Writing is very personal to me. Writing is something I've always actively done but only recently felt comfortable and confident in. I write a lot. I write a lot of stories, I roleplay, I freelance, I research. I'd argue that at the minimum I write maybe 4000 - 5000 words a day just between all of the things I do for work, school, and fun. I take a lot of pride in my work and just as much pride in my ideas. Recently I started sharing some of my stories with friends who aren't as active in a fanfiction/roleplay world and the response I've received from them astounds me. It's truly a wonderful feeling to be told you're creative and inspiring; it's something I've always strived for.

I think it can be said for a lot of us writers (and readers) that we leave a piece of us in the worlds we create and consume. Writing is such a vulnerable hobby. Outlandish, and sometimes downright horrifying, ideas come from somewhere--they're something manifested within ourselves that we scrawl onto paper and post publicly for others to see. Or, on the inverse, we hunt out stories that can portray our feelings for us where we can't. We leave ourselves raw. Or, at least I feel raw. Which is why even some of my closest friends do not see my writing or will not become my roleplay partners. I'm open to a fault, I'll admit, but there's a different aspect of me within my writing that not many see and I'm not sure I want many to see.

Recently I think a lot of my work has centered on not knowing ones place in the world, or being torn between places. It's something I've been struggling with since the summer. New York City is not my first home (and hopefully will not be my last home) and I love it here very much. However my "home" within the home is...ty, hahah. I hate where I live and most of the people I live with. Every day is a battle to find which public space, school building, or friend's house I can hole up in until I'm demanded to return back to the apartment. It's exhausting. And it sounds petty. Truthfully, I'm sure it is petty. But regardless, I've spent two years being manipulated, used, disregarded, and mistreated and I've finally said I'm fed up with it. Of course, our lease doesn't run out until July. My friends laugh sympathetically when I tell them I have a countdown running and I guess laughter is probably the best response. It is a little ridiculous. It's also incredibly unfortunate. But knowing that I will never have to live with (and hopefully see) these people again after another 248 days is the only thing that helps me breathe some days. When I'm here I'm angry and sad, I want to do things to others but instead I do them all to myself. It's funny how negative people can inspire us in positive ways, but it's funnier how easily those positives can become negatives themselves. Some days I feel like I'm whithering again. But I am fine, and I'll continue to be fine. I know how to make it and I will. There's little to worry about here <3

But back to the point. Thank you to everyone who reads my works, who follows my stories, who take interest in these weird worlds that I have formulated in this ed up head of mine. I hope you can find some humor or comfort or solace in the words I print on these pages. I'm grateful to all of you for fueling these fun little aspirations of mine. Really, it means the world to me [:

I know I haven't shared anything in a while but I promise something good is coming. I'm 40,000 words into NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and I think hope you will love it as much as I have come to. Honestly I feel proud of myself for this--a feeling I haven't had since this school semester started. It'll be done soon, as will so many others because if I didn't have my ideas I'd have next to nothing.

Thank you all again. I appreciate and love you all dearly <3