Why do I write?

Why do we do anything when blessed with a choice?  Don’t we all want to create experiences for ourselves that are fun, interesting, or satisfying?  We crave stories, in all forms, for that reason.

I am not sure why I find capturing moments with words so gratifying.  Over the years various people, unprompted, complimented the way I communicated something: a letter, an essay, an e-mail.  Those comments, like little sparks, have grown into a full, glowing campfire.

Once an idea embeds itself into my head I find myself waking early, before work, before the house stirs, to try and expand that idea into an experience.  I’m driven to tinker with it until it’s pleasing.  I want it to sing—at least for me.  Hopefully, once it sings for me it might sing for someone else.

I’m humbled every day with the challenge of writing well.  Communicating an idea clearly is a struggle.  When it works, when it finally comes together, and I give a reader the feeling they’ve experienced another human being’s world in an authentic way I find it immensely satisfying.