It’s alluring. It takes on many forms. It corrupts when hoarded. It strengthens many, when shared. It can be used to exploit entire nations, to ravage individuals of their self-respect, to prey upon the vulnerable. It can lift a person to lofty heights they’ve never dreamed of.
Power can be used for great good or great evil; for it can bestow greatness or reveal how small the wielder truly is.
What will you do with power? How will it change your characters? How will it effect everyone around them?
Power can be the stuff of legends or nightmares. How it effects someone is very telling.
People will do horrible things for power, warping others in their development. I’ve often wondered about those who abuse power over others in petty acts of cruelty. Didn’t the need to commit such petty acts come from feeling small and powerless?
This doesn’t stop these petty acts of abuse happening on a wide scale. Power is far more than a source of inspiration. It’s something we need to learn to use, resist, and survive.
How do we retain power? How do we keep our power from being stolen?
All of this is defensive thinking. How do we go on the offensive? How do we take our power back from those who’ve stolen it? How do we prevent such a theft?
Too often responsibility falls upon the head of robbed, while the robbers do whatever get away they can to avoid it. They cast the blame on others for the theft, particularly the victims.
Power is only as bad as its wielders, but power often has an ugly face, due to its misuse. It doesn’t have to.
It’s maddening when the abusers realize this, tell uplifting stories of power shared, only to turn around and misuse their own power. I find myself wondering if they were paying attention to their own words.
I wish these storytellers wouldn’t mock their words. I wish they’d pay attention to their own messages.
For stories do have power of their own. Some of the most gripping are about individuals who learn from their experiences with power, sharing their insights.
Far too many don’t learn anything, wielding power. I fear we’re caught up in a cautionary tale about such a lack of wisdom, one we’ll have to struggle to survive.
I feel very powerless right now. Writing, blogging, making my voice heard are among the few ways I can exercise power.
Power has always attracted, yet terrified me. I was drawn to it, yet shrank away from the responsibilities which come with it.
Maybe it’s easier to be small. Maybe I’ve allowed myself to be too small.
I have power as a writer. I cannot ignore the responsibility which comes with that.
Perhaps realizing this is what truly makes a person an adult. Perhaps it’s only too easy to age, without growing up.
Immature wielders of power are truly dangerous. They do remind me of bratty children.
For all of our sakes, I hope they grow up.