Why I Write (And a Little About Who I Am)

It’s lonely being a writer, and I suppose that’s why so many of us are introverts. I love my alone time, and that includes writing. As a child, I dreamed of being a hermit, living in the wilderness with only the wild animals for company. The Bay Area isn’t exactly a wilderness, but it still has some beautiful untamed places, and that’s why I stay. Over the years, I have adored my pets, who have, on occasion, been feral: the closest thing to living with wild animals I’ll probably ever get. My current dog, Nalani, is a sweet angel. She’s my companion while I write, and helps me remember to take time out for play and naps. She can be wild, and I adore her.

When I was three and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, “I want to be a fat lady in the circus.” Everyone laughed. And I immediately regretted sharing my dream. No one asked me, “Why do you want to be a fat lady in the circus?” If they had, I’d have told them, ” I want to be a fat lady in the circus so I can hold lots of children on my lap.” I’ve always loved kids, even when I was one myself.

As a child, books were a way for me to live with other families who were warmer than mine, perhaps kinder. Through books, I could peer into other worlds, worlds that accepted me for who I was: a sensitive, creative, empathic kid. In my own family, I did not feel accepted, by my mother especially. She was a beautiful, athletic woman with dark curls, long legs, and a smile that would melt a stranger’s heart. And she didn’t want me. Nearly every birthday, she told me that she was “so angry” when she learned she was pregnant with me. “I already had my perfect family,” she said, “a girl and a boy. And you hurt the most coming out, too.” I remember apologizing to my mother for being born. How messed up is that?

Perhaps because of my experience, I like to write about family dynamics, and especially women’s relationships with each other. Writing also helps me work through my feelings, including my mental illness (another thing many artists share). For me, it’s depression and anxiety. I wonder sometimes if I need to feel the darkness and fear in order to write about them. Antidepressant and anti-anxiety meds saved me (and continue to do so); they make me more myself, and more able to function in the world “out there.” After initially being on them for six or so weeks (and this was many years ago), I began to see the world in color again. It was miraculous.

I still have times of deep depression and anxiety. But I experience them as less terrifying than they were before. They used to seem endless, as if I would never see light again. Now I understand that, for me, where there is darkness, there will always be light. It’s just a matter of time.

I just finished a writing a memoir (which I may revise into a novel). It tells about my childhood, and especially my teenage years when my family and I were part of an evangelical church. There, I was vilified for questioning women’s lesser role in church and family life. I was told to submit to my boyfriend, but knew I was smarter than him and refused. My sister said, “Why wouldn’t you want to submit? He makes all the decisions and if something goes wrong, it’s all his fault. You don’t have to think!” But that’s just it: I wanted to think. Needless to say, I’m no longer part of that church. I find my deepest spirituality in Nature, even if it’s in my own back garden.

During the school year (except for this last, pandemic year), I teach poetry to children (grades 1-6), and write some myself. But my first love is fiction: short stories and novels. I’ll keep writing as long as I’m able.

More to come as the weeks follow! I appreciate your thoughts, ideas, and comments.

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