Why I Write

Unfinished, unedited, and would love to expand on and edit this when I have the time. The crux of this argument was driven more by emotion than something more rational, although there are a lot of other reasons I enjoy writing as well. I furiously hammered these words down on the page in those ten minutes, think I got into flow.

Fitting for the topic.

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I know this in the core of my soul, my body. When I write, I feel like I’m connected to the earth - and sometimes, on a creative high, my body begins to shake. I feel an uncontrollable urge to move, to create. I believe that everyone’s purpose is to create, to leave their imprint on this world.

The truest fact in this universe is that all living things take in energy and they expel waste. This is recycled. The energy that I am nourished with turns into words. I need to create art. It’s a compulsion. Sometimes my fingers type with such intensity, hammering down on the paper like it’s an unforgivable mistake if I stop. I mirror the work of a pianist, and I write sad poetry to beautiful sombre songs. Keystrokes are what I use to keep up with the quick pace of a pianist’s narrow fingers.

The song slows and I do too. Writing is just an escape. Sometimes the words don’t mean much. More and oftentimes they do. English is a beautiful language. All language is beautiful. I wonder about how much wider my world would get if I knew another language to the same fluency as I did English. Writing without judgement is one of the most freeing things on this planet. I write because I feel like I have something to say. I need to place it down before it leaves; because our brains are always shifting and forgetful. Thoughts are the most ephemeral concept. They are never still, always changing, and quickly forgotten after a quick moment. Isn’t it fascinating that the lumpy mass in our heads are in charge of all these brilliant (and oftentimes stupid) thoughts? Perspective is what shapes the minute changes between you and me. I think this shows through in my writing.

What hurts and what feels good is sometimes just a matter of temperament. The high pitched shrill of a harp pull that accompanies this feverish monologue was just a golden exercise in beauty; but now it hurts my right ear at a pulsating frequency. If I’m worried and scared, I know that if I just put it down on paper, that it takes something that is relegated to a scary home in my body to something and lets it out into the universe. My thoughts are real, they are shared. When you write, you feel less alone. There is a certain degree of self-awareness that comes with writing. Not just creativity, but being vulnerable and being able to share what you need with the world.