The June Update

Yello Madlings, It's been over a month since my last post, so I figured I should update you all on what has been going on in my life. I wish I could say that I have been hard at work on writing the first book in Perlysia's arc, but that would be a lie. In reality, I have been barely holding my focus on the minor things I do day to day while my doomer brain has sent me into a depressive spiral. The spiral isn't fair to the people who believe in me and call me "a writer." Madlings, let's try to explain (more to myself) why I have been away for over a month without warning.

My situation has always been one that is tenuous at best. I lived in a house where all I did was take care of the health and safety of others. My primary "job" was taking care of my children and my mother, who is in the later stages of her life with a plethora of health problems. While I have done this willingly, it has left me with little control as it made me rely on others to support myself.

It is hard to explain, but with everyone involved, I was responsible for the lives of seven people. I am responsible for myself and my three children. However, for the last 12 years, I have also become responsible for things like my ex-wife's addiction killing her. The insanity of hyper-fixating on my mother's health to feel "loved and needed" after childhood trauma. The financial responsibility of making sure all bills got paid and we had food in the house, living off my credit card while "cash" went to a dispensary or liquor store. It had gotten to the point where I was only spoken to when I could provide weed to people who otherwise ignored me and showed me nothing I did for them was noticed or mattered.

Shy came to visit for the second time at the beginning of May and spent an entire week with my family, and we were both ignored unless someone needed something from us. One example was when my son had his fifth-grade graduation camp while she was there. The Rath minions' mother was supposed to help him for two days but stayed hidden in a room because it was too hard to watch Shy and I be happy. Ultimately, Shy took on the responsibility and got my child to pack and get everything he needed. The moment Shy took on the responsibility that wasn't her burden, my brain broke, and I knew I couldn't stay in that place any longer.

A few days before Shy arrived, my mother had a massive infection that spread through her body swiftly because of dialysis, and she collapsed. It took five paramedics to get her off the floor, and the entire time, I had to answer all the questions and scary situations while my brother sat in the other room playing video games. I understand everyone faces harsh realities differently, but I had to be the lost child who scratched and clawed to fix problems others wished to ignore.

My ex-wife was in rehab when this happened, and using this situation and her terrible roommates in treatment to convince me to drive ten hours to get her the day before Shy arrived. Once "home," she hid in a room for seven days and ultimately used my happiness as the reason she relapsed again because "it's too hard to see you happy, and you don't understand." This led to a tirade about how everything was my fault. Everything was used against me, from my brother losing his temper with my children to failing to control my mother's health problems, and I couldn't handle anything alone. I was a failure. Then, the final nail was that SHE RELAPSED because I was a failure.

The thing about spending so much of your life trying to care about and build up your family is they know exactly what buttons to press. Nothing in my life has given me purpose more than the birth of my children. However, I have spent those twelve years listening to the demons of others directed to being my fault. My mother lived with me because she wouldn't make a simple phone call and pay her rent. That reality is twisted to say I couldn't care for three young children alone, and she spent too much time at my place to "help."

These patterns would repeat, with me being the constant cause of the ex-wife's addiction. An addiction that, at one point, took my children away and had me in back rooms with lawyers needing to prove I could care for a daughter they tried to keep permanently. The passive-aggressive side talks of my brother saying he couldn't have a life because he "had responsibilities." Those responsibilities included working a part-time job while going to sleep when my kids got home from school and only waking up when they were asleep so he could be on the computer all night. It had gotten to the point where even my children were trained to respond, "Yeah, all dad does is sit there. He doesn't do anything."

I did all the grocery shopping and never let anyone go hungry. I paid all the bills on time, even if it meant putting myself in debt. I would walk an hour down the road to bring back medications weekly. I made sure people called doctors and went to appointments. I would clean the house, cook meals, help with school work, take care of the children, and support anything my mom, ex, or brother wanted to do. Then, when I had downtime, I would write and plan for the Madhouse or hang out with muffins and do keys. There is rarely a time when I am doing "nothing." Yet, to everyone around me, those things I did meant nothing, and I believe them.

Madlings, I want to say I believed them, past tense, but that would be a lie. Everything I have done in my life has, for the most part, been useless and a waste of time. I was a lost child locked in a plywood shell who desperately clung to my family, thinking one day something would change. They would somehow appreciate what I did, and I would be happy and loved. That copium died when I drove to drop off a woman who, for a reason I don't understand, loves me. Only to return to a house where my ex-wife was gone "looking for work" but returned wasted. When she drove drunk to pick up the Rath minion from camp and could barely stand, and she tumbled out of the car, I knew my children, and I had to leave. None of us were safe in that place anymore.

The day after I sat down with my children, I laid down our options. Each had opinions and voices, so I laid out everything from staying where we were to a full-blown go-away reset. Afterward, we all decided that a change would need to be made. I packed up the car with what little I could in the trunk of a rental, and I left that place. With three children in tow, I went for the only thing that has made me happy in recent memory. We decided to leave school a few weeks early and spend the summer with Shy. After thousands of miles traveling across the country, we arrived in our temporary sanctuary. I still pay rent and reside where I was, but some space needs to be until a more permanent solution can be decided.

Typically, Madlings, I would post about this type of mental exploration in the Music Madhouse. I would post a song and a short blurb about wearing a mask and being insane, about everything being too much, and about how I hate myself. While all of this is an ever-present loop in the cacophony of madness in my brain, I still find myself filled with something oddly reminiscent of hope. You see, I don't believe in myself, but it turns out some others do. They believe in us, and they believe in the Madhouse. Therefore, this update that affects my mentals and the storytelling has to be posted here.

