I wrote a fiction book.

 When you write a fiction story, or book, or write a script for a play or movie, or author a video game, you decide everything that happens.  

I wrote a fiction book. The whole book was actually the result of a vivid dream I had.  I decided what each character was like, what it looked like, what it thought, what it said, what it did, who it would interact with and who it would never interact with, where it went and what it did.  I determined what each character would  experience, and of course, when it dies or gets killed.  I wrote what its habits would be, what it would be exposed to, how smart it was, its talents, abilities, propensities, outlook, disposition, temperament, points-of-view, perspective, what prejudices it would have, its opinions, biases, how it judged, what it would believe, and what conclusions it would draw.  I determined what its physical, mental, emotional needs, wants, desires would be, its attachments, entanglements, and identity, and its likes dislikes, and preferences, and of course if any of those things would change, and to what degree, or change not at all.  I had to create all the personalities that would interact.

I had to know everything to write the story.  The stage, landscape, scenery, weather, how every person, place, and thing would interact and every result.  It was mind-boggling what I had to know to write it.  And of course, in order to do that, I had to have a good imagination.

Nothing happened in the story that I didn’t want to have happen.  After all, it was my story.  It wasn’t like the characters could change anything except what I wanted them to change.  I am the one who determined the theme, the tone, the style, what was important or unimportant.   I determined purposes, goals, intents, and ambitions.  It would not be much of a story without them.  Stories need to be about the unknown, the new, about challenges, risk, adventure, adversity, victory, overcoming problems, resolutions, and all kinds of challenges, and of course, victories and failures, winners and losers, loss and gain, pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow.  

A story has to be entertaining.  I have to enjoy writing it.  If I don’t get joy and pleasure and entertainment writing it, why would I do it?

“Hey Ed, what’s life all about?”
“Life is a story, that’s all, a fiction story, and you and I are just characters in it.”
“Whose the author?”
“Life itself, you know, the energy-intelligence that is life, the one who made everything.”
“Why do you think life did it?”
“Probably for all the same reasons we do things.  You and I do things for our happiness, joy, pleasure and entertainment, you know, mystery, challenge, adventure, risk, all the unboring stuff.”
“Can we change anything?”
“Probably not, unless its in the script, after all, it ain’t our story.  We’re just in it.”
“You mean even you and I talking right now is part of the script?”
“Of course, if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be happening.”
“What if what we been taught isn’t true?”
“Like what?”
“You know, what if the author isn’t all energy-intelligence, isn’t in through and roundabout all things, isn’t omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, and isn’t all knowing, all present, all powerful, and what if it isn’t unchanging, isn’t the same yesterday and today and forever?”
“I don’t know.  I don’t what it is if it ain’t a story made up in the mind of life.  What else could it be?”
“What if the energy-intelligence that is life doesn’t know everything and is just experimenting?”
“Well then, we’re probably more screwed than we already are, way more fucked than what we thought.”
“What if a character in a story woke up and realized he wasn’t just a stagnant predetermined character, but rather is an energy-intelligence capable of writing his own story?  What then?”
“Then I suppose life is a living story, still being written as we speak, and our story here and now isn’t over until we croak, and then, perhaps, continues in another dimension.  That’s my best wild guess.”
“So you think we might be the authors, writing and living our own stories right now?”
“Who knows.  Hey, you got anymore beer?”