My father would get up around 4 in the morning; fix himself some hot tea with a little sugar and carnation milk. He’d sit, gather his papers, notes from magazines and spiral binders and he’d work on his novel for two hours, before waking me for school and going to work. He was never able to finish his novel, but everyday before he got sick, that was his routine.
What I learned as I became a writer was writing is not a choice, it’s not something that you choose to do. It’s something that you have to do, like breathing. We inhale the world, the happenings in our lives and the lives of those around us. These sometime very ordinary and sometime very spectacular wonders mix with our imagination, creativity, voice, and souls. What we exhale are the stories, the poems and the dramas we hope will connect with someone else and offer them a smile or move them deeply; that will make them laugh hysterically, cry compassionately or rage defiantly. I write not simply because I have something to say, but because I have to say it and if I don’t say it, I will go the way of Langston Hughes dream, I’ll either dry up like a raisin in the sun or I’ll explode.
–Kate Dobbs Ariail