The Omniscient Narrator

I’m not the storyteller of my social group, I’m the quiet cynic serving up sarcasm, but put a blank sheet of paper and a pen before me and I’ll tell you a story. I’m simply an introvert externalising facets of my personality in how I look and rarely expressing my cynical opinions orally to strangers. I’m an observer; I notice the little ticks people have, the way they articulate themselves and carry themselves. All these things are filed away somewhere and regurgitate when I create new characters. It helps that I have a good memory.

Why do I write? I’ve never directly been asked this question and I don’t really have an answer. Enjoyment? Yes. Because I love stories? Definitely. I suppose though its more like therapy a way to rid myself of negative thoughts and feelings. By putting them of the page in someone else’s story makes them my problem no longer.

Or perhaps I write because on the page I have a near anonymous voice. The omniscient narrator to a world of infinite possibilities, where the only rules are the limits of my own creativity. Though it is true writing is a solitary activity, nothing beats the rush of creativity flowing and watching a story weave itself together beneath the scratching of a pen.

Why do I write? Because I can.