You ask me why I'm a writer, a poet an author and there are so many things I could say
I could say how I feel compelled to do my part
How each word I put on paper brings new inspiration
How I hope my words will stretch across the globe and sooth someones soul, let them know they are not alone
I could say how I'm driven by the complexity of words and sound in motion
How each sentence and phrase plays in the movie of my mind and paints such vivid pictures
How it's easy for me to cry when it's hidden in my words
How it helps me to cope with the harshness of the world
Allows me to be me without falling appart
Yes I could tell you a plethora of things to explain what comfort, for me, writing brings
But those are all the things you expect me to say
And although they are all true, they aren't the real reason
Truthfully, I write because I can.
Sunday, 15 April 2012
Why I Write
Just a writer living and lurking in the dark corners of my mind. And somehow surviving. Occasionally I surface to write something like Virgil, Dana, Salinor, Brothers and Frenemies and Broken. Otherwise just your normal starving artist who chooses cheesecake and fries and Moscato as his artistic fuel and calorie indulgents.