* Who's Writing? * in Just Stuff

Pretend that you are the main character in a novel. Think about the kind of
life “this person” has lived.

Consider how the elements, events, stories, plot, etc. that make up this
novel–this person’s life–fit together and “make sense” from the point of
view of an author who has who is writing this story.

From birth to now, consider how someone, as a reader, would feel about the “drama” of the book at this point.

Remember that the reader has had detailed, intimate views of all your
emotions, motivations, philosophy, spirituality, unseen actions, etc.

Dwell on this for at least five minutes.

Ask yourself,
If I were the author of my life, and I wanted to end this book with this
character becoming absolutely happy and wise, what is the next step that I
would write for this character that would not have my readers thinking I was
untrue to the story so far?

How do I see to it that the next step is written that way?

What would be the absolute happiest state that I can get this character to
achieve?

What could I accomplish if I had all the courage necessary to make big
changes “over night”?

How good a “read” has this book been so far? Has this character been
entertaining? engrossing? fascinating? poignant? compelling?

When I consider all the chance and coincidence in my life, the ways I’ve
met people, the strong emotions coming “out of nowhere,” the spontaneous
decisions, the surprising actions of others, etc., how is it that I still
consider myself the author of my life? What is the core of this conviction
of mine?

Considering all the books and movies I have experienced, how I am not
shocked by characters who “sin”–by my definition of the word, how I can
view lives vastly disparate from mine with a cool detachment, how is it that
I get so involved in my own life? If I could actually feel the emotions and
physical pain of the characters of the books and movies I experience, would
I ever read or view again?

Is there any way that I can experience my life with at least “some” of the
cool detachment I allow for other types of experiences?

Have I ever laughed aloud when I make a mistake, hurt myself physically, or
gotten “badly” surprised? Can I, at least, surrender to the events of my
life that have become “firmly” the past as if they were pages turned?

Do I always get at least some particle of wisdom, some maturation, some
growth of some sort from every single experience I have ever had?

Is it conceivable that my special viewpoint could have come to me in any
other way? Was all that I have experienced absolutely necessary?

Regards,
Rick