Why Write
I’m guessing that people will ask me why I am writing. “Because I want to,” is probably not an answer that will satisfy them. And that’s okay.
Why do I want to write? I have decided to write a blog because I can speak without asking permission. I can write about whatever interests me without worrying about an editor’s opinion, an acceptable tone, an acceptable style, a niche, a slant or the best marketability.
First and foremost I am writing for myself.
I am writing for the little girl who was never allowed to have an opinion. The little girl who was tossed outside by her mother and had the door locked behind her. The little girl who cried and screamed and pounded on the door. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
I am writing for the little girl, seven years old, who was ordered to leave the classroom for talking. In the dark hallway her hands were strapped before she was allowed back in.
I am writing for the teenager who heard people say, “She’ll never be successful in life, she’s too quiet.”
I am writing for the young woman who was asked point blank, “How come you never say anything.”
I am writing because women have been silent for centuries. Strong and silent, their thoughts never recorded in history. They kept their children alive through war, famine and disease. They were strong enough to pass life on to us. We have lost their thoughts and their wisdom because they were told to keep quiet.
From Marge Piercy’s poem For Strong Women:
“A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will love you back,
why aren’t you feminine, why aren’t
you soft, why aren’t you quiet, why
aren’t you dead?”
… why aren’t you quiet … why aren’t you dead?
I am writing to reclaim my life.
Sue Monk Kidd said this about writing:
“The hardest thing about writing is telling the truth.
Maybe it’s the hardest thing about being a woman too.”
May be.