For months and months, hours, days, and months skidded past me, and I was reluctant to sit down at my writing desk and dream my stories onto paper. I felt distracted by my environment, which has recently changed, but even more so, I felt distracted by my thoughts and motivations. I kept asking myself, why am I doing this?
And then I concluded that I should be doing something different since I probably should be better at it by now and be able to concretely express why I write if it’s the right thing for me. I played with these ideas for a new main passion instead of writing—baking, gardening, painting with watercolors, planning and cooking elaborate dinners for myself and my husband, but I would find myself drawn back, as if by ocean waves, to writing stories again and again.
My initial response was I write to communicate a message to the world and to connect with them about this message. After some time of thinking it over, I realized, no, that’s not exactly the reason. It’s more important to be honest than to be right all the time, and that response sounded to me like the correct reason anyone should write, but was not necessarily true to me.
And then I realized, a truer answer is I love writing, and writing loves me. My Yeshua, my Author, my God smiles when I write, and I love to share my writings with this mighty smiling Abba and the rest of the world. It’s not always easy and it’s not always fun, and yet often times it’s very easy and the most fun I can imagine! I find the act of creating characters to be exhilarating and satisfying. When I’m in solitude, they make me feel entertained and less alone. I love naming them, dressing them up, finding out what makes them angry, what they love, what they need, and what they want but can’t have. While some of my past stories aren’t very long and may read like poetic metaphors, I’m very driven to give my future characters realistic traits, full stories, and make them leap off the page. Still, I am satisfied with many of my past fictional works.
Because there are so many reasons why I write, their flavors just meld, and I don’t need to separate them because together they’re delectable. The concrete reasons, the desire for completion and achievement, the fun of creating characters in particular settings and having them talk to each other and slap and kick each other and embrace each other, along with the thrill of finding new words, do not really matter so much. So, why do I write stories? It’s very simple, and I wouldn’t even call it an answer. Because.