Somebody at the dog track asked me why I write. My best and only response was, “Because I have to.” This person gave me a strange look, snickered and walked away. It wasn’t a good answer, I have to give them that.
I got to thinking after this encounter. Why do I write? I’ve asked this of myself several times before and have blown off any legitimate answer with the thought, because you do. Is there a part of my brain that was squeezed when I was coming down the birth canal or when I was knocked out in sixth grade during a roaring game of smear the queer? These questions are posed because for as long as I can remember, writing has been a need and not a chore.
All through school I picked out classes that required a lot of writing. While others were moaning about a new assignment, I was secretly joyful, plotting out my thesis, supporting documentation and summary. It’s surprising to me that there are people out there who don’t write. Poor bastards.
After some time and reflection, my next best answer to the question is, “I can’t stop writing.” I write because it’s fun, because there’s nothing else to do, because I can. I write because I’m upset about something or lucid. Because I’ve watched something or have read something that moves me. And for the thousand other reasons why I write, I can’t stop writing.
– Georgie Mae Perez