Why Write

It satisfies a deep desire within. Eases my mind. Clarifies this hazy world for me. Challenges. Builds. Defines. And creates. Writing fuels my life. It compels. Commands me to make change—both in the world and within. I must write, the passion burns deep and to ignore fuels a burning growth of angst, fear, sloth, and ignorance. It drives me to learn, to read, to absorb all this crazy world has to offer. A mandate.

Even now, as I furiously write, banjo tunes blaring in the background, dogs playing, tea brewing, dishwasher humming away, I do so in ease. My mind, drives to push the pen, to keep the ink flowing. Satisfaction can only come from within. And I find it most with the pen and paper. It is futile to resist the urge. I must look inwards, not outwards to others. Inspiration I may find from the external, but not what I am. Who I am. I have to look deep into myself, within, to know the truth. It comes forth in writing. The true essence of my being, my existence shines on the paper.

It cramps the hand. The stomach pains with hunger. The mind jitters from too much coffee. It all adds up to something great, beyond words. I hope. Something only I can tangibly find. I have to look deep. It is a goal I aim to reach and upon achievement, to keep going. To sew up one story and become a better person. The power lies behind the pen. Like food providing nourishment to the body, writing provides nourishment for my spirit. Fueled by adventure and Nature—it helps maintain levelness. A soothing to the doldrums of this harsh daily world. Writing provides a release. An escape. A hatch to climb through and into a world of beauty and untold stories waiting to be cast out. I live vicariously—through writing—through Nature—through my daily life. Through doing and nothing more. I never let opportunity pass and I thrive through challenges.

Wax on—Wax Off.

Thoughts develop like the negative;

Pure—Simple.

Writing helps transcend the photograph of life. 

I must write and this is why. It fuels my desires, my sanity, and my existence. It defines who I am. I am human. I am. I do. I write. And I know what I want in life. Life. Itself a grand adventure to be adorned and embellished. I want life—a true existence enjoyed every breathing moment offered. I want to be breathless on top of a mountain, to be awed by the way a tree sways in the wind. To experience the silence of a midnight snowfall in the forest. To walk in fog so thick you could barely breathe and stumble upon a grazing black bear. To watch how a boulder rolls, bounces, and crashes down a mountainside. To write. To distill these experiences through mind, pen, paper, and words. I must write, it defines, it clarifies, and it soothes. I want Life. Words. Writing and existence—nothing less.