Jan 25, 2014, 9:41:05 PM

I felt like I’d reached a climax of sorts, as I considered that observation. If I’d been able to dive directly into writing the last chapter–this chapter–I might have been able to capture the thought that would unlock the whole thing. Instead, reality chose that moment to change on me. I started this story thinking I’d run out of time, after three years and five months of fruitless job searching. I’d spent my last dime, I was behind on my rent–and I was more than fifty-thousand dollars in debt.

I expected to be out on the streets at the end of the month. I’d even come to terms with it. It made it easy to admit to things I’d become wary of putting down in writing. In the course of the last five months, I’d faced an unpleasant realization. I’d qualified myself for a job that would pay very well, but would contribute nothing else to the realization of my dreams. I knew that it was a sacrifice I’d be willing to make–just to pay off my debts–but honestly, money was the least of my problems.

I wrapped up chapter eight and went to bed, and in the morning–before I settled in to write–I got an email about a design project. I’ll spare you the details, and just say that it was a small project that would keep me going for another month or two. After setting up an interview date, I got another surprise. A phone call from a recruiter concerning a position I’d applied for. I was being offered the job, and I was happy to accept it. It would keep me employed through the middle of summer, and I might earn enough to survive another long period of job hunting.

I spent those next three days working on securing both jobs. I determined I could complete the requirements of the design job in the hours I was not tied up with my day job, and the client was willing to accept that. I spent a day and a half on the paperwork required for contract employment for that day job, and received my official start date. I spent the other half of that third day writing a quote for the design project.

It was early evening before I was free to return my attention to the story. It was not the first time my writing was interrupted by the needs of making a living. It was not even the first time reality had presented me with a sudden bend in the road of life that I had not seen coming. It was a far cry from the kind of change I needed, in order to be true to myself. Quite the opposite, in fact, since I’d be forced to crawl back into the role of the man I appeared to be, in order to do those jobs.

Anything less would interfere with my work, and I needed to be making money. If I was careful with what I earned, I might even be able to focus on writing the first book of my avatar’s epic once I had free time to write. I could no longer be blind to the fact that, if reality could not accommodate my dream–to be me in the flesh–the story became my best reason to live. The prison of my life might be the price of my dreams.

That life was what prompted my dream.

I summed up my thoughts and opened my mind to see if any of my personas had anything to add. Sometimes they’re just waiting for the chance to speak, when they know I’m ready to listen. It’s a process that can be difficult to describe. I’m really just trying to get out of my own way, to give myself the benefit of a different, sometimes better, perspective. I could feel the masculine part of myself preparing to take on the weight of responsibility of getting me through those jobs.

I could sort of feel his eyes on me, the weight of his hand on my shoulder a silent promise that however hard a path it might be, he’d be there to help me through it. Nothing more needed to be said on that, but he’d respond if another me needed to talk to him about paying the price of dreams. His subtle presence allowed me to be myself right then, a different girl from the one I become in the context of the story. Like the story, that girl has a reality of her own; I support it but I only experience it vicariously.

“I might as well just jump in, before you wander off track,” she spoke up, imagining herself at the eye of the hurricane that is my thoughts. “I wanted to address a couple of things in response to what’s happening to your reality. I agree that it makes it possible for you to write my story; you weren’t in a position to do anything like that when you started on this part of it. The timing is curious, but it could not have happened if you had not actively pursued the opportunity,” she pointed out.

“I think I know where you’re going with this,” I told her.

She smiled with a slight roll and shake of her head. “I just want to point out that it shows how a change in reality is possible without the dramatic use of power. It’s mostly a matter of applying yourself in a way that is appropriate for the intended outcome. The more particular you are about what you achieve, the more you have to apply yourself to creating the opportunity to achieve it. Under the present circumstances of reality, it’s hard for anyone to get a good, paying job.

“It’s rare that it’s also the job you wanted–a perfect job is virtually impossible to get–but no one sane will refuse an opportunity that provides them with something they need,” she argued, and I saw no reason to object. It was the same argument that kept me from rejecting reality. I get most of what a person needs out of life. I just don’t get to be me. I may never get what I want out of life, but it has given me countless things I needed.

The heart of my problem in life is a question I can only answer one way. Do I need to be me?

