Limitations, & Weirdosity
“You again, huh.”
Prefer audio books, or just want to listen along as you read? Well, to work on my confidence with my own voice, I’ve recorded myself reading my journal entries!
I tend to ramble a bit more on side tangents or more elaborations on what I wrote in the audio, so forgive me. I also haven’t edited them, so… you’re gonna hear my goofs and amateurishness on full display.
I am not a smart person. I never really have been. I’ve also never been particularly skilled, even at the things I am most passionate about.
As I’m sure can be easily seen from my site here, it’s kind of a jury-rigged thing that I’m surprised looks decent. I’m not an artist, I’m not a designer, and I’m arguably not even a writer.
These little doodles take me hours. I’m pretty sure this one here took me an hour by itself. I’m not a skilled or efficient artist by any means.
Hell, my art isn’t even good. It’s really not. But, you know, it’s cute, and it’s mine. It at least makes me happy, and I think that counts for something. I can manage to impress myself every once in a while with it.
I often rapidly hit the limits of what I’m capable of doing. I… miss having someone smart around to help me through things. I really want to learn but it’s very hard doing it alone.
So, when it comes to what I do, I’ve learned to kind of. Appreciate the shortcomings, I think. To know I’m at least doing all I can.
But it does really suck when you’re trying to do something and it is astronomically beyond you, but everyone talks about it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Not for me! What about us morons!
Look around at my site. You can see what I mean. Sure some things are kind of novel I guess but this is really me trying my best and trying to do better.
You. Can stop laughing now. Nah, it’s alright, I get it. …Alright, at least you’re enjoying yourself.
Part of the problem is that I really have no experience, so much so that I don’t even know how to even ask the questions I have. The few times I’ve reached out for help I’ve really just gotten answers for people already miles beyond my current level, so it’s pretty discouraging to have to ask people to explain it like they would to a toddler. It’s always “Oh just do this” but they don’t understand that as helpful as that is, I don’t even know how to do that thing in the first place. I don’t even know what to look up to do it because my brain just can’t compute things if it isn’t well contextualized, and I… I don’t know the context! Agh!
I often fail at the impossible, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. But, this has caused me to think. And come to new realizations.
I know what kind of writer I am. I’m not very good, I don’t make the most complex things in the world, I don’t know the prettiest, biggiest words to throw in to make it sound addictively intelligent, like my own favorite writers can. I so greatly love the people who can just use words I could never imagine effortlessly to turn everything they say into poetry. Again, I find that kind of thing addictive.
So then….
What makes me so special?
What the hell did I do to somehow sucker in so many different people throughout my life into liking what I made?
you may not like this, sorry
Let’s talk about Weirdosity.
If you’re someone who thinks you could write it better, hell, someone who thinks you could do anything I’ve ever done better, you’re right. You’re already right. And I’m glad you are. The world needs more creatives, and I’m happy to have inspired you.
But I’ve realized, now, that the writing was never what brought people in. I was never that skilled, I was never the best, I was never that intelligent. It was the thing I actually am good at.
Feeling. Emotion. And ideas.
It wasn’t how the characters were written, it was how they made you feel. It wasn’t just their story, it was how you cared about them.
That is what I am good at. That is why, while someone could always do better than me, nobody could ever make it feel like I could. Nobody could ever make it special in that way.
That is what makes it special. That is what makes it irreplicable, irreplaceable, unforgettable. It was never about the world, it was about you. And Me.
I don’t really understand how. But it’s just something I can do. I somehow know how to word things just right enough to get people to… care.
When I write, I write about my experiences. I write about what I have felt. And what makes that feel so special, so real, is because I only ever write that way if I intend to share it. Weirdosity was me letting people into my heart, this whole time, and letting them feel my soul at its most vulnerable.
If you liked Weirdosity or any of its characters, if you ever cared, ever cried, ever wanted more, ever had questions, ever wondered, ever loved it, ever kept yourself awake just to hang out there a little longer, ever made your own things for it, or even if, maybe especially if, you ever hated it, then, well.
The best players. I’ve been misunderstood a few times in my life, especially with this. Not even I knew what it was I meant for the longest time. So I should get into what I truly mean with what my seeming obsession is with certain people and players.
It’s not ego. I don’t think it is, at least. Or, well, I at least sure as hell hope it isn’t. It doesn’t feel like it, anymore. It’s… kind of the flipside of what I’ve said so far.
Weirdosity is, in a way, how I love people. The best players were the ones who understood that, whether or not they even consciously knew it.
The best players were the ones who loved it back. The ones who couldn’t stop themselves from talking about it, asking about it, creating their own forms of art for it.
Fan art. Writing their own headcanons. Making their own alternate worlds using my characters. Fantasizing about futures. Talking to others about it. Trying to learn the lore or speculate about it.
Trying to make an entire Frankenstein version of it in another language, apparently…
When you love someone, truly, you are patient. You are caring. You find even the slightest thing funny, you can see it all for what it is. You can see the genuine quality to everything.
If you liked it, if you cared, cried, wanted more, had questions, wondered, loved, stayed awake, felt inspired, and even if you hated it, then…
I loved you. You let me. And you liked it. …I’m grateful. It took me a while to finally realize that was the impact of Weirdosity. It wasn’t the writing. It was me. Them. Us.
For a while, I lost that part of myself. I am just now getting it back, and I never want to let go of it again.
I was so angry. I hated everyone. At least, I said I did. I made whole worlds worth of things to justify myself. But it’s not how I felt. It’s not how I wanted to feel, not really. Not truly.
It was just all I felt safe doing. It was all I knew anymore. Bitterness. Fear. Walls. Making my heart a labyrinth, keeping everyone out because they may remind me of something or someone else.
Since then, I’ve… given up that anger. I gave up that fear. I am willing to get hurt again because I know now how to be strong enough to take it.
I often fail at the impossible, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. It won’t stop me from trying everything. As stupid as that may be, and as stupid as I may be.
I still don’t really have hope for things, but… Maybe that’ll change some time, too. It’s hard doing this. But I’m doing it.
Thank You for reading. Thank You for understanding.