Brit + Writing = Homeostasis
I am supposed to write a bio about me and my writing. Why do you write? This is the question people want an answer to, but I don’t have it. The only thing I can effectively answer is why I can’t stop writing.
I just can’t quit. I’ve thought about it and even given it a shot, but I can’t go more than two days without feeling my hand brush across a fresh piece of paper, my favorite pen in tow. I journaled my girly thoughts for years and even majored in English, but it wasn’t until Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way that I returned to the page, where I’ve resided each morning for over a year and a half now. I did the Artist’s Way alone and ended up writing a drawer novel in the process. It’s a mess, but it was a thrill to write. You can’t pay for that kind of fun. Then, of course, I tried my hand at writing magazine articles, but something was missing (the fun, I guess). That, and I don’t seem to be any good at it. I’ve probably convinced myself that I wasn’t a writer about 399 times, and every time I almost believe it, something pulls me back to my neighborhood public library for their monthly writing workshop, where I get a healthy dose of quick free writes and second guess my decision to quit.
Today, I’m glad I stuck around and found my fellow Chickenscratchers. Just knowing they are out there scribbling away is enough to get me back to the pieces I so desperately want to toss in the garbage because I know I will see them when our Story Circle Group reconvenes. My day job requires revising, editing and grant writing, which continues to teach me that, indeed, I can write whether I feel like it or not.
But my greatest love, going to the empty page and writing whatever I feel like. Ah, just writing that makes me want to pull out my latest fiction piece-I just can’t stop writing. Plus, I get moody and irritated if I don’t or can’t expel a certain number of words a day. Sometimes life gets in the way and I crave a pen and paper. Not getting to write feels like mental constipation. So, there’s that and I just like it too much. I don’t have a philosophical explanation for what drives me to do so. I’m not tormented or getting even with my mother for sitting me on the potty sideways. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but more than that I don’t ever want to catch myself not telling the truth. So, here is some of my pen across the page.
