The words fill my head, day and night. Ideas and stories weave themselves, threatening to loose themselves if I do not take hold. With this, I am given two choices: become a master of words or forever stand in the shadow of the people whose words are mountains.
It is hard, however, to tell if I am ready to wield the words that come to me. I trimble at their defiance, weep at their unwillingness to obey. They are like a snake, slippery and desperately trying to slither out of my grasp. Can I truly become their master if I cannot control them as I should?
But who says that the author is ever in control? The plot will find its own twists, deciding to share them with you at the last possible moment. The characters will grow out of their boundaries, taking risks and steps you had never thought them capable of. The imagination roars as the story develops, taking the control that the writer seeks.
There are those who claim that they have taken ahold - famous authors and poets alike. But do they truly wield the sword or does the sword wield them? For how else can the words escape onto the paper, but by taking control of the person who has discovered them, by entering into their very heart and brain and coming out through the fingers that move so carefully over the keyboard or paper?
The words fill my head, day and night. Ideas and stories weave themselves, threatening to loose themselves if I do not take hold. With this, I am given two choices: become a master of words or forever stand in the shadow of the people whose words are mountains.
I choose neither. The words and I will become one, both of us becoming tame when without each other we were considered the untamable... And we will never truly be completely tame.
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