I write because it quiets the voices in my head, the city of unruly citizens clamoring to be heard. (Did that just sound as crazy to you as it did to me?)
I write because my anxiety causes me to stammer and lose my focus. Writing allows me the time to carefully gather my thoughts, time to sort and filter.
I write because sometimes things make me angry or upset or amazed. Writing drives the subject home like a post pounded into the soil or a root pushing its way into the earth. It make me feel stable. Grounded.
I write because I’m afraid I’ll forget… the things I felt at each stage of life, what was important to me, the small, funny, tender moments with my kids that get upended by doctor bills and grocery shopping and car repairs.
I write because it calms my demons.
Though this never used to be true, I write to be read.
Why do you write?