Why I Write


Photo Courtesy of humintell.com

Photo Courtesy of humintell.com

As long as I can remember, I loved putting words to paper, expanding on the great mysteries or the miseries of my young life. It was a way to get my point across without being shushed.

Introduction to the magic of words came early for me, as my mother was a voracious reader. She belonged to more than one book-of-the-month-club and even as young children, we were fortunate she passed the books to us, without censorship.

In between those many pages, I met a world of different people. Their words painted vivid pictures and gave breath to the hopes, fears, and dreams of a girl. In spite of her love of the written word, my mom repeatedly warned me, “Don’t ever  put anything in writing; you don’t want others to see.” Perhaps mom’s voice was the words from her books.

It would come later as a young, naïve girl before I understood the damage others could do when words are misconstrued, distorted, taken out of context or endure the deep cut of betrayal. I learned the hard way and after that hid my words away.

I’m an average woman, professional in background, a mother, grandmother, wife, friend, and a writer. I write now because I have a voice, and I can.

  • I write for catharsis, a purging of past sins, regrets, hopes, and dreams.
  • I write to share what knowledge and experiences I’ve acquired with those I love, hopeful they’ll be spared a wrong turn or learn the joy of sunny days.
  • I write to voice my opinion, my values, the very things I believe make the world, and us better people.
  • I write not that, in the end, my singular voice matters more than others do, or will move mountains, but perhaps, it will become one of many and create a chorus of positive change.
  • I write to expand my imagination and free my demons; we all have them.
  • I write to bring pleasure and encourage others to stretch their word wings, tell stories, real or imagined.
  • I write to leave a legacy to those I leave behind. Egotistical perhaps, but I want to surprise them. “That was mom? Sheila? She did that?” I don’t want to be forgotten or remembered only in faded photos or as the name on a bronze marker.

I write because I believe words have power. The power to move people, change them and change the world. After years of writing by a stream in a cow pasture, hiding my words from the world, between the pages of a worn-down journal, I have found my voice, and so I write.