Why I Write

The words in my head have a life of their own. They flow through me. Something pulls the cord on their motor and they just start coming: words, phrases, sentences. They swarm around me like a pack of affectionate cats. They seem to come from another place, from someplace divine. They float around in my head, begging to be captured.

I am an archivist at heart. I want to capture every day in some little way so it won't get away unnoticed. I want to be the one that thought to tape the original receipt into the dresser drawer to be marvelled at in 100 years. I want to be the one that has my Grandmother's handwritten recipe for her Aunt Mavis' cloverleaf rolls (I do). I'm the one who still has all the social notes I received in junior high and high school. I can look back and verify the details of things from back then. When memory fails, I want to be able to look up the facts!

I've been the familiy geneaologist since I was a kid. Genealogy has taught me one startling fact: within a few generations, all but the most illustrious individuals are reduced to a name, a date of birth, and a date of death. If we are lucky, we can see where they lived (or maybe only where they were buried), who they married, who their children were, and maybe an occupation. But that's usually about it. No one remembers what they were really like. What was their personality like? What were their passions? What were their endearing quirks? What were they known for? What was on their heart and in their soul?

In 200 years I want to be more than a name and a couple of dates on a genealogy chart. I want to leave messages for my descendants. When now becomes "back then", I want them to be able to know who I was and what my life was like if they're interested. Maybe that's ego. Maybe it just derives from wishing that one of those ancestors on my genealogy charts had left a diary or letters or something to know them by. I am always trying to surmise who they really were.

But, on the most basic level, when I write, I simply enjoy the process. And, as I contemplate that process, I see that my creative process is my connection to the divine. Writing puts me on another plane. And on that plane are all things mystical and magical. On that plane exist God and love and truth and meaning. On that plane are memory and epiphany, poetry and poetic justice, possibilities and potentials -- all those things that transcend the day-to-day.

Life rolls forward, seemingly senseless at times. Things happen. Confusion abounds. We struggle daily with something or another. Writing is the place where everything comes to make sense and where the intricate, carefully-planned thread of God's hand at work is revealed. For me, God's fingerprints are on everything and, if I write, I can see them clearly and it all makes sense. Writing is where I unearth the underlying meaning of everything. Writing is where I find God. And maybe, in doing so and writing it all down, I can leave a little bit of a path to God for those who will come after.