I want to be a writer. I’m beginning to realize that, in order to do this, I have to lose my mind. I have to deconstruct the walls I’ve spent years building — the walls that separate fiction from reality. In order to write, my characters have to become three-dimensional flesh and blood that live inside and outside of me.
I have to become omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent in their lives and let their lives guide the pen in my willing hand. To write means to become the characters.
So, the deconstructing begins. Luckily for me, what takes years to build only takes a little while to destroy. And I must destroy before I can create. My new creation will become more beautiful than the monstrous barricade I had forced myself to compose as a child. Like a mystic I can see it in my mind: my novels will be sold to millions around the world. I shall become a bestselling author, known amongst everyone I come in contact with.
Eager to be destroyed, the very essence of my mind begins to slip away.