Why do I write? Why the heck I write? Do I get monetary gain from translating thoughts, emotions and desires into words?
It would be easy if that was the case. I’ve been telling myself that I work best against the current. Put me in a tight deadline and I will work my ass off. Throw in mortal peril and that threat is sure to get me running up and down a hill, with a burpee and jump tuck combo every thirty seconds.
I write because of death or rather, the brevity of mortal life. Eternity is a concept dearly woven into my life. Death is simply a door. Writing reminds me that we are the same yet different and yet we are so much more. I want to leave a legacy, a name that echoes beyond my reach. I write because I want to lead a life worth living.
I write because it propels me forward, grounds in the now and cosies the nights where I yearn to travel back in time. I write because it moves me between time and space, bestowing upon me this ability to blossom out of this awkward shell I call home.
I write because I want to be heard. I write because it’s the way that breaks my soul, as I leave little pieces in the words I chose. I write because it breaks me and makes me whole.
There and here, I write because my soul still grows and there is not enough room to keep it.
This is day one’s musings for Daily Post’s Writing 101. I’m doing this on top of work, school, church and personal commitments. I want to this because I miss writing and hope to depart from this need to write something perfect off the bat.