As a writer, the stories are inside and you have to coax them out. There are times when it is hard, they want to stay private. Other times they explode, tearing parts of you apart while you give them life. No matter what, the desire to watch them live and grow is just like that of a parent. The great thing about kids is they eventually live and grow on their own. No matter what you do, short of barbarism, to stop them from becoming their own function humans. Your story is never that way until you hand it to another being. Then and only then do your stories take an identity all their own. They live away from you and in the reader’s mind. As such they move out and grow in a different way. If others take your stories and talk about them with friends, well they multiply again and continue with new lives. The great stories will never die, be them Hamlet, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, or Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. They will live and multiply through reading and discussions until the end of humanity. What writer would not want to know that their stories will live forever? Isn’t that the most we as parents can hope for, to touch on the human conscious and give our children immortality?