Why I Write

For as long as I can remember, I have written tales from my imagination onto paper, dating back to a time when I still believed in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Like many children, I had a wild imagination that could take me to places I’d never been. Whether these places contained beauty or horror were entirely under my control, and the best part about it was I could never tell where these stories would take me.

Like any writer, I love to write, and continue to write because I have stories inside me that I am burning to tell. A book you really want to read must first be written, and what better way to satisfy that tale than by telling it yourself. Writing is a strength in which we can absorb; we can relinquish our anger and fear, or expand on our happiness and excitement. I allow myself to divulge in words, lose myself within them, and so without some sort of writing outlet, I would be completely lost inside my own asylum.

I was once asked what the word ‘journey’ meant for me, and after considerable thought, I came up with this:

The journey of my interpretation is that which can be written with ink, illustrated with imagination and read by others.

From start to finish, writing is a journey of discovery that is entirely our own. How could you not take up that opportunity? And if one were to question why I write, this would be my response.

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