Why I Write?

Funny enough, I have never been asked this question. I guess it can be attributed to the fact that I tend to conceal all my work.

 Apparently it is a common question received by most writers. I thought I would try to tackle it. I already touched on it a bit in my “BIG WORDS” rant but I have this nagging feeling that it wasn’t enough. So here goes.

Imagine a nerdy girl in glasses with a halting stammer, crippling haliostasis and virtually no close friends. That was and is still me. (minus the haliostasis part. HOPEFULLY!!!) 

She finds solace in books. All kinds of books. She has mastered the art of reading atleast four to five books a week. Unknowingly preparing herself for her entrance into the blogsphere. 

But then one day she reads a book that sparks a fire in her. Like a chemical chain reaction she comes to the conclusion that to be truly free she must do what she loves……write.

By now I think you have realised ‘the unknown girl’ is me. (Please pardon my egoistic undertones.)

 I write because it is the best sense of freedom out there. 

Where in the real world I am limited by my many badges of honour (my ‘problems’), quite an exaggeration I must add, in the world of diction I am able to freely express myself in the way I see fit.

I am also able to gently prod people to my understanding of life. Giving them an insight into the many intricacies of my brain. This is, I think, is an achievement in itself.


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