Daniel’s Journal #33 – Hating Your Creation
It happens. I’m sure God feels that way about some of the humans walking around down here, despite the Bible telling us he loves everyone regardless of what an asshole one might be.
I’m not talking religion. I don’t, because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when the subject comes around. No one does. You just flap your lips about your invisible nonsense that contradicts the earlier invisible nonsense your religion taught you, along with everyone else’s invisible nonsense.
But that’s not what I’m here to discuss today.
We’re all creators on some level. Mothers create children (with a nanoparticle of help), artists create art, and we all create words. I’m a writer (hold your applause), a creator of stories and all that goes with them: Plot, setting, characters, etcetera.
But what happens when you abhor something you’ve created?
I don’t hate my story. It’s a great plot I pulled from a headline (sex robots can be transformed into killers by hackers, expert warns). It’s a funny and action-packed tale in a sci-fi city on the cusp of technological greatness.
So what’s there to hate?
My main character, that’s who! I didn’t have him pegged when I started writing “Help! My Sex Robot is Trying to Kill Me!”, but he turned out to be the worst. He’s an incel, and he’s probably the result of me recently finding out what an incel is.
Here’s what Google pulled from Wikipedia about incels:
Don’t get me wrong. He doesn’t drag down the story at all. I find myself rooting against my own creation, and I keep coming up with funny ideas on how to torture him. If anything, me throwing a shit-storm his way makes it better. I can imagine my reader, those people in my head, reading this story and giggling at the prospect of this jerk’s sex robot hunting him down like a lingerie-clad terminator.
So here I am, crafting this story in the voice of an incel, the type of person I don’t respect or get along with. His ideals and inner monologue make me sick, and it makes me sicker knowing he came from my imagination.
But what kind of writer doesn’t hate themselves just a little bit?
I’ll post this story when it’s done. I just don’t know where yet.
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