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The Homestuck Finale

  • Posted on April 19, 2015 at 11:48 pm

For those of you who follow my blog, you are aware that I am Homestuck Trash. Basically what that means, for the uninitiated, is that I read, almost religiously, a webcomic called Homestuck. And for the Purists, yes, I came in after the trolls were introduced, and I don’t care.

I started Homestuck when I was nineteen. A little old for the target demographic, but I instantly bonded with the characters. From John’s dorky love of ‘the animes’ to Jade’s amazing freedoms, I was reminded of myself at that age. In fact, I identified with them so much that they started me writing fanfiction again. (I’ll spare you the gruesome details.)

Homestuck is a webcomic of second chances. I started reading it six years ago, when it was new, and dropped it, like so many people do, before it got good. I picked it up a second time and discovered an amazing story. It got me to give Tumblr a second try. The fandom goaded me to try NaNoWriMo. Even in the webcomic itself, time travel and extra lives prove time and again that second (and third) chances are a universal thing, built into the fabric of paradox space.

Homestuck is about growing up, taking chances, making mistakes, and building your own world. Sometimes with your friends, sometimes with family, but always your world.

Through John, we learn how one simple word or deed can change everything. Through Jade, we learn how easy it is to let one bad friend influence us. Through Rose, we see how difficult it can be to pull ourselves back up from a fall. Through Dave, we learn many things, but most of all, how dangerous it is to live in the past.

No matter what though, my favorite character is Gamzee. He was born to high position. His life should have been perfect. But every step of the way was difficult, from neglect to drug addiction to hurtful friends, to hurting friends. Gamzee has a rough life.

And because of that, and because of his choices, he is an amazing villain. Unlike bratty Caliborn, who simply doesn’t know better, Gamzee had examples, his friends, and chose avoidance and worship of maniacal gods over change.

Whenever I find my fear of change hissing at something, the cautionary tale that is Gamzee’s life plays out for me.There is nothing scarier than change, except perhaps the idea of what sort of monster I might become without it. And whether he is redeemed at the end or killed or something else, Gamzee will always be my favorite for teaching me that.

Perhaps Andrew Hussie didn’t mean to teach that lesson. Perhaps he just wanted to make a story about kids playing a game. However, no matter his intent, he’s given the world a gift. He has taught a generation about persistence, perseverance, and acceptance. I hope, one day, to do the same.

In the meantime, I’ll be over here, reading the ending with tears in my eyes, a pen in my hand, and notes being taken.

Weely Writing Update: 09/02/14

  • Posted on September 3, 2014 at 4:00 pm

So I meant to do this update two days ago, to kind of wrap up August, but I ended up working and basically emotionally drained entirely. Luckily, I have more energy now! I even managed almost 2500 words the other day, on a cute little story! The link is below, under Nightmares Waking. Please take a look!

Word Counts

Kurylian Saga: The Sorcerer and The Swordsman – Edit one – 11 pages

Kurylian Saga: The Prince and The Corpse – Rough Draft – WC: 1,348

Kaimi Rowe Series: Seeker Born – Rough Draft – Restarted – Outline phase

Unnamed Scifi short story – Idea stage – Minor research done

Blog Posts

Build Your Own Challenge

Breaking Down Nemesis: Part Four

Nightmares Waking

Books Read

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

Goals

Seven chapters of Nemesis read/blogged

Finish Tithe by Holly Black

Finish Valiant by Holly Black

Write a 2500 word short story

At least four blogposts posted this week

Build Your Own challenge

  • Posted on August 25, 2014 at 9:10 pm

abandoned-buildingI had been here before, a long time ago. Something tickled against my body, and I shivered. My foot found it’s way onto the old metal staircase without my mind telling it to. The echo sounds just like it might if I’d stepped on rock in a dank cave somewhere in the deep jungles of the world. Here, surrounded by the graffiti of activists past, I find my hand pressing along the cold, sticky railing.

Up, up, up, I turn, following the staircase with single minded intention. What would I find at the end? What was it that tickled my memory so, that made me desperate to remember, deeply wanting to find out. That strange tickle at the bottom of my belly had started up again.

The one that always told me to go through the small hole at the bottom of that fence next to the abandoned house. The feeling that had me going down alleys that had gates at the end of them. The sense of something great being just behind a locked door, one with wrought iron hinges and stained glass. That same hope, that maybe, just maybe, this time, something wonderful would happen.

This door, instead, was rusted, and leaning at a tilt that let light come through the door. It’s handle was cold and rough against my palm, and I wanted to squeeze it harder. My chest felt tight, something wrong and right all at the same time. I had been here, once. So long ago that I can barely remember it. What was behind this door? What had I forgotten so completely that it filled me with such excitement at the idea of seeing it again?

The shriek of the door’s opening was louder than my heartbeat. Everything whited out. The smell of clean air. The rustle of soft leaves. I pushed past the sudden glare of sun. When my eyes stopped watering, I saw it all.

The beautiful green garden that I suddenly remembered with a clarity so sharp it felt like a knife’s edge. Grown wild now, with no one to tend it, it exploded across the building’s roof, and down the sides of the walls. I remembered now, the old woman with the soft eyes, her scarred lips laughing. I remembered the afternoons I’d come here, hoping for adventure, and never being let down. She’d told me so many stories. So many happy endings, and cliffhanging heroes.

My eyes watered again, this time, at the remembrance of childhood. This time, I let them drip down my cheeks, a solemn wake for a time long lost to me. A time just discovered again. Now, I set out. For a new adventure. Perhaps this time, it would be I who told the tales, who picked the jewel-like berries and pressed them into jam and drink for curious children.

Kicking off my shoes, I began my next adventure.

 

This peice was written in response to Daily Post’s current Build Your Own writing challenge. They inspired us to pick a picture, and an opening line. This, is what I came up with. Upon hearing the opening line, I immediately thought of all the wonder that accompanies discovering something you once knew. And so, this grew out of it. 

 

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