Artist Spotlight: Stephen Sackey
- thepaper6
- 11 minutes ago
- 6 min read
By Ingrid Ibarra
Stephen Sackey is a twenty-one-year-old student at The City College of New York, majoring in Computer Science. Over the years, he has accumulated many interests: creative writing, photography, coding, fashion, architecture, music, gaming, and language learning. These interests bloomed from his desire to explore and learn more about himself. He enjoys the creative process of writing and fashion as an outlet to express himself. He says, “Having people compliment [me] on my fashion sense or any of my other writing comes as a bonus, but having my interests reflect my style feels very in-tune with my sense of self. Otherwise, it feels a bit off-kilter.”
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
What first intrigued you about creative writing? What is your favorite aspect of it? Any idols/inspirations?
I think it was in May that I picked up the hobby. At the time, right after the spring semester ended, my brother took me up to Connecticut to hang out with him. To me, there wasn't much to do there since he was busy with his work. So, I started reading webnovels for the first time (at this point, I haven't read a book in years; I've only ever finished one, which was Neuromancer back in middle school). I really liked the worldbuilding of some of these stories, and it pushed me to start my own, because why not? I've had ideas brewing in my head for a while, so I just tried. My favorite aspect of it is the worldbuilding part of it. Definitely. Being able to be lost in a world you created feels so rewarding and fantastical. You've created the rules, the fashion, the magic, cities — it all aligns with your stylistic tastes, almost (at least, for me). When I started, I didn't have any literary idols to go off of; I just took inspiration from anime and games, such as Final Fantasy XIV and Bloodborne — Persona and Clair Obscur. It was a bit rough, and it still is, but now that I'm reading, I find it a much easier time to work on the story on a technical level: prose, structure, pacing, et cetera. As of now, I take inspiration from China Miéville, Oscar Wilde, Susanna Clarke, H.P. Lovecraft, Gothic novels like Dracula and Carmilla, Ursula K. Le Guin (mainly for prose), and Neil Gaiman.
You also mentioned you've accumulated many different hobbies and interests. How do you find the time to keep these interests active?
It depends on how I'm feeling. Sometimes these hobbies come and go, but I never feel as though I "dislike" them now. It's more so that some other activities catch my interest more at the current moment. Hopefully, I can bounce between all of them more fluidly in the future since I don't have as much time as I used to.
The excerpt you provided was really interesting and captivating. How long have you been working on it, and do you know how it’s going to end? Do you have plans to publish someday?
It has seen some revisions; during its first draft (late August), it was pretty bad. Now, I think it's more serviceable, but I still want to improve. In fact, the draft I have now is more altered than the one given. I already know how it's going to end, but it's a long way from now since it's a webnovel, which leads me into the topic of publishing: I don't want to traditionally publish... for now. This is more of a hobby thing for me, so I at least want to see how good I get before I decide to make that decision. For now, I want to write what makes me happy.
What motivates you or inspires you the most to create art, whether it's creative writing, fashion or your other hobbies? Do you ever feel uninspired?
TikTok edits, I'm not going to lie. But also because communities around shows and stories people love are always so cool to see. Having a fanbase that respects the author's work must be so heartwarming because they're essentially pouring out their interests to the world, and other people love it. I don't feel uninspired, but on some days I don't write too much. It isn't writer's block, but I do feel lazy sometimes.
What do you see yourself doing in five years? Any specific plans at the moment, or are you taking it one day at a time?
Probably Computer Science or working in an engineering-related job with my brother up in Connecticut. Not too sure.
Enjoy an excerpt from Sackey's story:
Chapter 1: New Beginnings
Bang!
“Haa..." Muscles spasmed, a gasp escaped Vincent as his heart smashed itself against his ribs. Wheezing followed. Ragged breaths clawed their way through phlegm and out his mouth.
Thump-thump-thump!
Thump... Thump…
Frantic breaths slowed into deep ones.
Some noise had blasted him out his sleep, shattering his dream. His eyesight failed him: portraits seemed to merge with doors; gaslamps somehow melted off walls; tables and carpets and books were smeared across the floor, like light reflected in puddles. The objects all swirled indistinctly.
“Ugh..." Vincent said. He pushed himself up from the bed, elbows popping. Clammy hair clung to his
cheeks and eyelashes. Vincent sighed, but halfway through it the air turned harsh, as if it was being forced out his system. Another sigh came a little after, quieter. He rubbed his eyes for a few seconds, then blinked repeatedly. Things around him became clear.
Gong! Gong! Far away, the chime of the La Synian Clocktower reverberated throughout the city. Vincent turned his head toward the window, and through whatever gaps the curtain allowed crept in slivers of light. He traced the daylight back out into the cityscape.
It was a bit dark.
Scattered clouds drifted groggily across the dawning. Gaslamps on the sidewalks burned until the sun rose higher, their flames wavering when wind whooshed. Now and then they revealed the attire of passersby: some men in white dress shirts, suit jackets over their shoulders; women in voluminous, floor-length dresses, or linen shirts adorned with pussycat bows; young adults and children, either in blue coats or some other school uniform. Most of them waited at the intersection of Bellemont Road and Meredith, wanting to catch the early horsebus. When it came around, costermongers and festival merchants alighted, then students, laborers, and shop owners entered.
Smiles greeted smiles.
After some time, when people settled in their seats and were issued tickets by the conductor, the bell
dinged and the horsebus took off.
Pigeons flew out its way, rising from the road, flitting past sash windows and gabled roofs decorated with dragonflies, maneuvering around belfries and cathedrals and oak trees, to return to the skies — just as the sun would.
Vincent shifted away from the window.
...It was only morning, it seemed, and he had just awoken from a recurrent nightmare.
A scoff lazily slipped out his mouth, and he fell backward onto his mattress.
“A dream..." he said with a derisive smile. “Yeah...”
A trail of liquid slipped down his cheek. His hand bolted to it — wiped it.
...Right. Saltwater.
...
...
...
Hell.
Calling them mere nightmares would be wrong. For as long as he could remember, since that day, dreams festered deep within him until screams tore into the night, when fear leaked out as tears, the tension dying down until that jester sought him out once more — days and weeks and moons after.
He’d try. He did. Distracting himself with the moon, whether it be the Dragonfly’s, Raven’s, or any other Kin, jerking himself back up should his eyelids close. Tarot cards, maybe. Death, The Tower, The Fool: recurring cards during single- or three-card spreads, never failing to conjure images of that scene. Therapists and physicians and psychiatrists had offered remedies, but having found no cure, Vincent expected and waited for their impassive “Go outside early.”
Daylight only clarified the wound.
Ingrid A. Ibarra is currently a junior at the City College of New York studying Economics, with a minor in English Literature. She spends her free time walking around the city, reading, and watching movies and TV shows.