Why Do Writers Write?

Why Do Writers Write?

It's a question for the ages.
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My writing journey began when I was a scant eight years old. I clearly recall the thick, red, sticker-covered notebook on whose pages I set down my earliest stories. One of them featured two "Totally Hair Barbie Dolls" as main characters. (90's girls will know what I am talking about!) I was a precocious child, so another was about time travel to ancient Egypt and beyond.

As I matured, poems found their way into a journal with a kitten on the front, and onto school worksheets during uninspiring classes. In my late teens, I learned to properly craft short stories and set them in the glamorous, gritty underworld of Prohibition-era Manhattan.

My early twenties saw me writing my first two novels, with lady vampire protagonists, falling deeply in love while seeking spiritual meaning in their bizarre existences. Now I am working on historical fiction again, this time set in the 18th century, one of my absolute favorite eras, and I feel completely “at home.” It may sound unusual, but many writers will tell you that they meander through genres until they discover their specialty or “niche."

Non-writers frequently ask why writers write and what exactly it is that makes us tick. It is a question for the ages. I haven't the slightest inkling of what prompted me to begin writing, or why words excite me as much as they do. Nor can I explain why I feel compelled to create on a daily basis. Perhaps it is a matter of brain chemistry and genetics.

My father used to write and is now spending his retired days crafting wooden flutes. My mother bought me plenty of books when I was small that were read to me every night at bedtime, which undoubtedly helped cultivate my love of the written word. I happen to believe that all human beings are incarnate on this earth with at least one gift to share with the world, so maybe storytelling is mine. Perhaps it is a combination of all three.

While I will not pretend to know where the drive and ability to write come from, I can tell you what I enjoy about writing, and therefore, yes, part of my personal reason for writing. I love the magic of being swept up in a new story, discovering layer by layer the characters who inhabit it, the plot, and the theme. (Yes, I am more of a "pantser" than an "outliner".)

I play with words and arrange them until they accurately express what must be said. Like hot fudge over chocolate ice cream, writing is that special ingredient that takes my day from good to awesome. This magic pervades everything, like floating flecks of gold, caught in a shaft of sunlight. Problems big or small feel more manageable. There is a sparkle in my eyes when I discuss the WIP (work in progress,) and I feel powerful and accomplished, at the very top of my game, unstoppable. And then, there’s that sweet taste of victory when the project is finished and the knowledge that in time, another story will develop, and I will fall in love all over again.


That’s the best explanation I can give you. Write on!

Cover Image Credit: https://pixabay.com/en/type-typewriter-font-writing-1161949/

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To The Friends I Won't Talk To After High School

I sincerely hope, every great quality I saw in you, was imprinted on the world.
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Hey,

So, for the last four years I’ve seen you almost everyday. I’ve learned about your annoying little brother, your dogs and your crazy weekend stories. I’ve seen you rock the awful freshman year fashion, date, attend homecoming, study for AP tests, and get accepted into college.

Thank you for asking me about my day, filling me in on your boy drama and giving me the World History homework. Thank you for complimenting my outfits, laughing at me presenting in class and listening to me complain about my parents. Thank you for sending me your Quizlets and being excited for my accomplishments- every single one of them. I appreciate it all because I know that soon I won’t really see you again. And that makes me sad. I’ll no longer see your face every Monday morning, wave hello to you in the hallways or eat lunch with you ever again. We won't live in the same city and sooner or later you might even forget my name.

We didn’t hang out after school but none the less you impacted me in a huge way. You supported my passions, stood up for me and made me laugh. You gave me advice on life the way you saw it and you didn’t have to but you did. I think maybe in just the smallest way, you influenced me. You made me believe that there’s lots of good people in this world that are nice just because they can be. You were real with me and that's all I can really ask for. We were never in the same friend group or got together on the weekends but you were still a good friend to me. You saw me grow up before your eyes and watched me walk into class late with Starbucks every day. I think people like you don’t get enough credit because I might not talk to you after high school but you are still so important to me. So thanks.

With that said, I truly hope that our paths cross one day in the future. You can tell me about how your brothers doing or how you regret the college you picked. Or maybe one day I’ll see you in the grocery store with a ring on your finger and I’ll be so happy you finally got what you deserved so many guys ago.

And if we ever do cross paths, I sincerely hope you became everything you wanted to be. I hope you traveled to Italy, got your dream job and found the love of your life. I hope you have beautiful children and a fluffy dog named Charlie. I hope you found success in love before wealth and I hope you depended on yourself for happiness before anything else. I hope you visited your mom in college and I hope you hugged your little sister every chance you got. She’s in high school now and you always tell her how that was the time of your life. I sincerely hope, every great quality I saw in you, was imprinted on the world.

And hey, maybe I’ll see you at the reunion and maybe just maybe you’ll remember my face. If so, I’d like to catch up, coffee?

Sincerely,

Me

Cover Image Credit: High school Musical

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Poetry On The Odyssey: It's a Girl

An ode to the little girl raised to be insecure.

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They raise little girls to be insecure

Little girls grow to be big girls

People always ask big girls why they're so insecure

Big girls aren't quite sure

Day after day the big girl can't keep up

She's exhausted

Her soul feels worn

The big girl learns to grow hard

In a way, she's a bit stronger

People call her a bitch

Bitch

What is that?

How can she let that affect her

It's simply the only way to be her

She mourns that little girl

Hoping that one day

She'll be strong


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