Set a timer and free-write for fifteen to thirty minutes.
I have never given writing any special thought. It has been ingrained in me since the moment I first entered the world. I used to tell my mother that I wanted to open my own bookstore, so that I could sell my own books. Just in case no one else wanted to sell them (of course).
My best friend knows that when I drop off the face of the planet, I’m in the middle of a story. She waits patiently for me to wrap up my adventure so she can have my full attention. She also recognizes when I haven’t written in awhile. In those cases, she will nicely suggest it.
Writing is both a wonderful and terrible thing. It is a new world to explore, an adventure to undertake and characters to meet. The main character will take you for a ride while you experience their successes, failures, happiness, and pain.
It has never been a choice, but a part of my identity. Although being published would be nice, it has never been my end goal. I could spend the rest of my life unpublished and know that I will write until the day I can no longer hold a pen.
I write because it is a way for me to process events, to explore the roads I decided not to take. I write because I love it and I can’t picture doing anything else.