Hi there.
This will be, I hope, the first of many letters I write.
I have finally figured out how to reach back through the barrier between worlds, between universes. It took a lot of learning, and takes a lot of power to type on a keyboard in an entirely different reality from where I am sitting. Sure, I have tools to make it easier, like the harmonic resonator, carefully tuned to my old home, but easier does not mean easy. Mirrors really are windows into other realities, you just have to have the tech, knowledge, and the magic, to use them.
For context, my name used to be Jack Tillden, Jackson Michael Tillden Jr., to be precise.
Jack…. I used that at first. After I fell through, and before I understood what happened, but Jack doesn't exist anymore. I'm mentioning that name here so that, maybe, someone might remember me there, which would let me get back, if I wanted to. It would at least make it easier.
Actually rather funny how little that name means to me anymore.
Thing is, other than as an emergency escape route, I don't have a reason to return, not anymore. I have made my home here, and besides, I did not leave much behind. Dad died when I was a kid, mom was in a ward after that, and while Aunt Jan raised me, she passed several years before it happened.
It is kinda funny that AJ warned me to be careful when I said I wanted to be an author. Told me I don't know how many times to not push to hard, or I could get trapped in the story. It seems she knew, and I have wondered why, or how she knew. Maybe I can some day figure out how to do this across time as well, it is just one more dimensional variable after all, but I would need to know the temporal differential between here and there. This letter is as much a proof of concept as anything, so figuring out how to adjust along the time variable is something for another time.
So what happened? What am I yammering on about? I suppose I should explain what happened. My name now is Scribe, and I have been that for several decades now, here in my new home.
I have learned, the hard way, that authors are a special kind of psychic mystic. They have a link to an alternative reality, or a few, and are, for lack of a better term, stenographers for said reality. Different authors hook into different parts, and some get wider views than others, and that wider view is a function of how strong you are.
You can view it like having a window in your mind, and I had a big window. My window was so vast, I needed slide walks and a lift to get to it all. As a writer, you look through your window and watch like some weird voyeur, writing what you see and experience. It is far more immersive than a simple movie, and the metaphor of watching through a window is just that, it is just the best one I have come up with.
As you watch, and you go through the process of writing, you will find yourself inside the head of someone who becomes a character in your writing, feeling their emotions, their physical and emotional pain, hearing their thoughts. It is a very intimate thing, getting to know these people so intimately, more so than even a lover.
If you get good at it, powerful enough, you can change or direct the events you see. Directing is easier, changing is harder, but both are actually rather dangerous. You are working at; you are applying your power to not just observe, but actually change the history of another reality, to alter it and enforce your will on it. Sometimes that's not a big deal, the players in question, inconsequential outside your story; other times you are shaping events, or rather, reshaping events, that go well beyond what you are trying to do. That is when that reality, and other authors effected by the changes you are trying to make, will fight against your changes.
That is what happened to me. Only, rather than having my connection to that reality collapse as I have now learned is usually the case. Essentially losing my muse and my ability to see the universe I had a connection to. I pushed harder than the reality I was connected to, and all those other Authors who have connections to that reality could withstand. I pushed harder than my window could withstand, and I did not just break it, I shattered it completely.
As I now understand what happened, as I pushed at that reality, forcing it and the events playing out to conform to my ideas, to my will. I ended up shredding the veil between worlds. This created a hole in my own universe into which I fell. I fell deep into the void between dimensions, into the chaos between realities, and finally emerged in a new world, a reality untouched by any author.
Well…. This has taken more out of me than I expected, and a lot quicker than my calculations suggested it would. Though, I suppose that, as it is my first successful attempt to reach back through, this isn't too shabby.
Before I do this again, I will need to plan what I am going to say to give myself more time. As I am just about out of power, and the resonator is approaching the red line, I need to give myself enough time to send this on its way. So I will sign off for now.
Until next time. To all the writers out there. Be careful what you try and change in your worlds, for the repercussions can range far beyond what you realize.
Remember, even if your view is of only a single city, it is part of a wider universe, and the changes you make can have far reaching repercussions. So consider, before you meddle in the lives of your characters. Sometimes it is just better to let events play out as they will, without interference.
Write well
-- Scribe