Much has been said about writing and why I do the thing I do. It’s a good time for a compilation, and a little bit more, if they show up. In no particular order, here is why I write:
I write because I read. Above everything else, I love reading stories. Stories, it’s been said, are windows into other worlds; and the thing about windows are that they let things in just as much as they allow things out. Just as I’ve been able to glimpse into other worlds through the stories I’ve read, the stories have also made their way into my mind through these open windows, and sometimes, they marry each other and decide to move out.
I write because I get bored. You probably have some idea of how dreadfully boring lectures are, and some of you might be able to empathize with how mind-numbingly boring my day job is. Computer games are out of the question, as are videos, due to the non-functional audio jack, and so I write to entertain myself. Because when I write, my mind is granted temporary reprieve from the boredom that waits there like the darkness, ready to suffocate me the first chance it gets.
I write because it’s easy. Storytellers come in many shapes and sizes – some of them tell stories with their voices. Some with their faces. Some through the pictures they take. Some through moving pictures. Some through music. I neither have the skill nor patience to put up with many of the processes involved with many of those listed above, so I use what’s immediately accessible to me: words. Words are the easiest way I know how to tell stories.
I write because I get ideas. I’ve been getting ideas since I was 4, maybe even earlier, and for most parts of my childhood, I’ve been getting the story ideas out of me through my toys – action figures, collectibles, dolls, and automatons alike. God knows that if I don’t get the ideas out, they’re just going to cram up in my head until it eventually explodes. Or collapse into a black hole, as I’ve been told your head would if it attempted to contain Graham’s Number. I’m a little bit too old for action figures now, and so I present my ideas in proper, grown-up ways: through writing.
I write because I want to be immortal. Because I fear the emptiness of nonexistence. Who’s going to remember the kid who used to be a worship leader in church? Who’s going to remember the fresh graduate who sat at his desk, but no one really knew what work he did? Who’s going to remember the average student who kept a lot to himself, and was always busy doing anything but his homework? I write stories that I hope will outlive me, that will live in the minds and memories of others long after I have passed on. Maybe if I write stories that are good enough or important enough, I may be able to live forever in my words.
I write, lastly and most importantly, because I simply love to.