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Why I Write.

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I write because I would go completely crazy if I didn't. If I didn't have a place for all the characters in my head to go, I would snap like a rubber band and most likely kill someone. I hear the voices of my characters all the time, whispering in my ears at one in the morning, arguing with each other while I'm eating breakfast, and talking to one another like I don't even exist. The characters tell me their stories and they make me laugh, and cry, and they annoy me but if by some chance they decided to leave me and go to someone else and tell their stories to them, I would grieve for them like I had lost a close family member, because in a way, I have.

In my mind, I've been a princess of my own kingdom, I've slayed horrible monsters and flown on dragons and griffins--sometimes even in the same day. The characters that exist only in my head are always the ones that comfort me when I'm sad, make fun of me when I do something stupid, and tell me the most outrageous things that make me laugh hysterically at the worst times and make people look at me like I'm crazy. Though I'll always be the one to admit first that maybe I am kinda crazy.

I write because I am simply one of the few who can see what potential may lay in a blank piece of notebook paper. I can see the start of a new person, a new life, a new journey and a new world with new places to visit and new things to see. It only takes a moment for the idea to come to me but it also takes less than a second for it to decide that I'm taking to long to figure it out and it leaves, never to return.

If someone was willing to take the time out of their day for and listen to me chatter, I could tell them of lands that don't exist, of people that will never live or die, and of things that never happened and never will.

So I dare you to live like I do everyday and sit and stare into space, thinking of the most ridiculous things for at least ten minutes. Think about everything you see--from the houseplant that fairies sneak in to take care of when no one is looking to the brownies that repair the house in the dead of night to the elves that giggle and laugh at you when you trip and fall.

So once again, I dare you to live like I do and laugh hysterically until it hurts for no other reason than to break the silence, cry like never before simply because you can, and imagine as much as you possibly can before you go to sleep. After all, it's common knowledge in my mind--and to everyone else living in it-- that reality is a wonderful place to visit but I really wouldn't want to live in it.
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