Note: This is really just a self-evaluating essay. I find it easier to critique myself if someone else does it for me, so...
Summary: An in-depth look at Nate, from the eyes of his first Muse, Yugi.
Disclaimer: Both poems were written, typed, and thought up by _Nate, the Not-So-Great_.
Beyond Subreality: The Many Mysterious Lives of Nate
By Yugi
I don't usually do this. Ever.
Generally, my Writer's personal life is his own, and as one of his Muses, it's part of my job to keep it that way. We don't talk about Nate to anyone. Not the real Nate, anyway.
But that's because there IS no real Nate.
The REAL Nate was killed off by Marvel months ago (darn them all to heck and back).
You'd think my Writer would at least change his online handle because of that.
You'd be wrong.
The real Nate's death only seemed to cement my Writer's role as a permanent X-Man fanboy. I guess I can't really blame him. How could he not identify with Nate? Outcast from another world, alone, uncertain of his purpose, unsure who-if anyone-he could trust. That's practically his whole life...minus the cool powers, daily battles to the death, and run-ins with the X-Men, of course.
But my Writer isn't one of those types who takes his daily frustrations out on his fictives. He doesn't punish Nate in his stories, at least not that much. Instead, he hooks Nate up with cute mutant chicks (Threnody & Jubilee to name a few), cute anime alien chicks (Sasami & myself), and cute would-be goddesses (Death & Desire). Sometimes I think the real Nate would've been more fortunate if my Writer had created him. At least then he'd still be alive. Why die for a noble cause when there's adoring, attractive, attentive women all around you?
And so what if my Writer wants to live vicariously through a fictive? What if he doesn't mind seeing his high hopes and dreamy fantasies trapped behind the glowing screen? For the price of one or two headaches a month, it's a pretty sweet deal.
Sort of.
Nate pretty much stayed anywhere from 18 to 21 during his short-lived run. But my Writer's getting older, enduring his second year at college. And you'd think he might lose interest in Nate and comics and anime, or Writing, or maybe even me, his adoring little Muse and number one cheerleader.
But he hasn't. And it worries me.
As much as I enjoy and envy my Writer's devotion to Writing and his Muses and his fictives, his loyalty to Subreality is almost scary at times. I can think of countless projects and essays and research papers he's put off just to entertain readers with humorous tales of me and D's (and now Gamer and Deemon's, too) wacky misadventures. And it's not that we don't appreciate how much time he gives us.
But his "me time" has now become "us time", and I'm worried that my Writer will feel he doesn't exist without us.
Here's how it's supposed to work. Writers are frustrated enough with daily human life. So they let out their frustrations and other experiences by Writing about them. Eventually, they discover Subreality, thinking of it as a place to hide from the harsh reality of where they really live. But the thing is, they all have to go back to reality sometimes. Of course, they can always return to Subreality, but they can't stay. Not forever. Therein lies the problem.
My Writer's situation is...different.
He almost never leaves Subreality. And I really mean that.
You might think, "But wait, he's in college now. He has to go to classes."
Wrong again.
Physically, he shows up for class every day (usually). Mentally, he's millions of miles away, hiding in Nate's Place or the Sake Bar or D's invisible house or The Dreaming. And his grades reflect that, as you might have guessed. So far, he's only failed one class. This semester, it might be two or three. Next, it might be five or six.
I can't really blame him. Subreality is a very appealing place. It's the one place where you can be anyone but whom you were born to be. And so my Writer jumps at the chance to escape his natural role, to be free. Nate has it easy. Darryl, in sharp contrast, does not.
The solutions are just so much easier here.
Darryl can't find a date. Ever.
Nate is surrounded at all times by two young, female, adorable Muses (and now one adorable girl virus that forever smells of sugar cookies).
Darryl loves to write, but not about the various types of criticism (some so ancient they aren't even used anymore) or the culture of a forgotten Bushmen tribe in Africa.
Nate loves to Write and does so with little or no inhibitions. He doesn't write boring essays, he Writes entertaining stories and fanfics and poems that people actually do seem to enjoy reading.
