Why I Write



Sometimes I think I have nothing to say.  It may be that I have too many – or too few – words bouncing around in my head like bingo balls.  This is always accompanied by a restlessness, an inability to settle or find peace.  Maybe it’s because I’m chewing on ideas or because I’m bothered by an event or a problem.  Whatever the reason, no matter how wordless I feel, I have learned these are the times I must write.

That is when I need more than ever to put pen to paper or fingertips to keyboard and get the words out.  Until I do, they remain trapped inside, angry hornets unable to defend a poked nest.  Only in verbally vomiting the thoughts and worries into words am I able to finally process.  Articulating brings my lens into focus, the bubble back to the middle of my level, and my internal tea kettle can finally cease screaming.

Once the words are out there, I can manipulate them, edit them, assess them.  Bad ideas can be discarded, truth and lies can be sorted, and the voices can be silenced or given center stage, depending upon how their message aligns with my dreams, goals, and world view.

As long as I believe I cannot write and refuse to form the words, I am stuck in the cycle, condemning myself to civil war, sleepless nights, worry, and angst.  After the words comes the quiet.  With the writing comes the bliss of clarity.

Like with a storm, raging against the backdrop of swollen clouds, vengeful hail, and lightning flashes, once the fury passes, the calm is almost too tranquil for descriptions.  The earth is refreshed, the dust is settled, the air smells clean.

So it is with writing.  It cleanses, heals, and restores balance to my world.

And this is why I write.




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