A writing instructor I once had told all the students in her class to tell her why we thought we were writers. My answer was ‘Because I can’t not write.’ The written word keeps my heart beating, it keeps the blood flowing through my veins. Writing is not something I want to do to make money, or gain fame. Writing is who I am. Words are solace when the world lets me down. They’re the scribblings on random bits of paper that will one day form a cohesive whole, the whispered tidbits from newly formed characters in my head late at night when I should be sleeping, the barely legible sentences written in the dark… They are my escape.
With words I can be anyone I choose. I can be brave and adventurous, and passionate. I can be utterly feminine, yet know how to wield a sword or shoot a bow. I can be a former queen, desperate to save her child, or the lovely tomboy with the royal heritage who falls in love with an outlaw of the forest; the demon who desperately wants to be human, or the healer who has no magical abilities in a world filled with magic.
Words take me beyond my now; past being a stay at home educator, a mother and yes, even a wife. With words, I fly. I soar. I am that creator of worlds, the keeper of all magics and the author of my destiny.
Because I can’t not write.