Some kids had sports. They showed their skill on the court or the field, and had their jerseys to show for it.

I was never that kid. I had my books and my stories, the words that I tiredly etched onto the pages of notebooks during any given time. I was, I am, The Writer. But why, I’m often asked, do I write? Why do I bother, if there are some words and works in my craft that I prefer to keep to myself?

I write because that is my talent. That is the one thing that I feel I excel at. My works are the one thing I can look at and feel pride toward. I write because I’m good at it.

I write because that is the one way I have always been able to express myself in completely honest terms. Do you want to know why I’m upset? Do you want to know why I’ve been so happy lately? Read my articles. Read my novels, even. My written words will always, always tell more than I ever will. That is a promise I will always keep.

I write to escape. My novels are a new world. They are a world I aspire to live in. While writing, I can leave here for a while, and take refuge there instead, where things are crystal clear and sparkling because I am in control.

I write because there is inspiration to be found in everything I see and experience. A broken heart? My first love? A chaotic day at work? They all will find their way into my writing, woven in deep. If you look hard enough, you can see the emotion behind the sadness, happiness, or chaos.

I write because, while I find inspiration in any and all things, I aim to be an inspiration, too. I want my words to encourage something in whoever reads my writing. I want my words to evoke something, be it good or bad, and provoke thoughts. I write because I want to start the conversation.

I write for me. I write so I can remember the good and the bad. I write for my own satisfaction. I write for my own memories.

I write, my friends, because my words will never fail me.