Truth be told, some days its a struggle to get the fingers moving. At times there’s nothing I want more than to sit on my ass and watch TV, play my games or chess with my mate.

Sometimes I feel like I’m telling the same story, at others I feel the story I want to get out will amount to less than nothing and it scares me. I don’t want to fail in this task, it’s my dream, its what I want more than anything in the world.

I want to bring joy and sorrow to your heart, I want to make you cry when I kill your favourite character and make you rejoice with a narrow escape.

Some days all I can be bothered doing is writing private plots influenced by mood, not wanting to keep my story going, being too critical of what I write and how, most of it’s pretty raw, un-edited and uninhibited, and that’s exactly what it should be but I’ve spent so long keeping myself to myself, I’ve forgotten how to get shit out, how to confide in people and most importantly how to break that shell I’ve been cooped up in. The next step is to keep at it, make this new thing a habit, then second nature, nurturing it as I go.

Jansen is going to be tested. Much the same as us. Worlds are going to be destroyed, hearts broken and lives lost. Its going to be Influenced by what I’ve experienced so far, by the loss and love I’ve had, by the hunger on every level, an obsession of something I don’t understand and my willingness to let it consume me. That’s what I want. What I produce is something else, other things seem to write themselves, and I have no control over how shit comes out. I am but an out of tune machine pumping out bullshit. I hope you love and hate it as much as I do. I resent everything I write. I love everything I write. I mean every word of my personal posts and am still forming my craft, finding my groove and one day, I’ll find it.

Posted from somewhere amongst the tangled interwebs….


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