I once wrote a book and a whole lot of poems out of pain, heartache, and for the purpose of catharsis and healing. I have written a new novel with characters that have experiences that I have never had, but I love them and believe them to be realistic and honest. Then I started this blog - and writing took on a new meaning. At first I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Why is it so stimulating? Why, in the first few months, did it seem almost an obsession?
While in New York my daughter took me to a place she knew I'd love - a giant bookstore called Strand. It's motto is "18 miles of books". New, used and old books. Somewhere in the 18 miles I found the second volume of Anais Nin's diaries. I bought it, and today while reading I found the explanation why I write now - out of abundance. Here is what Anais says:
"The diary was once a disease. I do not take it up now for the same reasons. Before it was because I was lonely, or because I did not know how to communicate with others. I needed the communion. Now it is to write, not for solace, but for the pleasure of describing others, out of abundance."
Ironically, I named one of the characters in my new book - Anais (ahna-eese).
I reserve the right to still write out of solace occasionally.