Story of my life.
We write ourselves as stories because it is comforting.
In a world that struggles to find meaning, a story gives us a sense of depth that anchors us to life.
And we never stop.
A constant stride of themes, motifs, aphorisms help us to understand ourselves
and justify us in front of others.
Today I wrote the end of a story long overdue.
This is also a part of writing, of being alive; putting an end to things.
We create some, we leave others behind,
choices that we hope will bring us more wondrous stories to tell.
Some tales are harder to end than others.
You put the fire out, but it blazes up anew every time, inexplicably more aggressive.
I am the writer, I decide.
But some protagonists claim their space and the story fades without them.
So, you compromise, you let him stay.
Waiting quietly for him to make you regret it and he does so, over and over.
When the protagonist starts taking charge of the plot, it's gone too far.
There are two ways of ending a story.
You must have the courage to write it or force the protagonist to quit.
Sometimes it is safer to do both, so he cannot come back to haunt you.
As a writer you become surrounded by ghosts.
Haunted by ghosts it is easy to become one.
Now I want to write about the living.
Now I will write about life.
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