As his Muse, I know I should sit him down and talk to him. Explain to him why he can't keep living this way, or one day he won't really be living at all.
Except that he loves me the way a father would his child, or maybe an older brother would his baby sister. And evil as I once was, I can't figure out a way to tell him without breaking both our hearts. So I keep quiet and let the good times roll, for as long as they last. We're a family in every way that matters to my Writer, and that's what's important.
He only wants what's best for us all. He's given me a sister, a sweet-smelling cousin, and now a boyfriend. How can I make him realize he hasn't done anything for himself the whole time?
And I used to think that because of his social anxiety, he'd never meet a girl. I mean, never. But now he's met another Writer who seems to get along with him pretty well. Of course, they're just friends, and that's probably all they'll ever be, knowing him. She adores us and is always asking for advice, since she's got a whole gang of destructive Muses who like to cause trouble, along with a monster of a dog who acts more like a giant puppy. And so grows our loving family, I suppose. It's nice, seeing him interact with someone who deals with the same issues that he does.
You might wonder why he never gets tired of being (or pretending to be) Nate Grey. One word: (and Madonna's personal mantra) reinvention.
The Many Mysterious Lives of Nate, indeed.
The original Nate Grey, of course. Marvel-born, Marvel-killed (and strangely enough, NOT Marvel-reborn).
And then the fictive Nate Grey, commonly used, never abused, always amused (or amusing).
From there, it just gets...interesting.
Natey Grey (younger adopted cousin of the fictive), the X-Kid, leader of a darling little collective known as the Cute Troop. Along with Jacko/Darkie (Darkness, but shorter), Sara/Witchie-Poo (Witchblade, but cuter), Lori/Crib Raider (Angie Jolie, eat your heart out), Wink (Blink, but quieter), and Penny (Penance, but...smaller?). They were absolutely adorable while they lasted. From Sara's huge crush on Natey to Jacko's frequent denial of Lori's feelings for him (and vice versa). And don't even get me started on Big Head (Magneto, pint-sized and big mouthed) and the Babyhood of Bed-Wetters. But as I said, that was then.
Next up was another Natey, only this one was befriended by Delirium of all people (or maybe it should be things?). And he grew up to be such a nice fellow...if you could call waking up with four of The Endless in your apartment nice.
There were countless others.
Nate 'Hitman' Hart, pro wrestler. No relation at all to Bret Hart, my Writer's one-time idol and fave WWF superstar of all time. But the resemblance was uncanny, and I ain't talking X-Men, either.
Natey the Pooh. Yes, you heard right. Pooh. As in chubby (though I hear husky is the polite term now), lovable Pooh Bear. Thankfully, it wasn't really my Writer's idea, but let's just say he has weird taste in pals and leave it at that. Although the theme song was so cute you couldn't help but sing along. "Funky lil' telepath, all stuffed with power!" Ahem. I think that's how it went...
_Nate, the Not-So-Great_ is his current hang-up. Humble, but negative, too.
The list goes on, and I wasn't exactly around for all of it. I only know what he has enough guts to show me. From all that, and what I know now, I've decided he has a wonderful mind. In Subreality, anyway. Elsewhere...hard to say.
But whenever he leaves to go back to reality, we're right here, silently cheering him on and hoping he'll come home no worse than when he left us. Sometimes we get our wish, sometimes we don't. Either way, he's almost always happy to see us, and if we were in his shoes, I bet we would be, too.
If I had one wish, I think it would be to make him a permanent in Subreality. I know he hates to work, but I bet he'd take a job in the Writer's Café in a heartbeat. And he wouldn't have to hide behind his Nate Grey avatar...because he would BE Nate Grey, for the first time in his life. He would be happy, and I would be happy, knowing my Writer's fondest wish had come true.
But for all my power as a Muse, I can't fix his life. I can only help him on this side. I fear for him each time he returns to reality, because I know each time, he's leaving more and more of his soul here, in Subreality. And I just wonder how much of it he'll have to leave before someone or something finally grants that one wish for him, for all of us.
