These words that I write fight for their own narrative, their characters jumping to life in the interim. Characters of fine passions; a blind woman who feels the inherited spirits inside statues, a young teen who runs from her father who has waged war against her world.
I write, my mind and fingertips moving equally as fast. My head a storage of ideas, my heart a barrage of emotions. To be a writer, one must accept the fate of multiple fictional characters attempting to band together to become one real person. The fate of being filled will worlds that aren’t real and ideas that don’t make sense until written down. I too, have found my writer’s crown.
To be a writer is everything I ever could have wised it to be – and more.