The Katalina Blog Challenge #4: Why I Write

Why do I write?  This is a question that I never really thought of and yet, thought of all the time.  Strange statement, but truthfully, the most accurate.  It was always just an awareness of the question, I don’t think I ever truly had the guts to think about it, and as there was no need, I didn’t have to.

I grew up in an artistic family.  My mother was a painter and music teacher, all my siblings were phenomenal at at least one of these things; if not both.  Then five years after “The Next Big Painter” was born, an anomaly came along. You guessed it, me. Here was a child that excelled at drama and languages, but sucked at painting. Who had the discipline to practice her music every day and was able to play five instruments… very very badly. The only child that did not make it into the school choir. I still remember the humiliation of that day.  Being the youngest of five children in a very small town, meant that every one knew how talented my siblings were.  At singing, music, painting, drawing, you name it. I tried out for the school choir and was accused of trying to disguise my voice so I don’t have to sing in the choir. My very embarrassed mother had to explain to the music teacher that I in fact could not sing at all.  The truth was that I really wanted to get into the choir and prove that I too was part of this phenomenal family, but to coin a phrase; I couldn’t carry a tune if it was in a bucket…

Being the youngest of five children, meant that my siblings taught me to read and write at a very young age.  I devoured my first book just before I turned five.  I still remember the black and white pictures in the book: “Dr Dolittle” I discovered that I could hide in story books.  In fiction I could be whatever I wanted, the hero who saves the day, the victim that survives against all odds, the most talented person in the world. I started reading every book that I could find. I read “Circles in a Forest” when I was seven.  Imagine my surprise when I read it again years later; it was not about the elephant at all.  I had missed a large portion of the story due to my inexperience. This realization caused me to re-read many books, obsessing about the story line. It came as no real surprise that I wanted to start putting down story lines myself. The first story I ever wrote was a one pager regarding my visit to a world where lions could talk (they ruled the world off course). This story was written in the back of one of my school work books and inevitably was discovered by my teacher. I can’t recall her name, but she contacted my parents to try and convince them to nurture this love of writing.  I was too young to remember much regarding what followed, but as there was no enthusiasm from my parents, I started trying to hide my stories.

Inspiration is such a sneaky one though, you inevitably start writing on something you shouldn’t because you suddenly have this excess of words that need to escape, and any surface will do. Occasionally my writing would be found and the critique was quite severe for someone as young as I was.  I started using that to try and improve my skills.  Years later I started writing poetry which, once again, sometimes just had to come out on whatever surface was closest.  My dad found them and was stunned. He had no idea that the little girl who fantasized about talking lions would one day be a poet.  Published or no, that is how he saw me.  For the first time in my entire life, my family realized that I was creative and good at something, even if it wasn’t the same things they were good at.  I still love music and painting, but my true love will always be writing.  The potential of an empty page always captivates me.  What is in store for that perfect white page? Then ideas seem to flow and inspiration sneaks up…

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