A writer is a creator. When he creates characters and gives them life through words, he holds the strings to their lives and fates. Look at it like a puppeteer playing with his puppets. All is merry until he reaches the end of the story and he realises that one of his beloved creations has to be engulfed by reality and has to face something tragic- whether it be a broken finger, a murder charge or a broken heart. That is when the toughest decision is made– Which of my limbs do I cut out?
I don’t know much of God or the creator. But if such an entity were to exist and were a writer, then I would bring my hat to my chest and bow my head to it- not out of reverence but out of pity and compassion. I waste pages and pages of paper; drink cups and cups of coffee and diligently pull out each one of my hair to make that decision. Wonder what the big boss does to soothe its nerves.
The plot and the setting is easy to create and perhaps the most enjoyable part of the journey. The end is a different story altogether.