Why did you start writing? Why do you keep writing? Was it ever a choice, or was writing always a driving force? Question courtesy of Madeleine.
Ooh, I know this one. Because my parents wanted me to leave them alone for just one minute.
When I was little, I had a ton of books. I had the Spot books, the Berenstain Bears, Dr. Seuss, and Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Reading (the best children’s book series ever). Come to think of it, when it came to books, I was SO spoiled. Some of my favorite memories include sitting in one of my parents’ lap and reading to me. I would lay my head down on my mom or dad’s chest, and I would listen. I would hear them breathing and listen to their heart beat as they transported me into another world. But then, the story would end, and I would ask them, “What happened after that?” Living happily ever after just wasn’t good enough; I was absolutely relentless in my bid for more.
My parents were very patient with me, but one day, after another series of constant questions, my mom asked me, “Well, what do you think?”
I couldn’t have been more than three, and I was flabbergasted, not mention adorable. “What?!” Silly Mommy must have lost her mind. She had no idea what she was talking about. “Noooooo… I don’t know what happens.”
“Use your imagination. You can make it up, and then, you can tell me what happens.”
“Noooooo…” I said. “I can’t do that.”
I couldn’t write yet, so my mom in all her wisdom told me. “Yes, you can. Go draw me a picture and then tell me all about it.”
Oh how the heavens did part! I was a storyteller.
If writing was ever a choice, I don’t remember making it. I feel like it’s always been in me. There is not peace within my soul if I cannot write. I’ve done other things creatively to express myself like drawing, photography, and painting. I’ve even been told that maybe I should focus on one of them instead, but nothing has ever come close to giving me that feeling. I don’t get images of photos that I want to take or pictures that I have to draw or paint. I have worlds that I want to create and people that I want to know. And there’s nothing quite like having all of these thoughts and ideas just emptying them onto the page.
I keep writing because I’m addicted to that feeling. I get withdrawals without it. I’m antsy. I’m anxious. My mind races and not in a good way. I have to write.
How about you? Why did you start writing? Was it ever a choice? Tell me about it in the comments below!