Okay first off, I want to offer an apology to all my friends in the blogosphere. Since the sweat started, I just sort of stopped reading. Quite a few people are, I think, taking a hiatus from staying in the loop so to speak. I’m so so so busy right now with both my jobs and trying to find time to write isn’t easy. Something had to go and daily blog reading was it (sorry, sleep wasn’t an option). To those of you who have continued stopping by here to read whatever I throw out into the Void, thank you! I hope that I continue to write something that someone besides myself finds interesting.
So today I have motivation on my mind. Pot has hit the second week emotional slump in Nano and I’ve been trying to peptalk her. Not sure how good a job I’ve been doing. It’s got me thinking about why she or I or anybody writes.
If someone asks me why I write, the answer is simple. I have to. It’s not a choice. It’s like breathing or sleeping or eating. It’s not always easy or fun or enjoyable. I do it anyway. My husband, who often gets ignored in this process (bless him), has learned that I’m a much happier wife when I’m writing. It gives me an emotional outlet for things that I might otherwise take out on him. So on that level, it’s cathartic. But beyond that there is a competitive element. I read a lot (or did before I got so heavily into daily word goals) and there’s so much out there that I’ve looked at and said “I’m at least that good. If not better.” And then I set out to prove it. There’s also an element of control. I’m a Type A control freak. I admit it. Probably a support group out there somewhere that I would benefit from. I totally get a charge out of having complete mastery over worlds I create. Add to that a fundamental love of words and a soul deep yearning to create. There are other creative pursuits I enjoy. Sewing. Home improvement (yes I see that as creative…I like to build stuff). Interior decorating. But none of it affirms me like writing. And none of it captures my full attention. When I’m writing, whatever the story happens to be, it is constantly in my head. Think I’m paying 100% attention to our conversation? Sorry to disappoint…my attention is split between two worlds. The real one and mine. I am consumed by the story. By an absolute need to know what happens next. Sometimes that’s an active decision on my part. Others, it’s as if it’s being revealed to me by some higher power and I’m just the vessel. I’m not sure any of this is coherent. It’s just what’s on my mind this morning.
What about the rest of you? Why do you write? And if it isn’t because it’s a necessary thing like breathing, what is it that motivates you to keep going when you don’t have to?