Why do I write?

Why do I write? I write for many reasons. Some of these include: to process things; to vent; for fun; to share information; and to connect with others. What motivates me to write? Feelings are often motivators – when my emotions run high, writing offers an outlet that may not be otherwise available. This includes both positive and negative emotions. When I’m angry, a rant to a blank sheet of paper is more productive than venting all over someone who is not even involved in whatever it was that made me angry. When I’m overwhelmed by gratitude, writing that out (and sending it!) is an excellent way to express it – and a lasting one.

Now, that only applies to the dribbling, rambling sort of writing (which is, admittedly, much of what I do), but there is also the literary side of writing. For example, I entered NaNoWriMo in 2011, and even though I didn’t win, I wrote more than I have in any previous attempt. Why do I want to write a novel (of which I have two started now)? For one thing, I have always enjoyed reading. What could be better than being on the other end of that? As much as I have enjoyed reading, creating a work that others can enjoy would be immensely satisfying.

As for inspiration, that is more difficult. I usually have to work at finding things about which to write. My brother and my daughter seem to have never-ending waterfalls of ideas, but I have to chip bits of idea from solid granite.

Short Story Contest

Lulu.com is having a Short Story Contest this month. They are thinking that people who are interested in writing but not quite ready for NaNoWriMo might want to try something a little smaller, but with slightly greater rewards.

Excerpt from my NaNo Novel

One beautiful fall day around noon, Dorothy was humming as she put together a pumpkin pie. She crimped the edges of the crust and poured in the filling, topping it with sweet crumbles. She slipped it into the oven and wiped her hands on her apron just as a knock sounded on the door. “One minute!” she called out cheerfully, as she set the timer for the pie. She pulled off her apron and hung it over a chair, then went to the door. Peeking through the peephole, her heart skipped a beat when she saw two policemen in uniform standing there.