Why do I write? That’s a very good question. I don’t proclaim, like other writers, to have stories swimming in my head, bursting to get out. I have maybe six ideas. Maybe. Does lack of ideas mean I am not a writer? Does wanting to be a writer count for anything?
Why do I Write? Writing is the only way I feel comfortable communicating with the world. I express myself better through written words. It gives me a chance to review, revise, or even resist.
Why DO I write? Do I really want to share my intimate thoughts with strangers, or even worse, my familiars? That’s scary. Writing means exposure. Do I really want that?
Maybe I write so I can examine the demons that prevent me from reaching my full potential. A form of therapy, so to speak.
Maybe I to write because I am tired of the world I live in. Who wouldn’t want to skip town in a literary sense.
If I were a real writer, I would write mysteries. Stories of intrigue, capturing the imagination of the reader. I would write a story they could not put down because they are compelled to keep reading until the very end. A story so good that as the reader approached those last few pages, they would be torn between finding out what really happened and having the story end.
If I could be any writer, I would be J.K. Rowling. I want her talent and her imagination. I want to sit in a coffee shop and write in the wee hours of the morning, to create a world that that is so totally real that we sometime wonder if there really are wizards among us.
Why do I write? For all the wrong reasons: I want to be read, I want to be liked, I want to be great. I want fame and fortune and everything that goes with it.
Why do I write? No reason, I just like it. I like creating something new, to be God-like. To bring beauty to the page; to touch the life of the reader in a new and intimate ways. I like the flow of words, the magic of putting together nouns and verbs, adjective and adverbs, stringing them together in such a way that it takes the reader to places they have never traveled.
Why do I write? Because I can. Because I still have the mental faculties to put words to paper. There will come a day when that gift is taken from me, so for now, I write. And I will keep writing until the I can write no more.
Why do I write? It is who I am, who I want to be.
This story was inspired by WordPress.Com Daily Inspiration.
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