Hey guys.

This really sucks, but it had to be done. I've been getting a lot of pms lately from you lovely readers asking me if I'm planning on updating Self-Slain Gods any time soon. I really appreciate it. You guys are sweet. It's nice to know that people are still looking forward to additional chapters in this already behemoth story. And I wish I could give you guys some good news and be as excited as you are for a new chapter, but the truth is... I'm not.


I am here to tell you, on the first year anniversary of this story, that Self-Slain Gods on Strange Altars is on temporary hiatus.

If you haven't already guessed.


I'm sorry.

I know, I keep saying shit like 'I promise I'll finish this, this story is my baby!" And I'm gonna keep saying shit like that. So here goes:

I promise I'll finish this, this story is my baby!

And I do mean that. I'm not lying, swear to God.

I WILL finish this story. One day. Just... not any time soon. I mean, you've all read this story, right? It's an emotional fucking roller coaster. It used to be a release for me, but for the past few months it was getting to be less cathartic and more burdensome for me to write. I don't know what happened, but I do know that I can't write for shit if I feel like I'm only writing because I have to. I was depressive enough to begin with, and this story isn't doing any good for my disposition and general outlook on life.

I wish I could give you a definite time for when I'm gonna come back with a new chapter, but I can't. If you wanna stick around, just follow me or the story itself and you'll get an email prompt when I finally grow a pair and get on with this fucking shindig.

I love you guys. You guys are awesome. Do you know how privileged I feel having written for you guys? I mean, here I am, slumped on my fucking ass like the couch demon that I am, translating all that churning, existential anxiety in my gut into something readable, disguising it as an SSHG romance-and to have people tell me that what I wrote was beautiful? That it was worth reading? That I could actually be-gasp!-a writer for a living?

I mean... shit. I'm really touched.

I thought it was just fanfiction, and we're all just crazy die-hard Harry Potter nutcases with no handle on reality. I was so wrong. SO wrong.

This story is me trying to deal with the depression, the stomach-twisting anxiety, the frustrated sexual tension, and the general discombobulation that comes with being a kinda spacey 20-year-old in a world that's just a little too solid, just a little too mundane, and not nearly magical enough.

You all probably know from what I've written-and from the number of times that I've deleted and re-posted this story-that I might be just a little insecure about my writing. Okay, so maybe more than a little. But you'll all be glad to know that I've gotten the urge to delete this several times in the past few months, and I didn't do it. I powered through, guys! I'm making progress! And I'll be back, just as soon as I find out where I left my mojo.


I'm sorry this isn't a real chapter. And I'm sorry if this was more dramatic than it needed to be. Can you tell that I have no life?

Later, Potterheads.