Okay, yesterday I posted about why writers write. And the truth is I had intended to go somewhere a little different with it, but as you may have noticed, I try to be very positive and upbeat in these posts.

The truth is the reasons we write sometimes change. At first, we may write to prove to ourselves that we can. Then to prove to others that our work means something and that it’s good enough to be read. Good enough to be published.

Validation of what we love is often what drives us, but things can change.

Writing has always been something I love. Even when I was little and could barely put words together, I was dreaming up stories and scribbling them in notebooks. But now there’s something that I love more than writing: my children. And one of them has been diagnosed with a pretty sucky disease.  He’s an awesome, strong, young man, and I know his life will be fulfilling and wonderful. I know he’ll reach his goals, but I know they’ll be hard fought for. And more than anything, I know that I want to be there for him if and when he needs me.

Does this mean I love writing less? Absolutely not. If anything, I love it more. I need it more. I need it to keep me brave and strong. I need it to exorcise the demons that come to roost inside of me. And I need it to feel like I can have power over what happens in the worlds that I create, if not in this world.

Sorry this isn’t as upbeat and positive as usual, but as writers, we have to keep it real.

2 thoughts on “Confession

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