I've hit that point. Yes. My pantser days are over. Worry not, tis but a flesh wound—a very large one... in my brain. I thought I had writer's block before but it seems I was completely wrong. This is true writer's block. It can't—but definitely will be overcome. I feel like every chapter I ever released was a move on a chess board. And this final one got me checkmated. I can't visualize any options like I used to. No possible escape routes. You can say I planned this very poorly—yeah man, I was kind of yoloing this book. It was a free writing journey to me.

Maybe at some point, my perfectionist side got to me and told me to stop.

'That won't work. It's too bland. That's too complex. That's too philosophical for the common layman to interpret. Is this fact checked and real? But this is a fantasy world, it shouldn't matter much whether the age of consent is 4 or 16.'

I originally started writing because I loved how it felt to write without restrictions. But as I gradually become more and more dedicated, more and more restraints fell upon me.

'This is a fantasy world? Why are people judging it based on the moral codes and concepts of our world? But...'

'Will this satisfy readers? Will people start suiciding if I mention sensitive topics like suicide?'

I originally had a good idea(dream) of how the beginning middle and end of the story will go. But once I got to that point, I realized that there was much more to a story. There were fillers; meaningless small talk through dialogues that add up to build character and personality. Maybe it is because of my limited world view, but I am and always has been bad at speaking to others and expressing my thoughts in real life. When it comes to conversation, I can imagine every possible way the conversation could end. Yet, when the words start rolling out of my mouth, I realized how it would all sound like jargon.

Daniel's personality is very similar to mine. Yet at the same time, different. Which is why whenever in his perspective, there is little to no dialogue, but most of it is happening internally, internal dialogue, psyche, whichever. I realized this mistake when I had people messaging, asking why the first volume had very little dialogue/the dialogue was unrealistic.

But now, the problem with first person narration stems here. I know exactly how it feels to be me. I can also read people's motives and emotions fairly easy. But their thoughts are void to me. I never had friends before. I never killed a man before. I never died and reincarnated before. Yet, I am able to fathom my exact reactions if such things were to happen to me. But when it comes to socializing... I lack this experience. Which leads to the sorrow state of this creation. What is considered normal in a conversation? I realized in middle school that it was abnormal for people to be debating about Diogenes Cynicistic methods over Plato's philosophy of a good life.

Google recommeded me to a suicide prevention line. Bing is probably going to recommend me five of the most gruesome ways to suicide while eating rocks and shitting eggs out my arse at the same time. And the immature 'adults' in my life recommend me to consult a fucking therapist. Mentally deranged I may be, but I know one thing for certain, I don't need help. Whatever mental disorder I may have, I know for a fact that I am a high functioning human.

I don't want to talk about anymore personal stuff because frankly, it is unrelated.

This is my first work and I want to see it to the finish line. But at the same time, I am disappointed. Perhaps, it requires a complete rewrite which inevitably, I am going to have to do(for the first volume). God damn, the more I read the beginning parts, the more I want to burn it. And here, I wonder how the fuck I've gained 400 followers from bullshiting up a random story over summer break.

They say the beginning of the story is the part that determines whether or not a reader will continue reading your book. I'd like to call bs because the most I would have expected was ten followers. But it seems I was proven wrong by this gigantic community.

Perhaps no one is actually reading this and just decided to press that unfollow button or something. I'd totally understand. Go right ahead. I'm sick of myself. I'd have given this book a one star myself if this weren't my book: in that case, I have to give myself a five star review.

But statistics are not of much use if it only makes me pissed off. So I ignored it.

My first work... I also wanted it to be my greatest work.

It seems I'll have to take a detour to finish that dream. I may have to perform some menial labor and some miscellaneous side quests to level up first before I tackle such a large boss.

Maybe when I decide to finally resume this work again... Perhaps it'll have been eons and all you people reading this have long lived their lives and forgotten this random webnovel you found on Royal Road.

Although I'm only a kid, I'll say some words of advice here. Books may be entertaining to read, but reading many types of books that teach you life lessons are meaningless if you never choose to live your life. Learning how to kill a mockingbird from a non fiction book may be great, but let's face it, when are you ever going to need to kill a mockingbird( *barks in genius sarcasm )?

Books are fun and entertaining. But why read a book when it has no real benifitial impact on your life other than satisfaction? We all only live one life(that is unless reincarnation or something else exists).

Okay, I admit it. All those excuses a couple chapters back were made up. School work isn't hard for me. I don't attend and clubs and I could probably dip my classes and still pass them since I have a general grasp of the entire highschool curriculum already. The real reason I couldn't pump chapters out as efficiently on a daily basis is mainly attributed to procrastination, laziness, disappointment, fear, and frustration. Quantity over quality? Quality over quantity? What does it matter? It doesn't matter to me. So why did I even start writing in the first place? I don't know.

Maybe it's my people-pleasing side at play. Or my perfectionism that leads to procrastination.

I enjoy writing. I will keep doing so. But now that I've reached a wall thicker than the hottest woman, I think I should put this story on hold. My mind desires to continue. But it is focused on another dream. It's like cheating on your partner(I despise romance but I yearn for it). You have two people to think about so you can never truly put all you dedication on either of them. Although not the greatest analogy, I think I should focus on what my mind is focusing on.

So now, my brain presents me with two paths. One leading me to write short stories. The other leading me to write a new story.

The third path: continuing this story has not yet been unlocked. But I trust it will. You can abandon me here. I understand. But one day, I will definitely make this story on trending... The remastered version obviously! This current one is already a dumpster fire and one should acknowledge it.

If this saddens you, I apologize for having wasted the time you spent reading this story. May we cross paths once again in the plains known as the internet.