Write Without A Plan? I Always Do

Hello there, stranger beyond the screen.

I wonder what your life is like.

Sonder, they call that feeling.

Curiosity about the lives of others.

Do you want to know why I write, stranger?

Why I take random emotions of my own and throw them into books and more books and more books?

Or come to places like these and let my brain go wild based on the little guide from another person?

There's this... Feeling I have.

I like to call it a "disconnect".

I have no idea what certain words like dissociation or derealisation or depersonalisation fully mean but I'm rather certain I must have felt them, at least a bit.

I wish I could live in the moment and enjoy the present.

But reality just... Isn't pretty enough for my imaginative mind.

So I like to create one, sometimes.

One that is better, one that is worse.

A place where I can scream into the abyss, so to speak, and know that it won't matter at all.

I mentioned these feelings to my mother, yesterday.

Hoping for... Something she could never give me.

I tried.

It led to a thirty minutes conversation about how I needed to be social and healthy, drop my phone, make more friends.

I could never blame her for her opinion.

It's hers, after all, as mine is mine.

And it isn't her fault for not understanding me, I'd rather blame myself for being a writer - of sorts - who is terribly bad with words in the real world.

So I leave this world.

This plane.

And I make worlds of my own.

Worlds where a character I love is struggling with the same messed up feelings as me.

Or worlds where two characters fall in love, whatever that means.

And can I tell you the truth, stranger?

Person I'll likely never meet?

It is one of the scariest, craziest feelings, to have so much power.

Sometimes I wonder what to do with it.

I could kill a dozen men and bring to life a dozen more with the tips of my fingers.

And I have.

It throws me into this strange state, like a pianist who gets lost in the music.

The zone, I suppose I could call it.

And suddenly, the world blurs away, the voices turn to bare whispers and I am lost like a being possessed in the throes of my creation.

Like a god, I puppet them all through joys and demise.

I forget the strings on myself when I am there.

I forget everything but what is mine and mine alone to shape or destroy.

We have a little too much power, I think.

Writers.

But readers will continue to read and even if they don't, I don't see us ever stopping.

It's simply too fun to disappear from this realm and fall into a self-made dream, even for a moment, even for a while.