photo credit: dotmatchbox

I can't remember a time I didn't read. Books were my escape from the horrific abuse of my child and teenhood–doors into other worlds, revelations on how people could really be (kind, caring, and compassionate), and hours of enjoyment.

Writing, too, is something I took to right away. My abusers frequently threatened to kill me if I talked about the abuse, and they criticized most things I said or turned it into psychological, sexual, or physical abuse, so I quickly learned not to speak much. But writing–writing was safe. It was a world mostly untouched by my abusers. It was a way I could tap into my inner world, everything that was going on inside, and get it out onto paper. It was also a way that I could safely express myself, and "talk" to others.

And when I wrote, the words flowed. They still do.

I love how I can reach others through my writing. I love how I can weave my own truths, compassion, caring into fiction, and make the fiction stronger. I love how I can break silences, show injustices, and help show ways of fighting horrors, all through fiction. Writing and books are like food to me. Necessary, and they feed my soul. I need to write, and I love to write.

Why do you write?