Background

It was a time when I was finally settling in with fans of Japanese anime all over the world. I had found new friends, we would talk even for hours, share ideas and have fun. Cloud had long ago become my favorite character and like long before, and still long after, I knew if he was real, I'd fall for him like crazy. The subject of the day then seemed to be original characters. A good friend of mine, who became much of an inspiration to me, introduced me to some of his characters and I was fascinated of the subject, though I did feel somewhat lost myself. I did have a loose thought floating in my mind, I figured there was still something my mind could think up.

The time of me writing poems, the time of me writing yaoi stories actively was in the past, the disaster known as yaoi fic week was in the past and I hated myself for what happened. I probably wasn't the only one hating the idea, but who knows. I felt like I could, and I'd want to poke around inspirations, but I didn't want to. Singing alone and doing my work were the only inspirations then.

My "old time" of inspirations perhaps got some power from school life. In my mind the insitution of school, the so-called friends, the mood there was hellish, my school life was mostly pain. I had agreed with myself to hate the way school life wanted to change you away from yourself. I was so often told by other students and teachers to stop being myself, to stop trying to be what I wanted. I was told to stop reaching for my dreams, stop reaching for the job I desired, stop trying to learn anything else but what they wanted. I hated them all for it, and I still do, but I have now agreed with myself that there was something that I gained from all that. During some lessons, interaction wasn't required with others, you were only required to do your work. Especially when the subject was close to my mind, I enjoyed it, and especially when I had the chance to write, I would do it from the bottom of my heart. My inspiration had a home at those times, and when I left school, I needed a new home.

So, as I noted above, my first new home was poems. And I liked writing, I actually thought I managed one or two good ones among others. But nobody really seemed to read, or care about them. Perhaps I missed seeing the excellent grades from the teachers. The second new home was about writing fictional stories on fictional characters. The style of my choice was yaoi, focusing on -fine, let's put it in clear writing- gay relationships between these characters of japanese animation. Think what you wish, but it was really harmless fun and some actually seemed to like those works. My great idea was to write up some four-five short stories all ready and then declare a yaoi fiction week, and I promised to publish a new story every day. Every day I fine tuned a story, or wrote a new one. Then after four or five days, I noticed that nobody commented. When I asked people, I was told to stop, it was wrong to publish so much. So there came the end of my yaoi writing, and writing generally. I couldn't hate that ending any more, I just couldn't.

But as I noted, I still had loose thoughts. I still figured there was something I could think up. And many of those who supported me, and liked my stories, were still friends. I'll say this for the opposite sex - I don't remember talking with girls who had a deep need to draw conclusions for what I did. They could enjoy what I did, we could talk about it without any pressures. I was a writer, not a weirdo. On the other hand, from all the guys I spoke with, maybe one or two out of a dozen could understand what I tried to do. Even as a guy myself, it felt nice to agree about this with girls - screw all guys. Ah...still feels great to write it.

I still needed to create