“For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.”
Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
Writing is my powerful passion, my prevailing purpose, my prominent path. It gives my life meaning. It brings me fantastical joy. My creative veins pulse every time I see a fascinating figure, a shivering shadow, an unexplored universe.
I write because I have to. There are worlds of players inside my head, exploding with dreams, desires, and daring adventures. They are storming the stockade, entering the empire, and announcing their arrival. They are waiting to tell their story.
I write for many of the same reasons for which I read. Communication. Connection. Camaraderie.
Books shaped my life. From the moment that I could hold a book with both hands, I read. Oh, I might not have understood the words exactly – but my imagination painted a picture of the things that my mind did not comprehend.
I fell in love with story. And characters. And plot. I hungered for adventure and excitement and experience.
Why do you write? Are there characters dancing around in your head waiting to tell their stories? I would love to hear from you.
Helen S. writes: “I write to know myself. I write because I can. I write to record truths, to imagine worlds, to persuade people, to make them think. I write because it’s an art form. Even as a child, writing played an important role. I set up an office in my closet, pulled in a small chair, desk, and lamp and graced the desktop with a typewriter. The blank paper intimidated me, but I pecked away at the keys and recorded a few thoughts. It was a tableau I’d create again and again…”