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Why Are You Here?

There is not really a way to ask that question without making the recipient of said question a little uncomfortable and putting them on the defensive.

Why are you here?

WHY are you here?

Why ARE you here?

Why are YOU here?

Why are you HERE?

It's such a seemingly innocuous question, but it can have many answers, depending entirely on the emphasis. Side note, I always read or say the word emphasis like emFASSis. Don't know why, I just felt like I had to share.

So. The question. Or questions, because really the same four words can make five questions. Each question can be a rabbit hole of existential self-discovery. Which, really is redundant. It should be existential discovery (the self is implied by the fact that we are talking about existentialism).

The question is too vague for the confines of this blog.   To be honest, if I'm going to even enter a discussion on that question, there will need to be a nice open field and a cloudless night. And the non-sobering machinations of your choice (I'm not Judgey McJudgerson).

I'll flip the script, then, as the youngsters say these days.  And alter the question a bit.
Let's change it to this one.

Why do you write?

Extrapolating for emphasis we are given the following four paths.

WHY do you write?

Why DO you write?

Why do YOU write?

Why do you WRITE?

It's a good question. It really is.  I don't have an answer that covers things logically.  I have a feeling. I have a drive. I have a passion.

I have an addiction.

I'm addicted to words.  Like a tiny drop of liquid gold in a filthy spoon, when that first sentence hits me. That first paragraph builds. And the whole chapter washes over me.  The book has me. I am its bitch. And I am this willingly.  Amazon does this thing with their books where you can read a sample.

That is not unlike the dealers on the street who will hook lifelong clients by offering the first hit for free.

But I'm no n00b.  I've been using words a long time. It didn't take me long at all to get addicted. It all started with the Doctor. Some of you know him as Seuss.  Then Mr. AA Milne.

As I grew, I moved on to the harder stuff. Kipling entered the mix. Riki-Tiki-Tavi was a favorite go to when I need a quick fix. Needed to escape all of those grammar school pressures, as elementary as they seem now. The threat of something going on my permanent record haunts me to this day.

King, Koontz, Clarke, Tolkien, Adams, Asimov, name a few. I couldn't tell you which was the gateway to the next. All I knew was the words. I needed more words.

I learned early on that I couldn't just take the words. Absorb them. Escape in them. I had words of my own that I needed to get out. It became (and is to this day) a sick game.  The words I am so gloriously addicted to come from others.  Some of the wordsmiths I know.  Some are friends. Some are still complete strangers. Suppliers of this strange formation of something I am so steeped in and yet they remain in the shadows.

Along with that intake, I find that, lest I overdose on words, I must give back. Pollute the world...or pollenate, rather...the worlds with my words. Seedlings for now, but holding on to the hope that they will blossom and grow in to mighty oaks. Oaks that may be cut down and again deliver the words to an unsuspecting reader.

It's really a vicious cycle. One, I am proud to say, that I perpetuate as often as I can.

Let's take a look at those questions again. I know you've been dying to's OK. I'll play along.

Without splitting hairs on the emphasis thing (because I'm telling you that I really am too sober to play that game), I will give you answers to the two questions.

Why are you here?
Assuming "here" is this day and age, I am here to be creative. To give light to a hidden layer of the universe (whether you call that layer the name of a deity or not) and in doing so, shine that light of creativity on another in hopes that they, too, are excited. And that excitement leads them to create.

I'm here because this is the time and place that this particular reflection of my soul decided it needed to be in to accomplish the above.

Why do you write?
This question has been the topic of many standalone meanderings on this blog, but the short answer is simply this.  I write because it is as vital to me as breathing. I can go so long without doing it, but eventually I pass out, my body, knowing what to do. And I begin to breathe again. With the overwhelming thought that I just need to stop trying to fight it. My body knows what it needs.

And with that, I'm heading to bed. I have some things sitting on my workshop over in Dreamland that I need to flesh out before dropping them in to this corner of the universe.

Until then, have an awesomesauce evening my friends!! And if I don't see you until tomorrow--may that day kick ass too!!

Peace Out!


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