He's probably the only person that wants a third option in the afterlife. He doesn't want heaven, or even hell. He wants Subreality. God knows I can't give it to him, but I'll do my best each and every day of our lives. I have to. Because he does the very same thing for me and the others, each and every day of his life...what's left of it, anyway.
In our earlier nights, I once found him hard at work, bent over his desk. It wasn't a story, but a poem. He told me it was about a girl in his class he liked, but the more I read it, the more it sounded like me.
The Lady
The Lady of love
Dances through my mind
Twisting my memories
With her hypnotic wind
The Lady of love
Knows my power
Gently torturing me
Hour after hour
The Lady of love
Embraces my pain
And in her own way
Helps me maintain
The Lady of love
Kisses my tears
Holds me close
Shares my fears
The Lady of love
Is but a dream
Created out of longing
Of a boy who can't seem
To get a wish
Or a fantasy
Maybe soon
It'll come to me
The Lady of love
Lives before my eyes
Smiles brightly at me
Catches my surprise
The Lady of love
Her intoxicating dance
The highest peak
Of our romance
The Lady of love
A lovely friend
My only one
Until the end.
This next one is the only poem Nate ever wrote about writing/typing, back before he joined Subreality.
My Art, My Life
Tainted fantasies, locked in my head
Dreamy memories, dreamt in my bed
Released through my pen, ever at my side
I trust no one, from the world I hide
Hidden desires, power in my hands
Curled around my soul, like linked bands
Fond wishes, trapped behind the screen
Where they are displayed, only my eyes have seen
A writer's joy, his masterpiece glows
My heart is true, Lord alone knows
Why I'm alone, why I can't stand
Why I can't bear to give my hand
To the lady in question, loved so dear
Still, I can't face her, even when she's near
Who can explain to me, who could know?
Who could take my life and turned it into a show?
Not I, for one, I've never won
Can't bear losing what's already gone
Misery clouds the vision, heart heals with time
Just wish my only release wasn't through the rhyme.
Good luck out there, Nate. Come home soon.
Love always,
Yugi.
Summary: An in-depth look at Nate, from the eyes of his first Muse, Yugi.
Disclaimer: Both poems were written, typed, and thought up by _Nate, the Not-So-Great_.
Beyond Subreality: The Many Mysterious Lives of Nate
By Yugi
I don't usually do this. Ever.
Generally, my Writer's personal life is his own, and as one of his Muses, it's part of my job to keep it that way. We don't talk about Nate to anyone. Not the real Nate, anyway.
But that's because there IS no real Nate.
The REAL Nate was killed off by Marvel months ago (darn them all to heck and back).
You'd think my Writer would at least change his online handle because of that.
You'd be wrong.
The real Nate's death only seemed to cement my Writer's role as a permanent X-Man fanboy. I guess I can't really blame him. How could he not identify with Nate? Outcast from another world, alone, uncertain of his purpose, unsure who-if anyone-he could trust. That's practically his whole life...minus the cool powers, daily battles to the death, and run-ins with the X-Men, of course.
But my Writer isn't one of those types who takes his daily frustrations out on his fictives. He doesn't punish Nate in his stories, at least not that much. Instead, he hooks Nate up with cute mutant chicks (Threnody & Jubilee to name a few), cute anime alien chicks (Sasami & myself), and cute would-be goddesses (Death & Desire). Sometimes I think the real Nate would've been more fortunate if my Writer had created him. At least then he'd still be alive. Why die for a noble cause when there's adoring, attractive, attentive women all around you?
And so what if my Writer wants to live vicariously through a fictive? What if he doesn't mind seeing his high hopes and dreamy fantasies trapped behind the glowing screen? For the price of one or two headaches a month, it's a pretty sweet deal.
Sort of.
Nate pretty much stayed anywhere from 18 to 21 during his short-lived run. But my Writer's getting older, enduring his second year at college. And you'd think he might lose interest in Nate and comics and anime, or Writing, or maybe even me, his adoring little Muse and number one cheerleader.
