“Why am I compelled to write? Because the writing saves me from this complacency I fear. …Because the world I create in the writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. By writing I put order in the world, give it a handle so I can grasp it. I write because life does not appease my appetites and hunger. I write to record what others erase when I speak, to rewrite the stories others have miswritten about me, about you. To become more intimate with myself and you. …To dispel the myths that I am a mad prophet or a poor suffering soul. To convince myself that I am worthy and that what I have to say is not a pile of shit. …Finally I write because I’m scared of writing, but I’m more scared of not writing.”
-”Speaking in Tongues” Gloria E. Anzaldúa
I found this quote on writing today while looking up literary journals to submit to, and I couldn’t help but post it. I can relate to this so well especially the last line. I too write because I’m scared of it, but more so, I’m scared of not writing. I write because I have to. Because there’s a need inside of me that won’t be quenched until I get all my stories out, all these words that tangle between me and the sheets when I try to sleep at night. All these thoughts I have nag at me like harpies. I do not believe there will be a time when my ink will run dry, my mind will run out of thoughts, these words won’t flow. Sure, I get writer’s block; of course I do, but the words still come out somehow or another.
I’ve lived a full life, and I’m not yet twenty-eight. I’m not where I expected to be, but I have achieved more successes than I imagine. Because some days, you don’t realize it, but climbing out of bed and getting dressed is an achievement. I keep writing in hopes my words will resonate with someone. That because of me, someone will no longer feel alone. I want to help, but I’m also selfish. I also write for me. To quench the monster inside of me that demands, “More, more, more.”