I’m sitting here looking out over my deck with two tomato plants, a struggling snap pea vine, and several small plants, thinking about why I write. To me, writing is like music. It fills me up until I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t share my thoughts. Writing to me is therapy, joy, and heartbreak, all rolled into one crazy ball of emotion. I think, if I didn’t write, with all the feelings, dreams, and soul music inside me, I would probably go insane. Writing makes me happy. I get to have some control over what goes on in my world and most often, the characters in my stories get a happy ending. My bad guys get what they have coming to them (justice) and my heroes and heroines get their happily ever afters. I walk down the street and watch people sometimes. I ride the bus and people watch there too. I think, with all the stories that brew in my head from people watching and taking in my surroundings also helps keep me from despair when I start to lose my faith in humanity.
Strike that. I lost my faith in humanity a long time ago. Maybe that makes me sound bitter. Maybe it makes me sound disillusioned. Or maybe it makes me a realist. Really, there’s not a lot of point in having faith in humanity. Instead, I think I need to have faith in the God that created humanity. When I struggle with that though, diving into my stories (straight out of my imagination which is pretty darn cool if you think about it) lifts me up. Joy. That’s why I write. Love. To remember what it was like when my husband told me he loved me for the first time, three months after we started dating. Unconditional love and heartbreak. Remembering what it was like to discover I was pregnant with my little girl and have my heart break when I miscarried our second child. Anger. Writing a story where the bad guy gets his justice and the world is actually fair helps me cope with and release the anger that builds up inside as I try to control the life around me. Sorrow. Exultation. Fear. Fear that I will never get beyond book three and never publish any more novels. So many emotions and dreams and hopes and the excitement of seeing a story come to life on the pages of my books.
This is turning into a rather rambling post. Sorry about that. I guess this started out as a ‘why I write’ and turned into an actual writing session. I love to write. Simple as that. To take the every day and turn it into something achingly beautiful. To be able to express my thoughts through stories and poetry or just on a blog like this. I love writing while I listen to music. If I have a particularly sad scene to write, it’s sad music. Romantic, romantic music and so on. My daughter is becoming a writer like her mom. She told me the other day she wanted a book bag with a pen and notebook so that she could write down ideas as they come to her. That’s how I feel too.
So, why do I write? I write because I have a thousand stories in this mind of mine and I just have to tell them. And I write for me and for anyone who enjoys my stories. I write for enjoyment. I write for therapy. I write to have a small semblance of control when the world seems out of control. But most of all, I write because it’s part of who I am.
I’m a writer. And I hope that someday a lot of people will read my books and be touched, even in only small ways. If I can make one person laugh, cry or toss the book across the room in frustration, I have succeeded. If no one ever reads my books and I am the only one who reads them, I have succeeded. If I get the stories out of my head and the emotions down on paper, I have succeeded. Writing is its own reward.
Until next time,
Keep dreaming and never give up.