I write out of my anger and into my passion.
It is Tuesday on the eastern seaboard, so I can end my gruelling long Monday in PST with a reminder of why I write. I found old notes from an Asilomar conference session on Creative Nonfiction. The mentor text was Terry Tempest Williams, Why I Write. I lifted her line to start.
I’m culling lines from my 9/29/12 draft that seem true today.
I write to see what’s at my core. I write into molten memories and frozen silences.
I write to cope, to reclaim myself from loss.
I write because I mean it. I’m overly serious — too much thinking.
I write as a protection plan.
I write because I teach. I write to walk a mile in somebody’s mocassins.
I write to heal the anger all the way. I write to shut up my ancestors.
I write just because. To chase images around my psyche.
I write to say I’m here. That I matter.