My muses tend to invade my routines and drive me to keyboard or pad, or in some cases, to torn fragments of paper bags, envelopes or corners of my checkbook. In those writing spaces, I try to tell the truths that so many fear or don't have time to tell. My love of language compels me to write. Writing has chosen me, and I know I must continue to do it honestly. No other person will know the life that I live and articulate it with as much effort. I consider all of my work autobiographical because I go to the places where my pen goes. Perhaps my work will allow someone whose life and point of view parallel mine to see herself, or himself, for the very first time. That is a very profound thing to do, see yourself.
Writing is good self-dialogue. It is a way that several parts of me can communicate at once and come to some common ground. It preserves the conversations I have with myself. Is a proper sanity check. Is a good mediator between the warrior factions of my consciousness.
Perhaps the most startling truth that arises from the ashes of my changing rationale about my process and passion for writing is that I am writing on a continuum. I write because my forbears can't anymore and because generations of my sons and daughters may not know how. I am at once a glance back, and a peek forward, and hopefully living in the right time.
These excerpts appeared as part of a larger essay in "Network News," a newsletter published by the North Carolina Writers Network.