Writers write.
We can’t help ourselves. We may journal, create indelible stories in our minds, or scribe our flesh leaving visible scars.
Whatever the canvas, we write.
We write to help us remember, we write that we may forget.
Writing is therapeutic, and so we write.
We write because ordering and arranging thoughts on some form of parchment sometimes comes more naturally than in speech.
We compose to leave a legacy, a proof. To amuse, to restore, to encourage, to bolster, to create. We write to connect, to share our joys and our pain, our lessons and our imaginations.
We expose injustice and lies. We draw truth out of the depths of our inner being to stand as a beacon of hope to others.
We try on roles, and language and culture. We travel into other worlds and return again and again.
For any reason we can at all, writers write.
