I can’t imagine not writing.
The flow of words on paper or across a blank computer screen is akin to a form of magic. And that’s one heady fix my friends.
For a moment in time, I am creator. And my pallet of choice is infinite. I can bring characters to life or snuff them out faster than an exhaled breath on a candle. With so many options, writing can seem daunting at first. But the rewards are endless.
Real life can be brutal and cruelly unfair. As creator of my own universe of stories, I can see to it the cute guy down the hall asks the chubby girl for a date and they fall in love. The kid with the bad acne the bullies called “pizza face,” grows up to become a handsome lead actor. The cheating husband gets taught a lesson, and murder victims are avenged. Every emotion explored, from humor and passion, to anger and grief. All is possible.
When sadness touches my life, I use writing as a catharsis. To honor those I’ve lost, to battle a major illness, and to start the healing process.
Cheaper than a shrink and healthier than booze.
I get a happy sense of accomplishment every time I complete an article or a story, whether it sees publication or not. But–for a writer, there is no bigger high than to see your byline in a magazine, your latest e-book available online, or to walk through a bookstore and see your name on the spine of a book. The rush is incredible.
Why do I write?
Because it’s a part of me…maybe the best part. And I love it.
