On Writing   1 comment

I listed a number of labels I could apply to myself in my introduction. Writer is one of them. Since I started this blog to draw attention to my book(s), I suppose I should explore that a bit. Why do writers write? Why do I write?

I don’t know.

No, seriously! I don’t.

This is not to say I don’t have some ideas about why I write … or why others write. It’s just that I can’t point to just one extremely important reason why I am compelled to write. I just know that I am.

I grew up in Alaska, which has long winters and about two hours of sunlight a day in December. When I was growing up, cable TV hadn’t reached us yet. Our news programs aired the day after they aired in Seattle. Our TV programs were 3-4 weeks late. We only had two stations until I was nine, when we got PBS, which was way too grown-up at night for a nine-year-old. My father was a reader who insisted that I read and, given the limited opportunities for electronic entertainment, I did. When we’d get together as kids, my friends and I would play-act a lot. I remember providing ideas for those play-acting episodes from a really young age. My parents said I was a good story teller in the preschool years.

When I was 12, a teacher assigned a writing project to us. I hated it! It was all rules and restrictions and I felt like what I was producing was about as interesting as watching paint dry. After the assignment came back with an A on it, I remember thinking this teacher had no idea what a good story looked like. So I set out to rewrite the story and make it more entertaining. I don’t know why I did that, other than as a challenge to myself. I can’t even say if the ungraded rewrite was any good. I never shared it with anyone and it has passed into the landfill long ago. It was what it was, a key to my imagination that unlocked a door I’ve not been able to close since.

I am a writer, not because I put words on paper, but because stories are always flitting through my mind, characters are always being formed, what my eyes see somehow requires that I describe it in word-pictures, AND I put that internal experience on paper.

I am a writer because that is what and who I am.


Posted November 17, 2012 by aurorawatcherak in Writing

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  1. Pingback: Beginnings | aurorawatcherak

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