WHY DO WRITERS WRITE

 Why put yourself through full cream of scariness?

Of excitement, disappointment and panicky compulsion?

Considering the context of time, shortness of life and other things to do?

Why embark on a madden of all insane-driven passion?

What crazy creative intrinsically gene is the cause of such affliction?

Why face a scary blank page, trepidation, ubiquitous shadow of failure, hell, pure hell?

For me, I write to dream; yes, that is it;

To connect with the world beyond,

When I want how I want and where I want

To leave a mark, a voice, and permanency in this world

So that when after that I have gone to the hereafter

My joy would remain the pleasure of building blocks of word on another,

Firmly having fulfilled my burning desire to let the rioting words inside of me out

To have the world in entity join me to explore my thinking

I care less to prepare for failure and criticism than I ought or care to deal with

Instead, ready to hit back with a rebound and redouble my optimism

Which, I kid you not, is the legitimate response to failure

For I know, no matter what, I only can please some of my readers all the time,

So that the many others’ hearts could find something to gnash about

To be ashamed of the original word originating from profound thoughts

Stories created, deeply heartfelt, like fossils on the ground;

Appropriately dressed to withstand and weather the test of time

Wonderfully crafted imaginations aimed to find their way to the reader's bowl

To toil with that; to be ashamed to let that out indeed diminishes one, as a writer

So, all that said, roll your head and neck, flex your fingers; click or put to paper;

Make you the transferring human medium of a writer’s imaginative ruminations

Should you feel nervous, excited, hopeful, despairing, or distressing doing all that?

You damn well better be, for that makes you a writer worth the salt you ought.

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