This week, I’m reblogging this post from five years ago.
I am a writer, and I write. Racehorses run races because they are compelled by forces larger than themselves and writers write because of an inner force too strong to be ignored. I write to fulfil a need that I believe I was born with–a desire to put words into stories and poems, to create situations and re-live experiences in order to share with others. I write for fun and for profit.
When the wellspring within me overflows with ideas, I grab a pen and paper and write the ideas down. I pay attention to detail, to unusual happenings, to unique and common conversations. People are interesting to me. I am one of the many inhabitants of this earth. I write to communicate with others.
Writing is therapeutic but that’s not the reason I write. In fact, I won’t write when I’m extremely sad because I don’t want sadness to show through and discourage others. Optimism is…
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