I do. No one else could be.

I have to be present in any expression of myself, even if the expression contradicts me. In my understanding of myself, it is not sufficient to be the product of my circumstances. I am more than the sum of my parts; I am literally something in spite of them. I could not escape my suffering by embracing the definition of me provided by my circumstances. Trying, I only compounded it. So, life confronted me with another need.

The need for the means to express myself. The need to do the impossible.

“I can feel your thoughts racing ahead, but I think it’s easier for people to understand the desire to find the perfect job,” she interrupted my musing, sticking to her topic. “A perfect job is nothing more than an occupation that is appropriate for who you are. One that you can engage in fully, and which allows you to realize your full potential. It’s what everyone needs, and it seems impossible for everyone to have.”

“I wonder if there’s ever been a person who truly had it,” I told her. “I don’t know if people can distinguish between the job they want and the job that is perfect for them. I think we tend to limit ourselves to the jobs that one could reasonably expect to have and call the best of those the perfect job to have. The perfect job is impossible to have, because we don’t even consider the job possible.”

“A job is something that needs to be done,” she pointed out, “even if there’s no profit for the one who must do it. Payment is just one incentive to work. Survival is another. Protecting and preserving something you love is an incentive great enough for people to give their lives in order to get something done. One way to identify the perfect job is to understand that it’s a job that could never be done if you did not choose to do it.

“My story is one that only you can write; even though I’m better qualified to write it, I am technically just part of you. My story is really just a consequence of the job you’ve done trying to realize your own potential,” she told me, bringing us back on track. “Writing it has it’s own benefits, not least is the money you might make if you publish it. There is still a lot of work to do if you’re ever to realize your dream. The story came about as part of the work you’ve done, and sharing it is one way that work can help support you.”

“I suppose that’s true, assuming there’s an audience willing to pay to read it,” I noted. “I should be honest, though, writing it is going to be a lot of work; made harder by the circumstances I’m likely to be in while I write it.”

“Perhaps, but consider what you could gain in the process of finally writing it,” she argued. “Consider all the things you confronted just in these nine chapters. The theories a larger work would allow you to present to those readers. The story was in many ways just a test of those theories; a massive thought experiment. It would help you just as much to reconsider them.

“There are things you know, that you don’t allows yourself to know in your daily persona. Every insight drives you to act on your deeper understanding. You won’t because you’re so conscious of the consequences of using power in a place where no one else has used it.” She throttled back on her intensity and gave me a look of entreaty. “The story even addresses the consequence of shattering people’s grasp of reality,” she reminded me.

That had been a cataclysm caused by the use of magic to wage war; by too many people attempting to turn reality against each other. It opened the door to the shattered realms, the remnants of other compromised realities. A flaw the naked goddess exploited to embody herself as my avatar. “It was what made it possible for people to accept being confronted with a child of paradox,” I responded, referring to her arrival in the past.

“On the Eve of Paradox, people were forced to call on powers they’d never prepared themselves for to survive the assault of someone else’s power,” she elaborated. “the impact opened a rift in time and space that could only be bridged by the mind. Those of us who could cope with paradox were drawn to that battle, and we patched the holes torn in our reality as well as we could with the fragments of other realms that lost their integrity.

“I fell in when I was seventeen, and I stumbled out of the Eye of Paradox three years before I was born,” she said, knowing full well I already knew it. “In a way, I became the herald of that apocalypse; unable to do a thing to prevent it, I did what I could to ensure the world would survive it. It was ten years of war and I took three trips through it.”

I sighed. “I saw that option; I couldn’t quite sort out the paradoxes, but I could almost work it out in twenty years with only two loops through it.”

She gave me a look of concern and annoyance. “I know. I’ve been here for at least five years and studied your notes. I know you can see my story, but you let yourself get in the way of truly knowing it. I’d hoped that meant your life here was the nightmare I endured for an eternal moment when my demon possessed me,” she confessed. “If there is any context for your life in the terms of my story, it’s the idea you explored–the one you’ve resisted employing.”

I did not need an explanation. Over the past few years, I’d worked on an idea that was elegant in principle but in practice seemed insane. It was a concept that presented me with a starting point in the paradox, and a life as a random boy–either in the story or out here in reality. “Chance conception makes more sense than the outcome of a confrontation between the dragon and the demon. Especially since the latter implies that your demon is loose in this reality.” I almost growled.

