God of Marriage Saga: Chapter 2
Imported from SF2 with no description.
There is a certain blessing, to being a writer.
Words flow off my fingertips. There. I said it. If it can be thought, it flows from my fingers, effortlessly.
Not with a pencil. Damn, are you kidding me? Pencils are a dirty pain in the ass. I'd rather smoke and type, than fret with pencil frottage on paper. It's like smearing everything in graphite and rubber ashes. Eww, gross. Is this like, Hebrew apologia or something?!
I looked up the word. No... no, it would just be an apology, for a Hebrew. Not that I could tell the difference. Who the hell puts on 'ashes' to apologize for something, sincerely?!
I was getting distracted. I put on 'Gooey', by Glass Animals, to get my mind off the nasty texture of eraser burns, on either paper, or skin.
I was going to take off my pants, and attempt a fanfiction, that didn't suck. I knew how to do it. I knew it would be hella good. Surely, surely this can't blow up in my face.
I mean, between self-expression, and suicide, this is the good story route. Even if it sucks.
I had a theory, about crappy fanfiction, being a stress-valve for the universe. Or at least, the writer-side of it. I'd been putting this poop off, for way, way too long. Just needed to stop... burning my options. Just get the writing out, for the first time in over a decade-and-a-half.
So... like... what was my excuse?
Aerith piped up, finally. "You were telling us, that demons stole your writing expertise!"
"Stole" was one way of putting it. "Possessed me to write lots of smut" was probably the more honest expression.
...and I'm in a place that's full of demonic smut... so why should I be apologizing for it?
...but it didn't sit well with me, to let my inner Hojo bang together dollies of Aerith and Red XIII. This was going to be the story that saved the soul of every furry...
...Or something like that.
So, I have a problem, that I have to confess. Fourth wall-break time. Here, we'll try a skillful fourth wall break that isn't a joke... let's see if that can work.
My problem is that I balance a precarious razor's edge, between absolute, supreme arrogance, and suicidal self-deprecation. I literally don't know how I express, creatively, without being a complete robot, but also without being a douchey douchenozzle, and by no means do I know how I possess the resolve to write something like this, and turn it from 'hidden' to something public.
Yet, I'm somehow doing it. I think. 'I' think. I hope. I pray.
Yeah, I think I've got it.
And then Aerith came and hit me upside the head with an entire keyboard.
I was too busy interfacing with it, to tell whether it was the musical, or the gaming variety.
Aerith: "Stenography Keyboard!"
_ The imagination is a weird thing, that I'm still figuring out. _