I often tell people that the few months I spent writing and posting my stories on Wattpad were the happiest I have yet to live. I have made the decision to see only the nostalgic beauty of those moments and not the absurd struggle.
Don’t you feel that sometimes we try so hard to turn real life into art? To turn our past into a story that could never be true? A story that is either better or worse than anything “real.”
The truth is that during those months I was barely surviving. I had just enough not to die. I had no friends, no life outside the one I was building with every story I wrote. Art offered me an escape from the cruel reality of being no one in particular. I was still invisible, but I didn’t care.
It didn’t take the pain away, it just made me feel as if some things were more important than pain. Or fear. Or death.
It is said that you don’t know what you really believe in until you’re willing to die for it. I say it’s the other way around. What we love most demands of us that we live, that we try to change the world according to this belief.
There was a time when writing was all I had…
Ever since I was thirteen I believed that I was meant to be a writer, that it was my inexorable destiny to become one. No matter what. Yeah, I gave up countless times, but I never lost hope. Such a powerful drug; hope. I always knew I would return to my stories and characters…
Maybe it’s delusional to think like this; that you have a higher purpose, that you were born in order to accomplish something. But in our darkest moments we tell ourselves that, over and over again, and somehow it makes us feel better. The world can’t stop us.
But then again, how many people choose to embrace an illusion? How many people see the world for what it is? How do you even see the world in an objective manner?
If I could give people something truly meaningful, I’d offer them the ability to pursuit their biggest dream with unflinching determination. I’d give them the heart to follow this dream to the end of the world. No matter what. Because, honestly, there’s no other battle quite like it.
Right now you’re the only ones who can allow me to pursuit my dream, and for this… I can’t even express how grateful I am. And ashamed that this is the situation, ashamed that there’s no one else. My parents haven’t been able to support me for quite some time now.
I gambled everything in order to fulfill my dream of becoming a writer. I’m not really good at anything else. Maybe I’m not even good at this. Who knows?
What I do know is that the campaign reached its goal. Ever surpassed it by $45. I know that I’m now able to finish the two novels that I plan to release later this year. I know that irevuo has a proper domain. Thanks to you. It’s all because you believed in me, even when I wasn’t willing to believe in myself anymore.
The offer still stands, if anyone’s interested. Contributors of $50 or more get listed as sponsors for an entire year. Contributors of any amount get to know how great I think they are. In any case, there are only 18 hours left, and you can contribute here.