The Longer Read: Why I Write
I originally wrote this piece during the end of summer and the first flush of autumn in September 2021 - but it’s never seen the light of day! Now I have this Substack I thought I’d share it here.
Autumn arrived this morning. I could feel the coolness envelop my face as I stepped outside the back door. Over the weekend we’ve had low-lying mists covering the farmer’s bare fields and hot air balloons emerging from the haze, their fire-breathing dragon noises puncturing the air long before I could see them.
As I led the dogs through the gate and down the field of stubble I thought about why I liked to write. A few phrases sprang to mind. Because I have to was one. What else would I do? was another. I shook my head. This wasn’t enough.
So I cast my mind back to when I first started writing. I was young, in my early twenties; youthful confidence and naivety were on my side. I started writing because my colleague showed me the manuscript of her novel. And the competitor inside of me thought if she can do it then so can I.
I soon discovered it was a lot harder than it looked. By then, however, something had sparked inside me. Something that had been long dormant since I was at primary school and I would scribble out stories in my exercise book.
That’s why I started writing. But why did I continue?