Writing is much like a rebellious child. It comes to barely nothing
at all but a single thread of thought. A creator is taught to direct it
successfully. You give it a frame work, you lay out general rules.
When it finally reaches adolescence those boundaries are tested,
sometimes broken. They want to see just how far they can take you
before you lose complete control. Fingers translate what is thought,
into words, words that are demanded of you through a force you cannot
see.
With enough time you are but a master leading a hyper puppy. All you
can do is do as it tells you to, and watch as it blooms into something
you never even saw coming. In time, they take on a life of their own,
and all you can do is watch as what was originally yours to protect,
becomes something more. These nourished words have become their own
person, leading a life that is no longer yours to shield.
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