Why I Write

I have written for as long as I can remember. Before I learned to write, I told stories.

I write because I have a burning desire in my soul. I have an absolute life or death need to release words. Whether or not these words are of any interest to anyone else is another story entirely. I have to write. I live to write. Whether I share what I write is inconsequential, it is the act of writing that is my lifeline. The absolute struggle for the perfect words…and the release when they’re found! So unbelievably painful and so ultimately fulfilling all at the same time. Yes, it is somewhat orgasmic, and you other writers know exactly what I am talking about!

Writing has been and still is vital to my existence. To my very being. It is much cheaper and way more satisfying than therapy. I carry that knot in the pit of my stomach until the words hit the paper or my fingers touch the keyboard. Those words, those meant for only me, are not second guessed because they ARE me. These bits and pieces I choose to share are not doled out to make you pity me if you think I’ve had a rough time or make you envious if you think I have a wonderful life. I tell them because they are detrimental to my decision making and the formation of my life path.

It is the words that I put out there for others to see, that worry me. My anxiety is not even so much that I fear the rejection. That my writing or myself are not good enough. My fear is that I might in the process cause harm to someone else. Hurting someone’s feelings or telling their intimacies is not my intention. My intention is to write with honesty and integrity. In telling my story, it is not my inclination to put fault on someone else or bring someone down with me.

Fortunately for me, I’ve had people who believed in my writing ability long before I had any belief in myself. I had an elementary school teacher and a high school teacher that always encouraged me to become a writer, which of course, I never did because I really don’t have that kind of confidence in myself. But still they always cheered me on. And to this day, I am still in contact with both of those teachers.

In middle and high school I was involved in every literary outlet that existed. I was editor for many years of our literary magazine and a reporter for our newspaper. I was even a member of our Quill and Scroll Society which was a literary honor society. Even with those positions, I felt somewhat misunderstood. I was reluctant to share my true thoughts and feelings and mostly just shared my creative pieces.

Long before my blog, I wrote. ALL. OF. THE. TIME. Even if it was only in my head. There are the countless poems, short stories, journal entries, and occasional technical pieces. And then there are the five novels that I started. Only started, never completed. Maybe I have ADD, I don’t know, but I could not (nor can I now) ever seem to stay focused on just one…I wanted to do them all. So, I chucked them all aside. Publication is obviously not my goal. I am lazy. I’ve admitted that long before now.

Now, I realize that sometimes my writing tends to take a life of it’s own when my snarkiness comes on. It is tongue in cheek. Not aimed at anyone in particular. Except, maybe Dirt Man. He has agreed that I can joke on him. He’s such a good sport because I really do lay it on him at times. I have at times said things that were never intended to affect other people, but obviously the best intentions sometimes back fire. To anyone whose feelings have been hurt , I do apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. However, as for the content of my blog, I will not apologize. THIS IS WHO I AM! I have finally after many years reached a peace in my life. This is a peace that I am not willing to give back or compromise when it jeopardizes my own integrity. I speak what I feel. I write with honesty. I am compassionate and will not use my blog as a personal smear campaign against anyone. If my language or attitude upsets you, I ask that you stop reading my blog. Again, this is who I am. I’d rather be loved and accepted zits and all than to be an envied cover girl who must resort to some extreme measures to please herself internally while glowing outwardly in the public eye. While I am not one to concentrate on negativities, I do believe that what we learn from these experiences can affect us in positive ways.

My blog started as a place to store some of my contributions to writing groups. I chose to write under the pseudo of SuziCate which is actually a form of my given name. I did this so that I would not be instantly recognized by someone who stumbled through it. My daily blog entry posts are generally not so much about events of my past or the people in them. However, my writing pieces very much reflect where I’ve been and how those things have shaped my life. I never wanted to put life instances out there for other people to judge my life or my perceptions of it. I never intended to put these people in any unwanted spotlight. That is why I only use names if the person it is about knows that I am writing it. Only a few select people knew of my blog. It is now being read by family members. I am now careful and forever second guessing what I choose to include and how I word things that are necessary to tell a particular story. I do hope that my writing style will not significantly change. I will not alter circumstances in my stories, but might exclude harsher truths to avoid any undue ugliness or conflict in my life.

I guess the most difficult part of this is that my writing is highly personal for me. It’s not just a place for me to make someone laugh or for someone to feel a connection to something I’ve written. (Although, those are definite pluses.) It is me. This is the part of me that I don’t necessarily share with the rest of the world, at least not my family. It is a private part of me that I don’t mind sharing with strangers, but think these realizations might impact my relationships with the people I love. Does that sound crazy? If you’re a writer, I think you know what I mean.

Life stories are much like dominoes. Each piece rests upon the fate of the others. All of our past experiences affect to some degree our future experiences. I’ll continue to build my castle, dragons and all. I’ll just try to keep the fire-breathing ones on the other side of the moat.

I will tell you again in one easily deciphered statement why I write: I write because I breathe, and I breathe because I must.