It’s a good question to ask yourself once and awhile. I ask myself sometimes daily, or at least I think about writing daily or why I am not writing. Really no answer will make me stop writing, only I stop myself from getting to the page.
Natalie Goldberg shared a few reasons why you may think you write:
- Because I’m neurotic.
- Because I’m the reincarnation of William Shakespeare.
- Because I have something to say.
- Because I have nothing to say.
I can come up with a few more, but truly, I write because creativity has chosen me to work with. Creativity wants to be shared and it wants to share through me. I am the vessel of creativity. Sometimes I need to remind myself of this because in the last four days I’ve been bitching to myself that I’ve been wasting time by Not writing. Then I made one small decision to leave work a half hour early and here I am on the page and I feel like I got my second, third and fourth wind. I am truly grateful for creativity. It’s good enough for me to know that I want to write. So I write.
It’s a good and haunting question to explore, not so you can find the one final reason, but to see how writing permeates your life you many reasons. Writing is not therapy, though it may have therapeutic effect….Writing is deeper than therapy. You write through your pain, and even your suffering must be written out and let go of. ~ Natalie Goldberg
I write to let go. I write to share with you, to say it’s okay to let go. Let go and let be. Creativity whispers ideas to me like a soft kiss but sometimes like a sucker punch to the gut, creativity wants to get my attention, well it sure has gotten my attention over the years and I’m writing like a wild horse to catch up.
Why do you write? Just dive onto the page, be full of answers, but don’t try to justify yourself. You do it because you do it. You do it because you want to improve your handwriting, because you’re an idiot, because you’re mad for the smell of paper. ~ Natalie Goldberg
I am mad for the smell of paper, for a good pencil or fountain pen in my hand to glide across the page, like a lovers hand gliding along my bare skin. The goosebumps show up, the tingling starts, joy fills the body. I writer for the goosebumps. Why do you write?
Until next time, keep on typing. . . .