We write because we are curious beings. Humans, animals, and plants, we are essentially the same, breathing life and experiencing death. The unreachable galaxies that mankind has tried and failed to visit, do they have humans, animals, and plants as well?
We write because we are skeptics seeking truth. The man or woman garbed in tattered clothing, pleading for money by the roadside… Are they truly destitute? Or simply pretending to be in need? The person who says they have no secrets… How can that be? We all have embarrassing tales we’d rather not tell.
We write because we are creative. Our minds are infinitely expansive; there’s no limit to what we can conjure and create. We think it, mold it, and transcribe it into the vision we foresee.
We write because it’s our heroin, crack, cocaine, and weed rolled into one when situations turn sour and depression rears its dreary head. We can write all day and get high, with no exposure to chemical threats.
We write because it’s our true voice. Through writing, our nature is revealed.
We write because it allows us to lend a hand, as we become the impetus for change in someone else’s life.
We write because it’s what we know.
***This post does not speak for all writers. It’s based on my own experiences and observations***