A Guy Jumps Into an Abyss
I’m writing my first fantasy novel. It’s titled The Precipice.
The premise for the story came to me around the middle of last summer:
There’s a giant abyss—one too deep for eyes to see to the bottom.
Those who are daring enough to leap into the abyss return with supernatural abilities. But there’s a catch: they return with no memory of how they got their abilities in the first place.
Built around this abyss is a city called Lumina. The governing body of Lumina honors an uncompromising coming-of-age ritual: starting from age 18, any willing young adults can pass a rite of initiation by leaping into the abyss, thereby empowering them to freely travel outside the city boundaries and face any and all threats the rest of the world may pose to them. Those who choose not to jump are forever relegated to life inside the city.
The protagonist of this story is a young man named Asher. Despite his continuous efforts, he hasn’t mustered the courage necessary to take the leap. Many of his closest friends passed the ritual and left Lumina right as they turned 18; Asher is now 22. He’s intelligent and determined, yet gripped by anxiety and burning with frustration. If he could only take the leap, then he would prove how courageous, worthy, and important he truly is.
But when Asher finally does leap, he reveals tragic, age-old secrets at the bottom of the abyss that recontextualize the entire history of his people, as well as the abilities they’ve grown to celebrate and rely on.
There’s much more to this, and I plan to share more about my story and process as I write my first draft, but an author must keep some elements of surprise!
Where’s the fun in disclosing everything at once?
For now, I’ll simply share a little about the context behind my story and the themes I want to explore.
I was only a month removed from life at my old home at the time I hatched this logline—or rather, the foggy idea that since became this logline. I was getting accustomed to life in my first apartment, as well as the responsibilities of my full-time internship. And, because of his drinking, I’d effectively severed all contact with my dad—with exceptions for true family emergencies.
To be honest, though I seemed to be doing well on the surface, I was afraid. This was my first time living without my family; I’d lived in a dorm for a single semester during my freshman year before transferring home, but I’d shared the room with one of my best friends from high school, so I count this as an exception. Until I started to integrate myself with my new housemates, I felt isolated, exhausted, and fearful of the morbid possibilites of my dad’s health, because I was no longer able to confirm his well-being with my own eyes.
Despite this, I clung adamantly to one goal: get better—whatever it takes.
Moving out was my first real opportunity to truly separate from the insanity I’d been living for the prior year. I focused on touching solid ground again, restoring my shattered mental and emotional health. I spent many mornings and afternoons reading, listening to therapy podcasts, and doing rigorous journaling to reflect on myself and everything that’d happened in my life. I started asking myself the big questions: who am I, and what do I want? Not the hollow, adaptive values I once held to suit the changing interests of those around me, or the things I said I wanted just to be well-liked, but the values I would unyieldingly fight for, and the mission I would carry out for the rest of my life henceforth because I wanted to accomplish it.
Once I understood these answers, I started taking small, measured actions daily to align myself with this new vision.
This is where my idea came from.
See, it’s all too common for us to compare—to measure our growth and worth in life based on flashy, momentous milestones, and how quickly we achieve these milestones relative to our peers: graduation, a first job, a new car, marriage, a first house, starting a family, etc.
Or, in Asher’s case, hurling himself into a giant, terrifying pit to get cool powers; I need to make it fantastical and exciting somehow.
But, no. I want to tell a different story.
I want to tell a story about a young man who comes to understand the big leaps in his life pale in comparison to those seemingly insignificant leaps he takes within himself daily.
I want to celebrate the heroes who are quietly trying to improve themselves and their situations—the ones who haven’t given up hope on healing and changing despite everything they’ve suffered. My story is for those who are struggling silently to deny themselves their tired old habits and find better ways of living. It’s for those who are consciously and courageously allowing their egos to be shattered in pursuit of their wildest dreams. And to those fighting to integrate themselves again after a long bout of isolation and self-reflection—I see you too.
Because—sometimes—the small leaps are the scariest.
But they’re worth it, my friends. Don’t give up on the story of you; I won’t give up on this story either.
Until next time.
