Why do I write?

I write simply because I must. I was born to write.

When I die, and they take my organs to save another failing body, they will find that my heart is tattooed with ink.. in letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, books. They will find that my heart is made of paper. That I am a story-collector by nature and press words into the fabric of my heart.

I know that we are all born with a longing to be a hero. To save people and illuminate truth. Sometimes, that heroism starts with saving yourself first, finding yourself. My own life is saved in writing. I keep going because of the warm, open comfort-place I find in empty pages. My notebook is the most loving listener. I write for self-discovery, 'genius' late-night ideas, to tell someone about my desperate longings, and to pour out much held-back tears. We all long to be fully known and fully loved.

There are those of us that have no one. No one to pour our hearts out to, no one to trust in, to share love with, to find safety in. And we struggle with voicing the very thing that is most dear to us- words themselves. To be alone with a notebook is our home and resting place. Our consolation and our listening ear.

Writing starts out as a little flickering candle. So soft and easily snuffed out. But a lot of powerful words can come from one small person... just as a lot of light is poured over darkness from one small candle. But that little flame grows. Mine has; I desperately crave my writing place. A realm to put my heart in where it fits just right. Someone who can love all of me, even the dark and ugly parts. And after time and development, when we are tumbled smooth like stones in the waves, our writing changes. That candle becomes a roaring wildfire that spreads uncontrollably. Our writing focus changes; we stop writing for self-discovery within ourselves, and begin the 'glorious outreach'. Our writing purpose transforms for changing and impacting other lives. Not just our own. That is an outward writer. They write to break people. To change their hearts and open their eyes.

To illuminate truth.

Then, we long to be a voice for the desires and truths that the world doesn't know how to put into words. For stories untold. We want to share heart, experience, and life.

Stories come from somewhere so deep, like music, it must be our souls. And we long to create things that mirror the feelings in our souls. Writing is that place where we are free to be who we really are, to create worlds out of nothing, to bring dreams and goodness and truth to life. And there are no limits. Writing gives power and freedom. It is a place where only our words exist, there is no validation needed. We have value and worth. We have truth.

I write to live. I write to breathe and laugh and to do what I was entirely meant to do. I was made for writing. My fingers were shaped to hold a pen and paper. My eyes were born for reading and refecting. My mouth was made to shape and taste words. My heart and mind were made to hold those words, to hold stories. My soul exists to seek out truth. My calling is to write and I don't dare rebel against that calling. Though I do believe 'destiny' and 'fate' are up to oneself to form or change, writing is the one predestined part of me that I would never rebel against.

I am absolutely terrified of it, because writing is a most difficult calling. And I am not good enough.

But when a person is made simply to write, they know it. They know it in the way their heart aches when they read beautifully-written words. The way natural things touch them so deeply. They know because even their dark and ugly memories have truth needing to be shared. They read books and feel something niggling at their edges, whispering, "this should be you, you should have written words like this." They feel jealousy and admiration at the accomplishments of other writers. They look at a rainy day and think, "this would look lovely written on paper". They bask in detail, they are listeners by nature.. looking for stories in every little thing. They value lives, knowing they were meant to be shared.

Writing is for giving and taking. In that way, it is love. It lasts forever, regardless of books aging and crumbling and burning. The written word has power above all else. Writing gives truths, ugly or beautiful. It reveals intentions. It provides rebirth. Writing is love. Though the world may not know it, it exists and thrives through writers.

To be a writer is to be a hero who values love and truth above all else. And that is a high calling.