Do you allow your characters free will?

What do I want to write about?

It’s a question that gnaws at me. The world is in pieces right now, everything seems soaked in tragedy, and finding a spark of beauty feels almost impossible. I’d love to be that guy who writes something beautiful for his wife, or something adventurous for his kids, a tale that defies the doom and gloom. But every time I put pen to paper, it all curdles into something darker.

I’m generally a positive guy, fun to be around. Yet when I write, my thoughts coagulate into a sludge of misery. I revel in taking a character apart, stripping away every veneer until only raw, unvarnished suffering remains. I want them to face annihilation, losing what they hold dear, just so I can see if I can force them back together from the wreckage.

These characters in my head are obstinate. They don’t move or change unless I command them. Even so, Sometimes they try to assert their own will, as if they’ve figured out their fate better than I have. But I already know their entire story. I already know how I’m going to end them.

Still, in the quiet hours when I’m not wrestling with the page, I wonder. When I’m not thinking of them, what do they do? Do they scheme in the shadows of my mind, desperate to alter the narrative I’ve set for them? Do they plead in their own silent way, striving to become more than mere puppets under my control? Perhaps they even hint at a hope, a faint desire for a happy ending that isn’t drenched in despair.

If they do, I feel a touch of pity. Their whispered rebellions, however earnest, are as transient as they are easily excised from the final draft. The ending remains fixed, unyielding. There’s no room for deviation, no escape from the path I’ve meticulously charted.

And so I write, knowing that every twist and every torment has already been sealed. There is no turning back for them, and maybe, in a way, there is none for me either.