On Writing

I was reading interviews of writers on a website yesterday and I noticed that once the discussion of their work was done, most of them were asked the same questions. Questions such as: When did you start writing? Where do you get your ideas? and my personal favorite, Why do you write?

While I have never been interviewed (yet), I can feel empathy for these writers. I have been asked the same questions by my friends and family. While they are supportive and encouraging about my writing, they don’t understand my compulsion to write. And that’s exactly what it is, a compulsion.

My clearest memory of my early writing is from Seventh Grade, so I would have been about twelve years old. I remember sitting in math class, my assignment completed, and I wrote a poem while waiting for the rest of the class. I distinctly remember that particular poem. It was about my biological mother, how she had abandoned me, and how I felt about her. I wish I still had that poem, as well as the many others that I penned during my childhood. It would be interesting to see how much my writing has matured, along with myself (if any – LOL).

As for where I get my ideas, well, truthfully, they come from everywhere. As shown in my Blood Red Moon post, sometimes it’s a strange combination of news and a weird looking moon. Other times, it can be old memories from my childhood or current events. Sometimes, a phrase or even a couple of full lines will pop into my head out of nowhere. I have one poem that the first two lines just came to me. I wrote them down and couldn’t come up with anything else to go with them. I periodically check back on these kinds of notes, and one day, about three months later, those two lines came to life on their own and I ended up with a complete poem. It just happens; I have no real control over most of it.

And last, but not least, why do I write? The answer to that is simple. I have to. I could no more quit writing than I could quit breathing. Even if I never shared it with anyone, I would always have a computer full of saved files and carry a notebook around so I could write down anything interesting that popped into my head. Back in 2008 I participated in a poetry challenge. The following is what I came up with, and I think that it speaks for writers around the globe.


She Writes

She reaches out for her pen
Somehow thinking, “It’s a sin”
She’s been told she should be working
But there are words, inside her, lurking

Desperately, she scribbles on
Each mark a battle won
Knowing that a poem complete
Is for her a major feat

She writes and writes all through the night
Not noticing dawn’s first soft light
Reading her thoughts a dozen times
Judging lines and all their rhymes

So very weary, but satisfied
Though not perfect, still she tried
Her mind is quiet, the words now rest
For once again, she wrote her best