Writing is my escape.
I’ve been writing for over twenty-five years now and it has never occurred to me that I might need to explain my need and/or desire to write.
I was on Twitter this morning and there are several fellow writers that I follow, including one guy who dove into detail about why he writes. He’s been writing since May and is considered an avid blogger. As he poured it out on the page, his reasoning was sound and his methodology was solid. This is a guy who writes because it truly makes him happy, but even more than that, it is quite literally who he is.
So I sat there, sipping my coffee, considering for a moment why I write. I started thinking about the years I have spent putting my thoughts down. For a long time, I kept those words very private and then slowly I started sharing my thoughts.
That release of words from my brain onto paper was nothing short of miraculous for me. It kept me sane when all I really wanted to do was scream. For the last several years I have posted most of my writings online, with the idea that maybe others could relate or possibly benefit from anything my rambling heart might say.
To some degree, writing is visceral. Instinctually I will grab a pen and paper and write based on something I heard or read. I do it because I feel it’s the right response to the questions and statements in my head. Sometimes all I really need is an opportunity to let those words get out of my brain and onto paper.
What’s always fascinated me is, once I get the words out they become more alive, like they could give life or take it away depending on who was reading them. Words are like that, in so much as they have the ability to create or destroy. We build up or tear down with our words and it makes no difference whether those words are spoken or written, they can have the same impact. Once I get them out of my head and onto paper I reveal their intent. This fact has helped me shape a lot of my most current works because I have become much more reflective of what I have to say.
Not once have I given any serious thought to a book, though. It seems I have enough content built up of a few choice topics that would allow me to consider such a venture, but I’m not sure I was built for such scrutiny. Once I post something online, I can advertise it’s there if I think the post was good, or I can leave it for others to find, knowing in my own sheepish way that the article may be offensive to some, or that it may be too specific for a broad range or readers.
It’s odd how writing can be so freeing at one moment, then create a certain amount of anxiety the next. It’s like my right hand has the pen but my left is chained to the desk. Regardless, I pray that when you read this you can envision the colloquial nature with which it was intended, knowing that I could very well have just told you all of this. At the end of the day, I am thankful for the chance, however, to share what’s been on my mind. It is truly, my escape.