Day 243

I have been thinking a lot about writing lately. The real question is: Why write?

I have been writing since I started school. I wasn't usually asked to use my imagination or express my opinions. I was expected to regurgitate facts or write stories that observed clearly defined parameters. If I produced an acceptable product I would be rewarded. I loved gold stars. In fact, I came to rely on them for my sense of self-worth.

Now that I am grown-up and done with the formal system of schooling, there are no more gold stars. If I am not writing for the gold stars what I am writing for? I suppose there is a need for self-expression: I have these ideas that bubble-up and need to be set free. I also have a love of words. I always have. I like to roll them around in my brain like jawbreakers, tasting each one before putting it on the page. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I long for the thrill that comes from tapping into and surrendering to the creative impulse.

Is this motivation enough? Perhaps it is the only motivation that can truly sustain a person. Before we can tap into it, however, we must push past the egoic need for security and recognition.