I am often asked by friends and family, "Mads, how did you start writing?" I tell them "that is a complicated story." Many aspiring authors with fantastic ideas in their heads struggle to put pen to paper. It is my wish that this story will inspire bright minds to begin their literary journey and let the world of stories engulf their plane..
It was the mid 10s: a time of Feminists Vs. Men's Rights activists, musicals about the founding fathers, political tranquility, and of course, Vine. I was an 8th grade student who rode the bus to school like anybody else who watched a little too much Death Note. In essence, little middle schooler Madeline was the very definition of edge. When I wasn't wearing my embroidered school uniform I could be found in all black. And regardless of uniform, it would be a rarity if I went a single day without mentioning how I had the most noble desire of eliminating the human race. Marked with pimples on my forehead and lounging around with stomach flaps it is fair to say that like many adolescent teens, I was unhappy. Due to the mix of flourishing hormones, I had not the faintest idea of why. Every day was misery. I came to accept that truth. Misery without cause. Wounds unafflicted by the malice of violence or hate, middle school me believed that life was pointless and that we all would be better off dead.
My anger and frustration at the world had no outlet. While I claimed to be a violent psychopath it was clear to my classmates that I had no bite. In fact, I was rather well liked. It could have been to the performative aspect of my rage or that I was the only openly queer kid in the school, but nonetheless I was engulfed with sweet, sweet attention. I reveled in being surrounded by curiosities that dared to examine my nature. I was and am an open book that wanted what any book ever wants; to be read. Yet still, the adoration was not enough. I began to form two alternate personas that I would claim were different people. Their names were Midir (my-der) and Ajason.
Midir developed first. They were a manifestation of my avarice that I would alternate with to say my nasty opinions about humanity. When my conscious protested, I created Ajason to be the middle ground between my violent feelings and my moral objections. Ajason, who I constructed as a boy, was the combination of Midir's anger and my reservations, thus creating a personality who had violent thoughts but expressed great anguish in conceiving of them. In my disillusioned teenage brain, I was three people inside one body. I began to believe that I had Dissociative Identity Disorder, but that could not be farther from the truth.
Years after I began writing, my mother and I concluded that my two artificial personas were an outlet for my pain. That pain, of which I never deduced the origin of, funneled through and fractured my identity temporarily. It would take two years to return to a single identity, but it was during my fractured state where I began writing my first book.
In the midst of psychological chaos, my 8th grade English teacher gave my class a writing assignment. The goal was simple and our options were limitless: write a short story. I remarked to my mother that night that I could not do what was requested. I asked, "How can I write a whole story with multiple characters that all develop and have satisfying endings in one short story that I only have one week to write?" It was decided. I would not write a short story. I would write one chapter.
"Are we the living to die amongst ourselves?" These were what I believed to be the most philosophical, intellectual, and academic words to begin a novel. (I was 14! Give me a break. At the time I believed YouTubers were the voices of the generation too.) I had completely convinced myself that Midir & Ajason were separate people living in my head. Under that premise I wrote the first chapter knowing that Ajason would appear as the antagonist of the story. A remorseful assassin sent to kill the protagonists via deception and lies, Ajason had no choice but to carry out his mission. A perfect representation of Midir's lust for genocide and my morality. I turned in my hand-written first chapter with pride and determination to finish the story. I started to write Chapter 2 only days after. As each page was filled by my disgusting penmanship they were sorted into a purple folder that they lays somewhere in my home to this day. I would write after school, between classes, during classes, and on weekends. My free time was taken up only by playing videos games and writing my novel. I remember sometimes how frustrated I would be when all of my pages would fly out of my hand and how I had to reorganize them by meticulously reading the beginnings and ends of each page to find their placement. Eventually, I started numbering the pages. For the following months, becoming a teenage author became my drive.
Winter came. And as often comes with winter, a road-block appeared. I had completed writing five chapters and was writing the sixth during winter break. I had left my characters on a cruise ship travelling to an old land in foreshadowed danger. Tation, one of my main duel-protagonists, had dreamed of the ship exploding and his shoulder being thrusted into a spiked door-knob leaving him hanging with the world's largest splinter as the ship plummeted into the sea. In fear of these tumultuous events is where Tation, Shiny, Sylvia, Rama, and Douple would in a sense die. The intention was that they would survive their future, but the reality is I would never return to these characters again. At least not their original versions.
I have a confession. The original version of my book was a fan-fiction. I had been very into video games at the time, but more specifically I loved Pokémon. To those few who are unaware, Pokémon is a video game franchise about catching creatures called Pokémon and battling them with other Pokémon. That's a lot of Pokémon. My book was based on my imagination of what my Pokémon really wanted: to escape me and be free. After I ran into a road-block, I took a long break from writing. Or at least what a long time feels like to a teenager. Somewhere in my 16th year of life I took up the task of writing again. This time, there were to be no Pokémon present. I took a gander at fantasy world creation and made my own fictional land where the same story happened. Instead of Pokémon, there were Animalia that were imprisoned on the island of Malia to pay for the crimes of their ancestors. Instead of them being creatures, they were anthropomorphic animals. The basic plot was the same: imprisoned race wants to be free and escape to a land where they can be, guided by a mysterious figure named Ajason who offers to help them escape. In the end, Ajason reluctantly kills them. I did not go far with this version of the story. I realized I was not the fantasy-world writing type. In addition, I wanted to completely divorce my novel from having ties to Pokémon. It was then I realized that Ajason was a much more interesting character than the main crew.
It had been over two years since I started writing my novel. I had gone through and failed two versions, dabbled with the concept of spin-off stories, returned to a single identity, and wrote many short-stories separated from my book. I to do this day do not know what inspired me to pick it up again, but this time it would be full-force. One of the spin-offs I had conceived of was an Ajason origin story. I wanted to explore where he came from, what he was like before, and why he kills despite clearly being against it. I had already written three pages of a screenplay of this story and looking back at it made all so clear. My book had to be about Ajason. But it couldn't be connected to any other story. It wouldn't be a prequel, a spin-off, or anything connected to my older idea. It would be stand-alone. A novel that does not rely on information from other stories in order for it to be understood. In order to sever the connection to my tales of old, Ajason had to change. He couldn't be named Ajason. He couldn't be from a fictional world. Ajason thus became... Julio.
I was engulfed with the flames of the muses. The story was already there. I had been contemplating it in the back of my mind for years. I knew who Julio was and I knew that I needed to tell his story. And thus, I began again. I wrote the first chapter in one day for a total of over 5,000 words. From then, I raised myself to a standard: I had to write 1,000 words a day at least every day until the story was done. I consolidated my original cast into three main characters. Ajason of course became Julio. Tation became Tilman. Shiny and Rama together became Reeva. And the rest were cut and replaced with entirely new characters. I wrote and I scripted and I fabled and I story-told. In six weeks, the rough draft was done. After two to three years my novel had a written beginning, middle, and end. I told everybody I knew and shared it everywhere I could. I knew the book was in dire need of editing, but that could wait. I was an author. Albeit an unpublished one at the time, but still: I had a book!
The story of my first novel did not end there. It would be over three years until my book would be printed, but that is another story for another time. Nonetheless, due to my experiences I believe anybody can write. There will be struggles and road-blocks and times where not only do you feel like giving up, but you must! Giving up is not always the wrong choice. Sometimes choosing to end what you started can lead to renewal and ultimately be better than pursuing something wrong aimlessly. I am glad I quit writing my first novel. If I didn't, I would have never created what I have now. Just remember one thing...
Never be afraid to start over.
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