For the past several months (nearly half a year), you have been subjected to my morose state. And even before then, life was never on good terms with you. Or with me. And for that, I am truly sorry. For both of us. Circumstances and destitution have made our relationship slowly deteriorate, and frankly, I don’t know how to fix it.
About a year to date, I visited FF.net, a site that introduced me to the wonders of fanfiction and what it meant. I had tried to craft my own fiction before, entirely unrelated to anything I knew, and for a time, it flourished. You know what I speak of. However, when Captain Hook and his witty tongue crossed my PC screen, I began to be a fervent Captain Swan follower, dedicated to a pairing that has recently become canon. In the months and months that have passed, I have read works by authors that have inspired me. In their wake, I have sorrowed over my ineptitude as a writer, I’ve marveled over the ease and talent prevalent on the site, and thanks to a fellow Captain Swan fan and my obsession with this “ship,” I was convinced to listen to the secret longing in my heart of hearts (as corny as that sounds) and attempt to write some CS fiction of my own.
The result was a complete AU that draws my two favorite main characters from Once Upon a Time into a different environment and time period. I drew from my imagination, and I drew from the show. I’ve been on the site a long time — long enough to recognize what “the crowd” usually goes for in terms of taste and style. I’m not it. I understand that most want AUs (and non-AUs) quite unlike mine, and I know that I’m a novice at writing fiction to begin with. What began as (what I thought was) one of the best decisions I ever made has now ended as being labeled the worst idea ever. After listening non-stop to “Gypsy” by Lady Gaga and recalling my nearest and farthest struggles with writing this fic, I truly, truly regret that I’ve ever started writing my fic. A friend suggested to me that I should re-read all my work — all of it, this fic’s current chapters included — in order to remind myself that I haven’t failed…that I should continue for the sake of how good my work really is. It doesn’t work. You, my muse, once inspired me to hope…but all I am these days is inspired to hate.
Re-reading what I’ve written in the past is only deepening the hurt I feel. It’s only stretching my self-hate, extending it to words and feelings and images that once made me happy and now make me miserable. In addition, I now have other CS fics to think of — thank god some are complete and behind me, eluding my vituperation — and sadly, I can’t bring myself to finish them either. I had all these plans — a major, lengthy sequel for my very first fanfic, 3 other unrelated CS fics, and a small sequel for another — but now none of them will see the light. Again, I’m sorry, muse of mine. We were both so…wistful. Now only dust remains of those wishes.
Aside from my personal fictional work, my fanfics were the first real practice I had for writing fiction. Maybe that’s all they ever were. But what you see before you now is a very, very tired girl who can’t rest. A sad introvert of a girl with circles under her eyes, one who is literally stuck in the mire of her existence. Worst of all, she is unable to change what is because her hands are figuratively tied.
These are the reasons, muse, why I haven’t updated “my beloved story” for nearly 2 months. The reason why I feel no motivation to do so anytime soon or ever again. Captain Swan is now canon, so speculation is more or less over as the writers of the show continue to provide us with actual material. Well, that’s how I see it, at least. I still enjoy reading CS fics, but there’s an underlying sense of bitterness and anguish meanwhile that I disapprove of entirely, and my former enthusiasm is heavily clouded by both. I guess…I know what it feels like to be envious, to want what you can’t have – even if it kills me inside to admit it. I’m betraying you, my muse. I’m jealous of others like you, because I’m dissatisfied. But not with you. With myself.
If I ever believed for a moment that I have some gift for writing, I was a fool. My white flag’s up. I’m too…me. I’m too idealistic and romantic in my work. With every word I write, I condemn myself.
I’m looking at the prologue to one of my fics-to-be, and it’s breaking my heart. It will never be finished. It will never be read. It will never be published. It’s a waste of time. As for the fics I’ve written and published so far…I guess they’ll be unfinished. I know it’s so much to ask of you, but you’ll have to lift me up yourself in order to get me writing again. Because I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t.
My writing muse…you have no idea how precious you are to me. How much I’ve depended on you for the past year…to withstand the pain and the boredom and… And how hard it is for me to let you go.
I feel like I must leave you…to forget all that I’ve planned. It’s only wounding me more to think of it.
But like a good friend who’s always there…I know you’ll never really leave me. I thank you for that. And as I whisper good-bye (and you know I’ve never been sentimental like that), I want you to know…that I loved what you’ve given me. How you’ve helped me. You haven’t hurt me – that was life’s doing. God’s doing.
You’ve been surprising and thrilling and exasperating. But I’ve loved you all the same. And because the storyteller within me can never die, you’ll always live.