HalfOfLancelot — Roleplayer Guild

     Archer Milton     .

“To be nobody but 
yourself in a world 
which is doing its best day and night to make you like 
everybody else means to fight the hardest battle 
which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.”

I find myself going back to him - E.E. Cummings, that is. I never know why, but the words make my chest hurt and my throat tighten. They're poignant. In what way?

I keep asking why these affect me. I never know the answer - so why am I asking myself?

I was told: introspection leads to retrospection. Learn from your past, right? Except this kind of learning focuses on yourself. Pretty nifty, yeah? Well, I got to thinking the other day that sometimes there's more to a person than any one of us can know. That includes who you are to yourself. And, boy, is it difficult to just sit down and write things about yourself.

Now, I'm not one for lying. If you're gonna tell the truth, you might as well tell all of it. Otherwise, it all ceases to even be true anymore. Of course, easier said than done. It takes awhile to just sit there and think; introspection's a hard thing. I don't envy monks or hippies, one bit. Instinct leads you astray - like Descartes said, uh, something about not trusting your senses. I didn't read much beyond that. He's got this wicked sense of proving God that's a little too out of the left field. Do what all the other philosophers do and ignore that part, I guess? Is that what they do?

I digress. The one thing that kept tripping me up was my own self. Denial's a hard thing to truck through. It's a silent thing. Quick and painless. Ain't even know it's there unless you look for it and you got to look for it with honesty on your mind to even find it.

So, yeah, I tried to get down to the nitty gritty of it and I kind of failed. I guess sometimes you just gotta accept that there are just some things in this world you truly cannot know. Maybe knowing yourself is one of those things? Maybe that mirror's always smudged. Maybe you're smudging it to save yourself.

down below the entry is a taped piece of yellow notepad paper with a list of ten words written on it.

Honesty (the best policy)
Driven
Stubborn
Reclusive (like the spider; we only got widows, right? right...?)
A Duck (if I ever saw one)
Grapes of Wrath
Jumpy/Jittery
Birch Tree
Not All There
Straightforward

It's one of those days again. I'm an island, I like to say. I'm sitting here surrounded by a mass of water and I take whatever I'm given. Sometimes what I'm given isn't exactly helpful. Or harmful. Sometimes it's just neither. I don't like those days. They seem filtered in grey and like I'm moving through a bunch of muck to get from nowhere to no place.

I can't say exactly how it started. Occasionally, there are just days where you wake up and you're trapped in some gaudy black and white feature or stuck in the static on a radio.

So, I'm trying this new positivity thing I found on the internet surrounded by a bunch of saturated photos of pumpkins and clouds. Convince your brain that you're happy and you'll eventually trick yourself into it. So, I spent last night dragging myself through my house (these moods last days, you know? it sucks) putting words that I know remind me that life's a vibrant merry-go-round on sticky notes and leaving them around random places. I thought I'd jot down the ones I stumbled on today.

I kinda like this thing. I think ma does too. I caught her staring at one on the kitchen window, with one of those watery smiles. Like she's remembering something both sad and happy, at the same time.

Kittens
Pancakes with Blueberry Syrup
Ferris Wheels, with the background noise of a carnival on a crisp autumn evening.
Bonfires
The smell of rain on dead leaves and damp grass. What's the word for that? Is it petrichor?

I know for certain, one thing exactly: I want to make a difference. The problem is getting there. Where is there? Obviously not here. This shanty town doesn't exactly provide many aspects of improving life for people around the world. Not a substantial basis. Maybe this is the world to some people. Not for me.

For awhile now, I've been looking for practical ways of doing good. Charities. Volunteering. There's a lot of options for people with the money to travel. Plenty of jobs, too, outside of this place that'll provide the satisfaction you can only get from helping someone. Nurses. Doctors. Cops. Orderlies. I could list off a number of things.

However, I don't exactly know if I want to do any of those. When I lay out all of the options, it presents itself as too daunting. I'm still a kid. I have a long life ahead of me, if I'm lucky. And the idea of choosing one thing, out of a multitude of things to do for the rest of my life scares the ever living hell out of me.

Sometimes I think what if I just find something to do here? Settle down into the mindset that nothing outside of this bay exists. That this is it. That everything here is all I'll ever need. The thought treads the line of comforting and scary all too well.

I don't like thinking about it, but I have to. I can't just keep wandering this world not knowing where I'm going.

