and so I write

Hanging out at the Surrey International Writers' Conference this past weekend gave me a lot to think about. I was a volunteer most of the time and an attendee for one day so I got to see a lot and meet a ton of different people. I loved it. Spending time with a hotel of writers is something every writer should do if they get the chance.

There's a weird connection there, like a unity where you feel with everyone else. You belong. You all have something in common. It's comforting.

For a second it felt like everyone in the world was a writer. Like everyone looks at the world and how absurd it is and notes the unique things about people. Like everyone feels a desperate need to scrawl themselves down on napkins and notebooks, just to get across that vital message we all need to share.

But when you're at a writers' conference, you have a skewed perspective.

I spent a lot of time on the bus, going back and forth from home to hotel and back. That's a lot of time for staring out the window and thinking. Thinking about writers and why there aren't more people who look critically at the world and choose to dutifully (and hopefully honestly) pen it down. Thinking about why I write.
Big question. Why do I [need to] write?

It's not that I'm an overly creative person. I don't have ultra unique ideas that pop into my head out of nowhere. I'm sure most of my stories come from pieces of everywhere I look--books, movies, friends, family. But I still need to tell them. Why?

I don't know how this will sound to you exactly but my life isn't that exciting. I mean, it is but it isn't. And I love it. I love my life, how a spend my time, the contentedness I have. I have things to look forward to. There's always something exciting to blog about. But it's not Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, dancing like there's no one else in the room. It's not Joe and Lennie, drinking wine on the porch and making the whole world explode. It's not Katsa finding an almost equal fighting partner in Po. It's just this. And this is great and I'm so grateful to have this but it's not that, you know?

And so I write. I write because I'm a hopeless romantic and I daydream, okay? I imagine boys who talk about more than who is the "fucking hottest girl in [their] grade." I imagine teenagers not being afraid to talk to each other, not stuck in their timid shells. I imagine romance and witty things to say and so much more than probably exists in reality.

Because reality isn't always enough.