Writing Is Hard (but I’m sure you already know that)

Oya everyone!

Before I say anything, I would like to point out that fact that it is raining. It has been raining for fifteen hours and all the grass has turned green and it smells like spring so I am very very happy. (At the time I’m writing this, anyway, it likely won’t be raining tomorrow when you read this)

(yes I’m writing the post the day before it’s due you guys know me by now)

Anyhow on to the subject of this post. Assuming there is one. I’m pretty sure the subject is Writing Is Hard. Now I have said this so many times, because I am a repetitive person. But this week I’m feeling it especially.

Which is annoying because I actually have written stuff lately.

Just . . . . not the stuff I’m supposed to.

In the last month I have created no less than four new google docs, the longest being twenty pages long. They are short stories of sorts, and I wrote them all in one go.

Let me repeat that.

I wrote a twenty page story in one go.

And lets see, how much have I written on a book in the last month?

Oh one page you say???

Needless to say I’m very frustrated with myself.

Like, the thing is that these stories aren’t even proper stories. One of them is just some angsty nonsense about Aislinn because I felt like it. One of them is a livestream, but written out like a story because I needed to write it out. The latest one, one I churned out last night in feverish hyperfocus, is a half-backstory half-headcanon thing about Technoblade of all things.

And then one I will actually show you guys.

It needs a bit of explanation though.

Back in . . . I don’t even remember, maybe near the end of November or early December, I had a night where I didn’t sleep at all. I really don’t do well without sleep. So that day I died of sleep deprivation. But you see this was the third time in the last couple years this had happened, and so on the Discord group we were joking about ‘Oh yeah that was your last canon life, you’re a ghost now’ and all that. So I changed my Discord nickname to That Ghost Character (previously it had been That Grain Character, it’s a reference) and it became a fun bit that we carried on for a while.

I never really stopped, though. Haven’t changed my nickname, and my profile picture is still a screencap of Ghostbur from the Dream SMP. It’s a fun bit, especially when I’m sad. You see, Ghostbur is a fun character to emulate because for one thing he only remembers good things and ignores the bad things, and he gives people ‘Blue’, and it takes their sadness away, because he doesn’t want anybody to be sad. So I give people orange, which doesn’t take your sadness away but it does distract you from it. And I . . . I do tend to ignore problems when I don’t want to deal with them. So That Ghost Character focuses on cheering up her friends and playing the guitar and anything that will distract her.

Lately there’s been a lot of Ghostbur days, because of many extenuating circumstances. And I just . . . wanted to write it out. In the context of one of our Minecraft servers, where I often play with the ghost version of my skin.

So uh . . . . here.



The unexpected chirp from behind made Ariella spin wildly, striking out with her axe before she quite realized she was doing it. Then she shrieked.

The person she’d just hacked across the chest giggled, tilting backwards as it floated in midair. 

“Oops, sorry! I forgot you couldn’t hear me comin.”

Ariella sighed, her heart slowing back to normal as she turned back to the tree she’d been chopping down. It was just Aislinn. Ghost Aislinn.

The ghost floated around her, swooping around the remaining blocks of the birch tree. “Whatcha doin?” she asked, making an odd little clicking noise that echoed airily along with the rest of her voice. 

“Resource gathering.” Ariella tucked the black and white blocks into her inventory, moving on to a slightly taller tree.

“Ooh, cool! Bah bah bah bah bah bah . . .” Ghostlinn hummed a song to herself, lazily circling her friend as she worked. “Are you okay?”

Ariella didn’t answer for a moment, standing on her tiptoes to reach the last log. “I’m alright,” she eventually conceded. “Just . . . busy, you know.”

“Uh huh! Making your cool house!” Ghostlinn beamed, pointing to the cottage on top of the mountain. “You’re such a good builder, Ari. Here, have some orange.” 

Neon orange ink dripped down from the ghost’s grey hands, running warmly into Ariella’s own calloused, paint stained ones. It didn’t slurp away her sadness, but it did seem shiny and comforting. 

“‘S the color of distraction!” Ghostlinn said proudly. She’d likely forgotten that she’d already explained this fact many times. “Did it help? If it didn’t I can, uh . . . I can find you a pesky bird!!!”

Ariella chuckled. “No, that’s okay. Thank you for the orange. What . . . what are you up to today?”

Ghostlinn paused in her circling for a moment, bright eyes (the only bright thing about her) going blank. 

