I've been writing a fairytale. Lately it's taken a gruesome dark turn. It's odd how when writing a story the author becomes emotionally enveloped into the characters. I infuse myself into their positions although their reality is so far from mine. I just, I can't quite fathom the fact I am their creator. Writing is like playing a God. I like to think they are real and I am just documenting their lives as they did happen, not creating their fates. It's a beautiful story surrounded with arctic wildlife, animals, Eskimos, and spirits. I love the idea, I just hate the way I'm writing it. Even as I go from one word to the next I am unsure of what exactly is going to happen. It's terrifying yet exhilerating. I'm spelling out a phenomenon of my imagination, that even I can't foretell.