But he hasn't. And it worries me.
As much as I enjoy and envy my Writer's devotion to Writing and his Muses and his fictives, his loyalty to Subreality is almost scary at times. I can think of countless projects and essays and research papers he's put off just to entertain readers with humorous tales of me and D's (and now Gamer and Deemon's, too) wacky misadventures. And it's not that we don't appreciate how much time he gives us.
But his "me time" has now become "us time", and I'm worried that my Writer will feel he doesn't exist without us.
Here's how it's supposed to work. Writers are frustrated enough with daily human life. So they let out their frustrations and other experiences by Writing about them. Eventually, they discover Subreality, thinking of it as a place to hide from the harsh reality of where they really live. But the thing is, they all have to go back to reality sometimes. Of course, they can always return to Subreality, but they can't stay. Not forever. Therein lies the problem.
My Writer's situation is...different.
He almost never leaves Subreality. And I really mean that.
You might think, "But wait, he's in college now. He has to go to classes."
Wrong again.
Physically, he shows up for class every day (usually). Mentally, he's millions of miles away, hiding in Nate's Place or the Sake Bar or D's invisible house or The Dreaming. And his grades reflect that, as you might have guessed. So far, he's only failed one class. This semester, it might be two or three. Next, it might be five or six.
I can't really blame him. Subreality is a very appealing place. It's the one place where you can be anyone but whom you were born to be. And so my Writer jumps at the chance to escape his natural role, to be free. Nate has it easy. Darryl, in sharp contrast, does not.
The solutions are just so much easier here.
Darryl can't find a date. Ever.
Nate is surrounded at all times by two young, female, adorable Muses (and now one adorable girl virus that forever smells of sugar cookies).
Darryl loves to write, but not about the various types of criticism (some so ancient they aren't even used anymore) or the culture of a forgotten Bushmen tribe in Africa.
Nate loves to Write and does so with little or no inhibitions. He doesn't write boring essays, he Writes entertaining stories and fanfics and poems that people actually do seem to enjoy reading.
As his Muse, I know I should sit him down and talk to him. Explain to him why he can't keep living this way, or one day he won't really be living at all.
Except that he loves me the way a father would his child, or maybe an older brother would his baby sister. And evil as I once was, I can't figure out a way to tell him without breaking both our hearts. So I keep quiet and let the good times roll, for as long as they last. We're a family in every way that matters to my Writer, and that's what's important.
He only wants what's best for us all. He's given me a sister, a sweet-smelling cousin, and now a boyfriend. How can I make him realize he hasn't done anything for himself the whole time?
And I used to think that because of his social anxiety, he'd never meet a girl. I mean, never. But now he's met another Writer who seems to get along with him pretty well. Of course, they're just friends, and that's probably all they'll ever be, knowing him. She adores us and is always asking for advice, since she's got a whole gang of destructive Muses who like to cause trouble, along with a monster of a dog who acts more like a giant puppy. And so grows our loving family, I suppose. It's nice, seeing him interact with someone who deals with the same issues that he does.
You might wonder why he never gets tired of being (or pretending to be) Nate Grey. One word: (and Madonna's personal mantra) reinvention.
The Many Mysterious Lives of Nate, indeed.
The original Nate Grey, of course. Marvel-born, Marvel-killed (and strangely enough, NOT Marvel-reborn).
And then the fictive Nate Grey, commonly used, never abused, always amused (or amusing).
From there, it just gets...interesting.
Natey Grey (younger adopted cousin of the fictive), the X-Kid, leader of a darling little collective known as the Cute Troop. Along with Jacko/Darkie (Darkness, but shorter), Sara/Witchie-Poo (Witchblade, but cuter), Lori/Crib Raider (Angie Jolie, eat your heart out), Wink (Blink, but quieter), and Penny (Penance, but...smaller?). They were absolutely adorable while they lasted. From Sara's huge crush on Natey to Jacko's frequent denial of Lori's feelings for him (and vice versa). And don't even get me started on Big Head (Magneto, pint-sized and big mouthed) and the Babyhood of Bed-Wetters. But as I said, that was then.
