Last week, Sheila Kennedy asked me why I write.
The simple answer: I write because I find words enchanting. They captivate me, much like any artist or creator is captivated by the building blocks of their medium. I read a lot as a child, especially historical fiction. Losing myself in other times and other worlds was deeply satisfying to me. I loved the idiosyncrasies of characters and the way a simple description could conjure such vivid experiences of sight, sound, and smell in my mind. I was hooked. Now crafting words as an adult feels like play. The blending of structure and limitless possibilities provides fertile ground for my curiosity, desire to express my inner life, and my calling to serve.
The mystical, magical, and miraculous have a way of getting lost in translation. To be fair, part of the sacredness of some experiences is their inexpressible nature. Sometimes the depth of an experience renders it forever secret. However, I find that writing about my inner life often magnifies its holiness and realness. It’s easy to brush off sacred moments, moments when the eyes of our heart grow wide with awe, and distract ourselves with outer stimulation. Writing allows me to paint my inner life with words and birth ideas. Every writer and artist is a midwife.
How do you express your ideas and experiences?
p.s. speaking of writing, this Pinterest board is where I keep all my favorite words.