Okay, I’m setting the timer for fifteen minutes. Then, it’s back to NaNoWriMo.
I’ve probably answered this question at least once before, but I think it bears repeating – especially as I’ve since come up with my latest and possibly most honest answer.
I write because it means taking my place in the world.
Essentially, if I distill this into a bite-sized post that won’t run away and lose NaNo time: it’s like affirming that I am here. Here I am. See what I have to say for myself. Judge my writing, not me as a person. Tell me what I could do better, or what is good.
I’ve had a bit of an immortality fascination since I first picked up a vampire novel – hell, maybe even before that, when I had a lecturer talk about immortality within Shakespeare.
There’s so many people in the world that we get lost in the shuffle. Some days I have something to write about, and I put them on paper or keyboard. Then I post them because I want them to be seen and read and maybe even have someone relate. If I post something that responds to a prompt, it’s not just for the sake of visibility but because the prompt stuck with me. My blog stats are important to me: the whole reason I began blogging to begin with, was the creeping aspiration to be a writer. It began as a sneaky little goal, an idea I could do. I didn’t even know I wanted to write, but I did it and then it all snuck up on me at once.
Tapped me on the shoulder. Said, “Hey, Sarah, you ever given this some thought?”
And yeah, I know the story. It’s a tough thing to do. It’s a tough path to carve, one on which not many people win. Some people strike it lucky with a new genre, or something so striking it sets the world abuzz.
I want that.
I came here years ago to share my fiction and poetry with you, hoping for criticism. I didn’t always get it, but I did get something. I got the knowledge that there’s more to writing than I ever thought. Five or six years ago I wouldn’t have said six words could make a story. I wouldn’t have ever dared to take a prompt to write a poem, because that didn’t feel organic somehow.
I’ve probably said this before: nowadays I’m building something, some writing thing, for myself. I snatch blog-time out of work days and chunks of NaNoWriMo time. I scan the comments on my lunch break and run a ten-minute timer when I’m feeling really uninspired.
It’s actually kind of interesting how this came about, this post and the prompt to which it responds. I was thinking about why I write before I ever read this in my emails.
It means taking my place, of putting my voice out there in the world, and not being sorry for it.