I want to say nothing's holding me back. But we both (as in me and my journal) know that's so far from the truth as to be ludicrous. Sometimes, though, the best thing is denial. Maybe for a little while.

Okay, yeah, I'm a goddamn hypocrite. I go about spouting things like, "The truth is what matters." And shit like, "Lying to yourself is the worst crime you can commit." Obviously that last statement ain't true. Pretty sure genocide is the worst crime you can commit, no arguing.

So what's holding me back? What's keeping me from moving from one place to the next? What's the obstacle, Archie? What's got you in a tizzy? What are the chains that bind you to your earthly form?

the words slashed out weren't written. but they're there... subconsciously, in Archie's mind.

Myself.
Myself. Myself.
Myself.
Me.
I am. I am.
I'm keeping myself here. I'm doing this to me. I'm the reason I'm not moving on. I don't want to. I'm scared. I'm too scared. I don't want to leave the security blanket of this town. I don't want to miss anything. I can't. What happens here and what happens to my ma are too important to me.

I guess money, you know?

So, there's this place, out in the woods, you know? A little meadow that leads up to a cliff facing Harmonia Bay. I think. It's been awhile. Every Sunday me, my ma, and my dad - before he skipped out, yea - used to go up there after church. I was four, or something. Maybe a little younger. And we'd have this giant picnic lunch planned out and packed. 

This day started out like any other: we sat for the sermon, all dressed to the Sunday Nines, as my ma called it. Then we climbed into the truck and went up the road, up the dirt trail, and parked it just as it ended. The rest we hiked. I remember, I got a little tired and so my dad swung me up onto his shoulders. The view from there thrilled me. It was like being on top of a skyscraper. Obviously, most of it's just my imagination, but I swore I saw the clouds and the canopies and the mist in the trees.

Anyway, we got to the meadow and we laid everything out. It went as usual, my ma and dad would talk and I'd eat, then run around a bunch. Typical kid, you know? Except, this time I didn't exactly stay where my ma wanted. It was like an unspoken rule completely told through angry, mother eye signals that I don't step even two feet near the tree line. Well, I wasn't paying attention. A butterfly passed by me. I remember chasing it because it looked so weird against the grass - large, stark black wings. I guess it lead me into the woods because the next thing I knew I was tripping over roots and weeds.

But then, I stumbled on this tiny animal. Well, not tiny. It was a baby. I remember because, well, it was a deer and deer aren't exactly that small. They're kind of scary, especially to a toddler. I guess it was dying, though, but I don't exactly remember seeing any injuries. Likely sick, or something. Being a kid, I immediately though, "Oh no," and went to help it.

Yeah, okay, so little me's kind of a dumbass. What the hell else do you expect a kid to do facing a dead or dying animal? The amount of luck bestowed on me that day that I didn't wake up the next morning dying of pneumonia or some incurable form of the flu was insurmountable.

It was just a baby, though, too weak to fight off a cold much less a damn four year old. I held it while it died. I remember crying for an hour (not really, more like a few minutes) before my mom found me. You can guess what happened afterwards.

But, I keep coming back to that day. The butterfly. The baby doe. I was just a kid, but I mean, that's gotta have some kind of meaning. It changed something. Something inside me or something out in the world. I just know it affected more than just the deer, left to die alone. Just stuck there.

My dad split three weeks after.

Around this town, it's reasonably easy to get a part time job. Well, it's more old fashioned. Like those older movies where a kid's sweeping up a barbershop for a quarter or two. Maybe not like that, particularly, but it definitely has an abundance of throwaway jobs that don't pay much for kids looking to get some kind of work experience. I know the Arcade has a few openings every summer and even year around. A lot of "Ma 'n Pa" type shops that like to do that, especially if they're elderly and have a more modern cash register. Easier to pay a teenager to work it out.

Okay, so now that we got that out of the way, the minute I turned sixteen, ma expected me to get some kind of job. Well, let's say she regrets telling me that to this day. I put out a bunch of applications, you know, spread yourself out a bit. I got a few calls and the one I took, that lead to an in-person-interview was a small restaurant along the main strip. Cute place. Did hoagies and sandwiches. Excellent service. I aced the interview and the next day I came in they had me busing tables after a quick rundown.

