“Every Story” – also Depression Lies

Hey everyone!
Life is still a shitshow – and I am doing my best to get back on track!

In the mean time… here is a post… that I found so… it’s good okay?

Every Story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. That is the conundrum of stories, they must end to be fulfilling but the best ones we never want to see end. A bad story makes you wonder why you spent your time on it. A good story makes you happy you read it, but also willing to set the book down and let the story drift into memory. A Great story though, the truly best of all writing, is that which makes you think, makes you wonder, and where the story lingers in your mind because there are still questions, not easy ones, but the hard ones. You go back and you read it again and again, always looking for that next layer, certain that this is the read where you understand it all, where you are in the authors head, and where you know exactly what they wanted you to know. But you never find it, every read through reveals a new layer and new questions. That is the beauty of a great story. But its not for the good or the great ones that I am here tonight.

No tonight I’m here to write about the bad stories, the ones that make you wonder “what was the point of all that.” Recently someone asked what was stopping me from taking the final step over the edge. I told them my sister and that was half the truth, but the reality is that its also the consummate writer in me. You want to write a bad story? You want to make your reader wonder what the point of it all was? Have the hero Die. Not a good death, not a noble sacrifice, not even a tortured and broken and beaten death. No have him fight through hordes of enemies, face every trial with whatever wits and strength of character he can muster. Then when he is on the gates of hell, staring down that final confrontation, the battle between good and evil resting on his shoulders. Have him draw his sword, stare dimly at the fortress he is to assault and draw that blade across his own throat and fall into the mote to be eaten. Your readers will hate you, because the build up, everything he had been through was all for naught. That’s the other half of what holds me here. Most people around me don’t need me, would mourn me perhaps, but only briefly I suspect. They are stronger then I am. But the writer in me, looks at my story up to this point, sees all that’s been written, the beginning and the middle, but knows that the ending will be the true masterpiece, and I need that, I need it to at least be a good story. I’d rather it be great, but I’m not a hero, this world’s magic has faded long ago, and the few things I am good at, aren’t enough to help more then a handful of people.

So here’s to the writer in me I guess. Sick Sadistic Son of a bitch that he is, he is whats going to keep me going, because his damn story can’t be a bad one.

– Andrew Buschert

Don’t leave your readers hanging. Keep fighting and don’t give in.

Remember.  Depression lies.



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