Why I Write

I write for many reasons, just as I have, and do, read for many reasons. The main reason, however, is an escape from reality. Now I am, for the most part, a very optimistic person. I see the bright side of most situations. However, I have always been surrounded by sadness in one form or another. My mother and grandmother both suffered from depression. My mother was an alcoholic as well and I had the privilege, as it were, to witness the aftermath of her attempted suicide when I was merely fifteen.

As you can understand, from a childhood like that, I buried myself into books. I could escape the reality of my life by getting lost in the worlds written by the likes of Edgar Rice Burroughs, CS Lewis and Terry Brooks. I could lose myself for hours in those worlds and I’d always feel a sense of loss when I came to an end of a series.

As I’ve gotten older, life has in many ways gotten better, but in many ways it hasn’t gotten any easier. However, I don’t find immersing myself into another person’s world is quite enough anymore. As a child I felt as if I were helpless, with few choices. Now as an adult, I know I am not. So I am drawn to write and create my own worlds, instead of losing myself in another’s. I get this extraordinary sense of control when I write. I am, in a literary sense anyway, the master of life or death, when I write. I create the scenarios, the characters, the entire world. I decide who lives, who dies, who loves, and whose heart is broken. It is an extremely freeing and exhilarating experience, and I am only limited by my own imagination.

And that, is why I write.

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