(Re-posting from my other blog)
With every heartbeat and every breath I take, I write. Often the telling of the story happens only in my head. If I were to write it all down, I would never stop writing.
Then again, I don’t want to stop. Ever.
The earliest piece of my own story writing I still possess is in a small school notebook from when I was ten years old. But I’ve made up stories long before that. My brother and I had created our own fantasy world. Our stuffed toys were king and queen and loyal court. We were the princes (yes, even I… I was a princess with gender swap abilities) and our bikes were our horses.
We tell ourselves stories and each other. It is essential for our growing up and continuing growth and never ending learning. Stories are at the very core of what makes us humans.
As writers we start by listening to stories. Then we read them ourselves (usually as soon as we’re able to) and eventually we want to tell them. We start making them up (“out of our heads” to roughly quote Neil Gaiman) and perhaps even writing them down.
I don’t know about you, but reading a good story, a good book, even a poem that moves me just so, gives me enormous amounts of joy. That is also true for the stories that unfold on the silver screen or via twenty episodes per season on TV.
Stories are great teachers. It’s why they’ve been told since the dawn of time.
And I love to learn.
I also like to stretch my imagination and see what avenues it may take me down, what destinations might await me. I’m not afraid of the unknown, I seek it out. And yes, I make it up.
I write, because I have to and because I want to share the stories that only I have and maybe incite that joy that I have known so many times in somebody else.
I’m going on a journey. You are welcome to join.