Why Do You Write?

People often ask me why I write. Why poetry? The truth is I'm not sure why, but it is something that I must do, much like breathing. My mind whirls, and my fingers twitch to put the words on paper.

I have paper and pen everywhere. In the bathroom, the car, by my bed, in my garage. I have notebooks, large and small filled with words, some complete, others just the seeds for the idea has yet to grow. I have a lot of those. An overheard word, sentence, a funny reality takes a turn and becomes poetry.

Short stories, essays, blogs, those come into the picture too, but my forte is poetry. I don't adhere to the standard practices of iambic pentameter, or this should be here, because..... I just write. If I'm stuck, I pull out the good old word magnets - themed of course from vampire, booze, to cowboy poet, and haiku, and select at random words.

These words, with no conscious thinking on my part, become a poem. It just happens, I really have no control over the end result, however I do edit, and refine. But the direction the poem goes is its own. I may choose words from the Put Downs bag of magnets, and come up with a lovely poem. It flows, the words appear on the page without much work, although writing is hard work.

I get in the groove, quiet music in the background, no one around, the bird chirping and wind chimes whispering notes. I hear these things, but am really unaware of them, I am there, in the place where my mind goes, sometimes unbidden, to create. If I haven't written in several days, I feel like I have unfinished work to do - kind of like waking up at one a.m. wondering if you put the the washed clothes into the dryer. You get up and check; I get up and write.

My family is used to this, they say I get a funny look on my face when I get an idea that must be written down, or forgotten.

I am sure this explains nothing, especially to those who do not write. It is difficult, even for a writer, to express the need, the urgent swelling of the idea, that must, must be put onto paper. The old question of "If you were stranded on a desert island, what would you want with you?" is simple - something to write with, and something to write on.

I always keep my original scratchings. Backs of place mats, napkins, coffee cup heat wrappers, all have a spot in my files, tended to, caressed as ideas flow from pen to paper. I can only imagine what my children will think after I'm gone - Oh! here is the idea about the ....... I can only hope they enjoy reading my ramblings as much as I enjoy writing them.

I write because I must, that, is my answer.