I was reminded of this today, when I was complaining about some aspect of what we do to a writing friend of mine.
I said, "Why do we do this again?"
And she said,"Because nothing else makes us feel this way."
And I said, "Oh yes, we write because we must."
Writing time is about to get scarce, with the advent of my move. But I must.
At this point it's too much a part of my soul to do anything else...
Strange how little more than a year ago I never would have thought that about myself.
I've always been good with words. I was taunted that I "read the dictionary for fun."-in high school, no less. Almost every English teacher I've had has read my stuff aloud to the class or given me high written praise. I liked vocab tests for heaven's sake, but it took me until 28 to realize how much I like it. How great I think it would be to make a career out of it. That I am in fact a writer... who writes because she must.
And if I had even one fewer person encouraging me, who knows if I'd be able to say that, today.
Writers are not born, they are made
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