Sometimes the reason we feel compelled to write is mysterious, and sometimes it is not.
Why write?
Sure, I could write a bunch of psychoanalytic bullsh*t about the reasons I continue to write or a cheeky diatribe on the obsessive and relentless compulsion to play with words every single day, and it would make excellent copy and satisfy you. But the truth is, why I write is not terribly complex.
I have forever held a passion for:
feeding people
and
feeling loved.
When thoughts become written words that nourish or comfort or evoke emotion, you and I are suddenly joined. And feeling truly joined and truly heard has always felt like love to me. So I write.
*image, mighty2save
