Throughout the year, I’ve read several blog posts about why writers write. Mainly, I read writers write as a creative outlet, because they have something to share, and they love to write.
I’m writing this post as I sit at my husband’s bedside in the hospital. If everything went as planned, he would come home with me tonight. Of course, nothing goes as planned, right? The nurse calmly informed me that after experiencing tachycardia, he needs to undergo a few tests to ensure he doesn’t have a blood clot.
She may be calm, but I’m a mess. What can I do?
Stuck in a hospital room surrounded by tubes and wires, I’m itching to move around. Seems like a good time to place my protagonist, Eden, in a precarious situation. What am I feeling? Isolated. Worried. Claustrophobic. Anxious. Now, I’m going to put Eden in an 8×8 room. Someone is threatening her. She has no friends. No family. No support network.
Now I feel better!
Two years ago, I would have eaten my way through the crisis. Ten years ago, I would have eaten and smoked a pack of cigarettes. Fifteen years ago, I would have eaten, smoked and had a few glasses of wine to help me sleep.
This year, I learned to write.
I no longer use substances to bury my feelings or deal with stress. Instead, I learned to acknowledge my feelings and not stifle them. But for a while, I didn’t know how to manage everything I felt. I needed an outlet and I began to write.
So, why do I write? I write because like other writers, I needed a creative outlet, because I have something to share, and because I enjoy it.
I write because I have to.