Next up was another Natey, only this one was befriended by Delirium of all people (or maybe it should be things?). And he grew up to be such a nice fellow...if you could call waking up with four of The Endless in your apartment nice.
There were countless others.
Nate 'Hitman' Hart, pro wrestler. No relation at all to Bret Hart, my Writer's one-time idol and fave WWF superstar of all time. But the resemblance was uncanny, and I ain't talking X-Men, either.
Natey the Pooh. Yes, you heard right. Pooh. As in chubby (though I hear husky is the polite term now), lovable Pooh Bear. Thankfully, it wasn't really my Writer's idea, but let's just say he has weird taste in pals and leave it at that. Although the theme song was so cute you couldn't help but sing along. "Funky lil' telepath, all stuffed with power!" Ahem. I think that's how it went...
_Nate, the Not-So-Great_ is his current hang-up. Humble, but negative, too.
The list goes on, and I wasn't exactly around for all of it. I only know what he has enough guts to show me. From all that, and what I know now, I've decided he has a wonderful mind. In Subreality, anyway. Elsewhere...hard to say.
But whenever he leaves to go back to reality, we're right here, silently cheering him on and hoping he'll come home no worse than when he left us. Sometimes we get our wish, sometimes we don't. Either way, he's almost always happy to see us, and if we were in his shoes, I bet we would be, too.
If I had one wish, I think it would be to make him a permanent in Subreality. I know he hates to work, but I bet he'd take a job in the Writer's Café in a heartbeat. And he wouldn't have to hide behind his Nate Grey avatar...because he would BE Nate Grey, for the first time in his life. He would be happy, and I would be happy, knowing my Writer's fondest wish had come true.
But for all my power as a Muse, I can't fix his life. I can only help him on this side. I fear for him each time he returns to reality, because I know each time, he's leaving more and more of his soul here, in Subreality. And I just wonder how much of it he'll have to leave before someone or something finally grants that one wish for him, for all of us.
He's probably the only person that wants a third option in the afterlife. He doesn't want heaven, or even hell. He wants Subreality. God knows I can't give it to him, but I'll do my best each and every day of our lives. I have to. Because he does the very same thing for me and the others, each and every day of his life...what's left of it, anyway.
In our earlier nights, I once found him hard at work, bent over his desk. It wasn't a story, but a poem. He told me it was about a girl in his class he liked, but the more I read it, the more it sounded like me.
The Lady
The Lady of love
Dances through my mind
Twisting my memories
With her hypnotic wind
The Lady of love
Knows my power
Gently torturing me
Hour after hour
The Lady of love
Embraces my pain
And in her own way
Helps me maintain
The Lady of love
Kisses my tears
Holds me close
Shares my fears
The Lady of love
Is but a dream
Created out of longing
Of a boy who can't seem
To get a wish
Or a fantasy
Maybe soon
It'll come to me
The Lady of love
Lives before my eyes
Smiles brightly at me
Catches my surprise
The Lady of love
Her intoxicating dance
The highest peak
Of our romance
The Lady of love
A lovely friend
My only one
Until the end.
This next one is the only poem Nate ever wrote about writing/typing, back before he joined Subreality.
My Art, My Life
Tainted fantasies, locked in my head
Dreamy memories, dreamt in my bed
Released through my pen, ever at my side
I trust no one, from the world I hide
Hidden desires, power in my hands
Curled around my soul, like linked bands
Fond wishes, trapped behind the screen
Where they are displayed, only my eyes have seen
A writer's joy, his masterpiece glows
My heart is true, Lord alone knows
Why I'm alone, why I can't stand
Why I can't bear to give my hand
To the lady in question, loved so dear
Still, I can't face her, even when she's near
Who can explain to me, who could know?
Who could take my life and turned it into a show?
Not I, for one, I've never won
Can't bear losing what's already gone
Misery clouds the vision, heart heals with time
Just wish my only release wasn't through the rhyme.
Good luck out there, Nate. Come home soon.
Love always,
Yugi.
