Why Write? 

I do not fully understand the affliction. The most enduring story I tell is, "I do it to make Order from Chaos".

I was gifted a diary when I was twelve. It was peach and pink, had a picture of a cat on it and its pages could be sealed with a little brass lock and key. It set me free.

 

But also: " Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one's own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane.”- George Orwell, Why I Write.
 

Maybe I write to scrub the view through the windowpane. Maybe it's a little bit of the old squalling for attention. Regardless, once the words hit the page at an angle that works, like a cat coming home victorious, I have the urge to place what I caught in the yard before your feet, hoping in all sincerity that the gesture will be appreciated. 

 

For what it's worth, this is my offering, hard-won. 

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Bon Appétit, 

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​~ TS.