Hello lovely,

Has anyone ever asked you “Why do you write?”

Looking at it, it’s such an innocent question. Innocuous really. It’s along the lines of asking “why are you an accountant?” “Why are you a waitress?”, or “why are you a teacher?”. Four very simple words used to break the ice, but with such a hidden depth you could spend forever trying to respond.

You could, like I have in the past, smile and mutter that, “It makes me happy, it pays the bills, it’s something I’m passionate about, I want to educate people …”, and keep up the cliched answers that are expected. But all those responses always ring hollow to my ears not because they’re not true, but because they don’t truly encompass the scope of why I do what I do.

So to self disclose a little, I’d have to say:

I write to open myself and others up to possibilities. I write to inspire, to encourage, and to delve into my own psyche and character. I write to let loose the endless stream of thoughts and capture them on paper. I write to unleash hidden worlds and half-dreamed memories of impossible and unlikely things – to give them form and substance in a world that is increasingly interested in losing touch with the physical, tangibles of life – preferring to spend hours with the intangibles – in the form of watching imaginary things play out on a screen be it TV series, games, or the stock market.

Why do I write? I write for remembrance of better days and bitter days. I write to describe the beauty of life around me – the sunlight flickering across a duck pond as a snowy white marvel preens, then glides swiftly away, leaving only a solitary, sinking feather in it’s wake.

I write to capture the memories made – of hot chocolates and pine-scented walks in the forest in rain boots with a scratchy scarf tight wrapped against my neck but never once minding – happy in the beauty of nature and companionship. I write for remembrance of scrambling over boulders ungracefully in a bikini, only to come face to face with penguins at the beach who squawk indignantly at my laughter. Of picnics on the lawn as slightly warm soda is poured into a cup and cheese platters are passed about with Jazz music floating in the air.

I write to capture that sense of the rhythm pulsing through my body and soul, found echoing in the bass that causes liquids to ripple in clubs as entranced people dance the night away, alone but surrounded by others.

To remember that day, holding a parchment thin hand with a grip that slowly softens, allowing you to feel, with each ragged breath, the slowly slipping life force … until finally your hand is released as the ragged breathing stops, and the machine starts it’s monotone  beep…

I write to express feelings, emotions, and thoughts that I want to scream out at the top of my lungs – which civilized society would never allow, or to whisper those feelings in a half mumble as I’m curled up as small as possible, holding my knees, crying in the rain.

I write to express the beauty and agony of being alive. The endless stream of hopes and dreams – places left to uncover, cities and countrysides to explore, possibilities that stretch out endlessly.

I write to give a voice to amber eyes of wildlife born into captivity, to share their unspoken sorrow of never being able to push themselves past their circumstances of life – where they’ll be forever trapped, never free to roam as their nature calls to them to do. Instead they’re forced to watch a parade of small creatures pay homage to them as they dream of open spaces and endless plains.

I write to capture the restlessness of the wind whipping through the highlands, as the air freezes every exposed piece of skin, and every breath hangs coldly in your lungs as you laugh at the sheer joy of being alive.

I write to explain life in a murky green light, where fish fly as birds over your head, and larger creatures move soundlessly below your small, frail form which braves the uncharted and untamed oceans.

I write to feel connected. I write to bring joy. I write to be heard. I write to share my truth and perspective.

I write because it’s a part of who I am: a wild crazy, paradoxical, yet happy traveller who prefers to see the beauty and best in everyone and everything, while taking note of the harshness and calamities of life that makes those beautiful moments just that much more special.

I write because I have only one life – though I’ve lived thousands, and it could end in the next breath or a heartbeat. I write to remember the beauty, companionship, and simple pleasures.

…

And now that I’ve laid myself bare before you, share with me why you write! ^_~