"I'd rather sleep"

I started in your world nothing more than a prisoner. Though the bindings long since gone, a prisoner, I remain.

In your world of civil wars, and flying beasts and illegal gods, the only god I see that should be subject to the law is you.

and though I wish to leave this world, and be your prisoner no longer, I force myself to stay. For those I see around me hypnotized by your bland idiosyncrasies compel me to.

And so I know what It’s like to stalk a fox for half a mile. The crafty little beast that wanders these hollow grounds. Am I the fox to you?

Or am I no more than a common soldier, wandering about, whining of old adventures they can no longer feel the joy of pursuing.

I walked your winter stairs because you told me to do so, and learned to yell as I never had.

Yes, I walked your winter stairs, and they tested my patience so much more thoroughly than my faith, for I have none of that left. I have no faith in you. You Lonely God. You Lord of the Sky.

What is the point of your wandering roads if a long cold climb gets me there in half the time?

What is the point in pursuing an end that holds no promises of satisfaction?

These are the questions you pose to me, oh God. No, not a God. You are more a simple pet owner.

And I, your faithful dog. You give me a yard, and a crate full of toys, but you can not dictate how I play.

No. No. That insinuates you a master, and that, I am sure you are not.

You are the God of this world, but not it’s master. Your control in it ended when you handed it off to me.

And yet you still confound me. Dictate my satisfactions.

And I scream at you, God! I bang on your chamber walls for a new adventure! A new life! A new world to wander!

Writing is being on the train and mentally seeing your OCs stumble into other people, or flinching away from the germ-ridden handrails, or sleeping on each others’ shoulders.

Writing is hearing a song on the radio and watching one of your scenes play out to the lyrics.

Writing is laying on your floor or sitting by your computer and spending hours collaging newspaper clippings or pictures or people or plants together and making something that is completely, uniquely, your story.

Writing is drawing your characters in your notebooks, and making tea only your one, picky character would drink, and writing an open letter to all your characters just to remind them you love them.

Writing is moodboards, and playlists, and crafts, and asks, and prompts, and pictures, and memories, and you.

So never think that just because you’re not putting words on a page, you’re not a real writer. Writing is something that follows you everywhere, beyond the word document, and beyond the screen.

- BUT ACTUALLY I DON’T HAVE ANY BIG DREAMS

ddaeng