The 760 Pages Novel Crafted by 13 year-old Me

Writing and Rejection are like our index and middle finger. They’re close unconsciously.

I kept looking back at my past as tragedy swept away my present existence. It’s a 100-meter tsunami that somehow happened without an earthquake which is supposed to be the trigger alert.

I am not dead, yet. But, choosing to be back alive seems like death itself. Especially when I have lost both feet and hands. And a capability to form a solid vocal cord, by way of explanation I also lost my voice.

Some people complain about a life they have felt as if they only exist, not living. But, I guess in this current era we are breathing, existing feels like the whole point of living. I mean, according to the general concept, I do not really exist. I keep my Instagram account deactivated for 3 years. No Facebook, No WhatsApp Story. Just being anonymous on Twitter and it feels like a shame.

So, I keep traveling back-to-back to the exact past when I wrote my first novel, called The ChronitOosten. I can’t even remember the meaning of the word ‘Chronit’. Other than ‘Oosten’ meaning ‘East’ in Dutch. After all, ChronitOosten was about a forgotten kingdom in the East part of the world. Where ancient vampires stay hidden from the modern world. I know what you’re thinking, it is about another Twilight universe. Bad news.

If you have happened to read my previous article. Twilight has opened so many doors about film, song, art, Hollywood, and yeah writing.

Twilight internalizes my life so much that I believe vampires are real. Even now I still think the same. Also, mythological stuff may be real, although cannot be proven empirically.

Well, global warming and the apocalypse issue were hot topics in 2012. So, what about their existence? Vampires, werewolves, and yetis? By the way, I was only 13 years and 3 months old at that time.

The problem was I happened to believe 2012 is going to be the end of the world.

So between the pressure of human extinction, of my own kind and all the fictional creatures I care deeply. My imagination started to grow…rapidly. Every minute of my time feels like I’m watching a sudden ongoing scene.

I definitely had no idea how to write. No input of words. Only read a book…once. But eventually, I put the idea into writing after hours of crying because…I don’t know…I remember feeling taken over by my own imagination as if it were another non-human being living inside my soul. Dominating and wanting to prove as if it essentially exists.

For the next hour, I was letting ‘whatever is that’ write. Just writing. I sat on the floor, bend over as I used my red-old floor tile room as a table. The plot was not vividly clear or even the central conflict, and certainly not what should I write on the next page.

And six months later I got to the point when I was finally able to write ‘the end’ in the very last paragraph. I spent ten (10) blank line notebooks and presumably 8 ballpoint pens.

I will give you a brief synopsis or maybe the exact plot of this amateur project by 13-year-old me.

Forks are becoming the new Florida. I cannot remember when the rain was pouring down the Meadow. The violet, yellow, and soft white flower petals are changed to an almost dry-brown tall grass. It become a forbidden place for me and Edward to go because of the blazing hot sun that would immediately kill us. There is no news without strange ashes found in Forks area. Leave a massive question mark to the community.

The new Chief of Police in Forks, Arsen—is so obsessed with revealing our own kind. He has eyes and ears in every tree that used to be the silent witness to our animal instinct. To hunt for food. To stay alive and keep our family safe.

We don’t have any option except to leave our home, Forks. Carlisle proposes that we hide in the Eastern Part of Romania which is believed to be an ancient place, long before Volturi was even established, The ChronitOosten. It is an underground place with its own territorial and laws.

For a while, it was a decent sanctuary for us until the dark history reveal itself to the ground and force us to escape.

Okay, Listen.

First of all, I deeply apologize for my English. Second, the synopsis clearly didn’t do any justice to the whole plot. Here’s a rough explanation…

The Cullens are stuck in their home, fucking starving, with a lot of CCTV in the forest. Literally—somehow able to operate in the forest, you know like a Tiger camera trap.

So Renesmee, who you know, is half-blood, she basically eats asparagus and deer blood…escape from their house to the forest. Become a sudden predator so she can bring some deer blook to her family.

She fucked up. The CCTV was quite catching her, well not that clear. But, Arsen is so thirsty for playing a vampire catch game. Like Eastern Europe people in the late 17th and 18th centuries.

They run away with a helicopter (don’t ask me how) and got into an accident in some black/scary lake that happen filled with jumbo leeches BUT it has a dementor power. If you read my previous article, you must understand the ‘why’.

Oh, don’t forget about The ChronitOosten. Every institution must have a founder and member, right? Well, ancient vampires have a weird and wasted long name. Like Elemarthania Astercasa Zilesoba, Jossusi Jona Stone Elizabeth Stoax, Lengston Smirk Havelar, Michaela Clautania Destania Parckel, and the most normal name Maxi Harver Anthony.

Seriously, just try to find a meaning behind the name. Google won’t answer you.

Okay, this article become too long. The point why am I writing this is not to show a 13-year-old me CAN write. Or proving that writing is like a destiny for my life path. But, the truth is that I’ve been haunted by this creature again. You know, the IT who essentially wants to exist. My big mistake was to think I failed when the fact I only failed once on the first attempt.

It was longhand writing so after I finished the book I tried to rewrite it again on my brother's laptop. But, the file that I collected was removed by some virus. Just a total blank after it got fixed. Left me with a blank paper. And I think I failed. So I stop.

I was thankful to my Junior High Scholl classmate who somehow obsessed with the story. She also happens to love Twilight Saga and she was reading my book from the very beginning of the process. It took approximately 2 weeks to write every one notebook. And she was able to finish the read in less than a week, even a day.

It’s a beautiful memory, but quite dangerous. I become very attracted to this specific past as if the answer to my future. One thing is for sure, I am finally able to write again. In these past 7 months, I was able to reach 100,000 words with my novel called “The Anatomy of Final Exit”. But it doesn't feel like an achievement at all. Because I guess writers need an audience to show their existence and for me, it was an obstacle. Well, a very frightening process. Maybe after all writing, as a writer job, is a very dangerous kind of job. In the most truthful words, I’m haunted. But, I think, anyone should be able to hug themselves with compassion. That being failed is an ongoing process to peep our future.

“You must never regret what might have been. The past that did not happen is as hidden from us as the future we cannot see.”

— Richard Martin Stern