I write because I am braver with words on paper than I am in person. I write because I want there to be some evidence that I was here, long after I am gone. I write because I can actually do without falling down. I write because I know how to be naked and raw this way and it doesn’t scare me nearly as much as standing up in front of a crowd and saying the same things. I write because I can take my time to make things sound just the I want them to. Mostly. I write because it is one of the things that I can do that feels easy, and trust me, there aren’t many of them. I write because I feel deeply about life, about people, about the importance of not just having hopes and dreams, but in nurturing them extravagantly because hopes and dreams keep people alive—or at least, people like me alive because without hope I would have died a long time ago. I write because there might be one single solitary person out there that needs to read what I wrote, and that person just might find an ounce of comfort or truth or hope or love in my words the way I did when I so desperately needed to hear myself in someone else’s words. I write because I want to bridge the gap between us, I write to feel a deep sense of connection with you and I write to help myself remember that none of us are ever really alone…that I am not alone. I write because when it flows out just right, it feels like I am belting out a song, and making sweet love, and floating and gettingmy second wind after my lungs have burned out chugging up that hill, and for one small moment writing makes everything seem right in the world. I write because when I can get my truth down on paper—even if it’s ugly or painful—I feel as if I am giving something small but significant back to the Universe for all of the goodness that has been heaped upon me by a loving God.
Why do you write?