Why do I write? I write because I've seen what writing can do for me. To me. Despite me. I write to get out of my own way.
I write to be startled by the fullness of my own voice, like an escaped echo propelled into an empty room. Words that don't seem mine. Words I never planned to say. But there is more of me inside these echoes than all my other words combined.
I write for the moments when the words grab hold of my pen. When the resonance of the stardust that's in me stretches backwards through time, into my existence, tugging at the edges of ink as it leaps across the page. A sudden rhythm I unwittingly create.
This is why I write. To be startled by the fullness of my own voice.
And, the more I write, the more I hear it.
I write to become a better writer--in both passion and in craft--in the spirit of Natalie Goldberg and Catherine Ann Jones. And others. And in the spirit of me. I write to run into myself, transcend myself, arrive at my own breath.
I write as meditation, as prayer, as ritual, as song. I write to collect shapes from my peripheral vision and then dump them out onto the page. To sift through words like river rocks, write coherence into chaos, pocket the hidden gems. I write to meet my voice again. And then again, as it changes. Repeat. Until there's nothing more left in me to say.
What happens then?
If I get there, I'll have no words left to tell you. But pick up a pen and join me, and you might just feel the same.
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