I Love to Write...And Why Not?

The Joy of Writing

Many people believe, and I count myself among them, that to delve into the pages of a well written book allows them to indulge in a certain amount of escapism. Certainly, to read is to enter a completely different world where unique things happen to unique people; where time moves at a rate that suits the reader and is not governed by the motion of heavenly bodies.

To embrace a work of fiction is to embrace problems, difficulties, mishaps, all of which relate only to the characters and no one else. Should they seem out of hand, the closing of the book will immediately put them right.

Factual works may appear more demanding but again they take the reader on an exciting journey from the unknown to the aware; from the subconscious to the obvious. They deliver a sense of achievement, accomplishment and betterment as they transform ignorant bliss into blissful knowledge.

To read is to learn; to escape; to become another mind – mindful of situations and occurrences outside the norm. To read is to enter different arenas; play by different rules and reach different conclusions.

The pages of any written work pluck us from our own existence and gently place us into that of the writer. If they write of romance, we enter into a world of love. If they speak of horror, we become scared. Their humour leads us to laughter. The talented writer has the power to mould our minds, transform our thoughts and change our conceptions. We are held captive by them until we finally bring the covers of their writings back together.

So, with these points in mind, does it not appear that to truly escape, to truly leave what is current in the past, to truly enter a world where we truly want to be, we need to create that world ourselves?

That is, I firmly believe, the joy of writing.

I speak now from a personal perspective but one which I consider encompasses the view of writers everywhere.

When I write, the feeling of control fills me completely. Each word is mine; each sentence constructed by me. Each notion contained in my work depends on me to create it, to capture it and to conclude it. Whenever, whoever, wherever I want to be, I need only put pen to paper and I will be there in a matter of moments.

When I write, I am free to manipulate my emotions. Should I feel angry, I can release my rage between lines on paper. I can discuss things with myself in a methodical manner. I can release remorse without regret. As my mood shifts, so too can the mood contained in my words. If rage turns to compassion, I need only alter the journey of my pen across pages to facilitate what has altered in my thoughts. No other writer can do this for me. No other writer is aware of the timetable within my mind. No other writer can accommodate it or even understand it. That undertaking – that pleasure – is reserved for me alone.

When I write, I possess the ability to completely alter my state of mind. However, I also retain the ability to quickly return to the time and place I came from. There are few other methods of escapism that I know of which grant such control.


Writing can take me swiftly and effortlessly to anywhere I may wish to venture. However, it also holds the wondrous and wonderful trait of gently guiding me along a seemingly mysterious journey to a seemingly unfamiliar location. Deeper contemplation, though, arrived at through further writing, will eventually show me that I do in fact know quite a bit about this apparently new place. That is because this place is within me. In actuality, this place is me.

My very own mind is so much more immense and diverse than even I realise, and probably ever will. The roads leading into it are innumerable and no map exists to serve as a guide. Sometimes, the only way to traverse these routes is to simply wander around, at my own pace, until I reach a point where I believe I want to rest for a while.

Writing is the vehicle I use to make this journey. It provides a smooth, fully air conditioned ride through villages of ideas via motorways and country lanes of emotions of different speed.

I have, over time, taken many of these literary road trips. Often, I start at a place of despair. Such a location forces my mind in more than one direction, leading to utter confusion. No vehicle can travel in different directions at the same time. Such an attempt leads to conflict within the self, to frustration, to a roundabout, of differing opinions, with no exits.

The simple introduction of pen to paper, however, can clear traffic jams in an instant and signpost a clear route from the roundabout to the fast lane of the dual carriageway.

This is because writing is methodical. Whereas we can think, albeit very unclearly, about different things simultaneously, we can only write about one. Writing forces rationality and delivers clarity in logical stages. It slows us down to the speed of our pen across the paper and, as a result, leaves us with more time to ponder upon each individual musing.

Each thought – problem – is forced into suppression until the previous one is dealt with. As a result, these issues are unable to merge and grow, as is permitted in thought.

Writing allows us to compare; contrast; differentiate; determine; examine; encounter; consider and, ultimately, conclude, having researched in depth all of the relevant facts.

I love to write and I do it as often as I can. I believe everyone should!

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