If I’m honest, there is a long list of reasons why I write, but the top two are as follows:
1. I love it
2. It scares me
Writing does make me nervous sometimes. I don’t know if I’ve ever sat down with a definite outline of what I’m going to write about. It’s always an idea that can tumble and spin into so many directions. Really, for me, writing is a balance of control and giving up control.
Usually I run around life with my arms open wide, gathering up experiences and conversation and images. When I write, I throw them down at my feet, a wild pile of ideas and inspiration and I pick through that pile in my writing. My brain normally flies in ten directions at once, constantly humming and circling thoughts, processing them and kneading them and writing funnels it all into organized thought. It clears some space and quiet in my head, because when the jumbled pieces fit and the dust is blown off, I gain some clarity of vision. I understand more as I channel the chaos and spin it all into a string of written word.
I write to unscramble my own thoughts, invite others to engage in my own experience, and to probe deeper themes of life and faith. I always think of my mind as a junk drawer and writing is sifting through it all, examining it, and maybe finding a gem or two in the process. I write for myself, but I also write for others because words, especially honest, grounded words, are powerful.