“Why I write” is a prompt Miriam offered us at a writing retreat recently. Ten minutes. Go. I wrote:
Why I write. Why, I write! Why?, I write. Why I write: because I access more of myself… my inner guide, my inner voice, my own knowledge that I didn’t know I knew, unfolding on the page, being discovered, discovering itself, uncovering itself, uncovering a Self, shedding obscurations? I hesitate to say uncovering truth but maybe, with a small t. Why I didn’t write, for all those many years, is a sad question. Not that there was no discovery during that time, there was… but somehow it feels like some obscuration has been removed, some schmutz on the lenses, some obstacle to… to what? To a path.
Writing as path. That idea first occurred to me sometime around this time last year. Why I write, now, is the same reason I meditate, or exercise, or buy and cook healthy food — because it seems essential to a clear life. Clear? Yes. I write to clear the path. Like sweeping. I write to see myself as maker, as author, co-author, co-creator of my world. Like sculpting — only somehow more all-encompassing, more engrossing. I write because its the only thing I ever do where I lose track of time.