Why I Write

It may be fitting that, as a writer, I begin this blog in writer's block.

My sister Barbara has come to the rescue with the following passage from author/naturalist Terry Tempest Williams on why she writes:

I write to make peace with the things I cannot control.
I write to create fabric in a world that often appears black and white.
I write to discover.
I write to uncover.
I write to meet my ghosts.
I write to begin a dialogue.
I write to imagine things differently and, in imagining things differently, perhaps the world will change.
I write to honor beauty.
I write to correspond with my friends.
I write as a daily act of improvisation.
I write because it creates my composure.
I write myself out of my nightmares and into my dreams.
I write to the questions that shatter my sleep.

I write to remember.
I write to forget.
I write to quell the pain.
I write as an act of faith.
I write as an act of slowness.
I write to record what I love in the face of loss.
I write as a bow to wilderness.
I write becauseI believe I can create a path in the darkness.
I write because I am not employable.
I write as a witness to what I have seen.
I write for the love of ideas.
I write knowing words will always fall short.
I write as thoiughI am whispering in the ear of the one I love.

Wonderful.

In the words of the older woman deli customer in When Harry Met Sally, after Sallys faked orgasm, " I'll have what she's having."

And so I begin.

I will endeavor to speak with you tomorrow and daily thereafter on subjects that float through the open window of the Tillery garage in Knotts Island, North Carolina.

Thank you for joining me.

Jack