July 31, 2008

Why I Write

Because I don't know how not to write.

But more importantly, I love words. I love caressing them, rearranging them, using them to express my precise thoughts, and even some imprecise ones. Words help me organize my world.

I have written since I was old enough to pick up a pen and paper. When I turned 10, I got a plastic electric typewriter. I never did master use of that, but as a teenager with a job, my first purchase was, my very own electric typewriter. Computers rendered it a relic. But I loved the beauty of moving my fingers and painting the canvas with the medium of vocabulary.

I have a journal that I began when I was 7. I filled it with stories of my day, what I had for lunch, and who pulled my hair. I wrote about playground fights. As I got older, I chronicled the horrible unfairness of my parents. Yet older still, I wrote about friends and family, gains and losses. I process my life in this tidy little book with the Holly Hobbie cover. I wrote about my grandmother's death, my first born child, and I still have yet to fill this crazy book. I figure if I ever fill it, I will have grown a year.

When I was in 8th grade, I turned in a paper to my English teacher. When I received the paper back, it was graded with a "P". A WHAT??? Yes, a "P". Well, her last name began with a "P", so I figured it was some sort of code. Naturally, I had to find out, so I went up to her after class and said, "Mrs. P? Why is my grade a P?"

With a gentle smile, Mrs. P's eyes met mine, and she said, "P is for Promising."

That, is why I write. Fulfilling the promise.

And if you're keeping track, WORDS are yet another time I've been in love. Still am.


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