Why I Write

Why do I write?

         I'm a doctoral student in Psychology, and my life entails a lot of thinking, a lot of worrying and planning and stress and work. My everyday existence is quite cerebral.

         There's always been something more to me, though, something that burns in my core, my soul--burning not in a bad way.  It feels like a flame: warm, glowing, but steady.  This is what I will call my creative self.  This is the self that drives me to sit in art museums for hours (The Met, my favorite).  This is the part of me that developed into a young musician who, without serious lessons, was quite skilled.  It's the same self that made me cry when I was performing, for the simple fact that I was a part of something bigger than myself and part of creating something infinitely beautiful. 

This is my self, myself.  It drives me to create; to cook, or build, crochet, or paint.  This is the self that drives me to write.  This is my true self.

         There needs to be a balance to all of this-to my life.  I write for the same reason I play sports:  if I don't play, if I don't create, I would feel too full of stuff, to bogged down with emotions and thoughts, ideas whirling through my head, building up. 

         By writing, I let it out, in the form of a character, a mood, an event, taken wholely or partly or not at all from my life.  By writing, I am creating.  I'm letting my creative self be free, run wild.  I'm developing my voice, as a young woman, as a woman, as a person, a spiritual being in need of a constant flow of creativity. 

So, when asked why I write, the answer is simple:  I write because I want to, because it's part of who I am.  I don't know how it came to be, but it is. By writing, I'm becoming more me.