JULY

I began my last post here by mentioning my neglect of this blog, and here I am now with an even longer gap in between that entry and this one. Though, really, I suppose there aren't any deadlines I'm expected to meet‒ only those that I set for myself. I find it kind of funny, how something that I specifically intended to be relaxed and lacking obligations still ends up playing on my mind as something I'm not doing. Not that it's become unenjoyable, or too daunting a task to undertake, but I can't escape that nagging feeling that I should be updating more frequently, or that I should be sticking to a schedule. Keep in mind, this is a diary, or a journal of sorts, and not a job. Though, admittedly, I feel that way about my physical journals, too. Anxiety sure is a hell of a thing, isn't it?

Introspection aside, things have grown far quieter here these days. Some changes have made my life a little lonelier as of late, and I'm finding myself less motivated to work on anything, even projects that I enjoy. These symptoms of depression are nothing new, of course, but falling back into that hole doesn't become any easier with repetition. I've been mostly searching for ways to fill the empty time, and have been playing a lot of Minecraft as a result. I like setting up modpacks for myself, and upon discovering Cobblemon, I gathered a nice set of mods and started up a new world. This is also the first world wherein I've begun planning out my build designs in a separate creative world, and with the help of Forgematica, then recreating them in survival. So far, I've much preferred this way of building, as I'm far more free to test and experiment with design elements, without the restrictions of material costs or gravity. As of writing this, I've completed my house, and a set of greenhouses within which I've planted one of each growable item, both modded and vanilla.

I've always enjoyed pairing my Minecraft gameplay with audio, whether that be through YouTube video essays, audiobooks, podcasts, or the like. It's been something I've done consistently through the years, to the point where a good chunk, if not all, of my worlds will most likely have a prominent piece of media attached to it in my head. This is how I consumed the majority of Welcome to Nightvale back in the day, and is also how I found myself listening to the entirety of The Magnus Archives over the last few weeks. I had heard more than once about the latter, mostly on Tumblr and later Tiktok, but had never truly set any time aside to dive into it. It wasn't that it didn't sound appealing to me‒ I'm a rather large fan of horror, podcasts, and a good few narrative twists‒ but more so because of my tendencies to shy away from new media until I feel it's the "right time" to consume them. When or what the "right time" actually is is beyond me, and sometimes seems completely out of my control. But, given that one of my closest friends had brought it back into the forefront of my mind not long ago, and I just so happened to have a brand-new Minecraft world to which no specific narratively-induced memory attachments had been made, it seemed that the "right time" had come at last.

To say that I enjoyed the podcast would be an understatement. Magnus managed to scratch a personal reoccurring itch for creepypasta readings, while at the same time delivering a wide range of developing characters, lore, and unfailingly gratifying reveals. Now and then I stumble upon a piece of creative work that not only sucks me into itself, but makes me crave the experience of creating. I am an artist, yes, but I am also a writer, to my very core. I love the feeling of crafting a compelling narrative, of watching planned reveals pay off as each new paragraph propels the reader forward. Knowing that something you've written has elicited an emotional reaction from your reader is something I live for‒ a fact that the tears shed by unsuspecting friends-turned-reviewers can attest to. Listening to The Magnus Archives has filled me with so much desire to write, to the point where my mind has been buzzing with the whispers of potential ideas for days.

Now, while I've been writing for as long as I can remember, and am an active fan of the horror genre, I've very seldom ever attempted to depict it myself. It's always seemed like something far too daunting, and far too easy to do badly. Horror is the kind of genre wherein one small, simple misaligned detail can make the entirety of what you've built crumble like sand. You've said too much, you've said too little, your character has done something far overstepping the suspension of disbelief... It seemed like so much to balance, and I felt I just wasn't up for the challenge. Magnus, though, has made me rethink these restrictions. Something I've learned over many years of making art, is that, while it may be frustrating, the truth is that you are going to make bad art. Your first painting is going to be muddy. Your first drawing will not be anatomically correct. Your first story will not flow. So, then, if I attempt to write a short horror piece and the horror just isn't scary, if I say too much, or too little, or my protagonist is just a little too unrealistic, is that not simply the process? There must be a trail of haunted dolls, creepy clowns, and hyper-realistic blood in the path of every Old God, I think.

Listening to an audio production, specifically, has also re-awakened something that I've attempted not to give much thought to, out of fears borne from low self-confidence and a saturated market: I want to voice act. I would give nearly anything to have the chance. I have such little experience, despite my love of acting and performance, and yet I still want to do it. My teenaged years, during which I could have delved into my high school's award-winning drama classes, were spent crippled by social anxiety and undiagnosed autism. Now, I live in a province so separated from the rest of Canada, in a town so separated from everyone else, I'm not even sure where to start in finding some sort of real-life group of performers, let alone one that would accept amateurs. I don't have a home recording setup, nor do I have the funds to afford one. I have no knowledge of how to break into such an industry, to find opportunities. I don't even expect to make it big, or to find myself doing voice acting work for a living‒ that's much too ambitious a dream. But I'd love to just... create something, whether that be alone, or with other artists. I'd love to just be a part of something, one voice in a production.

I've been thinking about, maybe, attempting to write a few of these story ideas I've had. Maybe take them, and record them. Perhaps I'll only make one, or a handful. Maybe I'll make more. Maybe they'll be bad, or maybe they'll be good. Maybe I'll be embarrassed of them, or maybe I'll be proud. Who knows?

For now, though, I'm not going to commit to anything. But the idea, and the desire, is there, nonetheless. That must count for something.

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