Excerpt from “Blackberry Wine” by Joanne Harris:
“Stuff the assignment!” he shouted merrily. “You don’t write because someone sets assignments! You write because you need to write, or because you hope someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside you, or bring something back to life-”
To put this into the full context of the book(which I heartily recommend) the writer(Jay) wrote one sensationally succesful novel and then lost the plot thereafter and lost himself in the process. This excerpt is taken from where he starts to find himself again. I cheered at this point in the story, for what it’s worth.
Why do I write? For all those reasons and a few of my own.
I don’t write for anyone but myself. I admit, I love it when my readers here comment and we get into a dialogue but primarily I write for myself. It clarifies my thoughts among other things; I hear my own thoughts better this way. I do write in the hope that someone will hear me but it’s mainly so I have a voice beyond the four walls of my home and the slightly larger arena of my life beyond it. It tickles me that other people find value in what I write and it encourages me to continue but it doesn’t shape what I chose to say or the way I say it. I don’t do it for the numbers either; which is just as well because this is not the sort of blog that gets vast traffic. I read my stats page but more out of curiosity about where people come from and how they found their way onto my blog. The daily, weekly and monthly figures are not of much interest; I find I enjoy comments far more.
I write because I can’t NOT write any more. I have things to say and it almost doesn’t matter any more if no one listens; it’s the saying of them that is important.
I write because otherwise I would go crazy in ways that society frowns on.
I write because stories and poems and ideas come burning and bubbling their way out of me like mud from a geyser and I’d explode if they didn’t find their way out.
I write because I am who I am and that isn’t something I can change; I tried that for eight years and eight years is a long time to be in a coma to all intents and purposes. Sleeping Beauty got woken up; if you know anything about the original fairytale, she wasn’t woken by a mere kiss either.
I’m no Beauty but I could have slept for England.