I don’t necessarily love to write, so much as I ACHE to express myself.
Expressing myself is my true motivation for writing, and might even be my only motivation for writing.
I haven’t been writing since birth like most writers my age seem to have been doing. I didn’t write in my teens or my early twenties. Not in my thirties or even early forties. I started writing by accident, because I had something to say about real life… MY real life, in particular.
I’ve tried other styles and genres of writing since then and still, so far, I’m most motivated by wanting to share a true story directly associated with me and what happens within or around me and then GETTING IT OUT of me. Usually, there is something profound in the event, something touching or shocking or ironic or iconic. Something that begs to be captured and passed along, like stories told long ago by the ancients around campfires, something that has the potential to benefit the community that lives on.
Most of the time, I CANNOT GET IT OUT OF ME. It remains stuck, even after hours and pages of attempts at making it read-worthy. The original magic is lost in my words. A sparkle becomes a dud.
But every once in a long while, I capture it. I did so again recently. Another of my re-tellings will be published late August in the upcoming CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL book, “My Kind (of) America”. (The first was last year in the “Angels and Miracles” collection; see post You’re Invited to a Party! My Short Story Published in Chicken Soup.)
Chicken Soup receives thousands of entries for each book, from which exactly 101 are chosen for each book. My story this year is called “Highway Breakdown” and is an example of the kindness of strangers who seem to come out of nowhere to help us when we need it most. I hope you’ll check out the book when it comes out. I’m sure it will help lift your spirits at a time when maybe YOU need it most.
Peace and love,