Writing? Me?

Why do writers write? Why do I write for that matter? I had never thought about it much before, lost as I was in the destructive rush of everyday life. Until it came to a crashing halt that is. Then it was like opening a dam. Someone suggested I write everything down, get all the turmoil that was raging inside my head at the time, out on to paper and into the ‘real’. I did exactly that and haven’t stopped since (be careful what you wish for Mister). I borrow a quote from the American journalist, Joan Didon – “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear”. She sums it up quite succinctly for me. That is precisely why I write. I started blogging nearly a year ago as a way of finding out what was going on in my head, a way of delving into feelings and emotions I had buried for so long. It’s a necessity, as important to me as eating or breathing. As a consequence, my life has now slowed to a manageable pace I can cope with, and I can look at how I feel about things in a new and healthy way.

I’m not sure my non-writing friends really get it, although I suppose my repeated insistence that I am writing when I am clearly staring vacantly into space, isn’t convincing. And granted, wearing pj’s until after lunch, and moaning that someone has upset me on twitter, doesn’t look like ‘work’. However, I do it daily, like brushing my teeth. It’s my life now.

Mind you, I never thought I could. I’m someone who frequently struggles to string two sentences together when speaking; why would I expect to be able to write? I’m not really sure, but it allows my soul to sing, to fly and reveal itself to the world. I’m on a journey of self discovery, and the more like-minded souls I can find along the way the better. Why do you write?