I got a bit carried away when I read a request to respond from Reader’s Digest. It said, “Finish this sentence. ‘The best part about writing fiction is’…”
Well, here is my response:
The best part about writing fiction is that I have ultimate control. In my daily life, there are so many conditions which I am unable to effect. From the weather to social issues, I am helpless.
But not so with writing.
When I sit down and begin to write fiction, I suddenly become a god-like force. I create images from nothing. I force love. I form characters. I cause characters to mourn. I develop more life and love. I allow hate. I permit death.
From nothing, I am able to create characters with words as alive as the very breath I breathe right now. She has long flowing brunette locks, with gray eyes which pierce your soul when her eyes fall upon you. She is brought to life in a decade long forgotten by the present day survivors. Her age is sixteen, or thirty, or fifty depending on my choice. Her skin is olive skin may be aged by the toiling her endured over the years within the sun, or she may be a pampered princess with porcelain features. I create.
I form character traits which impact other characters. She is simple and innocent. He is majestic and self-absorbed. Her simplicity combines with his majesty to create social conflict. Her innocence counterbalances his self-absorbent nature developing deeper character in each as he learns to give of himself to gain that which his heart desires, and she learns to accept him completely.
Writing permits two written souls to fall innocently in love for life, and to love beyond the flaws of the other. Though he should never permit his heart to be captured by her, he is not strong enough to restrain. His heart wins in the end. And though she should not permit one of such prideful ambitions, she sees beyond his exterior and rank to see the beauty of his soul.
Children develop within a mother’s womb as blessings. The love of two grows tangibly within his mother’s belly as the gloating father admires the movements of his child just blow the surface of his mother’s skin. The child is safe, warm and naturally protected.
Jealousy boils over as the loveless brother watches the painful reminder of what he once condemned. Jealousy gives way to passionate thoughts. And passionate thoughts give way to thoughtless actions. The result? The death of a mother and her child even before he could take his first breath. Hate from denial. Murder as revenge.
No matter who the characters become, as a writer, I love each. I love each for her struggles, his passion, their endurance and, yes, even their flaws. Scripture says that God loves His us (His creation). I understand that better now. I love each character, each scene, each time period, each moment, be it horrid, blissful, tragic, or victorious. It comes from nothing, but fiction gives me the ultimate say so in a world which I seldom feel I am able to impact. I become the creator!