The question is really, “Why am I writing now?”
I’ve written for my entire life. I wrote essays for school. I wrote reports for work. I wrote recommendations for students. What has been missing in my writing was writing for myself. I teach literature and writing. Every day, I stress the importance of the written word. But I’m always focusing on other people’s writing.
I’m an insatiable reader: novels, stories, essays, news. I love to read. But part of me has always felt a bit hollow as a mere consumer of the written word. I love work-shopping essays with my students. At first, I decided to start blogging because I needed to have a better understanding of what my students experienced. I discuss this more fully on my “teacherly” website Socrates Underground. It had been so long since I had written, I was beginning to feel somewhat hypocritical when I made writing assignments. A strange thing happened, though; the more I wrote, the more I remembered how much I loved to write.
So, here I am at Spontaneous Whimsy, wandering around somewhat aimlessly. I write because it fulfills an almost visceral need to work with words. I love words. I love playing with their sounds, their endless combinations to say something meaningful or playful or important or funny or insightful or revealing.
This is not quite as deep as I had intended it to be, but when I saw the Writing 101 assignment, this is how the answer came into my head. I expect I will edit this later, but for now, this is why I write.