By Christine Thackeray
A friend sent me an interesting essay. In it a woman said that she writes because she can't draw. Her brother is an artist and in her heart she felt a need to describe the beauties of the Northwest in the autumn so she penned gorgeous lines which I'm not even going to try to imitate.
I read that and thought, "Wow, that's not why I write at all."
I write because I love people. I love stories and passions that drive action. I love coming to new epiphanies and seeing life from new perspectives once those lessons have been digested. I love seeing the flow of life in miniature and feeling that every difficulty has purpose and perhaps, I'm a little too impatient to wait for reality so I make it up myself.
I write because I have vivid dreams and more vivid imaginings. I write because I want to experience the past with the muscles and flesh on, not simply the bones that historians leave behind. I write because I want to reach to the future or maybe even change it a little.
And if I didn't write I would still dream and dance in my mind, but the moment I turned from those thoughts, they'd be gone forever. So I write to keep the crazy wonderful musings of mind alive just a little longer.
So my question to you is... Why so you write?