For several months I’ve neglected my Reflections. Happy New Year! I’m back!
During my hiatus, someone asked me,
“Why do you write?”
That question led me down a rabbit hole of pondering. 🐇
Authors are used to the usual inquiries:
Where do you write?
Some writers find inspiration in coffee shops. Others fly to the settings of their novels. Pasadena! Pittsburgh! Paris! But most write at home.
The why of writing is more difficult to explain.
It goes beyond a fascination with words. All avid readers do not become writers.
As a little girl, I played library, placing my favorite books on display for my family to check out. Even then, I wished my name was on one of the covers. I wrote silly stories with illustrations from coloring books.
I felt compelled to write.
In middle school, I couldn’t diagram a sentence to save my life. Lacking this skill, my English teacher told me I could never be an author. I believed her—for far too long.
The busy and harried child-raising years produced travel diaries but not much else.
Fast-forward to today. I mostly write adult essays, short stories, and women’s fiction.
Back to why I write.
Some may think it cowardly, but my essays will never push my political opinions or argue about climate change. My stories are hopeful and upbeat even when dealing with painful subjects. The characters in my novels will always try to make you laugh.
I write for the love of wrangling words. Imagine Lucy, Ethel, and the frantic candy factory scene. I grapple with swirling thoughts and ideas before they fling off my conveyor belt brain. Then with the help of critique buddies, we turn those sentences into a piece that will amuse, distract, and ultimately entertain readers.
That is my goal. To entertain. That is why I write.
What gets you out of bed in the morning?