What is this compulsion in me? This burning desire to write words down. This screeching in my head that won’t stop until the words are released? A writer once told me that they tried to stop writing, but had to keep coming back to it. I didn’t understand at the time, but I think I do now. I read a great line in Erin Morgenstern’s Night Circus, that sums up my need to write:
You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose.”
I write because I have something to say, something that I think might make a difference in someone’s life.
Why do you write?