The Author

I was born. Charles Dickens used those words to start David Copperfield. The simple sentence states with accuracy what Dickens makes of his characters birth. It was simple; there was no great feast, no awards, and no fuss. I can imagine Dickens sitting at a desk that is illuminated by a soft burning candle. He has a blank sheet in front of him, his pen poised above the page; ready to write what ever he thinks. But, as his pen is coming down, he stops. How to begin this tale? What words convey my emotions about my character? And then he decides. Three little words, carrying no real weight, but saying tons. He breathed into existence many characters. All of them a small part in a bigger plan. I wonder if they knew. If as each part of them was being drawn out, if they knew what was happening. I wonder if as Shakespeare was pouring his soul, Juliet was awaiting the moment she plunged the dagger into her heart. I wonder if Elizabeth Benet knew she would end up for all eternity with Mr. Darcy.

In short, I wonder if they felt. If somehow by writing, we can impart ourselves into our characters. We are no more than characters. We play roles in an amazing story. Our author is far greater and far more competent than Dickens, Homer, Plato, or any of the other greats. While many authors start new stories, they often back themselves into corners, and have to work to get themselves out, this author, doesn’t. He doesn’t re-write plot lines, change characters names and He doesn’t second guess himself. He doesn’t throw characters away and create better ones. Each character is a reflection of his soul, his heart, his love. We all hold a piece of our author inside of us. And our author guides us and keeps us close to him. Our author did what no author would dream of doing for a character. He died. And he did what all other authors only wish they could do; he lives in his story. He is very much a part of his story that is me. I have a relationship with my author. Jane Eyre never knew Charlotte, but I know Him. My author, my God, he writes his story with true dedication. I am horrible at starting stories and stopping, leaving my characters mid-life, often times mid sentence; and there they sit. All of them, waiting for me to pick it back up, but I rarely do. My author isn’t like that. He doesn’t leave me hanging, waiting for Him to look at my story. I don’t have to wait for Him to decide that I am worth picking up the pen again. In fact, my story has all ready been written, I am just now living in the glory of what my author has done for me. And waiting to see what I can do for him.