Who says writing is not a divine gift, and how dare you diss the muses? Anyway Sis, let me tell you why i write:
1. To keep my sanity –Short Stories: sometimes I see, hear, smell, or do something and it’s like a trigger! The voices in my head go to work in their little factory; taking what happened, breaking it down, diluting it, till they have created what they will. This first part I don’t mind but next they start to whisper whatever they’ve come up with to me, when I pay them no heed, they scream it till I feel my head will implode and I have no choice but to let them out of my head, inflict them on whoever chooses to read.
2. To keep my sanity – Crappy Poetry: I am like a swing set –up and down- never quite still, tormented by some wind. Lots of times I can’t sort through emotions. I’ld like to be able to pick them out strand by strand, make a weave out of the ones I want and snip the rest away but instead I get into a bad place, so I write my way out. Strings of dark, incoherent words later and I can almost feel the pain and the mad seeping through my fingers.
3. To keep my sanity –brokeassness: Someone asks me to write something for them, i find my mouth saying ‘yea, sure’, but my mind goes, ‘I’m just supposed to conjure those words you just promised right? Wrong!’ So I don’t write. And suddenly a deadline is creeping close but it still doesn’t bring the muses out of their hiding place. The deadline is looming and suddenly my brain is calculating my bank balance and the muses start to peek. We can always use more money innit? Blah! I think my muses are just scared to death of not being able to buy books and pretty dresses on a whim… and so I write!
4. I write…. coz how else would I frustrate my dear friends? This one is sort of connected to 1. See, I’m something of a cross between a conceited, and an insecure freak when it comes to my writing; I’m good and I know it… or maybe I’m not so good *shrug*. I write a short story, then take a mental chisel and work on it till it is as near perfection as I and my slew of editor/critic/writer friends can achieve. I read the story and get on a high (I still haven’t found any substance that gives me an equal high and I think I’ve tried all the legal ones). So I get on this high and for days nothing can touch me. Then I read the story again, maybe find a sentence or scene that doesn’t sit well with me and it’s like a pin stuck in a balloon *KPOWWWW!* For every high there is a low and so it’s earth to Rayo. I mope, snap, pick a few fights with certain folk(s) and I banish the story to the dungeons of Microsoft word. Finally, I write a crap poem to get over my beautiful prose. This is why my friends are tired of me –they believe in my abilities more than I do.
5. I write because… just because.
This post is in answer to smallie over at Bookaholicblog because ‘why i write’ would be too long for your comment section
In other unrelated news, after careful consideration, I have decided to suspend my hate for vals day this year. I will thus be using the excuse of that day to shamelessly beg! All I want for Vals day is a turkey sandwich and a glass of red wine delivered to me in my little village in Bagauda, Kano. Thanks in advance