I asked myself the other day, "Why do I love to write so much?"
I came up with a rather lengthy response. I don't typically write huge blocks of text, but for some reason, it seemed appropriate in this case.
I love the joy of writing.
I love the wonderment of watching others benefit from my work.
I love the sleepless nights, spent turning blank pages into word-filled ones.
I love the satisfaction of completing a heart-riddled story.
I love the bewilderment of discovering, through writing, a side of myself I never knew existed.
I love the adrenaline of writing the opening sentence of a fifty-thousand-word novel.
I love the frustration of wracking my vocabulary to find the perfect word to fit the rhyme and meter.
I love the pain of baring my heart and soul for others to read.
I love the defensiveness that overtakes me when my works are criticized.
I love the embarrassment I feel when writing a romance novel.
I love the inability to read a sentence of my work without scrutinizing every word.
I love the desperation of removing every unnecessary word in order to fall within the word limit.
I love the ache of my hand that ensues after hand-writing a lengthy work.
I love the impossibility of trying to keep my eyelids open at 1:49 a.m., because I want to write my thoughts but don't have the energy to do so.
I love the insomnia that exists, because my mind is whirling with too many storylines to let me fall asleep.
I love the inexplicable happiness of hearing someone say that my writings have changed his or her life.
I love the irritation of a whole month of writer's block.
I love scribbling song lyrics on a napkin, when I can't find anything else to write on.
I love the self-annoyance that follows, after I end a sentence with a preposition.
I love the indignation I feel when someone fails to appreciate the full beauty of one of my poems.
I love the agony of being judged by those who don't understand my obsession with writing.
I love the nausea that washes over me when I go a day without writing.
I love clashingly jamming stubborn words together in a sentence.
I love the ink stains that are rarely missing from my hands.
I love the joys of writing, I love the pains of writing, I love the liberations of writing, I love the chains of writing, I love the happinesses of writing, I love the anguishes of writing.
I love, I love, I love to write.