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Why I Write

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I write because any day without a pen in hand is a bad day.

I write to process my world and make sense of things.

I write because the physical act of moving a pen across paper is calming, centering, and releases a part of me that communicates no other way.

I write because not writing produces anxiety, stress, and agitation.  Maybe it’s my form of Ritalin.

I write because, though I am a private person, I want to reveal glimpses inside my outer self and share deep thoughts I could never share verbally.

I write because I love to tell stories.

I write because, as far as callings/hobbies/obsessions go, it’s incredibly mobile and has very low cost.

I write because I enjoy language, metaphor, word play, and sentences that resonate.

I write because I can.  Race, economic status, state of health, and occupation have no effect on whether I can string words together to form images and ideas.

I write because I’m a writer.  It’s not just what I do.  It’s who I am and how I live.

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