What Is With These Long Fucking Titles?

I want to be a graphic novel writer.

It's such an appealing thing, for some reason. To see the words come to life in the form of characters. To see it as how I see it in my mind, that's gold.

There was this once, a year or two back where I posted a story on deviantArt and another user messaged me. He wanted to illustrate the story and that awesome feeling was just fucking fantastic. It went nowhere, though, he didn't follow through and I think that a part of me didn't want it to happen just yet. It's like... How you would want your favourite character to be acted by someone who suits him/her. Like how you wouldn't want Jim Carey to portray Lúthien Tinúviel. He's a great actor (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, anybody?) but it's just not right. The story itself was bad, too many mistakes and plot holes and the like.

Now, though, I think I'm at a point where it might just work. To find an illustrator in the midst of medical student though... That'd be a pain in the ass. Anybody willing to volunteer though? Work for free, be in contact with me and quite possibly get criticised? No? I didn't think so.

I don't know if other people understand the feeling. For example, when I read The Sandman by Neil Gaiman... Bloody hell it filled me with so much fucking wonder. If it was a book, it would probably be one of my favourites but as a graphic novel... It exceeded every one of my expectations. Extremely smooth storyline with fantastic characters... Dream is a no brainer. Do you even know how hard it is to make people fall in love with your character(s)? It's fucking horrendously difficult. Yet, I fell in love with Death.

I want to be able to write that kind of magic. The lushness of Tolkien, the fantastic magic that is Gaiman, the honesty of Rushdie, the superb norm of Murakami and the dark mystery of King. All I can muster now are these... Weak short stories that never, ever have the impact that I desire. I have failed myself in so many ways. And I have nothing to blame it on save myself.

People around me are climbing up the ladder towards a brighter tomorrow and hopefully, success. Me? I'm still here, floating in the cesspit of doubt, uncertainty and self-loathing. I've been going nowhere for the past four years, locked in stasis.

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Tomorrow, we shall review what happened in 2012 and make it as depressing as possible.

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Lucifer: "The million lords of hell stand arrayed about you. Tell us, why should we let you leave? You have no power here, for what power have dreams in Hell?"

Morpheus: "You say that I have no power? Perhaps you speak truly. But — you say that dreams have no power? Ask yourselves, all of you, what power would Hell have if those imprisoned here could not dream of Heaven?"

• Lucifer and Dream, in Sandman #4: "A Hope in Hell"