Handsome Hansel from Dance of Romance ponders the questions – why are we writers? What makes us so? And your answer is….?
I can’t actually say I was born to write. After-all, I’m not responsible for anything worth noting from a written page since after I turned forty.
Oh, I could talk a good game. I would get into arguments with my Dad in my early teens and cut him off at the path with every parental word of wisdom he attempted to drive at me. It eventually got to the point after a few years that he gave up trying and punctuated our years of banter with, “You better become a lawyer some day.”
I vaguely knew what a lawyer was at that point in my life but I knew I didn’t want to be one. If your career entailed waking up every day knowing you were going to argue for the next ten hours, they can keep it. After-all, that’s what marriage is for. (I kid!!)
I had a knack but didn’t know how to channel it. I loved to read. THAT, I knew I always wanted to do. But you don’t get paid for reading. Or at least at the vaguely tender age of 17 I didn’t think you could. So instead I went into various professions over the next couple of decades which entailed a lot of math and people skills. Both of which I loved as much as reading.
It took a dark time in my life for me to finally begin to write. I’d never kept a journal, unless you count the one given to me and my younger brother at Christmas when I was ten. It was, yes, the kind with the ridiculously cut-rate latch. The one where a spider monkey on a bad day could open.
I wrote in it because I felt I had to. It was a gift from my parents so…
Yet, it wasn’t right. I was writing about something that happened at recess. I was writing how the school lunch sucked. I was writing about how Susie Whatsherface at school smiled at me during PE. (And I actually drew an old-school smiley face emoticon after I was done.) Honestly…I didn’t see the point. That was until I found my Mom reading it then I understood very well.
Fast forward (coughs) awhile, and the lure of writing found me. I’d never aspired to be a writer yet I knew I could be one. Of course I didn’t know how difficult it would be but I was drawn.
Ever since that day, I have spoke to a lot of writers and read stories from a lot of others. It turns out that inherently, true writers, are born to do so. There are people who dabble and there are people who are destined. True writers know the difference. They feel it, they taste it, they don’t give a damn what others think and go for it.
Why do I, why do you, go for it?
If you want my take, and in the comment section below I really want to hear yours, it’s a passion. It’s a release of something. An outlet, a comfort, a loyal friend who will never ever leave your side. We need it just as much as it needs us.
Think back to the first time you wanted to write. Or better yet when you felt the need to write. Why was that? Mine was because I needed an outlet. A release valve for all the thoughts swirling in my head. I didn’t want to burden my friends with things I was going through. I had always loved to read but that wasn’t helping me escape either. So I sat down one day with a pad of paper and pen and I wrote a story. I had no idea where it was going to go but I wrote.
There’s something cathartic about escaping into another world built by oneself. How often do we get to read our own mental randomizing? And, just out of curiosity, how did you feel afterwards? Was it like really good, spur-of-the-moment, back-alley sex, or, we’ve been married for twenty years so let’s hurry up sex? If you’re reading this, I’m guessing the former.
But why you, why us? What is it about us that’s makes it this way?
Per my usual self, I ponder too much on things. A trait I believe which makes up a good writer. I was always the one who questioned things. Perhaps a little too much but it allowed me to delve deeper into things that were really going on around me.
I couldn’t help but “see” the stories, albeit my own, of people who passed me on the street or in the mall. I wouldn’t make up their stories, I would just somehow know their story. What my batting average would have been, I don’t know. But I had the story in my mind. From why the female picked out the low-cut blouse she was wearing to why the burly, hairy knuckled thug had a grin the size of Texas plastered across his face as they walked out of the bar with his trunk of an arm wrapped a little to tightly around her waist.
Watching as a young couple sat across from one another and she the only one initiating conversation as he ogled other women as they walked by. Observing as when he actually said something to her, she laughing a bit to hard hoping to win him over.
These are just a couple of examples of moments which happen rapid-fire for me during the normal day. It’s gotten to the point to where I can look around and find stories everywhere. But, realistically so can everyone else. So what makes us want to put it on paper? What makes us feel better when we get in front of our keyboard and start writing about it?
Why me? Better yet…why You?
So tell us, why are YOU a writer?
Join us on Wednesday for editor Heather Webb.
Bio: Like most of us, I’ve been around the block a time or two (or three) in the relationship world. I like to think of myself as having a pretty thick skin, however, that skin doesn’t surround the heart.
I’ve been in love; I’ve been in lust. I’ve been hurt and got up to do it all again, each time having learned more of myself as well as “wants” and “don’t wants” for my next relationship. Amazingly enough, I never gave up on that one true love wrapped in Romance. You can visit me here, at http://thedanceofromanceonline.com