At a very early age, perhaps the age of five or six, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. Between the ages of about seventeen and twenty, I tried to abandon this idea, but I did so with the consciousness that I was outraging my true nature.
You see, I’ve never considered myself much of a writer. I’m not particularly great at it. On my better day, I will be passable. On my best, I don’t have half the talent of many people I’ve been lucky enough to work with. And this is not false humility.
But why do I write you might ask...
I write because I see these images in my head that I don’t want to forget, because I hear words that need to be in ink. I have to get these things down because it’s torture if I don’t, and lost to oblivion if I’m unlucky and without a pen.
I write because nothing satisfies me most than turning my words into ideas and then sharing my complete work to people for their enjoyment and criticism.
I write because I’m not very good at speaking. (Isn’t this the very logic of writing?)
I write because it gets me to avoid things I loathe like cleaning my room or cleaning my room or cleaning my room.
I do it because after a page or two of writing my heart out, I feel like I’ve lost pounds.
I write because I know this is the best gift I have to give.
The reason that no matter what I have done in life, writing has always been a constant is that there is power in words for everyone. Be it making us laugh, reflect, angry or just making us think. And for me there is nothing more exhilarating or rewarding as seeing someone’s eyes light up as they read my words or I imagine them being played out.
I can only imagine what it must be like to write something an entire nation (and beyond) tunes in for each week, to see your written words personified. I will continue to be envious of all of you who are lucky enough to write for a living and I will continue to write myself, even if what I write never leaves the confines of my computer, because it is still so much a part of me.
I watch television and movies because I know a writer has written all that I am watching, and for that, all you writers out there have my utmost respect and full support. Thank you for all that you have written and for all that you have yet to write.
When I think about my life now, I thank the person, who once said,
“What do you do when your life exceeds your dreams?”
“Keep it to yourself.”
I guess that’s the other reason I write. One day, if I’m lucky enough, I hope to write a line half that good.
Thank you for reading this and for giving me a reason to write why I write.
There are also sorts of experiences in life that we can't really put a name to --- the birth of a child, for one or the death of a parent. Falling in love and falling apart.
