Why do I Write?

"Why do I write?  It's like I am slowly untying knots that have somehow formed inside me emotionally."  BBC interview heard on August 5th.  I have failed you, I cannot find the author of the quote.  Lo siento.

I have known for years that writing was an activity that I too should engage in on some level.  And for all those years, I have known why I did not write.

• I didn't feel I had anything to add to the conversation.
• The things I had to say, my stories, might be too much, perhaps seem like works of fantasy rather than truth.  
• I didn't want to be discounted or doubted or, much worse, find out I was a failure as a writer. 

Now I am writing and hearing this man's reason for writing resonates with me.  I liked the simple imagery of the emotional knots.  Imagining each admission or disclosure as a relief and release, a knot dissipating and leaving my being freer and lighter with each key strike.

This was my reason for starting hippos cant dance.  My hope is that post by post, the specters will lose their power and energy over me. Silence has always been their biggest weapon since silence is a weapon best suited for children.  But I did survive the first molting and cannot be made to be silent any longer.

There are many stories that may or may not make their way onto these pages.  I am not attempting the raw stages of some American prose.  My ambitions are much humbler than that.  When the buzzing, pressure, and otherwise distraction fills my inner reality, I create a post. There is a general loosening, muscles relax, concentration returns. A knot unties.

The biggest benefit of posting is I don't have to worry about what someone thinks or how some terrible recounting might affect a listener.  My journey is toward humanity; commonality; and away from secrecy, shame, and freakdom not to inflict discomfort on or elicit sympathy from anyone.

In the favorite words of a wonderful, imaginary friend: 

It is what it is.

Why do I write?   

For so many years, under direct duress, I couldn't speak my truth.  I kept secret after secret deep in my chest carrying the shame as my own.  Now, I lay those secrets at the graves and the feet of those responsible.  I give the burdens back to their rightful owners.

Why do I write? 

It's my revenge, my reclaiming, my reckoning and my right.  

Why do you (or don't you) write?