She shrugged, responding with admirable sarcasm, “Well, let’s not dare to make any assumptions about what’s really going on out here in this reality.”

I sighed, “Look, I know there’s room for doubt in my childhood. I never really knew my father, though I know he didn’t take responsibility for me or his marriage, leaving my mother with little choice but to put me up for adoption. Did he fail as a father? Yes. Was that because he was possessed by a demon? I can’t rule out the possibility, but I wouldn’t give it a high probability.”

“But it makes sense, in terms of the story,” she argued, playing devil’s advocate, “for the dragon to put my soul out in the open; to move me out of its blind spot. It’s certainly something he would have considered doing. Something he’s implied he might have done on instinct.” I knew the scenario. I’d worked on it for a few years. I tended toward keeping the scope of the story within the limits of my imagination, and focused on the second option.

“The dragon could have just as easily fathered a male incarnation of me in your world,” I objected. “I’ve seen signs of him in your story from the very beginning. Admittedly, I’m not happy to think there’s another part of me going through the same hell I have. But, at least in your world he would be able to do something about it. His life is one where I would have access to the means to express myself physically.”

She took a deep breath and released it in a long sigh. “I am afraid you’re right. I had a life where I was the son of the dragon and a student of magic. I went through all the same soul searching you did, and used my magic to redefine myself. I started to remember that life, watching it come to an end, then walking away from the ashes with an ember of hope and a terrible doubt. I didn’t know enough to understand the whole story until I tried to explain to the dragon how I got myself pregnant.”

I laughed, “If that doesn’t get people begging me to tell the whole story, I can’t imagine what else would.” Then I sobered. “You know, if you add his life to yours, you get my current age, give or take a few months. Not counting the time you’ve overlapped me,” I observed in bit of a daze.

I considered the ramifications of what she told me while my body stepped out for a cigarette. I guess technically I was on autopilot, but my mind was occupied with the revelation of the correct path through her paradox. I returned to the conversation determined to finish our conversation without divulging the solution. After all, it looked like I was setting myself up to really start writing the story.

“I can see that this means that the darkest parts of the story really do fit in,” I told her. “I can see now why you were hoping I could help you get home. I mean, I can see the path leading you to me, but I don’t see a loose thread remaining that indicates your return.”

“I know. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am you; that my life was a way for you to explore the possibility of becoming a better incarnation of yourself,” she confided. “I’d hoped I’d discover that you fall into the loop, become the boy I just mentioned, who in turn became me. That would leave me here in your place. I just don’t know if I would notice.

“Maybe we switched places a long time ago, and I just got caught up in the memory of who I was, before I found a way out,” she speculated, in a subdued awe.

“Well, it sort of became a habit for me to adapt to my circumstances,” I laughed, shaking my head in wonder. “When I wake up from dreams, the most disconcerting part is feeling my mind slipping back in tune with reality.”

Original author’s note: And this concludes the teaser outtake prologue/epilogue for my unwritten epic. If I counted correctly, this comes in at exactly 30,000 words. I’ve noticed that the number of visitors to each chapter varies. I hope that having the entire story posted will mean people will read the entire thing. It’s a confusing enough story if you’re following it through. It must be mind boggling to just read a random chapter.

As I originally stated, I wanted to give people a chance to read and comment before deciding on publication. I will not be able to publish through Amazon Singles, since I’ve made the entire work available on two different sites. I suppose I could still find a way to publish on demand. I can publish the e-book version myself, but for hard copies I may have to try a vanity press. I will decide in a bit. I’ll probably try to work on some illustrations to go with this; cover art and an illustration for each chapter.

This work is also available on FictionPress so you’re welcome to visit there. If you feel inclined to offer reviews or critiques, the review system there is good for that. General comments, feedback and applause are just as welcome here.

If you feel the need to call me crazy, well… I know. Just trying to make the most of what I’ve got, and I’ve got a lot of crazy.

Thank you for reading!

Addendum to Author’s note: It turns out there was a little more… first, a journal entry Patience and Perseverance which was originally posted to my deviantart page, followed by an epilogue (up next in the “pages” section).