Why I Write

I am of the belief, as are many, that a writer must be a reader first.  Most people I have encountered who love to write, whether it be stories, poems or essays, their desire grew from a love for reading.  So, my journey as a writer began a long time ago when I was a little girl.

As a young child who couldn't read yet, I would jump into my parents' bed every day begging my father to read to me.  This continued long after I could read for myself.  Once I learned that my father would skip pages at times because he wanted to take his nap, I decided to go it alone.  I would make weekly visits to the library, taking in that wonderful book smell and relishing that within their pages lay adventures wanting to reveal themselves to me.

The stories I read absolutely fascinated me and soon I found myself creating stories in my head and needing  to put them on paper.  One of my older sisters was always kind enough to type my stories as I recounted them to her, and so my love for writing continued to grow.  All through high school I had notebooks filled with short stories, poems, and random thoughts.  Once in college and graduate school, most of any reading and writing I did consisted of textbooks and reports and research papers.  While this was not a huge pain for me, I missed the creativity and the outlet writing provided me.

Now I have rediscovered my love.  I realize I can start writing a story and the best part of the process is the ending. Not because I actually finished something, but because I am always surprised of where the  journey of writing has taken me.  That last paragraph or sentence of any story is as much a surprise for me as it is for the reader.

While this might be a little self-indulgent I am compelled to mention it.  My father unexpectedly passed away a few weeks ago.  In the last years of his life, my father lost most of his sight and the year that I was able to spend with him I would read the newspaper to him.  I recognize now how life had come full circle for us, because he read to me when I couldn't.  As I started to post my stories on WDC I would read them to him as well.  About two weeks before he passed he begged me to promise him that I would never stop writing.  Not quite understanding the urgency in his voice I assured him that nothing would distract me from writing.

So, why do I write?  I write because I have a story to tell.  I write because I love the art that words skillfully put together can create.  I write because of the encouragement I received from one of the most important people in my life.  I write for you Dadda.