Why write?

Today, as I stood before a sea of expectant faces, I pondered the question that had been asked. It isn’t the first time I’ve been asked this particular question, and with the typical aplomb of an experienced writing teacher, I’ve always rattled off the same pat answer.

But today, I paused.

Perhaps it’s the recent upheaval in my life that has made me more reflective, or perhaps it’s because turning 39 last month has forced me to slow down and really examine what I’m doing with my life and where I’m headed.

"Why write, anyway?"

We write, of course, to inform, to persuade, to instruct, to argue, to share our thoughts, ideas, and beliefs with others in a meaningful context. But beyond the everyday need to communicate, what compels us to write? Why do we blog? Why do we write fiction, poetry, and song lyrics? Why do we feel compelled to share what we write?

Is writing a passion? Is it a skill? A talent? Is it something everyone can enjoy? That everyone can learn? Is it like golf, where everyone can try their hand at it, but only a few can aspire to be the next Tiger Woods (or Nora Roberts, or Steven King, etc.)? Does it matter if we're any good at it? Can we teach what it is to write?

For me, writing is an expression of the self, a reaching out to others in an attempt to share, for a moment, a universal human experience—like love, or passion, or hate, or friendship, or grief—to forge a connection that may be broken in an instant or may be cherished for a lifetime. Human beings are social creatures, and those connections—however fleeting they may be—help us to make meaning out of the chaos that we call life.

As I stood before a sea of expectant faces—some of them beginning to show signs of strain and impatience—I pondered all of this, before suddenly, I realized the only real answer is yet another question: "Why do YOU write?"