Why I write

Recently, I wrote a sentence that connected something inside of me that had been untethered for too long. I said the words out loud, again… and again. I rolled the words off my tongue and into the air with delight. They were the words I’ve been needing to write…maybe for years.

And I realized with a clarity never felt before that this is what I was put on the earth to do. I promised myself I would never go that long without writing again. 

There were so many voices I had been fighting:

“Write what you know and only that. Write your thoughts, things you know, the world through your eyes. The world doesn’t need another mysterious, magical boy with a wand. This is real life.”

“No one wants to hear what you know about. Only write fiction. People want to hear good stories. No one cares about your experience. Stories that only exist in a world beyond reach are the words that leap off the page and get the heart going. That’s good writing.”

…And because I ricocheted between those voices for so long — I stopped writing out of fear.

Fear of upsetting or disappointing “the others.” Fear of not knowing what kind of writing suited me best. Fear of failure.

Until the day I realized I was losing my voice. 

So I closed the others out and I began to write again and not for anyone else. This time I wrote for me because I know it’s what I am supposed to do.  




I will never stop writing. But now I have to be careful to make sure to remember to turn the volume down on the noise.

(If you let them, the others will drown out your words until you can’t distinguish your own voice in the crowd among the thousands.)

My voice is only one voice, but it is a different voice. And I am determined to use my voice for good. 

I believe that words hold power.

I believe that words can change the world.

I believe that God works through storytelling and words.

These words, in the order that only I have arranged them, gives me purpose. I love creating life through words, putting an idea into existence and flinging it into the world for someone to devour. At last they have found the same language their heart speaks and finally there is no need for an interpreter. 

Satisfied. Relieved. At rest. 

There has come an understanding and a knowing is unearthed. 

There is peace once more. 

What I wouldn’t give to do this for others, as so many writers have done for me. 

This is my ultimate hope when I write. 


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