There were moments when I genuinely wondered if I was becoming a moral monster. Certain scenes made me uncomfortable—so much so that I considered cutting them. I didn’t like what was happening to the characters, and I certainly didn’t like how it made me feel. But I had to remind myself: I wasn’t seeing the world through my eyes—I was seeing it through theirs. I wasn’t writing from my own moral compass. I was channeling the lives, fears, and flaws of the people in this fictional world.
And that’s what much of this book is about.
Some characters are noble, selfless, and brave. Others? Selfish, dangerous, treacherous—even evil. Just like the real world. But just because I write about darkness doesn’t mean I live in it. Watching tragedy on the news doesn’t make me a villain. It makes me a witness to a story someone else was writing.
This book is, at its core, about real (fictitious) people trying to survive in impossible situations—reacting to things no one should have to face. And in that struggle, something human is revealed.
Anyway, I saw a meme earlier today, and for some reason, this post came pouring out. Maybe I just needed to get this off my chest.
In the end, I’m still me. But pieces of who I am—hopefully the best parts—are reflected in each character I’ve written.
After all… writing a book is cheaper than therapy.
