Why? Why breathe? You might as well ask me that question. Or why exist?
I write because it is an act of love. It is an act of claiming my life. It is an act of doing that I can’t live without doing. I write because I cherish each day. I’m so grateful for one more day. I’m so grateful for the privilege and the opportunity to be here, to be alive, to have experience and to learn by that experience. I am so grateful for all the characters in my life—really, I am. How interesting and pitiful and amazing they all have been—even the villains. Really, even the villains. What can I learn by paying close attention to life—my life. I write because it is my life-line to remembering. I write to be a witness to my own life. To leave a record of the amazing compound in one experience my life is.