"Why do I Write?" It’s a question often asked, never answered and usually assumed.
So, this is the 14th day in May as I work through the 15th Story-a-day challenge. I thought I'd have a crack at answering the question, especially when, in some ways, I don’t see myself as a writer per se. What even makes a writer? That, I think, may or may not come out in the next couple of paragraphs.
It’s also a bit of a gimme ‘Prompt’ as I’ve never had a crack at it before.
So why do I write? The often assumed, and as is evident in the forever follow-up question, ‘Are you published?’ Is it to get published? No. I’m not writing to get published. If that happens one day, be it a short story in an anthology, or finally completing that forever novel (Dwarvelf, 47,299 words done), it will be a surprise and/or a treat.
When I reflect on the question, I realize I write for myself. I recall doing this in my late teens and early adulthood when in the Navy. In moments of reflection, I would write to myself, make a diary entry of sorts as to what was going on around me, where I was in life, etc., and save them to 3.5-inch floppy disks. Disks that have long disappeared.
My first bit of creative writing was when at sea on a submarine. I wrote about escaping from the thing. At the time, I was doing this as I undertook my HSC English, in pursuit of becoming an officer and one day driving the bloody things. For that story, I received some real positive feedback from the teacher at the time, the first time I got some recognition for such a thing, having been a high school dropout who had only completed six weeks of year 10 (form 4).
I did not write ‘creatively’ again for a long time after this. Yes, I wrote essays and made my way through undergraduate and post-grad degrees writing essays. I ended up working in ICT, writing code, moving into management and writing PowerPoint, briefing notes, and business memos but nothing creative.
At a point over the decades (I’m up more than half a century now), I found myself falling into writing again, to myself, to help through a crisis, again for an audience of one. And maybe my loved ones. That passed, and life went on.
Then talk of a third/fourth degree came up. My wife had decided to do a degree in international studies, so I stupidly thought, 'Oh, I’ll do a Doctorate.' Thankfully, the wise woman in my life, who is my wife, stepped in and encouraged me to do a ‘Creative Writing Course’ with the school of journalism. To quote her at the time, ‘Do writing, you’ve always said you wanted to.’ So I did, and still am.
But again Why?
For myself. But what is it that writing gives me? It’s a way of taking a busy, creative mind, and channelling it into a healthy outcome. Let’s just say "Idle hands are the devil’s tools," i.e., a bored person is more likely to find mischief than turn that energy into something creative.
I write for a release, a way to exercise my grey matter and not be bound by a single style or approach. I write for that one in a hundred, no, maybe one in two hundred events where I write something that surprises me.
This isn’t to say I don’t share my writing. I do, in many forms, simply scribble to afstoryaday.blogspot.com, printed for my friends and family, and even my in-laws. I try to share with my wife and girls, as tolerant as they are. I even share with strangers and mates as I guide them through the world's best storytelling game, Dungeons and Dragons.
I do get satisfaction at knowing someone has read something of mine, even more, commented and replied.
Again though, at the end of it all, I do simply write for myself.
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I'll have to try that again sometime, it can't be that simple and/or selfish.
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