"Why do you write?"
Now, somebody who was not completely familiar with the writer-ly sort of attitude may ask a completely reasonable question. With a strange look on his face, he may ask me: WHY?
|I just think that this is adorable.|
There are many answers I could give to that, but none really pin the tail on the metaphorical donkey.
I can't claim that beautiful words just magically stream through my Dixon Ticonderoga* on to a page, partly because I'm out of pencils, but also because I'm not particularly talented. I mean, I like to think that I'm not too bad at writing, but I also can't seem to harness that uncanny ability to make words into poetry.
As cool as it would be to be a published author, it isn't really a goal of mine. Thoughts of the publishing industry make me shiver.
I suppose that there are a bunch of little things which make writing gratifying. My love for words and the way sentences work, and the mathematical precision of grammar. The way it feels to finish a piece and the sweet, sweet pain of editing and editing and editing. Seeing something which comes across as meaningless to others and thinking, "that could make a good story."
As little sense as it makes, I write for the small things. There's something else, also. Writing has always been something I've done. Writing is a part of who I am. It's just what I do.
* My favourite pencil. Yes, I have a favourite pencil.
Why yes, those are little pencils.
Thus concludes my Teens Can Write Too blog chain post.
It's been written on three hours of sleep.
I highly recommend reading what other bloggers in the chain have to say. Links below! They're all fantastic and eloquent and stuff.
. . . I'm going to go faceplant on my bed now.