Why do I write? I have always craved a creative outlet and came to the realisation many years ago that I can’t paint, draw, sculpt or any of the other creative pursuits that I always associated with artists. It is not a negative thing, it is what it is. I have enthusiastically started and abandoned countless projects over the years such as hook rugs, cross stitch, embroidery, decoupage, knitting, cottage crafts, beading, jewellery making, and the list goes on – and on. My family used to laugh at me when I began my latest pursuit, and teased me about how long this one would last. For the most part they were right. Every now and then I would finish something, but mostly I didn’t.
I began writing for the first time here with my random musings when I was living in Ghana from 2010 until 2011. My initial plan was to write a blog of our adventures and I had grand ideas of regular posts and updates. I did start and I did write some good stuff but I was very irregular and haphazard at it. When I came home I was having trouble settling back into Western life and I began a blog at the advice of a friend as a way of “sorting the shit”. The content from that blog has since been relocated to this page. I was still irregular and haphazard, but that was fine as I had a whole lot of shit going on and the blog has been moved because I did manage to sort it, and began doing my own thing a while back, and I write over there about topics relevant to my business.
I write here on this blog about anything and everything from addiction to Africa and I have previously explained why I started this blog. It is my place to be free to express myself in any way shape or form about anything.
So…why do I write?
These are questions I am asking myself as the desire to create becomes stronger and of late has become a not negotiable for my spirit.
I write because I fucking love it. I write because it is the best way I have found to express myself. I write because I feel free. I write because I can. I write for me. I write because it is my art. I write because I can share my deepest and sometimes darkest thoughts, and I write because sometimes people write to me and thank me for also touching them deeply and going places where they fear to tread. I write for the joy, the agony and the ecstasy. I write for my heart. I write for my soul. I write for my family. I write for my sanity. I write because I believe I am here to write.
I am because I write.
When I hurt my back a few weeks back, I was prolific and the more I wrote, the more I wrote, and the more I wrote. One day I wrote three pieces and I loved it. Since I recovered I have been very busy and I also had to face some dark and scary shit in my life, where I found myself paralysed by anxiety and I was too scared to come to the page and write. Terrified, I succumbed to overwhelm and ran and hid. In fact I should have done the exact opposite. Thank goodness the shit has moved and the fog has lifted and things are better, and once again I find my soul yearning to express itself and I am so happy to be back here pursuing my art.
I am finally accepting that yes I am an artist. I am going to claim and proclaim it and revel in the joy of it.
I am a writer.
I am an artist.
I write because I am.