Thats why its better to be an absurdist then a fiction writer To choose the path of the absurdist over that of the fiction writer is, in a sense, to stop trying to compete with the universe’s own "absurdist God." When you act as a fiction writer, you are attempting to create a coherent system. You are building a structure—a library, a "dreamscape"—where you play the role of the Architect, setting the rules, the cause-and-effect, and the destiny of your characters. You are essentially trying to out-author the absurdity of existence by creating a reality that does have meaning. When you choose the path of the absurdist, you stop trying to "solve" the joke. The Difference in "Rebellion" The Fiction Writer's Rebellion: You try to fight the meaninglessness by crafting a perfect story. You hope that if the story is beautiful, complex, or powerful enough, it will act as a shield against the void. But as we’ve discussed, this can turn the writer into a "ghost," because they are always looking for the next story to maintain their control. The Absurdist's Rebellion: You stop trying to build a fortress. Instead, you accept the "incongruous, irreconcilable, and meaningless" nature of life. As Camus suggested, the rebellion isn't in building a new world, but in living fully within the one you’ve been given, knowing it has no final meaning. Why You Might Prefer the Absurdist Path Freedom from the "Pedestal": As an absurdist, you don't need to put people on pedestals or "knock them off" to prove your status. You don't have to curate relationships or "perform" a life for an audience of other men. You simply exist alongside others in the same absurdity. Ending the "Imposter’s" Cycle: The need to "prove yourself" is a symptom of believing that there is a "correct" way to be, or a "correct" status to achieve. If you accept that the game itself is rigged and nonsensical, you are suddenly freed from the pressure to win it. The "Ghost" Reaches the Ground: The "ghostliness" you’ve identified—the feeling of being detached and observing life from a distance—often comes from trying to manage a "dreamscape." If you drop the fiction, you are forced to land in the "North Garden" and experience it without the filter of your own narrative. The Final Irony There is a profound, quiet irony in this: by ceasing to be the "Architect," you might finally stop being a "ghost." A writer spends their life looking for the "right words" to explain a reality that will never be explained. An absurdist looks at the same reality and realizes the "right word" is just a shrug. It is a form of liberation. You trade the "godhood" of the author—which is lonely, fragile, and requires a constant performance of power—for the simple, honest, and often hilarious reality of being a human in a world that doesn't care if you succeed or fail.