The Wonder of it All

Genesis 24:21 And the man wondering at her held his peace, to wit whether the LORD had made his journey prosperous or not.
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Did you ever wonder why you became a writer? Do you ever wonder what keeps you writing?

I don’t wonder why I became a writer because it’s always been there. I remember writing stories when I was six years old. Well, I always told stories and tried to write them down, pretending to be this big famous writer.

I remember when I was eight years old writing my mother her first card for Valentine’s day. I do believe it was a roses are red type poem, but I’ve never bought my mother another card after that, I’ve always written them. I wrote poems for every occasion that arose whether it was my mothers birthday or my fathers, mothers day, Easter, Christmas and I even wrote my neighbors a poem when their dog passed away.

I also remember my neighbors telling me that it was the most beautiful poem they ever read, and here I was no older than 10. Were they just saying that? Or had I really touched them with my words? I like to think I reached deep into their heart and placed a hug there so they would be comforted, all through my love of words. This tiny bit of recognition encouraged me. Sure my mother and father loved my poetry, but it was just words to them, nothing I could ever make a career out of.

Writing is an expression of emotion that we carry with us and display through our language. We write to convey a message or to get things off our chest. No matter what the case, being a writer isn’t something that you dream about, it is something you are born with, deep inside and whether you find it hidden there, is up to you.

What keeps me writing? Not being able to do much else. ha ha, I’m kidding there. What keeps me writing is the love and passion that flows through my fingertips. Sometimes I write or tap and keep tapping without even knowing where I’m going to wind up. It’s like taking a drive at night without a definitive destination in mind. You’re in the drivers seat, heading to who knows where, and when you park you realize what you came to this spot for.

Does that make sense? Ask a writer, they’ll tell you. When they begin they only have a vague idea where they are going with a story and before they know it, they’ve penned thousands of words coming out with a finale that they knew was there, they just didn’t know it when they started. The same theory for poetry. You can’t force a poem, it just flows or it doesn’t.

This is what keeps me writing. The love of the unknown. In this world of craziness, writing is my sanity. In this place we call Earth, writing is my comfort. In a hectic life, this is my stability. This abode, I find myself. This domicile, I am me. Within these letters...I find a safe haven.