Why do I write? A few years ago I was asked that question and I was surprised not to have an immediate answer. Why do I write? Hmmm.
The title poem of my book, "Container Gardening," has these lines:
plainest form of love
And, that, I realize, is my answer, written into some of my poems: I write to notice.
When I am writing, everything around me seems to calls out, "write about me!," "think about me!" "look at me!" I experience the world in a different way--more thoughtfully, more vividly. I'm more aware of the things that interest me, please me, anger me, terrify me.
Would I notice them as intensely if I weren't writing? I don't know.
I do know that the writing--even just the intent to write--gives me an extra dimension for taking in the world around me. It feels as if there is a kind of sacredness in this, an honoring of the time I have been given. Another poem, "In Anne's Studio," ends:
what is holy in this life
All we have, finally, is our time and how we choose to use it, what we think about, what we notice. Writing is how I notice.