I believe that we are all writers of fiction if we want to be, that we do not live so nearly as we imagine and create ourselves. That we put forth into reality from our vague consciousness an infinite fiction that constantly alludes to our senses, our past, and to our own self vision.
Much is the power of this fiction to inspire us, to create us, and for us to create it. In a dull fiction I am an average student at an average school, unknown and unknowing, yet it is within my reach, as a writer of my own fiction, to ignore the laws of rank and circumstance and to uphold myself in certain goodness. I have been convinced of my limitless, my originality, my beauty, and my happiness for the entire course of my life. I have acted and spoken as this character, believed in his qualities, and rewritten his faults. My actions, the structure and course of my plot, are realistic to the acting character. As the great fiction writer Jorge Luis Borges wrote in the story, The Circular Ruins, “He wanted to dream a man: he wanted to dream him with minute integrity and insert him into reality.”
I have found in Borges’ lucid dreaming, in confounding the watery bounds between vision and reality, in sewing visions to reality, happiness, happiness that I am not bound by what I am told, but what I think. I think I will become a writer of merit; of novels, of poems, of plays, I think this and I do not fear it. I do not fear the implications of wanting to be something unrealistic, of failing to achieve something difficult, because within the realm of my fiction it is possible.
If I were to bind my existence to the tangible, if I were to tear experience from the imagination, my life would become formula fiction, artless, without love of character, written not to expand the soul but to maintain it. If I were to believe that I am average, faceless, without beauty and grace, if I no longer believed in self creation, if I accepted my pre- destination, I would give up the livid joy of being myself and become unremarkable.
But I am not unremarkable because I do not want to be, because I do not accept it, because I am a fiction writer. The substance of our lives is infinitely malleable, I believe if we see beauty within ourselves, we can create beauty within our lives, that the very process of becoming ourselves is remarkable.
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