If you were an animal, what kind would you be?

Was that where it started for you? You’d always been interested in animals, but the thought of actually being one was new and interesting. They didn’t have to do all the boring things that you did, after all. They had interesting lives and did silly things, and their fur coats were sleek and shiny.

Maybe your first answer was something frivolous; some “cool” animal you liked for its outward appearance. But over time, you refined your answer. You found a new animal you thought suited you better, or else you found reasons why your first choice was more apt than you’d thought. You started to think less in terms of “I wish I was like that animal” and more in terms of “I am like that animal.” It became a symbol for you, like your own personal mascot … or totem.

Is that why you started collecting things that reminded you of it? Figurines, art books, framed pictures to hang on the wall. DVD documentaries. Plushies that roared when you squeezed them. You read all about your favorite, and imagined yourself trading places with it, if only for a day. And when you went to the zoo or wildlife preserve and saw it with your own eyes, your heart leaped into your throat and stayed there.

Or maybe your favorite, most symbolic animal was also one that you had as a pet. Lucky you!

Applied anthropomorphism

Later on, you remembered some of the old cartoons and things that you liked when you were little. You know the ones … the ones with anthropomorphic, or human-like, animal characters. And you remembered them because they had your animal in them. Some of them were still cheesy, but others stood out, and you read or watched them with new eyes.

Later on you found out there were other people your age who were obsessed with anthropomorphic animal characters. They called themselves “furries,” even if their “fursonas” had feathers or scales. And something about this idea of theirs — animals crossed with human beings — took hold of you, just like your favorite animal did.

Why? You could no more explain it than you could explain why that animal captivated you. But somehow, it brought things much closer to home. The idea that there could be humans who were also animals just seemed magical. It brought the specialness of your animal into your world. And if you closed your eyes you could imagine fur and claws, swishing tail and sharpened senses, the awe of seeing that animal and the thrill of actually being it … and yet being yourself, at the same time.

Being your fursona. Becoming your fursona.

Yes, it can happen

Some people draw pictures of their fursonas. Others have people draw pictures for them. An artist called Millislim drew this picture of my fursona, and I’m grateful to her for it.

Personally, I tell stories. Not stories that describe physical transformation in lurid detail, but stories that explore the feelings involved in becoming your fursona. In realizing you aren’t the person that everyone else says you are … in changing so that you look on the outside the way that you are on the inside.

Maybe your fursona doesn’t have any deep meaning for you. Maybe you just chose it on a whim, or because you thought that animal looked neat. There are stories here for you too; funny stories, and ones that are less about finding yourself and more about dealing with awkward predicaments. The ones I like best, though, are the ones that affect me on a deep level. And they’re what I try to write.

Where to begin?

Click here to read my stories, sorted by species. Maybe your favorite is in there somewhere!

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I hope you enjoy your time here, and I encourage you to put in an application for your own free story! Even if you decide not to though, I hope you find what you’re looking for in the stories that’re already written. Maybe something in one of them will touch your life the way the ones that I read touched mine.

And if not, maybe they’ll at least be good for a laugh. ^.^

Why else do we read fiction, anyway? Not to be impressed by somebody’s dazzling language–or at least I hope that’s not our reason. I think that most of us, anyway, read these stories that we know are not “true” because we’re hungry for another kind of truth … our own self-story. Fiction … always has the possibility of being about ourself.

– Orson Scott Card