by Deb Ng
One of my first freelance writing gigs was a weekly online humor column. I worked full time however, so I did much of my writing during the morning and evening commutes – an hour each way. It came to pass that no matter what I was doing – working, watching TV, washing the dishes, walking in the subway – I was writing. I was forming sentences and ideas and kept playing with those ideas until I could find a keyboard or pen and paper. It’s like I couldn’t shut off the words in my head.
It’s always been that way for me. Even when I was younger I kept journals and notebooks to store my ideas. I look through many of them now and laugh, but it seems I always had to write something. When teachers would assign papers or essays other kids would groan but not me. I’d eagerly plan my topic and outline and couldn’t wait to go home and begin.
I write because it’s what I was destined to do. Even if I had to work in a cube farm, I’d still be writing. I don’t have a choice. I think if I didn’t write my head would explode. I know I must look so silly to some jotting down ideas or talking into my keyring at the most interesting moments. I can’t help it though, the wheels are constantly turning. Writing isn’t a job or a hobby. It’s a passion. It’s an addiction. It’s something I couldn’t give up if I tried.
Why do you write?