. I could not think, feel, or do anything normal without crying or feeling like I was watching from some other plain or existence. I could feel myself slipping away and feared leaving my devastated, depression-paralyzed mother alone. She wasn’t cooking, doing laundry, cleaning or doing anything for herself then except laying in bed for weeks and filling out forms and making phone calls. We were both overwhelmed.

I stepped up. I took over all the housework, lawn care, cooking, cleaning, and tried to find a new normal for Mom and me. I struggled to keep us on a meal schedule and sleep schedule. I struggled to be present for myself and my dog, who stayed quietly by my side, even when I forgot to feed or walk him. We survived. We pulled through.

But my heart needed an outlet. I had to release that volcano of feelings somehow.

I started a new story. “My Daughter, My Life.” I poured everything into that. All of my pain, fear, grief, confusion, vulnerability, struggles to make a new normal and find who I was again without the guidance of a parent or mentor, or even a friend. I was completely isolated by physical distance and emotional distance from everyone I knew…

Writing kept me alive. It gave me purpose. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with a story I could never publish but I had to have a safe outlet to process my feelings and project onto characters who I could relate to.

It was exhausting and painful but I finished three stories, and a bit of research led me to Fan fiction .net. I was scared to share so much of myself, but I was so lonely, even a critique would have been welcome. Just being noticed and acknowledged as a living person was enough. I figured the worst that could happen was I’d be ignored. I’d lose nothing by posting. So I did.

That is my history, and the beginning of the new me.

My stories were accepted with open arms, and a fan wrote to me to suggest a new story idea based off of my short story. I did some more research, and found a whole fandom on a forum I never knew existed. I needed a little bit of encouragement to approach so many strangers online, but I joined the forum and quickly found a friendly fun community that made me feel like I actually fit in for the first time in my life.

That community was my home for the next ten years, and it will always have a piece of my heart. They helped me grow so much as a person, opening my eyes and mind and filling me with more dopamine and excitement than I could contain! I had more energy from talking about anthro ducks online than I had as a growing child! It was amazing, and I made some amazing friends online that I still talk with on a near daily basis.

Nice year old me would be surprised to see where old me is now, and very confused by my new perspectives, but she’d be relieved to see that I wasn’t alone my whole life. I didn’t suffer endlessly in silence. I’m still here. I’m still writing. And I’ll keep writing for as long as there is a spark of inspiration and flexibility in my aching hands.

This is my story. My past and my present. And I am proud of how far I’ve come. What happens next? Who knows! The future awaits!