It feels as if the story, before it's even taken the form of words, before it has any characters or any incidents clearly revealed, when it's just a thought, just the most evanescent little wisp of a thing - as if it's come to us and knocked at our door, or just been left on our doorstep. Of course we have to look after it. What else could we do? We have to protect it while it becomes sure of itself and settles on the form it wants.
Philip Pullman on writing, in the Guardian Unlimited.
He has a point. I've always believed that writers should be true to the story above all else. That doesn't mean ignore the other responsibilities, like proper grammar and continuity, but that the tale you are telling is the most important part. Read that article. I agree; do you?
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