Why do I write?
I write because I can play God – my characters do what I ask them to when I want them to.
I write because I write better than I speak – when the words are all muddled up because the mind is too fast for my mouth to keep up with, a keyboard comes to my rescue like a knight in shining technology.
I write because my muse inspires me to – because she creates a chaos of words, a whirlwind, no less, crowding my thoughts till I indulge her and siphon the chaos out onto paper.
I write because otherwise I have no way of letting you know how I feel about you – I’m too shy to tell you how much you mean to me, how awesome it is that I can call you friend. I’d rather crack you up with jokes of my stupidity, rather than get touchy-feely. So I write to tell you that you’re awesome and hope fervently that someday you’ll stumble around and find my words.
I write because words are beautiful – the cycle of reading a new word and understanding the beauty of it is complete only when I become capable of using it in that perfect sentence that does it complete justice.
I write because I can’t not write – to feed the need to splatter the Word document with everything that I just cannot leave rattling within.
I write because I want to create – create masterpieces that the world identifies with, that the world’s mind is blown. To create interesting collaborations of words that give birth to pictures in the mind of the reader; my success is complete when the picture is the same one I had in my mind while I was creating.
I write because I want to understand myself – the happy ending indicates bliss ruling the mind and heart, the murder means my inability to gain control in real life, the abstract talks of multiple threads of fantasy weaving their way through the brain that desperately needs a break from stark reality.
I write because everyone has a story to tell.
I write because I can.
Why do you write?