Why I Write

Why I Write ?    

I cannot paint.

I’ve never been an artist unless you count my picture of Bill and Ben as art  when I was 13 and my teacher liked it and showed it to the class.

I cannot compose music unless you count a 2-part harmony for ‘O’ level music , based on a nursery rhyme.

I cannot sing __ no ifs or buts here!

But I can write.

I write because it enables me to respond to thoughts and feelings that spring from within that I didn’t know existed, surfacing spontaneously and urging me to put pen to paper.

I write because of some primeval ,  inert feeling that writing is a way of communicating for the first time, as mankind did at first..

I write so that momentarily, perhaps, I can escape the pressures and harsh realities of life to enter the hidden world of my imagination.

I write to entertain myself and others.

I write to turn a boring, blank page into something visible, tangible, original.

I write because it helps me interpret events that happened  in the past, is happening now and may happen in future.

I write because the world is such a strange yet funny place and things happen, interesting, tragic, magic and  to record these is a privilege and joy.

 I love words.

Only words can pierce   a person’s mind and heart; challenging the mind and stirring the heart,

And writing them down opens the window  to a person’s soul.

While I still have the inclination, passion and ability , I write.

 Oh  that my feeble attempts to write might linger forever ,

if not on faded paper torn,

 then in the treasured memory of someone yet unborn.

And so...... I write.

Author's Note

This passage arose from being challenged by the teacher whilst attending a writing course. We first listened to a VERY long 'monologue' written by someone with an obvious passion to write. Inspirational but wordy. So I kept my own personal version as short as possible with a few humorous or poignant lines thrown in to break up the boredom.