Life, Written

I write.

I write because it makes me talk the way I cannot in normal speech. Inflections, pronunciations, pauses for thought need not discount the intelligence of what I say. A judgment will never be made before a proper account has been given, or after, for that matter.

I write because it frees me up to be able to express myself in ways that I never could otherwise. I write because it is the easiest way to think, to ponder, to hold discourse, to discuss. A debate with ones own mind; yes, verdict can be reached in such a dialogue.

I write because I can say things to a sheet of paper or a blank screen which cannot be uttered to the world, even a heedless world simply because it is not proper to mutter; yet, in written form I make a declaration of my opinion without hindrance or embarrassment.

I write because before me I can idealize the perfect woman, dream an idyllic meadow, create an adventurous journey, and envision the state of the world as I want it to be. I write because of the places I can take myself simply by thought, because of the loves I can love simply with a wish, because things don't have to be as they are but as they need to be, when written. Maybe this reveals in me the image of my Creator, the desire to create.

I write because in writing if find an attentive listener, one who always hears, always knows, always identifies, always “gets it.” There is no better thrill for a writer than a perpetually excited fan.