There are very few things in life I would consider I regret.

Perhaps I am stealing from Jordan Peterson a bit when I say I would like to live a life without regret. I do not think, much, about spending money. I do not look back on my past with forlorn thought or resentment of failed opportunities. It is a lifestyle that has given me immense happiness where I was once torn down by fear and resentment, not by others but by myself.

This all started back in one shitty fall of 2017 as I laid on a deflating air mattress in the office of my dad and stepmom's apartment. For ages, I had considered Vore taboo and destructive, to myself and my future. As I laid there in the frigid Toronto cold, because I indeed was that fucking retarded to leave the window open, I grabbed a shitty ACER Chromebook I got for my first year of university and started writing.

Within three days I had 15,000 words written and I loved it. It was an explosion of creativity I had never felt before. Maybe if I had mentioned any of this to any other writer they could tell me what exactly it was I was feeling, but I did not. For the next year I wrote freely, and it turned out to be as destructive as I feared. Nearly failed out of University and the writing I had produced, the stuff in my Old Stuff I Don't Like folder, was not quality work. Cumforting Places took the unruly brunt of this, and it suffered.

Cumforting Places stands, to me, as my epitaph of the "good failure". There are other, greater examples out there today (Disney Star Wars or Iron Man 3. Yes, they are shit. Fight me) of such things, but this is mine. Its structure is poor, its throughline makes no sense. Its plot is backward and underdeveloped, and though it might be horny fun it's a pain to read when you actually sit down with it.

I am not happy with the state of writing that many consider acceptable. I've had many inspirations; many of them I had the privilege of meeting on Ink and Quill (you know who you are), but the vore community is full of sub-par work. I feel shame to have added to it.

This story is Discontinued, but I still hold my claim over it. If I did not, I would be denying my own failures. Only cowards hide from criticism.

So this is the full brunt of my failure. I accept its worth as an example of what not to do, and encourage others, not just myself, to look at it and pick out the good from the garbage. See it for what it could be, don't accept its current state.

Never live a life full of regret, but living a life of 'good enough' is just as bad. Strive; for no one else will do it for you.




P.S. The ending word count is 200,432 words. The average paperback novel is 40,000. If anyone gives you a 1000 word piece and tells you "this is the best I could do", they are fucking liars.

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