Ethan looked over at Gregory writing furiously at his desk, not pausing to speak or take a drink of water. He knew Gregory disliked being disturbed, but he had to know.
Gingerly, he walked over and tapped Gregory on his arm. Irritably, he turned and looked at Ethan, asking, ‘What do you want ? I’m busy.’
‘Nothin’. I was jus’ wonderin’ … why do you write?’
Gregory looked at him in stupefaction and did the unthinkable. He pushed himself away from the table and stood up, drawing himself up. Brandising his arms like an actor on stage, he proclaimed in a loud voice:
Why I write?!
I write because it makes me feel alive.
When I type words on the page, they jump out and look at me, like predators on the prowl, searching for the next paragraph, wanting to know how it all comes together.
When I string ideas with my quill, the world pauses and listens as the story evolves from my heart and explodes in magnificence on the screen.
When a writer writes, the world is his oyster. There is nothing more fulfilling and pleasing than watching a part of you lying bare and exposed for the populace to see and appreciate.
Now tell me, why do YOU write?
Ethan, with a bewildered look, shrugged his shoulders, picked up his book, scratched his head and said, ‘ Ms. Brown said I need to work on my handwriting, Dad.’
I am a Write Tribe Pro Blogger– Blogging everyday for a year.
Today is Day 37
Also linking this to Day 6 of the Ultra Blog Challenge
Linking this to Yeah Write’s Moonshine Grid