Journal entry – January 5th, 2026.
Today I spent the entire day writing, and somewhere along the way, I began to see the ending of my book. It’s a strange feeling, considering I still haven’t properly written the beginning. The story feels like it’s revealing itself out of order, like glimpsing the final scene of a film before understanding how the characters got there. But I don’t want to ignore these ideas.
At first, I was drawn to the dynamic between two of my characters, S and N. Their relationship felt natural, almost effortless. But as I continued writing, something shifted. I found myself more interested in the connection between S and M instead. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first. It just… happened. The story leaned in that direction, and I followed. It’s almost like I’m loosing the control, and the story is writing itself.
Re-reading what I had written, I noticed something else. S’s story feels familiar in a way I didn’t plan. It carries traces of my own experiences, my own way of thinking. I didn’t set out to write myself into the character, but it happened anyway, quietly, between the line. I think that’s unavoidable when you write. Characters aren’t just invented, they’re filtered. Through your values, your memories. your habits of thought. Even when you try to create something entirely new, parts of you slip in like fingerprints on glass.
In that sense, every story says something about its author, whether intentional or not. The way relationships unfold, the tensions within families, the problems characters face, even the way they interpret the world. All of it reflects how the writer sees and feels. And maybe that’s what makes writing feel so personal.