I have always been a writer. I don't believe that you can wake up one day and decide to be one. You either always were or never will be. It is not a talent developed over night. Everyone can write. But not everyone can write well, and to be a writer one has to be aware of their ability to write well. It is not you who has to convince yourself you have a gift. It is making people feel your passion and recognizing your gift through your writing, not telling them.
Above all things, writing is my greatest passion and I would be throwing away a gift if I did not pursue it. Writing is my greatest escape from reality and the only way I know how to stay sane. I cannot control all of the terrible things that happen in the world or change the pain and heartbreak and disappointment I have felt in life, but with a pen in hand, I have the power to change it all. I am the creator of the story. And nothing feels more powerful than being in control of how life works out.
I write to share a part of my soul with the world. I write because I can articulate words and feelings better on paper than I can in my head. I write because it is the only way I know how to mend all that is broken inside of me. I write because when the street lamp inspires me at 2:00 a.m. I will not remember my thoughts in that moment at 2:00 p.m. the next day. I write because in the still of the morning when the stitches on a scar that have been opened one too many times begin to tear at the seams, the only way I know how to sew them back together is by pouring my heart out onto a piece of paper.
I write because it is the only thing on this earth that makes me feel alive. It is the only thing that makes my voice feel heard. It is the only way I know how to express the thoughts in my head. I write because that is when I feel most like myself.
Most importantly, I write because when I am not writing, I am not me. When I am not writing, words and stories and emotions build up inside of me and pound at my insides demanding to be written, to be heard, to be shared with the world. And a world where words are expressed merely in our minds and not on paper for others to indulge in and to admire is no world for a writer to live in.
