From Mind to Pen

As a writer of fiction, I know what it is to be inspired. It takes time and effort to turn what was easy in an instant into a story. Context can be vague in a daydream but there is no plot if it is so in writing. What is understood intuitively should be assumed to be nonsense unless articulated.

As a writer of fiction, I know what it is to be frustrated. The frustration is either a failure to express the inspiration or success but it is unappreciated.

I illustrate the covers and create the title fonts. It is unnecessary for me to do so. I am told my covers are bad and I should let them be designed by “better” artists. Alas, a book is not entirely dear to me unless the cover and font are mine as well.

I am not at liberty to write freely. Even my friends and family would turn against me if I did so. I must temper my work mindful of their sanctimony. I bother to do so because I do not write fiction to keep it to myself.

I enjoy my own fantasies by daydreaming. I write for no other reason than to share what I imagine with others. The version they read is tame to compared to the original.

If I was candid, my social commentary would be deemed extremist. My sexual themes would horrify. The moral of a story would confound rather than enlighten.

I can write what I want as I want it. It is unlikely I would be censored, since my work is unknown. I dislike shocking readers. My fiction is written to entertain, not to change the world. I want people to have fun. I shall write non-fiction if I ever want to teach them anything.