People often ask me why I chose to write. It seems like an easy question to answer, but there are so many reasons, I end up muddling them together trying to get it all out. I have so many reason why I love it I almost can't count them all. I stumble upon a new reason every day.
It's therapeutic in a sense. I can be bawling my eyes out and once I start typing or put pen to paper, the tears turn into words and rather than flow down my face, they flow onto the page. Writing is power if you do it correctly. Power to inspire. Power to create. Power to change minds. Power to give something or someone a voice. Power to give yourself a voice. I love the idea that the same twenty six letters can be strung together in so many different and varying orders. I love the way words can be laced together in an intricate pattern, weaving tales and stories and idea. I love the way words can be beautiful, written or spoken. I love the way a good book can grab a hold of some part of you and draw you in until you're crying into your pillow at 2a.m. when something dreadful happens. I love the way a line in a song can cling to a piece of your soul and bring you memories or laughter or tears. I love the way words, ordinary, everyday words, can create such stirring emotions. Words hold more power than we give them credit for. Words are a life force of their own. That's why I love writing at this moment. Ask me in an hour, or a week, or a month, or a year, and you'll receive a completely different answer. Because, as I grow and experience things, the different aspects of writing strike different chords in my heart. Ergo, as I grow, my love grows. As I change, my love changes. And that is the key to passion. That it not grow old, but morph and change an grow along with its owner.
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