For the first hour, it went by smoothly. Nothing wrong. Everything looked pretty swell. Until the lunch rush and suddenly I'm looking at four tables that need cleaning, all having sat a group of four. Yeah, tip: if you want to get experience working as a waiter, don't go for the most popular place in town. Suffice to say, I'm not that great at balance. Not clumsy, mind you, but I'm not a gymnast either.

In essence, I bit more than I could chew and suddenly I find myself spilling four tables worth (that's sixteen people; four a table) of silverware, flatware, and uneaten, unboxed food onto a row of tables. Glass and ceramics everywhere. I'm pretty sure I gave a little girl a black eye. I ruined so many perfectly good meals and so many plates. I'm pretty sure I laid there for a good fifteen or so minutes until someone had to call an ambulance because I also happened to slice open my forearm.

Sixteen stitches.

No job.

And I had to come in to clean plates to pay off the money they lost replacing them the next day.

My ma gave me a good piece of advice: "You're an absolute shit tier waiter."

Ask anyone here and they'll tell you the same thing. No, don't actually, I'm sure they have no inkling of my romantic life. It's just a flair for drama to emphasize the fact that I've never been involved. Nothing romantic or sexual, ever. Unfortunate, right? Eh, not so much.

Of course, I'm certainly not counting the moment in second grade when I used to float around holding hands with every girl I could. I fancied myself a player, yeah. What of it? It was mostly to one up the asshole who rubbed it in my face that he sat behind the swings holding Louise Grady's hand. She was my crush back then. So, none of that hand holding crap had been because I was so madly in love with all the girls in my grade.

Far from it.

I think I can safely say my sexuality doesn't necessarily align itself with lady bits. Well, I'm sure people would argue it's a phase or I'm confused. I mean, I've never actually dated a guy, much less done anything with one. But, there's just this feeling. You know these things, especially at this age when it's less cooties and being dumb kids with two second school yard flings. Awesome, yeah? It's whatever, really.

Honestly, I think I'd rather just wait. Sex doesn't necessarily appeal to me beyond "moments", so to speak. And romance at this age? Please, teenagers just like fucking and making out. There's nothing special about high school romance. I use that word loosely when talking about other kids my age.

I go to therapy. It's nothing serious, really, it's just... I don't know.

My ma, we had this old calico and well, we thought she couldn't get pregnant. We'd gotten her from a neighbor and they said she was around ten or so. Figured we didn't need to get her spade because she never left our house. Don't know why they didn't spade her. Not the case. We found her nursing a litter of eight kittens under our porch. I'm just stating facts when I say we couldn't take care of them. Money constraints barred us from being able to feed nine entire cats for years down the road.

We ended up giving them to my gran and gramps because they had the room, and we just needed to keep them someplace safe. After a week or so, we could go and sell them all, yeah? Maybe they'd keep a few.

Ma told me gramps had issues. He loved too much and too hard sometimes. Apparently they'd had to sell the kittens or something. Some kind of bullshit. I cried for a good week and we didn't so much as mention my grandparents for a month or so. Something wicked fishy about that, now that I think about it.

Of course, that's not why I go to therapy, but I suspect something of it. It lead to a moment where I'd witnessed my grandpa 'loving too hard,' on an animal as my ma said. I don't like talking about that. Suffice to say, ma's glad gramps is dead. She doesn't talking about him, but my therapist sure does like bringing him up.

Loving too hard isn't a euphemism for sex, just by the way. I mean, I hated my gramps, so I wouldn't put it past him to practice bestiality, but that's not it. He just has a great track record of abusing animals.

If I had the ability to rewind everything, I'd find a way to get my dad to stay. I know my ma's lost without some kind of guidance. I know that guidance had been my father. She doesn't talk about him, but when she does I can see the longing in her eyes. Either she doesn't want to relive the memories because they hurt or she doesn't want me knowing why he left. I suspect both.

Either way, I'd find a reason to make him stay. I don't know what that is; a kid sure as hell wasn't enough. Neither was the supposed love of his life. But, I'd find a way. I just want ma to be happy again.

Perhaps something that will notify the reader of what you're looking for, exactly? As in, what's catching your eye the most; what you're wanting to do the most; what idea is at the top of your list. I find, even if things are pretty, if it's not immediately catching my attention, I skip everything to find out what you're interested in doing and if it aligns with what I'm interested in. And then I read the rules and if they're off putting, unnecessary, or tedious then I simply see myself out.

