Why do I write?

I thought I knew the answer to this question. I write as a coping mechanism, turning any negative emotion I had into words, and letting the ink bleed in my stead. But I never actually knew exactly why. I thought it was simply escapism. Finding solace in a world that I could create and then control. But I don’t think that is exactly right.

When life hits me, really hits me, it is often hard for me to dig myself out of my emotional “hole” so to speak. I know logically that things are going to be alright and that there are brighter days ahead but my feelings seem not to listen. They act independently of my thoughts, trying to assure me that this really IS the end of the world. And so I write. Not to escape but tell myself the truths that I know to be true, over and over again through characters and their story’s. Truths like goodness always pays, beauty is only skin deep, and pessimism really is the thief of happiness. All these truths and more I tell myself repeatedly, assuring myself that these things are true and always will be. I wrote what I needed to hear, at that moment in time when I thought I was lost.

I think that’s why I want to be a writer. Because maybe somewhere, someone else needs to hear these truths too.