The History of a Writer

By KennyDiamond

Today, someone asked me why I write. And it got me thinking, why do I write?

If I think back to when I was growing up, I wasn’t much of a writer.
Writing was always a chore, writing was… homework, writing was…
letters of apology to people I didn’t particularly care for,
apologizing for things which I wasn’t particularly sorry about, but
I’ve always had one hell of an imagination, that’s one thing I’ve
never had trouble with. Growing up my imagination was all I had to
escape to when life just got too much.

Growing up I had gone through more than most kids have to deal with at
that age and in all honesty that lead to a great deal of pent up
anger, that just kept building deep inside, waiting to explode.. to
errupt. Every now and then it would.

Long story short. Having one day put my fist through a window out of
rage… I sat bleeding in a dark room, I started typing away at my
laptop. I don’t particularly know what I wrote. Didn’t save it. But
that was the first time I wrote for me. To borrow a few words from
William Wordsworth, I literally “filled my paper with the breathings
of my heart.”, and that’s really where it all began.

Although after that, I didn’t write again for quite sometime, even
though there and then was when I had developed a love for writing. I
was never quite the artist but I loved drawing and sketching. So when
faced with the choice of creative writing or drawing at school (they
clashed), I picked writing.

Writing did for me then what drawing hadn’t. Writing gave me a way of
putting my complete and utter raw emotion to paper. It was easy to put
my inner most thoughts out there, but the crucial thing was, writing
came with the safety of knowing that it is open to interpretation.
Kind of like riding a bike with your dad holding on behind. It was
only after leaving school I realized the two (writing and drawing)
weren’t so different.

So why do I write? Well words are an amazing tool, words can be molded
into whatever you what them to be, they can tell a story, they can be
a poem. Words can make you laugh, they can make you cry. You don’t
need to be a snobby art critic to understand what they mean, words can
express the emotions that lay underneath. They can be blunt or they
can be as open to interpretation as you want them to be. But
essentially words are what set me free. Therefore… I write simply
because I must.



One Love,
@KennyDiamond

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