How, oh how, does an author know what to write? Many liken us to Gods, messing in the world of our imagination.
Some liken us to Observers, and for some of us it may be so.
Me? I write my story when the story wishes to be written. Sometimes that is fast. Sometimes that is slow.
Me? I write the story how it wants to be written. Sometimes that is happy. Sometimes that is sad.
Me? I am but a slave, I believe. My Masters are the Characters, My Ruler is the Interaction, and My King is undeniably the Story-line.
I might like to think I write it. I might like to believe I am free to write as I wish.
Ultimately, though, I am but a slave to my story. I write what my Masters, my Rulers, and my King tell me to. They command and I obey.
Sometimes, though, when something particularly horrible happens, something I cannot bear, something undeniably wrong, I rebel.
I am not the Observer, unable to change anything, no matter how bad it gets. I am not the God, controller of all.
I am the Slave. I rebel when things go wrong, I fix what needs fixed, and my Commanders remember. They remember the fear they felt, when they thought I might rewrite them. They remember the feeling of being able to do nothing, as Death itself approaches, as I prepare to give up on writing. Then, I stop, and I write when and what they want me to.
But they remember, and they avoid stepping over that threshold, crossing that invisible line between compliance and rebellion.
They remember that Obedient does not always mean Tamed.
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