Why I write.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

4:34 p.m.

Why I write. Why do I write? I have asked myself this question many times. My mood dictates my answers.

Writing for entertainment. Perhaps if I had computer games, I may not have written anything, but being the youngest of four girls and from a neighborhood where I didn’t have that many friends to play with, I wrote to occupy my time. At ten, I started my memoirs, though the autobiography could have been a school assignment. I suspect that my eldest sister Barbara, who was twenty at the time of this writing, “helped” me write this story. I doubt that it was my idea to write, “When we were in South Carolina my sisters went fishing for crabs while I got in the way. During the whole trip I threw tempertantrums and I would pound my head against the floor if I didn’t get my way.”

I won’t deny that I threw temper tantrums when I did not get my way, but I started seeing writing as a way of helping my cause. I’ve got a couple of letters I wrote from Fleur de Lis Camp in New Hampshire. I have no idea how old I was at the time. In my letter to my sister Pam, I wrote: “I WANT TO COME HOME!!!! So much. lots of  kid’ hate me or always call me stupid or something. I like all the events. So By-By….I don’t have much to say But I don’t like it here.”

With the same pen, written on the same stationary, probably written on the same day, I wrote to my sister Deb, but instead of wanting to come home, I wrote, “Iam not so good. I miss you all too much. I want to come home too much. In fact I demand to come home.” I go on to tell her that I’m having fun in the events. Persuasive writing was not my strong suit as I did not get paroled early for good behavior and had to serve the sentence of what seemed to be an eternity.

These early pieces of my writing bring me to another reason why I write or why I continue to write every day: So I can remember. I was seven when my sister Pam ran away while we were in Edgertown. I don’t remember why. I don’t even remember where Edgertown is. I am hoping that when I eventually collect a reader or two, I may be told, or perhaps I’ll be motivated to do some research for some future writing.

This brings me to a third reason to write. I write to help me come up with more things to write. Since I have been journaling, rather steadily since the 1980s, I have plenty of things to write about. This blog will give me the opportunity to let those thirty-year-old ideas come to light. I am looking forward to this.


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