To write for others or to irritate ones mind…? Why does one write? Quite a simple question, a minimal reply may suffice but does one such as your self, Goat Piper, deem much more than just a simple answer? By example answers like ‘it’s what I do’ or 'it’s what I’ve been tickling with since I was but a modest child’, do those satisfy your itch, your curiosity? If you were tempting for more
Lecture
then I’ll tell a tale of a confused but modest child, ‘Paddy’.
As a toddler Paddy detested reading, he simply read to further a never ending education. From the early 90’s till late 00’s (???), from mid school to a bachelor’s degree, from a venture into employment to a relaxing state of unemployment, from preparing for the LSAT to postponing the daunting thing, on he studied, on he read, on he played, tickling ideas inside his head. Originally a tease of thoughts, next a graphic novel and now he’s heaving himself towards the end of a novel. Three years in the making, though no serious effort as of recent, progress made as result of an ambiguous yet direct plan. He found something, what he was. From neglect to denial, from an acceptance to an imagination, Paddy became writer.
What I’ve learned through days and days is that people can be what they are made to do, thus following a certain path. Be it an automaton of society or a free-thinker, we use our resources, knowledge, and skills, to do what it is we do. But what happens when one is given too much reason, too much lee-way, a free check to bypass a preordained path. What happens? What is one to do…?
This free palette may be why some will write, not because lack of reserve, but because they feel that it’s their rest in society, their rightful path in life. Most of us, as this is Absolute Write, seem to have a little fancy for writing, a tickle for creative thinking. Thus to answer your question largely, people write because it’s what they were brought to do, despite anything foreseeable.
It doesn’t matter if the writer is a literary genius of magnificence or a steaming pile of freshness, what matters is that the writer is who he is, a writer. We are fortunate to live in an age where societies and nations (at least some) promote, accept, and desire free thinking, where true unadulterated writing is born, where feelings are shown. Be it a biography, an EXPENSIVE biology college text book, a novel, a poem, or even a collection of short stories people are leaving behind memories in their writings, a peace of themselves, in essence a gaining of immortality through text. Isn’t that what really matters, lessons taught, stories told, entrainment but education? But alas I must end these ramblings, this misadventure.
In short I like to see people happy, that’s why I write.
