Why Do I Write?
1) Just because I love it!
2) To find my own "separate peace" (#33, 5 February 2002)
3) Solitary confinement--never needing to explain anything (Yesterday's Child)
4) To clear my mind of the thoughts that run through it
5) To turn my antisocial qualities into something positive
6) One word: Nostalgia (#31, 31 December 2001)
7) Portraying characters as their actual ages while I remember being that age (#32, 3 January 2002)
8) Losing writing is to lose myself (#37, 7 August 2002)
I think these reasons have changed slightly over time, though. Yes, I'm still hunting for that separate peace; even though I haven't reread the entry I cited, I know that it mentions A Separate Peace, as it was and still is one of my favourite books.
As for solitary confinement, I want to explain things now. Writing is how I communicate best, even though I don't feel like it is at times. I read things that I've written, and I still wonder what on earth I was thinking. I imagine that in ten years I'll do the same with what I'm writing now. I don't write to be solitary--not anymore, anyway. It's just that not many people I knew shared my passion for writing, and as a result I did become isolated. There's something menacing about approaching someone scribbling away in a notebook, I believe.
Number four still holds very true. As for number five, I like to believe that I'm more social than I used to be. I was fairly social, but I was still the outcast since I didn't really fit in anywhere. I try to be social now, anyway, which counts for something. Remember, I was an angsty high school kid who thought everyone was out to get smart writers. Now, of course, I know I'm not the only one, so anyone after smart writers would be after a whole race of us. That should be fun.
Nostalgia is another reason, but I don't think this is really the case anymore. I have no idea what the entry I referenced was about. I'll be reading all these over the next few days.
Number seven irked me a lot when I was younger. Come on, the Baby-Sitters Club members couldn't have been just thirteen. I know my parents wouldn't have let me have a 10pm curfew when I was that age, and this was in the 80s and 90s. Seriously. Not to mention baby-sitting for kids up to age ten. Come on. Now I find my characters growing up with me. When I was in high school, I wrote about teenagers. Now I'm writing about more adult characters. I've yet to write about an actual college student, but a plot bunny about college life has never wiggled its way to my mind.
Number eight is still true. In fact, I'd say that numbers one, four, and eight are the ones that ring truest here. (When I read the entries that accompany some of the others, I may reword them and include them. We all need a revision of life's goals now and then. Sometimes they grow up with us.)
By some weird coincidence, the entry following this is the one about my First B Ever, an event that would change me forever and drive me to discover another passion in life: math. This, of course, would also change me forever. Without these events, I probably wouldn't be where I am now: living passionately for what I love, and loving every moment of it. Besides that, I also probably wouldn't have a major right now, meaning I'd be panicking in a few months. And that's one of the smaller things!