I do not choose to write. I have to write–even when it hurts…
I write in order to find myself.
I write in order to grow.
I write to put the veracity and spirit of all my thinkings, feelings, and doings on trial.
I write to challenge the sludge of religious, political, nationalistic, cultural, social, and economic nonsense that engulfs us all.
I write to glean the signal from the noise.
I write to find hope in moments of despair, clarity in moments of confusion, and courage in moments of dread.
I write to connect with others.
I write to connect with the future, should my words survive me.
I write because I have the deepest reverence for words.
I write because words matter.
2 thoughts on “What Writing Means to Me”
“Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.” (Gustave Flaubert)
I love that, David. Thanks for sharing. And yet we tap away, armed with a wee bit of courage and hope. All the best.