I wrote a book years ago. I was around 10-12 I guess. It wasn’t completed but I had the plot and basic storyline ready. And the first draft (as shitty as it may have been). It seemed like such a huge achievement to me, and I was honestly so excited. I told my grandma about it. And she didn’t congratulate me or anything. She just asked me what the moral of that story was.
And my brain went blank. The genre was fantasy. Almost all fantasy books follow the same moral – justice always prevails. But they end up teaching a lot of things in between.
I wondered why my story needs to have a moral to be good. She didn’t even ask what it was about. Just what it would teach the readers.
I didn’t write it so it would teach people anything. I was a kid at that time. I had these characters, this whole new world in my brain, and I wanted an outlet for it. So I wrote. But my writing was judged before it could even exist.
I have people judge painting based on meaning rather than beauty.
Why can’t we let artists showcase their work without needing some profound learning behind it.
Why can’t my writing exist solely for the purpose of existing? For being entertainment or an escape. Why does it have to deep?
I don’t want to write stuff that teaches about life. I want to write about purple skies and selfish gods and sins that don’t have consequences. I will not bury my world under the facade of morals.