Saying this, you might want to cut down on your expectations. Simpler is better, especially when you're talking about rules in writing with other people. I find, the longer the list is, the less I want to deal with the person even if I know for a fact that I won't break any of their rules. If your expectation is higher than my will to care about whether or not my writing is going to offend you (and I'm talking about how I write and at what level I write, rather than what I'm writing), then I'm just gonna hop on out.

Partner Expectations

I want my partner to be at the age of sixteen and over, because younger partners aren't my favorite kind of partner.
I want my partner to talk to them about random stuff, because It'll only bring us closer.
I want my partner to be a high-casual and an advanced writer.
I want my partner to have grammar, that's readable enough. As you can tell, I don't have the best grammar; but, I am trying to improve that.
I want my partner to post at least two or more paragraphs.
I want my partner to post often. Doesn't have to be everyday, but posting once in a week is good enough.
I want my partner to help me with plotting and coming up with ideas.
I want my partner to be looking for an actual plot, development and storyline(s) in our 1x1 rather than romance. We can still have that, but it won't be the main focus of our roleplays.
I want my partner to understand why I don't do OC/FC x canon character.
I want my partner to also understand that I have life.
The Specter

This can easily be condensed into this (i put my own notes it in, but if you take them out, then it's a lot shorter than the original):

Partner Expectations

I want my partner to be at the age of sixteen and over. (you can do without the filler, but that's up to you)
I want my partner to be a high-casual and an advanced writer. (if you have this, then you don't need to explain that you're also looking for decent grammar and 2+ paragraphs. high-casual+ players are usually consistent in these regards)
I want my partner to understand that we both have lives and that a post a week is fine. But, I'd love some OOC chatter in between, too! (try to make sure you're talking about the both of you; it's good to use the pronoun we instead of I or you when regarding something as specific as "I have a life." We all do. also, since you're already talking about posts in multiple bullet points, it's easier to just condense it)
I want my partner to help me with plotting and coming up with ideas without having the main focus be romance. (if you've already made the point that you're looking for something plot intensive, but not focused on romance, you can just throw it into this sentence without taking up another space, ez pz)
I want my partner to understand that I don't do OC/FC x canon character. (I'm just clarifying this because you don't give an explanation as to why you don't do OC/Canon anywhere in your post)


You can change it up as much as you want, but it's best if you keep the rule's list short and sweet. The longer it is, the more likely people are just not going to bother. The moment that I see that the rules are longer than your introduction or your list of genres/fandoms, then that gives me the impression that you care more about control than actually roleplaying. (Your rules/expectations is actually as long as your genre list, not by bullet points but the number of lines)

As well, leave a paragraph at the end of your introduction telling people how to contact you, whether that be in your thread or through PMs. Or, if you like RPing on Skype or discussing/plotting on Discord, put in that info there, too.

Also, to touch up on "most interested in" ideas, giving a clear symbol on what you're most interested in doing and what's your FotM (flavor of the month) would help reel some more interest in. I think when people can see that you're potentially excited for something they're also looking for, specifically, then you're more likely to garner that interest. It's a hit and miss kind of thing, though. I know, when I go through 1x1s, I'm either wanting someone to catch my interest or, more likely, I've got a specific idea I want in mind, but it's either only one or a few things that aren't numerous enough to warrant their own thread.

An example would be:

Number of Asterisks* = Interest

Genre/Pairings
Knight/Prince*****
Mafioso/Cop**
Assassin/Target*
Soldier/Civilian*******


Just a rough thing, but something like that maybe? I see it often and it helps me pinpoint whether or not I should throw them a PM because the one they're most interested in happens to be the one I'm looking for. Or perhaps the one I'm looking for isn't bolded or italicized or marked in anyway, so either I bookmark/subscribe the page and come back later or throw them a PM notifying them that if they ever want to come up with an idea, have an idea down the road, or find their muse for this particular idea that I'm free and willing.

Anyways, that's all I can give you there.

People like eye candy, short and simplistic, and things that are easy to read and have enough visual clues that they aren't overwhelmed, but rather are guided through your interest check nice and easy. Bitches love K.I.S.S.

(but all of this might also be hogwash, who knows. i know i like looking at 1x1s rather than actually making them. so *shrug* this is mostly from that perspective: your audience)

HalfOfLancelot Member

What's worse: being heartbroke or roachbit?

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