One of the largest things that’s really needs to eventually me now that I’m writing so much is that I’m starting to question where I’m getting many of these ideas and concepts. I’m not just talking about the story ideas; but the beliefs, visual concepts, wishes and actions that the character types take. I find myself wondering where I get the basic idea to have a character turn left instead of right. Why does the type kill the person before them? Is it possible that I’m fascinated by death somehow?
I see struggling in the imaginary worlds that is easier confronted than the suffering in our own. There is certainly light, love and joy in my own imagination as well. Nobility exists where individuals give of themselves with compassion and honor, in the day to day machinations of individuals I pass on the street yet much of that is lacking.
I find myself contemplating each one of these things with each section I write, specially when I get into my weird tales like the Demented Children series. Who am I must say i? I now begin to wonder who I am that I have these thoughts in my head. I’m not just a hero or villain.
Where does my knowledge of the principles of villainy and heroism stem from? Where should i stand in this viewpoint? Am I the easy villager who pieces everyone else take strong actions for wicked or good? I have stepped forward to help those in need, however, not always. I’ve sensed shame at devoid of done more here and there.
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It’s never been anything momentous, but what would I do if it was? What would I do if I noticed the chance to save someone’s life at the expense of my very own? What am I going regarding my entire life? I am increasing children and performing a fair job from it.
I’m a good spouse and a good worker. At the moment I’m trying to become successful writer, but exactly what will be my fate over time? What in the world am I doing? Where do all these thoughts come from? I’ve never killed anyone (at least not in this lifetime) yet I could graphically describe death from all sides. I have no idea what true pain or food cravings feel like, yet the descriptions in my stories explicitly describe them. How did these dark things find my mind? What has happened in my previous lives and lifestyle that I can relate to principles so foreign if you ask me in this life?
Actions make a person and I understand that my actions have been that of a decent man. But what if the laws and requirements of culture were torn in a fresh, devastating world battle? What if our lives changed so drastically that hunting and fighting for my next meal became more important that agonizing over my daughter’s melodramatic facebook postings about some man? The type of person would I become in a uncooked, terrible world? I used to want to save lots of the world. ONCE I was younger, I daydreamed about how exactly I would turn into a powerful man who took humanity into space while reducing world hunger and ending all wars.