An interesting question I’ve been stumbling upon lately is: why write? If you’re a writer, than I believe you can probably somewhat answer that question. We write because it’s a part of us. It makes up a piece of our identity that, without it, we would most certainly not be the same person. But to the person who looks at writing and sees a bunch of meaningless scribbles on a page, it is nothing. To the person who dreads writing assignments simply because of the “writing” part, writing means little. It is not a part of who they are. So, we come back to the question. Why write?
When a person who dreads picking up a pen for fear of what others may think of their words, sees a writer freely scribbling down their thoughts without (seemingly) a care of what others might think, they want that. They so desire for words to mean more to them. I speak from personal experience. And the question continues to hound them. It’s true, being a “writer” isn’t for everyone. But that doesn’t mean words have to be meaningless to everyone. To me (and pretty much every other writer) words are like oxygen. Not so much spoken words. Mostly the ones written, yes, even scribbled, from the heart. That is like breathing to us. So if you’re not a writer, words can still mean much to you, and you can still write. Because it is, I would like to think, at least a small part of all of us.
I write because it’s like breathing to me. It’s true, sometimes I forget just how deeply I should be breathing. But for you, keep searching. One day you’ll discover why you write.
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