Mood:
happyTopic: Writing
Why
The question most often asked of writers is why, why write? It’s a simple question and often gets even simpler answers.
1. To get money
2. I have something to say and I want others to see it.
3. I write because I cannot not write.
These are fluff answers. There is no substance. Let me see if I can put some content into the void. Let me remove the air and put verbiage in its place. I write because I have to. It’s an addiction, really, much like coffee or cigarettes. I have to write because it clogs up the mental pathways and distracts me from doing anything. Right now I can pen this article because the files and folders in my mental filing cabinet are neatly arranged and not in need of visibility. But should my muse, my internal voice, make notes and scribble a few sentences or pages and throw it out on the floor of my internal office, then I have to stop what I’m doing and write it out, in some form or another.
I don’t have any social wrongs that need to be righted. Nor do I have any earthshaking novels that must be read. But, I have stories, even books that must leave the mental office and find a new home on some form of paper, either physical or ethereal. Nothing I write is of much importance, but it is my words. The neural highways and byways that are my brain are too often clogged with the next story or part of a book. To be able to think, to function, these must be put some other place.
I see the world from a skewered viewpoint at times. Some of the pieces I have coined make little sense but a laugh or two can be generated from them. None will see what I put on paper save one, but that’s fine. I don’t write for the world. I write for me. Had I the mindset of Steinbeck or Hemningway, maybe others would be interested but it makes no difference. I have a keyboard and a storage device. I need nothing else. I no longer need vindication of my ability. All I need now is a few minutes to remove the words and free my mind for the more mundane parts of my existence.
