So, after working on this project for the last few years, I finally recieve a review of my work. To be fair, it was not an unsolicited review -- you could say I asked for it (I did) and therefore I should be ready for the worst (I thought I was). The thing is, out of everything I steeled myself to expect, a "meh, average" was the absolute worst thing that could have happened. When releasing work to an audience, apathy and silence are far more crushing than hatred, because hatred at least implies emotional investment on the part of the hater. Apathy implies... nothing.

So, what does this leave? After working so long on something and only achieving "average", what does one do? I've completely failed to stand out at all, to leave any sort of impression, to make someone suspend disbelief enough to buy into this shabby little world I've pulled from somewhere between my ears and thrown onto paper. All I wanted to do was share what I thought was a good story, one that on one else would ever writed, but I still did not succeed.

Oh, before I go much further in this, I want to make it clear that I bear no ill will toward the review in any way -- he makes good points, ones that I've known in my heart of hearts since I started this, but still manage to sting when heard voiced by others. I know I'm not a good artist. I never have been, and by now I don't think I ever will be. Art just takes a way of seeing, a skill of translation, that I lack and that can't be taught, no matter how many art classes I go to or "How to Draw" books I buy.

Where does this leave me, then? I don't know. I'll never be good, I know this, no matter how hard I work -- but with all this momentum behind me, how do I stop? Do I just... give up? Channel the effort into something else, maybe... but can I really do that? There are a multitude of characters that exist in this story, that I write and I control, that no one else will give voice to when I stop. They'll fade away, all of them -- gone. No other person would even notice, but for me it would be saying goodbye to old friends I would never see again. I don't know if I have that in me, really. There are so many stories here that I want to get out there and share, and it frustrates me indescribably that I lack the mechanism to do so. I don't know if I can let go, yet -- though I don't know how much longer I can keep pressing forward on a fool's errand...