Why I Write

In the spirit of classic authors, and because I am about to read my homework for class, which is two essays by famous writers, both titled "Why I Write," I am going to share with you, briefly, my thoughts on the matter:

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(this is harder than I thought it would be) ...

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Writing is my way of expressing my innermost feelings, the ones that are hiding within my heart, that no ears will ever hear. For me, putting dark lead or ink words and letters on to a blank page or tapping my fingers on lettered keys as letters appear next to a flashing cursor on the computer screen, is life. I am my words and my words are me.

I would be nothing without words, without prose, without poems. They are my outlet and my way to clear my mind of exciting or troubling things, such as love, fear, rain and God. Through my writing, I can work at sorting through the messes inside of me so that when letters form words that form sentances and thoughts and ideas and messages, everything just makes sense.

Writing is also a way for me to convey a message to the world, a bridge of understanding of sorts. Through writing, I can speak in ways I could never do aloud, use language more carefully, more thoughtfully, and be definitive about what I say and mean. Writing makes me happy. Writing is my love.