I Write

This is a new one because, well, it’s my first Flash Fiction Friday and it’s really… um… non-fiction. I decided to join Chuck Wendig’s prompts and expand my horizons on the writing front. Lo and behold, my first attempt is not really fiction, so I’m gonna try to make it flashy!

Once upon a time, there was a little girl (that’s me) in a great big world. Okay, so Arkansas’s not that big, but go ahead and work with me. The little girl made up stories, told tall tales, and sometimes got in trouble for it. And then she realized those stories were better when she could put them on paper.

You see, the stories and tall tales, they’ve always been there. Always in the back of my head. I’m a daydreamer and a dreamer of the future. I have—since I was that little girl—kept journals and notebooks. They’re everywhere and ninety-nine percent of what’s in them is not viable for human consumption. Meaning they’re garbage. But the thing is they’re mine and they’ve made me who I am.

I write because I breathe. It’s as easy as that. The words are there and if I don’t put them on paper, they will stew until I can’t sleep for thinking of them. And that’s not a pretty sight. I promise.

I write because I read. I’ve always considered myself a reader first, a traveler of worlds far and away, sweet and sassy, dark and delicious. I love words. I love losing myself in them. I love finding myself in them. I love the journey and the struggle. I love the happy endings and the not so much.

I write because I laugh, cry, scream, and whisper. I am an emotional being. Scripting scenes, chapters, books, and volumes is only another expression of those emotions—whether they be my own or those around me. I feel. I do. I am.

I write because I love. It’s true. Romance is my genre of choice. Boy meets boy. Boy falls in love with boy. Boy’s heart gets broken. Then boy fixes it. That’s it. That’s all. The end. Sort of. It’s the rise and fall, the push and pull. It’s the outside factors that blend into the middle of an unsuspecting relationship. It’s happiness and sadness. It’s everything about a romance that keeps me going back.

I write because I dream. Not that I dream my stories. I mean, how rare is that? I’ll let you in on a secret: it’s pretty rare. Although, more times that my sleep-deprived brain likes to admit, some of the best ideas come on that very verge of sleep and awareness, when my body is telling me to roll over and ignore the niggling. But I know from experience that if I ignore it, I’ll forget it. That’s why there is a stack of notebooks on my night stand.

I write because it’s hard work. Ha! I bet you weren’t expecting that one. But yeah. It’s not easy. I’ll be honest, I second guess the hell out of myself at all times. I study like I’m still in school. I read up like a fiend so when I write I might not sound like a tool. And still… well… sometimes…

I write because I like to research. *shakes fist* CURSE YOU RESEARCH! It’s the cry of my people. Except I (not so secretly) love it. It’s the beginning of those worlds that I love to lose (and find) myself in. How else would the facts be straight? And we all know. The. Facts. Must. Be. Straight.

I write because nothing is black and white. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told to “Do this” and “Do that,” but truth be told, you live and you learn. What is right for me may not be right for you. Adverbs, dangly bits, male characters, female characters. The moral to this roundabout is be you and I’ll be me and we’ll still be happy.

I write because I hear voices. We all do. I’m pretty sure it’s the reason we write. And the reason we carry around pen and paper. Ideas come from everywhere. I people watch like nobody’s business. I write down overheard conversations (don’t judge me). I laugh when kids play musical chairs in a diner booth around their numb-to-it, chatting parents who simply move their plates so the kids will still eat when they end up in a different spot.

I write because I do. If I didn’t do it now, I’d do it later. It took me long enough to gain the courage to pen my first “The End” as it was. It’s not always easy. It’s not always difficult. Sometimes it’s in between. But… well… I do it.

I write because I love it. If I didn’t love it. I wouldn’t do it. The truth is I’m learning every day. And I’m failing every day. I have mentors and critique partners who are my lifeline. And even if I didn’t have them, I think I would still do it because my heart tells me to.

So yes. I write. I am a writer. I am a writer who loves to write and will continue to do so until I can’t any longer.

I write.