The writer

Almost all my stories are not made by me, they are made for me. I don't create them, is not to fair to say otherwise, I'm just an interpreter. If a story is not written as it should it's only my fault, the ideas appear before me, is my job to explain them as best as I can. But sometimes, when I read what I write, the words feel empty, part of the meaning of them is lost, and again, Unconscious reminds me how the story should be, so I just erase part of my progress and try to make it again.
And even sometimes, Unconscious gets involved with my writing: -run- he says, and I write what he has whispered. It shouldn't be like that, he's stealing my job, he is trying to get rid of me. I just wonder how much long is going to take him to be able to write in his own, no hand, no writer, no ink, just words no where to be written, the stories intact and no one misspelling them.