Why do I write? Good question.
It’s not because it’s been a passion ever since second grade when Sister Ann Michael praised my poem I WANT TO BE A DOG for its wit, rhyme, and wild imagination, or the inclusion of several heart-wrenching poems about ‘first love’ triumphs and heart breaks in my high school literary magazine, or that I even love to write—I wield my pen because I cannot escape the characters rambling in my head demanding their stories be told.
I write because I like words, odd words, like pulchritudinous, ludicrous, tumulus,
words that captivate, undulate, scintillate,
mouth-watering words, hair-raising words,
fragrant, pungent, aromatic words that tickle the olfactory system,
words, that when strung together like a fine strand of pearls,
elicit giggles, snickers, guffaws,
gasps, sighs, tears,
or an amalgamation thereof.
I like words that are mutinous, disobedient nonconformists that defy the rules—
weird, I know.
I write to create worlds where I am The Omniscient, the chess champion, the queen in control of the land of What Happens If.
I write to answer the age-old question, ‘Who Am I?’
I write to discover myself, to better understand myself, convince myself I have something worth saying. Writing gives me time to think about what I have to say and say it clearly. It is a journey, an adventure, a nose-dive into the realm of my innermost thoughts.
I write because I cannot escape it.
What about you?