As "Halloweekend" came to a close, I found myself wondering about some of the why's in life. With October almost over, I thought about what November used to mean to me and what it means now. Two years ago, November was the month I started talking to the boy who I loved for the better part of my high school years. That same month I also had one of my most memorable sleepovers with my best friend of 10 years, when we set a camera up on a wooden crate and used the time to take photos in our stylish vests and autumn-aesthetic. November brought Thanksgiving break, annual camping trips with family, the return of my older siblings from school, colorful trees, pumpkin pies and warm sweaters. Now November is going to mean a lot of different things: the month I get to go home for the first time in three months, giving thanks for my new friends, a weekend in the mountains with more friends, and National Novel Writing Month.

National Novel Writing Month, affectionately coined NaNoWriMo, happens in November and is a time to encourage writers to write and to write a lot. Personally, I'm not a novel writer--more so a blogger, journaler. NaNoWriMo used to not be significant to me, but now as Editor in Chief of my school's Odyssey community, it seems to represent something bigger.

In the process of redefining the community, I have had to ask the creators to re-commit. I found that almost half of the members of the community decided to leave after honestly realizing that they aren't able to prioritize their writing. Understandably, setting aside time to work on something that doesn't matter in terms of GPA or credit is really hard. I completely know where they're coming from, because I, too, have struggled to answer the question, "Why do I even write?" with complete confidence.

When I was in the 6th grade, my English teacher planted the seed for my writing. From there, my 8th-grade teacher encouraged me to keep writing. I later participated in a creative non-fiction workshop with him. My aunt encouraged me to start a blog, and so I did. I now have a second blog, because the first one represents to me a former version of myself from which I have grown. Despite these consistent steps in pursuing my writing, asking myself why I write is challenging at times.

As a writer, I dream of typing, gold glitter bursting from the keyboard as if my fingers bend and move by a magical spell. I dream that my computer cries tears of diamonds from the speakers because it is overwhelmed by the beauty of my words. Ray Bradbury feels that "we are cups, constantly and quietly being filled". I think he is right; each day we see and hear and live such that you'd think we'd never run out of things to say.

Except it usually doesn't work like that.

Every once in a while, I find myself typing away furiously and I can feel the magic inside me pouring out into the keyboard. Often, however, that magic dissipates as the word count grows. My inspiration shrivels like a grape in the sun. Worries about other obligations and school work crowd my thoughts, and it becomes harder and harder to create the final piece I first imagined.

I imagine that my creators have these moments. I believe that many of them either aren't as passionate about writing or if they are, haven't found what it takes to keep on writing when it seems pointless. We all want our words to be craved, to be magical. We all want our writing to matter.

As writers, we must ask ourselves this: Do I write for page views and article shares, or do I write to have evidence of my living (not just existing) and my transformations along the way? For who am I writing?

NaNoWriMo will be a time for me, as a new Editor in Cheif of my school's Odyssey community, to remind others why they write. It comes at the most appropriate time as my community undergoes changes and shifts, too. While the creators aren't writing novels, they need community support just as much. I, personally, have found that I am more encouraged to write when I see the impact my writing can achieve through the support of my friends and family. Saturday night of "Halloweekend", a creator stopped by my room and we talked for a bit; she mentioned how she told her mom all about me and my work, my new role as EIC, and her favorite article of mine that her mom would enjoy reading. I thought to myself how, while gold glitter doesn't burst from my computer screen as I write, it felt like my whole world was sparkling when my fellow creator (and good friend) shared that story with me.

So why do I write?

Writing reminds me of the moments that have shaped me. When I face blank white page, I search for the heartache of breaking up with my first love. Along the way, I find the peace that washed over me as my friend drove on the back roads I knew so well, windows down to let the crisp Fall air fill our lungs, Taylor Swift's "Out of the Woods" playing on repeat. Sometimes I even encounter the mixture of emotions felt at any given moment between the last day of my senior year and graduation night. The process of writing helps me reflect and pause, to reach out to my ex-boyfriend and best friend and remind them that I still care, I still love all of our memories even though we have all gone our separate ways.

I write because I have something to say. I write because eight years ago a woman saw potential in me. I write because I don't trust my memory, and I want to remember what I was thinking and feeling--especially in these transformative years of college. I write because my GPA will not define me in 10 years, but the words I leave for posterity will. I write for me, for my creator's mom, for this nation, for the people and memories that constantly and quietly fill me with love and purpose and passion. So to keep writing, what does it take? It takes, according to Ray Bradbury, "knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out." And, even for the best writers, knowing how to do that can be just as hard--if not harder--as reminding ourselves why we write in the first place.

Stay tuned for "Why We Write and What It Takes: Part 2".