(c) Sylvia Plath 1953
I was asked to write about why I write, or why I “DON’T” write. I will start with my reasons for not writing as much as I would like to. Scratch that. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember (but hasn’t everybody?): I’ve got piles of diaries at home, few fairy tales, some short stories, few poems, a bit of fiction, a bit of science fiction, some prose meets poetry, lists, letters, notes, soapy cards for mom’s birthdays, academic papers, essays, articles. And now I’m writing my first post on my blog. Hurray. And yet, I’m not a writer. I don’t write.
I’m not a writer. Okay, I write here and there, but I don’t write. I scribble. I jot down. I fake. I presume I’m writing. Continue reading