Why I Write...
Some people wake up one day with an idea and decide to write a book. They publish, sell thousands of copies, and then they’re done. They never feel compelled to write again.
Some days I wish I could stop writing. Stroll through a museum or a park without etching every detail into my mind for reference. Enjoy a dinner out without eavesdropping on conversations for dialogue clips. Or savor a sunset or a river cruise without wondering how I’ll describe my experience later in paragraph form.
It’s annoying. Obsessive. But I can’t stop. Writing is integral to who I am.
I started writing when I was seven. I journaled about pizza nights and visiting Grandpa and Grandma and what my best friends said at school. When I was nine, I wrote my autobiography. It was short but typed with splotches of Wite-Out smeared across each line.
When I was eleven, I started a novel—a mystery about an old house and some detective kids. About fifty handwritten pages into it, I quit because I didn’t have a clue where it was going. But I fell in love with the creative process. I wanted to write fiction.
In sixth grade, I wrote a weekly newsletter for my class. By high school, I was writing for the school newspaper and yearbook. And when I graduated, I wrote articles for my hometown newspaper to help pay for college—a journalism degree, of course.
You get the idea…
An English teacher once said I wasn’t such a great writer (how’s that for inspiration?), but I had the diligence to make it happen. I’m not sure about diligence, but I know I have to write. Ten minutes before breakfast. An hour when my girls nap. For as long as I can stay awake at night (which usually isn’t very long). Then I think about my next idea as I’m eating lunch, pushing the stroller, and shopping at the grocery store.
My issue is not about finding time to write. It’s about finding time to live around my writing.
God gave me this passion…desire…dream. If I never publish again, I’ll keep writing the journal entries and stories and articles like I did as a kid. I can’t help myself.
Some days I wish I could stop writing. Stroll through a museum or a park without etching every detail into my mind for reference. Enjoy a dinner out without eavesdropping on conversations for dialogue clips. Or savor a sunset or a river cruise without wondering how I’ll describe my experience later in paragraph form.
It’s annoying. Obsessive. But I can’t stop. Writing is integral to who I am.
I started writing when I was seven. I journaled about pizza nights and visiting Grandpa and Grandma and what my best friends said at school. When I was nine, I wrote my autobiography. It was short but typed with splotches of Wite-Out smeared across each line.
When I was eleven, I started a novel—a mystery about an old house and some detective kids. About fifty handwritten pages into it, I quit because I didn’t have a clue where it was going. But I fell in love with the creative process. I wanted to write fiction.
In sixth grade, I wrote a weekly newsletter for my class. By high school, I was writing for the school newspaper and yearbook. And when I graduated, I wrote articles for my hometown newspaper to help pay for college—a journalism degree, of course.
You get the idea…
An English teacher once said I wasn’t such a great writer (how’s that for inspiration?), but I had the diligence to make it happen. I’m not sure about diligence, but I know I have to write. Ten minutes before breakfast. An hour when my girls nap. For as long as I can stay awake at night (which usually isn’t very long). Then I think about my next idea as I’m eating lunch, pushing the stroller, and shopping at the grocery store.
My issue is not about finding time to write. It’s about finding time to live around my writing.
God gave me this passion…desire…dream. If I never publish again, I’ll keep writing the journal entries and stories and articles like I did as a kid. I can’t help myself.
posted by Melanie Dobson | 6:06 AM
3 Comments:
Wow Lady! You sound like a kindred spirit! What a good-looking ya got there!
Here's to the journey...
Your pal,
Chana
FAMILY!! I meant GOOD-LOOKIN' FAMILY!! Where's my editor!...
C.
Oh my gosh, Melanie, you sound like me. Not that I wrote as a kid, but these days I can't not write. It's part of me. A curse and a blessing all wrapped up in one. Well. . . I think there's more blessing to it. :- )
Love to write.
Bonnie
www.bonnieleon.com
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