I would first like to introduce myself, hello, my name is Art, and despite appearances, I do not believe myself a writer. Now, when people say “Writer”, you could say everyone has a different definion about one.
Perhaps a “writer” is just someone who can, well, write sentences, which would mean everyone is a writer, or if an artist is someone who can draw straight lines, then everyone is an artist.
I, myself, consider “writer” people who are, well, good at it. People who can effortlessly describe physical appearances, smells, feelings that are both impossible to describe but that everyone *understands*. Writers are creative and, well, good at what they are.
Now, let’s take me. even after all that, I wouldn’t say my writing is *bad*, but perhaps, you could consider it amateurish. Like I can’t quite put everything I want to show in my little written words. Like if an *artist* were someone who could draw these amazing paintings, then I would be an artist who you can notice some… strange anatomical choices that are not stylistic or on purpose, but they have their own charm as well, if you go off of my friend’s praises of it.
But overall, I’m an amateur “writer” who doesn’t write unless the hole in the wall where water leaks (how I picture the inspiration in my head) has a steady stream.
Anyways, let’s talk about Sunvale.
Sunvale is… a mystery. In my head, mysteries are enormous, towering mountains that one must be a prodigy at to make something incredible, which also coincides with my lack of experience with the genre, seeing that I mostly interact with writing where everyone fights and friendship wins the day. Which lead to me HATING my writing whenever I was trying to build it, something that never quite happened to me, or happened very rarely. It felt as if I was in this enormous tunnel with no end in sight, and also an enormous 18 wheeler truck behind me honking at me to run before it runs me over (the truck is an allegory for my unclaimed child in Minas Gerais). Or it felt as if the hole in the wall with water leaking out of it was leaking Blood.
At the same time, I was experiencing (still am!) some fantasy stories which made me wish to write them, too, and I did have concepts for it, stuff like a wandering Onion Knight or a Jester that only appeared at night, to speak to you in old modern English. Which I think is interesting! But it’s not a story! it was nothingness built on ashes! I ended up regretting cancelling sunvale heavily, and as I revisited that campaign with a clearer head and a more open mind, I saw the tunnel clearing up into a big, open, lush green field, and the truck (which is also an allegory for my Baby’s mother) gone. Alongside the wall leaking a steady and powerful stream of water.
This is to all to say that I’m restarting Sunvale. The mystery now clear to me and something I’m proud to truly write and something I hope everyone enjoys. Let’s do this. This is really quick because I have to go to class soon hehe