They asked me why do I write? I kept silent not because I didn’t have an answer but because I had too much to say. I write because I don’t know there is a life possible without it, I write because I don’t know how to live without writing. Because it seems like the most natural thing to do, like my hands were made to hold a pen and rest it on a page and scrawl words across it. Painting the page with ink and shapes. It brings out the best in me. And, it reminds me who I really am; just a girl who wants to write.
This great urge to write; it is both a curse and blessing at once. It’s like a prison with no lock. You’re free and bound at once. A paradox really.
I write because, for me, it’s not a part, but a way of life.
I write because I have to. Because the need is greater than almost everything else. And this need presides over my life.