The reason there are writers
I have binged on reading at times. Books, articles, blog posts all fell before my imagination. Words have filled me.
But, like a good meal, I became satiated but unsatisfied. Not that it was an ‘unbalanced’ meal, but that something was missing or that the next peanut butter and jelly sandwich would be a hard return to reality.
My imagination was sparked and the story wrapped up and still, I wanted more of . . . something. Even when I was sent on flights of fancy there was more left to the stories that wanted telling.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Yes, I wanted to read my story, my emotions, my spirit in the tales and poems. I needed to write what I needed to read.
“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” ― Toni Morrison
This can be my strongest motivator. I feel very selfish sometimes to know that this is about ME. I want to read things in MY words with MY feelings and ideas. And then to share them and see that there are common denominators with others.
I say things (stories, poems, thoughts) in my own voice and hope and pray that others will find their own path into my adventure, that there will be resonance in the auditorium of spirit.
Our stories, untold, can isolate us. But telling our stories binds us to the overarching story of the human condition.
There are many reasons to justify putting ourselves out there in any creative pursuit. But I believe that we crave sharing our visions of life as well as taking in the stories of others.
“He then learns that in going down into the secrets of his own mind, he has descended into the secrets of all minds.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
We can have value in our ‘selfishness’.
Why do you have the audacity to write and share?