Madlings, the last few weeks have been a complete roller coaster, and sitting here today is the first time I have cleared the fog long enough to write anything. Time is a weird soup. As I said above, I hate myself and feel like a burden, so convincing myself that what I do here isn't just wasting more time that isn't fixing or helping anything is hard to swallow. Nothing feels as good as sitting before this screen and vomiting words into the void.

The perception of all this as useless stems from the fact that it doesn't pay any of my bills or feed my kids; it is only the dream of an insane Maiden. Why do I deserve to exist in an era of massively produced AI novels and self-publishing flooding the market in over saturated hell? Is the Madhouse unique enough to succeed in an industry rapidly changing and bursting with content that is more experienced and skilled than I am? What could this space possibly provide that benefited someone positively enough to justify asking for support? These questions have been the hurdle I have been trying to jump over since 2022. With my situation vastly changing, I am questioning how to justify writing without support.

I'm not too fond of the idea of asking for support. My pride breaks inside because I don't see value in this, so how can I take money from a Madling? One friend told me it was just "trading stories and a little bit of myself for food and shelter." A thing bards have done forever. Another friend began to notice story beats and the duality and connections between Perlysia & Lilith. Then, they followed up with the desire to run a DnD campaign in the Obsidian Wail as long as I would co-dm with them as a lore dictionary. Meanwhile, another friend admired my willingness to put myself honestly where people could see, inspiring them to look inward at their behaviors and desires.

Without me knowing, Madlings have been positively influenced by the Madhouse. The hunger of a fan willing to support new content and escape into the political quagmire that is Luna. The creative drive of a Dungeon Master who sees the Obsidian Wail as a backdrop for a fantastic adventure to unfold. Then I have a friend who uses this space to help understand my madness and maybe a bit of himself more clearly. Different people have found various reasons to be in the Madhouse.

It's weird to me when Shy introduces me to people as a writer. It's awkward to listen to a vast supporter take notes for "future book tours." None of this feels appropriate because all I write is the Madhouse; no book or story has been told besides the Madhouse. They believe in me more than I do, which is both enlightening and frightening. Shy says whenever I have a good day the next day, I go out of my way to be miserable. I am used to being depressed and failing, and I am afraid of succeeding and being happy. She is right, of course. I don't know how to be satisfied and wouldn't know what I would do if the Madhouse succeeded, so I never really gave myself the option to grow.

Right now, my situation doesn't afford many "quiet time" moments when I am not stimulated by random things that repeatedly reset my brain. After the summer, I will have more time to focus on "being a writer" because all I want to do is tell stories. I want to create a world that I appreciate and enjoy a sandbox all my own. I want to assure the few people who care about me more than the story that I haven't stopped. I will soon be making changes to allow this space to survive.

Steps I will take soon to allow us to survive another year.

1. I have two short stories about Perlysia. The first is about her battling the Madhouse directly, while the second is about Perlysia conversing with Lilith. They are both teasers of things in the world and will begin Perlysia's arc in a more "breaking the fourth wall" sense. I plan to edit these to the current context in the next few months (sorry, I can't be more ambitious with the timing right now) and then release them to the website.

2. We need to monetize. I have had the website and all the tools for, I think, four years and have done very little with it. I need to change that. I'm not looking to get rich by any means, but if an ad on the website and a Patreon can recoup just the upkeep cost, that would be a huge help. Those upkeep costs for full transparency are the website, writing program (currently using Novelcrafter), and art generation (Midjourney). These three things allow me to continue building and maintaining the Madhouse to last long into the future.

3. I have ideas about what kind of writer I am. I dream of having a finished adult fantasy series (or three). However, I also know what sickness the Madhouse has over me. A complete 50-80k-word book seems too large for the Madhouse, which will find any slump as a failure. So, I am going to do what most writers won't. I will release my terrible early drafts and chapters to the Madhouse as I write them. This will allow me to feel like I am accomplishing something and providing actual value and content for those gracious enough to light a candle in the Madhouse.

4. Over the last few days, I have been lost in thought about when to start this adventure and have concluded I should start with the loudest voice in the Madhouse. Our adventure begins with the newborn Perlysia and Althea's choices that will shape Perlysia's life. The friends she made early in life and how those connections are her only path to victory against the forces that wish to control her. We begin with Perlysia, but she won't be alone long.

5. Some Madlings may notice this story doesn't begin with Perlysia but nearly one thousand years ago in Argentum. Lilith's adventures as a regular citizen in an enchanted forest of silver set the stage for everything that plagues the world in Perlysia’s era. I have so many threads that pull from Lilith's choices, the original Obsidian Wail story that Perlysia has changed around her existence.

These threads include Alcmene/Lysandria and their battle to bring harmony to a forest of madness. The Girl/The Quill have become pieces in a chess game older than Drakeskar. Seraphina Astralwind has been cursed to exist in a world she loathes, full of people who disappoint and manipulate each other. All threads are held by the Necromancer Melantha and her desperate plan to be reunited with her love. A chaotic sandbox where many wish only pain and torment upon others. In the center, a spoiled Princess has stepped forward to tame the Madhouse to be its Madling Queen.

Madlings, thank you, as always, for reading my ramblings of insanity and hope. Life has taken a drastic turn, but I trust it was a much-needed shift, and I am much happier overall. I promise you all I am still thinking of our world daily and hope to get back to writing stories in it. For now, I can only apologize for the lack of updates.

Blessed Be Madlings,

Damien "Maiden" Nightshade