Why Do I Write?

I write because I love it.  I always have.

I write because sometimes I hurt – and you – you always make me feel better.  I lose my daughter – you tell me you have done it too.  I feel like that yelling mom you avoid in the grocery store – and you understand – because you have been there too.

I write because sometimes, I am overjoyed.  And when I am, you celebrate with me.  You understand the euphoria associated with that first time on the potty.  You ‘get’ the love I feel when I get an unprompted ‘I love you’ from a small person.

I write because you always remind me I am not alone.  Even on the days when my husband just may get an ‘I quit’ note scrawled in purple crayon.

I don’t claim to be great at it.  Passable, I’m sure, but not ‘wow-I-can’t-believe-she-wrote-that’  like some of you.  Like Megan.  And Amber. You people are T-A-L-E-N-T-E-D. And I say that with love, not envy. (Well, maybe a smidgen of envy – but it is good-natured-sometimes-I-wish-we-shared-a-brain envy.)

I write because it is a release, a welcome, a shared experience, an opportunity to laugh and cry and rejoice. 

Sometimes it may be boring, but, well, sometimes I guess I am. And that is ok.

Why do you write?