It’s interesting that I find myself in this space, contemplating why I write.
What prompted this you might ask? Well, I started a course on Novel Writing last week. I had missed the first week’s lecture because I was away, but when I attended the second week’s class, I was thankful and reassured that I had made the right decision in taking this course before embarking on the journey to writing my first novel.
You see, I’ve always dreamed of writing a book, but once upon a time, I had thought of it as impossible for me; but then when I finally reconciled with the idea that I could actually write, all other excuses formed a stumbling block.
However, would I not be a hypocrite if I keep telling others to follow their passions fiercely and fearlessly while I shy away from mine?
So I finally decided that enough was enough, and it was time to chew on a mound of my own advice.
In the first class I attended, I learned that the homework that had been given the previous week was to write a page on ‘Why I write’, and although I missed it, my tutor encouraged me to do it anyway and read it to the class next week, just like my other peers had done this week.
So here goes:
Why I Write
For the longest time, I loved to make up stories in my head. Sometimes I wrote it down, and other times, I didn’t. I used to write them down in the hopes that someday someone would stumble upon them and marvel at the stories, but not being exactly sure of myself, I stopped writing altogether.
Since no one was going to see them, there was no point in penning them. It was no use. I could enjoy the stories in my head and cherish them.
Then one day all that changed. In what started as a gamble, an experiment of sorts, I became a writer.
I was being asked to write a series and I was both excited and flabbergasted.
What, me? Really?
Well, I carried on like it had been planned all along.
So there I was, writing again and the joy in the process was awakened once again.
Now I had a purpose. I had been salvaged and given another chance, and it was time to run away with it.
Now when I write, I write to inform, to enlighten, to entertain, but most especially to share myself.
Those people that I might never otherwise have shared my thinking or my ideas or my passions with, can experience it in my writing. They get to see the side of me that I do not offer forthrightly, and it offers a respite from whatever it is that may be consuming their lives and they experience a different dimension.
In my writing, I’m honest. I try as much as I can to offer the unadulterated me.
But don’t be assuming because in my writing, I can aim to shock. To evoke the emotion I want from you because I want to share my stories, my guiles and my desires.
I write for a multitude of reasons, and to pin it down to one is to tell a lie.
In my writing, I am free. My mind wanders; it twirls, it swirls and it dances to it’s own rhythm, and after it all, I’m at peace, for in my writing, I find me-The dreamer.
In my writing, I let out the emotions I cease to express or lash out. It’s freeing in itself, and provides a form of catharsis.
But despite all of this, maybe there’s no one reason for why I write.
There’s no why to why I write, there just is.
I write because I can.
Wow,this was like one of d most intriguing pieces iv read,I def felt the thrill,I’m so proud of you,u certainly just inspired me,well done dear.wow wow wow
thanks so much for your kind words. I’m really glad to have inspired you in anyway!
All the best 🙂
What a piece! What a way to inspire! You are so so…good!
Thanks a lot! It’s much appreciated.