{Why I Write}: Telling Stories of the People in My Head

Ask my grandmother what kind of child I was and she will gleefully regale you with tales of her “interesting child.”

All my life, I’ve lived in a world wholly of my own creation and completely disconnected from reality. I was that kid who had a million dolls and stuffed animals. Every one had a name and a backstory. I still tend to name objects in my life, like my laptop and my car (blame the many Disney movies).

I have no fewer than 10 characters in my mind doing all kinds of stuff every day. Some of them are versions of myself that are gone or that I have yet to actually manifest. Some are versions of people in my real life. Some are completely original. But they are all there.

I do my best to ignore them, but occasionally, they get loud. 

So loud that I can’t ignore them and carry on with my daily life and responsibilities. That’s when I have to start writing. Something about the act of writing sort of releases the characters from my head and lets them live freely in the world, allowing me to at least try to focus on other things.

Writing and exploring my characters help me to understand and process what is happening to me personally and in the world at-large. All of my feelings make me want to write. I want to write stories about people who address the ills of our society. I want to write stories about people who face their fears, who chase their dreams. I want to write stories about people who love unconditionally and get to experience unconditional love. The characters I’ve not yet written all have their own to-do lists. So, I write.