Why do I write? When I first read Tor’s post I was convinced I knew exactly why I wrote, meaning this response should be a walk in the park. An hour and a half after opening a new Microsoft Word document I am beginning to type.

My first thoughts about why I regularly put pen to paper focused around reasons such as simply being compelled to write. You see, my head is filled with a thousand ideas all at once. If they were to all stay there I’d have a noggin the size of Tim Burton’s Red Queen. As a young child I had a seriously overactive imagination, I was the kid that was quite happy being ignored by everyone for hours on end because I was always off somewhere much more entertaining of my own creation. And that was before I started reading. Once I uncovered the worlds created by Lewis and Tolkien and Blyton I was unstoppable.

It fascinated me that other people saw imaginary worlds as vividly as I did, not only that, they wrote them down and other people were then able to join them there through there worlds. It was then that I started writing stories of my own. I don’t think I ever showed them to anyone, and there were very few I ever finished, but I was happy enough to be holding a pen and having a new avenue to explore the visions my mind created.

The more I wrote the more my brain dreamt up and nothing has stemmed the flow of imagination from that moment on, but I cannot leave my response there. There is so much more to why I write today as an adult. Yes, a severely overactive imagination gland is a massive contributing factor, but if that’s all it was I’d probably still just be content filling notepads and keeping them hidden under my bed. During high school I came into contact with several English teachers who you would all put into the ‘hippy’ category. They all saw my talent with words and ideas, not just through creative projects. They encouraged me to join the debate team and write for the school newsletter. Suddenly a different reason for writing was opened before me, and I was damn good at it. I was, still am, anally retentive about fact finding and I could bring all the facts together with my own opinions in a way that wasn’t offensive but still put across my argument in a convincing and eloquent manner.

I got a serious kick out of this kind of writing, and it helped massively when it came to essay writing! The biggest thrill however was the fact that others were reading my work and telling me it was good. There was communication about the words I used and how I used them, not only was I discovering a form of attention I actually liked (I was painfully shy as a kid and it wasn’t until I met the abovementioned teachers that I began to conquer that) I was also satisfying my thirst for learning and progression. The massaging of the ego and having people reading MY words satisfied the urge in all of us to be recognised. I have a hard time believing any writer who says that they write purely for themselves, especially people who are published writers. All of us, even if we don’t admit it, like the attention that comes with others reading our work.

The realisation that there was more to my talent only fed the fire, and then I came to an even bigger realisation. For the longest time I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to reach kids and inspire them as I had been inspired by my teachers, both the good and the bad (I had a hell of a lot of teachers who made me realise that there was a dire need for people dedicated to doing a good job!). It wasn’t until I was well into the second year of my degree that I had an epiphany. I didn’t have to be a teacher to inspire others, I could reach more people through the written word, both fiction and non-fiction, just as I had been inspired by the authors I read.

 All of that snowballs together to give you all the reason I write, almost. Before I began this post I asked Ger why he thought I wrote, he answered simply “because it’s who you are”. He’s right, it is who I am. I would be a completely different person without my stories and my words, and I think I would be the poorer for it.