(...fifty cool-kid-points to the person who can tell me from which book series I got the title for this post...)
I'm gonna get a little introspective for a minute, so if that's not your cup-o-tea, you can skip this post, and I won't mind ;-)
This past Sunday, I was sitting in church listening to the speaker. I won't get into what she was talking about, but I wanted to relate an analogy she gave that got me thinking...
Imagine if we were to stretch a rope across the entire universe, then tie a thread around the middle of that rope. The thread would represent the time we spend here in this life. The rope to one side is the time we existed before coming here, and the rope to the other side represents how long we'll continue to exist after this life.
I'm not saying everyone should believe this, it's just what I believe.
Among many other things that hit me when I pondered this, I thought about my writing. In the grand scheme of things, my little life is a very small part of who I am (again, in my belief system). So I asked myself, if there's so much more to me, so much more that was, and that is yet to come:
why do I write?
Why is writing suddenly such a huge part of my life, when it wasn't before?
I'm still not sure of the exact answers. I've been thinking about it all week, and the only answer I can come up with is that it makes me happy.
I've loved to read since I was little, but never really believed I could write. I never thought anyone would be interested in what I had to say, or the stories I might come up with. But the more I do it, the more I love it. I would love to be published and make a career out of writing, to provide for my family and see my name in print - who doesn't? But the more I write, the less that seems to matter. I feel in my gut that I'm just meant to be doing this. That's why I write.
Why do YOU write? Really?
Thanks for being here... I can't wait to hear your comments ;-)