“I don’t remember!” she said cheerfully. “I got lost from home I think, maybe I was trying to find something. It doesn’t matter though! I can use our secret tunnel to get home!” She whispered the last part mischievously. Dark blood began to trickle down from her nose, but she merely wiped it away with the floppy sleeve of her grey sweater. 

Ariella looked away, clearing her throat as she picked some blue cornflowers. It always made her sad when Aislinn turned to Ghostlinn. She knew that her friend wasn’t really dead, much as they joked about it. It was just a glitch of sorts, some bug in the system that allowed Aislinn to become a phantom when she pleased. 

But she never did unless something was very wrong.

Ariella stuffed a last stack of logs into her pockets and began the short trip home. Her shoulders ached from the long hours of swinging an axe, and the sun was hanging low over the plain. All she really wanted to do was collapse into her soft bed and fall asleep to the soft purr of her cats. But she still had to get food cooking for the next day and feed the animals in the basement. 

She’d briefly forgotten about the ghost following her until she heard a guitar. Her head tilted back to see Ghostlinn with her tongue stuck out in concentration, slowly experimenting with convoluted finger shapes. 

“I’ve forgotten how it starts,” she mumbled by way of explanation. “It’s not a b minor, I know that, but it’s one a those.” 

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Something sounded right and Ghostlinn beamed. “There he is!” The familiar progression of Plant Life played around Ariella’s ears as she climbed the painstakingly textured staircase. 

“I wish plant life would grow all around me so I won’t feel dead anymore . . .” Ghostlinn crooned, then stopped and laughed. “Isn’t that funny Ari?”

“Uh huh.”

“I like your plants. Vines everywhere . . . they’re so pretty. You’re such a good builder. You’re like Bdubs, yknow, but like better cos you’re Ari!”

Ghostlinn always complimented her too much. 

Ariella stashed the contents of her inventory in the wood chest, rubbing behind a cat’s ears as she passed it. Ghostlinn mimicked her, placing a single glob of orange in the chest and stroking the same cat. The cat purred, though the translucent hands didn’t actually touch fur. 

“Can I help you?” Ghostlinn clicked again, waving away the bright particles that followed her everywhere. “Do you have stuff to do?”

Ari rubbed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, actually. I have to feed my animals.”

“I can do that!” The ghost dove into a chest and came out with an armful of wheat and carrots before vanishing downstairs. 

Ariella sat back on her bed, stretching out her tired legs and removing her boots. She wanted to ask what it was that had caused her friend to retreat into the stolen persona of a cheerful amnesiac phantom. But she wouldn’t ask. More likely than not she’d find out about it eventually; Aislinn wasn’t one to keep her feelings secret. The concerning thing was that she’d been a ghost longer than usual . . . . weeks longer than usual. She was ignoring something big, purposefully forgetting, smearing orange dye all over herself and playing the guitar until her fingers faded away. 

Ari wished she could help.

But there was nothing to be done.

Ghostlinn returned when Ariella had almost dozed off. Though she made no noise, the flock of screeching and creeper-hissing parrots around her sure did.

“Look who I found!” Ghostlinn shrieked in excitement, making little brrrrr sounds in the back of her throat. “Lots and lots of pesky birds! Don’t you love them??? I love them so much. I will take them back to my house. Dyou think they’ll be scared in the tunnel?”

Ariella shook her head. “I think they’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Ghostlinn turned a flip. “I have to go soon, mama’s going to . . . mama’s going somewhere and I have to watch people.” 

“Where is she going?”

“She’s . . .” The ghost blinked. “I don’t remember.” There was a second of silence and then she squeezed her eyes shut. “No I don’t. What song should I play Ari?”

Ariella let out a slow exhale. “Play Ode to L’manburg for me?”

Ghostlinn nodded and began strumming and singing, strained at first but gradually lightening as orange dripped from her hands, as she let herself ignore whatever was going on in the real world. 


-jazz hands- woooooo angst

So yeah that’s what I’ve been doing. Also, just completely losing my mind over every found family story I come across, like, geez, am I okay?

No, but we knew that.

That’s all I’ve got for you this week, but fear not, plans are being made for epicness in the near future. Lately there’s just been a lot going on, y’know.




3 thoughts on “Writing Is Hard (but I’m sure you already know that)

  1. Wow! This was a great short story! I feel like you capture personality quirks very well. I really loved it! I know the feeling of writing being hard; I’ve outlined a story but haven’t started work on it yet ;P

    Liked by 1 person

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