Hello, my one and only reader! I had no idea of a preface, and, as you know, this is the second, or maybe the third, version of my story I'm showing you here. For the rest of the world, it must be just one version, and I hope it's this one. In any case, right now, this book is a dream, a dream we share as writing brothers, and you are the only one who understands how I feel now. So why not take advantage of this Preface to talk about my motivation for writing Musiba this way?
I think you know this, but Jojo is not the protagonist of Musiba. It's a bit strange to give so much of yourself to a character who won't be the main focus of the story, isn't it? I created Jojo, like most of my characters, based on a real person I know, someone I saw, and still see, as a little brother. Of course, the real "Jojo" didn't go through all the thing that the one in my story did – thank God. But I liked making this character; I think it took me roughly a year to refine his psyche and symbolism in my head, to such an extent that he's now an indispensable element for me, like a pillar that supports my inspiration in the story. But that still doesn't answer the question: why did I start with Jojo? Well… Jojo… was born out of a personal defeat.
Once again, I'm telling you things you already know, I'm sorry, but try to follow me in my ramblings a little longer; this isn't your first time doing this, so at this point it shouldn't even bother you ha-ha… Anyways, you already know that Musiba's story was originally meant to be in drawing form, coming from a manga enthusiast like me – once again, you understand me. But, and this is my biggest setback, I couldn't do it for obvious reasons. First was my drawing skills, and frankly… I don't even have a word to describe it. I'd draw, and when I look at the result, I'd be disgusted. Really, you can't imagine the despair I felt – and still feel from time to time. Leading to the second reason: I gave up. The truth is, Jojo's story was meant to come after the manga version was born, as an OAV in light novel form, both to have a bit of a break from drawing and to indulge my passion for writing. Books and manga are two parallel universes that have consoled me in my hours of deep solitude, so I wanted to pay a tribute to both of them with a dedicated work, one that I would shape between drawing and writing. But seeing my repeated failures, I just decided to run away from it and concentrate solely on the writing part.
And it was out of this frustration that the Ego saga was born. Frustration that led to despair that is, perhaps, the reason why I lack, even today, the motivation to finish my story. Because, after all, what guarantee do I have that this story will appeal, that it won't be a monumental failure? What's telling me that I'll make it to the end? What's telling me… that I won't lose again?
My relationship with failure is... in my view, a one-sided love. I hate losing, you know that very well—you even joked about it the other day. Whatever I do, whatever I want to do, I always feel like I'm failing. Of course, I wouldn't say it happens randomly—most of the time, it's my actions that lead to it—but simply put, if there were a one-in-a-million chance for something crazy to happen, I think my odds would be one in ten. Of course, that's just my chronic pessimism talking, but still. I lose without trying, I lose while trying, and even when I give up—I lose. I feel like I've achieved so little in life...
Wow, now that I am reading myself, I'm noticing that this is an oddly depressing preface, sorry about that. But I think it's a key of comprehension, of why Jojo's story will be that way too. Because, maybe to instinctively take revenge about a life full of defeats, I made it a story about victory and pride. And, because I do hate happy things, I turned out the concept of victory into something depressing…
You know it, my dear brother – and I must have tired you out so GG if you have read this this far – but I love making my characters and my readers suffer, like a great artist named Hajime Isayama. That relationship with pain is my motivation, hurting in the name of art, succeeding on breaking the heart of my readers, it's really a dream for me. Yeah, I'm a psycho, fuck it, but you're not allowed to judge me, we're both mental cases in our own way. And, to be honest, it's really a relief. I feel like my characters share the pain I feel and spread it to the world, making me feel… less heavy, as if a burden being lifted. So, hurting "victory", redefining it this way, helped me ask myself the good question: shouldn't I be glad to lose?
Well, I worded that poorly; I still hate losing, no changes on that regard. But victory and defeat are born from a fight, and a fight is only truly a fight if it has meaning—a reason. What's a fight without that? So, I told myself, to make victory bitter, the fight had to be empty—and for that, stripped of meaning, of deep motivation, of determination. Winning just for the sake of winning—is that truly a victory? Digging deeper into my analysis, I realized I had created something incredible, something that really struck me and became a kind of personal motto. They say "to conquer without risk is to triumph without glory." I'd like to add: "to conquer without reason is to triumph in defeat."
We've gone full philosophical—I'm really sorry you have to read all this.
But with that vision, I felt happy and determined, because looking back, I saw that each of my defeats led me here. I don't know if this is the right path, but after so many losses, can I really give up? Because each one taught me something, each one shaped me in one way or another to get to this point in my life—this point where I'm writing a preface hoping that someone other than you might read it someday. Because it's worth it, right? All that suffering must have a purpose. Otherwise... what do I have to lose anyway? When you're at your lowest, just getting back up is reason enough to be proud. Yes, every step, no matter how small, every sign that you haven't given up becomes the greatest possible victory, pushing us to take one more step forward. That's why I'm so proud today to keep drawing and seeing people—mostly you—say they look good, even if they're far from perfect. That's why I smile every time we talk about what I've written and what you're writing too. Because you and I have suffered way too much to write our stories. We could have given up a thousand times in the process, but we didn't. Really, would you dare quit after all the hundreds of versions and rewrites you had to go through to get here? It must have been hard—you must have felt discouraged more than once—but you persevered, and here we are. You have the right, I have the right—we have the right to be proud of our journey and the duty to try to reach our dreams. What do we truly have to lose? Nothing but time we've used wisely. What do we have to gain? A complete victory that will lead us to the next part of a dreamed path.
My dear reader, dear brother of blood and writing, this preface is the beginning of a victory—or a meaningful defeat. Let's go through this madness together, one step at a time. I think I've tired you out enough—and any potential readers out there must be confused—so here begins the very first part of Musiba, the ego saga.