“I write because I have to.”<\/p>\n
I’ve heard many writers say that.\u00a0Authors who posses an all consuming need to put words to paper. Over the year I worried that\u00a0I didn’t have the heart to pursue a career that\u00a0is a constant\u00a0up- hill battle and knocks you around all of the time. \u00a0I wrote because I had stories inside that I thought people might like to read, but it wasn’t really a deep burning drive like others spoke about. It was a concept that I understood, but never attributed to myself. Until now.<\/p>\n
This week was a self-imposed break between drafts to recharge my brain. Seven days of not touching my work in progress. I have taken these breaks before, but I would be working on two projects at once. This was the first time in a year that I wasn’t composing. By day three I knew something was off.<\/p>\n
I would find myself staring out of the window every few minutes. I didn’t know what to do with my hands without a pencil between my fingers or typing. It was frightening to feel so disconnected to what had become the central part of who I am. I was a boat without a rudder just drifting through my day.<\/p>\n
Not all of my time was spent zoning out. I did house work. Read. A lot. Played with my kids and joined Twitter. My days were full, but there was always a sense of something not being right. A piece of me was missing and I knew it was due to not writing.<\/p>\n
My writing is the only thing in my life that is 100% completely mine. I didn’t have to discuss whether it was a lifestyle (and it is a lifestyle) that would fit in with anyone elses plans. It is my choice. My art that I work on and hone and craft with everything in me. Without it, I’m not whole. That spark\u00a0was missing.<\/p>\n
I know now what it means to write because I have to.<\/p>\n
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