As a writer, I’ve written poetry, non-fiction, and sometimes fiction. However, my favorite, like many other writers, is the last. Writing works of fiction lets you take creative liberties and take hold of your own characters.

And that’s the fun of it.

Your innovative mind can craft a character from anything, anywhere, anyhow – he or she can be based on an inanimate object, yourself, a loved one, or a complete stranger that walked past you in the airport. It’s a wonderful and pleasing feeling – you’ve created this magnificent being from your own mind and with this person you can bring the words you are writing to life.

But that what makes it very sad, because you so desperately wish that character were real.

You become close to these characters to the point you’re taking leaps of fate with that character and you’re clinging to each other for dear life. You’re learning new things, exploring boundaries and pushing limits to their final straws.

It’s also very exhilarating because it’s an utter chaos of your control as a writer.

Exhilarating? Yes! Maybe it’s just me and my screwed-up mind, but think of it as you being a scientific genius, that has made a creation that has spurred out of control.

The most basic example is having a certain scene that weaves through your mind, and now you wish to put that scene into words.

You’ve imagined this specific scene from your novel in your mind, and in it, you’ve intended for your character to do a certain thing – whether it is to say something or to do something specific. Originally, it works out perfectly; but as you work on your piece, adding more to it, and tie all loose ends, something starts to seem out of place.

It turns out that your character has gone out of control and they cannot contain themselves; they’ve separated from you and have a mind of their own.

The tables have turned. At first, you, the writer, were in control of the character – you were the puppeteer, pulling the strings of the character you’ve created; but the tables have turned, as your character is overpowering you and taking control.

Now you are the puppet.

You realize that your originally planned scene has to go. So, you try to tweak it up, but preserve its former purpose. But your character is adamant to stay true to their personality. It just won’t work. You try again, and then try another few times.

But you’re forced to realize, "I have to change it, because this isn’t them. This is not what they would do in such a situation."

And then, in most cases, you have to go back and change some more scenes, or things, that involve that character, until all of the pieces of your character connect like a puzzle with those scenes, those actions, those words . . .

And that moment – in which you realize that your character, a figment of your imagination, can no longer contain itself and sprouts an imagination of its own – is what gives me the thrill that makes me want to write to my heart’s content.

It’s heartbreakingly beautiful.