Why do you write?
What drives you to sweat, swear, and despair over the worlds and characters you create?
What creates the need to put black on white for as long as it takes to spill the story into the world?
I’d very much like to know… Will you share?
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I’ve written for most of my life. As a youngster, I wrote in my diary. As a teenager, I began journaling. (writing in a booklet instead of a diary) As a young adult, I was one of the few that loved the writing assignments in English class. I volunteered for extra credit book reports, etc. As an adult, I continued my journaling and discovered short stories. I began to create worlds with characters doing things. Then I discovered on a Yahoo group, some readers enjoyed reading my stories. I took that as validation. I might actually have stories others would read, so I considered writing a novel and attempting to get published. I realized writing was a passion for me. Time flies, I’m content, and my characters become like friends. Writing was, and continues to be, part of who I am. It’s how I figure out and make sense of the world, and if I can’t, I make up my own world and hope it touches a reader and gives them a few hours of escape or distraction from their stress.
Carol
Nicely said, Carol. Thank you for sharing. I started writing in much the same way, and I relished the English assignments too.
It’s funny since I seldom wrote anything until I started writing one day on a dare with myself to see if I could do it. I’ve always loved to tell stories having grown up with two of the best story tellers in the world, and considering where we came from, my mom and dad had some incredible tales to tell. Once I started I couldn’t stop, and I do it now because I have a need to put on paper the at times crazy characters that have taken up residence and refuse to shut the hell up.
The other reason I think is to continue what my parents gave me, and even if the reader doesn’t realize it, I’ve slipped some of those stories in some of the books. By doing that I think some of who they were along with a lot of myself will continue on even after I’m gone. This past year has taught me that writing it all down helps with the grief of loss, and the last eight has taught me that of all the things I’ve “inherited” from my family is the comfort of a good story that reminds us of where we come from and who we are inside. I’m the only one left, and I’m doing my best to make sure their stories never die away.
What a beautiful reason for continuing to write, Ali. And having listened to some of your stories, I can well imagine you being raised by storytellers. ❤️
Random Musings 
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