I always randomly get pinpointed ideas out if nowhere that I think would without a doubt perch as "New York Times" #1 Bestseller for decades. I spend hours characterising characters and plotting plot-twists.
Unfortunately since I am subject to a devastating condition that my mother labels "butterfly brain", I find my self drastically unable to dedicate my mind to one idea at a time as I flutter from concept to concept. I move on like a small child grows out of their once favourite toys.
My once-adored characters, in their times and places, eventually fizzle into the groggy mist at the bottom of my brain. They sign their names on the reject list and spend the remains of their short-lived "lives" questioning when I will stop being so fickle with my dedications.
I have 11 empty notebooks lying around my bedroom (which is as cluttered as my brain) from the times where I get so indescribably caught up in a story idea that I have to go out of my way to buy a whole new notebook to write it in.
I think I've found that I'm not the way I thought I was, to be in love with my made-up characters and made-up places, I don't know what I want to do with them, I want them to do it themselves since I often forget that as the author, your job is to make the characters perform actions like an omnipotent puppeteer controlling them. I'm too passive to even tell fictional characters what to do.
I thought that all I ever wanted to do was write, but honestly in reflection, all I want is to be in a fictional tale, written by someone else.
k.s
