Everything just lined up, really.
“Why do you write”, he asked me. The question seemed simple on the surface – I write because it’s enjoyable. But why, exactly, IS it enjoyable??
If you asked anyone who knew me several years ago if they could see me as a writer, they’d probably look at you as if you needed your head checked. My dislike of writing wasn’t legendary, but boy did I LOATHE writing. Of course, all my writing up to that point had consisted nigh-exclusively of school writing — that is, writing papers. And that was a LOAD of fun, let me tell you.
…if you didn’t get the sarcasm form that lest sentence, you need to work on finding sarcasm in text.
Anyways… when I look back, I admittedly find a lot of things that pointed TOWARDS me becoming a future writer.
For one, when I was young — I think around 8–9 — I would often tell stories with my mom. True, these stories were somewhat like bad fanfic, but 1) neither of us knew any better, and 2) the key thing here was that I had ideas that I wanted to put into the form of a tale. I’d even correct my mom sometimes when she made what I saw as a mis-step (sometimes they were, sometimes it was just something I hadn’t quite revealed yet)
As I grew older, I eventually stopped telling these stories with my mother, but I did eventually start reading fan-fiction online. These stories, as well as the official material they were based on, inspired me to create my own in my mind.
I also read other stories of a…specific type (I’d say more about this type, but there’s a slight stigma around it that I’d rather not have on me. Maybe once I feel like I can say what it is, I can tell you, but not now). Anyways, the reason I even bring this UP was that these stories were part of what convinced me that I actually COULD and DID enjoy writing.
One day, I was assigned a “paper” that was to basically write a story of this type. I dove in with GUSTO…now I was home-schooled, meaning I could work on what I wanted to when I wanted to. And this “paper” got focus. A lot of focus. Too much focus, in fact — so Mom, in the role of teacher, told me enough was enough, I had to work on a different paper. So this story languished for a couple months, until the holiday season rolled around.
See, Mom would always make me a home-made present, without fail. I can clearly recall being in the parking lot of a Best Buy with Mom (and maybe Dad) about to do some shopping when I decided, to myself, to pay Mom back for all those years of home-made presents.
I finished the story on my spare time and made a little book out of it with cardboard and string (Yes, I was in high school at the time, but really what else are ya gonna work with?). Wrapped it in a box, put it under the tree, and gave it to Mom and Dad for Christmas.
…they loved it. As did the rest of the family, who I also made copies for. This event was what made me fully realize that I actually was a good writer, and that writing was something I could genuinely enjoy.
I could go on about how this was what convinced me to turn from a full-engineering career path to something more journalistic, but that’s beside the point. That’s not telling why I write.
Why I write… it’s because I enjoy it. It’s because I’m creative, and able to think up ideas with ease. It’s because I had the fortune of getting an assignment that I was able to work on with such vigor that I realized I could enjoy writing. It’s because I decided to work on that story in my free time as a gift to my parents. It’s because everything just…lined up, to make me the way I am.
That’s how it is, really.
Hopefully this answers my teacher’s question (Smiley emote).
