On writing

I love writing. For lots of reasons, but lately, because it’s an excuse to learn. And not just learn in an academic sense, but in a sense that enlightens me.

I love having a reason to interview inspiring people – to listen to anecdotes of their childhood – to witness their passion and purpose – and to weave the details of their story together.

I love characters. We are all characters – and at times, parodies of ourselves. We have our idiosyncrasies and our funny-isms and the things that we do that make others say: “That’s so… you.

I love hearing new stories. And not in an investigative-journalism-breaking-news headline sense (in fact, I rather appall the evening news) — but in a “the stuff that matters” sense where everyday people are extraordinary heroes. Where incredible talent meets great humility. Where beauty and joy and courage rule all.

I love seeing the best in people. And more importantly, I love when people see the best in themselves.

When the ink stains the page, and the words are written, I love how writing grounds us. It takes what is floating around the air and our minds and our hearts and makes it real.

I love writing because the greatest story can come from the smallest detail.

Because by learning about other peoples’ stories, we can better craft our own.

Because, in a big sense, we are all characters of the same story.

I love writing because just as I have to think about what I write — it is in writing that I think.

And that is all for now.

One Comment

  1. I need to get the words in my head out and onto paper. My job is to write but it is more than that. I didn’t know that writing would be my work or my need. It has come to me as I write. I write so that others will listen. I write about inequity and marginalization so that it will stop. I suppose it’s naïve to think anyone will listen or that my writing will make anyone stop anything but I write nonetheless.

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