Who owns the story?

A thought occurred recently.

Who really owns a story?

A person thinks of an idea. That idea moves, like the snowball inexorably rolling downhill gaining momentum and gathering force until the story itself becomes an unstoppable force. At some point, the idea is turned into words by the person we shall call the architect. Why? Because they are the visionary of the tale, the instigator of the concept around which emotions are built until given flesh, blood and life by a writer.

Now there’s a thing: Is the writer the architect? Not necessarily. The architect can be someone who merely thinks of the idea and in a moment of pure enthusiasm tells another, or writes a haphazard series of notes designed to communicate ‘something’ of the feeling they had at the stories’ inception.

Ask any architect and they all say the same thing. That moment of giddy creative genius is accompanied by emotion. Are there passionless architects out there? Possibly, but unlikely. For an idea to take form it must have emotion of some sort. Emotion accompanies true genius, empathy with something so brilliant it moves the architect to speechless wonder at the revelation of what it is they have created.

So back to our Architect. Struck dumb in creative wonder at the joy they feel of the moment. This happens anywhere: creative writing, journalism, technical writing, professional editing: you know when it’s good, you know when it’s right and you can feel it in your bones. You feel the rush of endorphins as the creative process takes over, fingers move and the words leap off the page seemingly writing themselves. All the joys from the speechless euphoria when you know you are in love or the first realization you are a parent are compared to this. You are creativity, and in that moment your thoughts have created a living, breathing thing. An idea.

Ideas have potency. They have meaning. They have the power to change the world.

But even if you aren’t trying to change the world but just “write a good story” the feeling remains the same. And you created it.

So who owns it? Who really, actually owns it? Why, the Architect of course. Or do they?

At some point you are going to show that idea to another person. It could be a friend, a co-writer, an editor or publisher, and you are going to get feedback. It’s like taking your child out to show it the world for the very first time, but you have no idea what that experience will do. A dog barks and the child will react: is that a friend or foe? Is it soft and cuddly, or a snarling thing to be afraid of? No matter what your thoughts, your child will have changed, and not because you wanted it to.

So it is the same with writing. Show your piece of work to anyone and their comments, good or bad, helpful or hindrance, will change your creation and not in the way you want. The feedback will make you think, and that will create a doubt, a “what if” that undermines the original story.

But does that feedback mean what you have done is wrong? Of course not. Do you still own the story or has it taken a life of its own? Actually, I think it might be a little of both. Yes, it is your work, but the influence of others may have allowed you to perceive your story in a different light just as other parents or nursery helpers tell you about your child and reinforce or undermine your perception of your little angel. You are now seeing your story as others see it, for better or worse, and that undermines that original pure thought you had about your work.

But do you own it? You are responsible for it, certainly. The words are yours, the concept is yours, but now doubt begins to creep in. You are looking at your work with a critical eye and wondering if you could have done a better job. Again, it’s a bit like parenting. So you edit and re-edit, improving where you can and trimming out the bad and hoping with influence your story will become acceptable to others, find its place and stand with its head held high. It will weather the blows and cat calls of those who do not like it for what it is, those who choose not to like it out of bigotry, as well as those who decide it is not for them.

Your story will also gain friends: people who will like it for what it is, and those who will change it for the better by suggesting a new way of looking at the piece that leads to an improvement. By now the story is “in school”, subject to the outside influences of all it comes into contact with.

Do you own it? By this stage, it could be said you are barely holding on to the original vision and hoping it survives. However, like any parent, a true writer never stops loving his or her creation.

Finally, you let it go. Published, submitted, posted, the article stands out amongst the world to make friends and enemies alike. The enemies shouldn’t bother you because they aren’t worth investing time in. The friends will come, and stay, and enjoy the time they spend in the company of your work. They are the readers, the fans, those who look forward to reading more of your work whether new work or sequels to existing. They are the souls worth nurturing, and they too have a profound effect upon your work as a writer because they “justify” the thought that somewhere along the line you did it right.

Maybe you followed the early feedback and criticism, maybe you didn’t. The piece, the work you have worried and slaved over has changed: that was inevitable. From positive to negative you have endured, changing and altering, reading and re-reading sometimes with a view to changing and sometimes to see the justification that the critics were wrong and you were right all along.

But it does change, even a little in your mind, and that’s not a bad thing but no matter how much it changes you always love it, like a parent to a child.

And like any child, a product not only of its parents but of every influence that shapes its growth, it stands out for itself as literature amongst the world.