Why I Write…
There’s something about the art of stringing together letters and varying sounds to form words to express ourselves. I’m not sure if you can relate, dear reader, but can you remember that moment when you fell in love with words? Perhaps it was so long ago that you can’t quite remember the exact moment and time. For me, I believe it was the year my little sister was born. As if it had just occurred, I can still picture my parents bringing her home from the hospital and my joy over being an older sister. I still feel the strong emotions at how elated I’d become; how very perfect and beautiful she was. That phenomenal experience became the subject of an essay some time later.
Plain and simple, my love of writing initially extended from a need to express myself. Words would sometimes race wildly through my mind, not even providing the opportunity to vocalize my thoughts. In some cases, I was rather shy and nervous about making sense out loud. My salvation became writing. I would write on any and everything I could find; many times my mind would become flooded with questions, uncertainties, joy, pain and all. Writing at an early age forced me to settle my thoughts and streamline my ideas. I even came to create several journals – one to record actual events, another to create events that I preferred (my alternate version of reality) and others from observing others. What I didn’t know back then, I’ve become aware of now. I was laying the foundation for becoming a writer.
I found my passion at an early age. Did I stray? Of course. That’s life, and we’re doing something called living. I never ended my love affair with the written word. I’ve always read and found myself drawn to it, but this thing called writing… This lifelong journey is ever tumultuous, yet has been engrained in my fiber.